Red lanterns hung beneath the carved eaves of the Shichahai Imperial Courtyard Auction Hall, their silk tassels swaying in the freezing wind off the lake.
Inside the gilded pavilion, crystal chandeliers illuminated rows of rosewood armchairs reserved for Yanjing’s wealthiest real-estate tycoons and aristocratic families.
In the center of the first VIP row sat Murong Xuan (Goodness: 7/100), his sister Murong Xue (Goodness: 12/100), and Ouyang Fei (Goodness: 9/100), whose left cheek was still slightly swollen from Airport Director Liu’s slap yesterday afternoon.
Up on the rostrum, Chief Auctioneer Qian (Goodness: 11/100) bowed toward Murong Xuan and tapped the concealed switch beneath his mahogany podium.
“Rest assured, Young Master Murong,” Auctioneer Qian whispered into his collar microphone. “I assigned Lin Mo’s group to the unheated folding chairs by the side service draft door, and Paddle No. 099 has been disconnected from the central bidding server. Even if he smashes the button with a hammer, the screen won’t register a single cent.”
Murong Xuan took a slow sip of aged Pu’er tea and smiled coldly. “Good. Once I take Lot No. 8 on Lotus-Prince Street, make sure the reporters capture his face when his paddle fails.”
Just then, the heavy wooden side doors opened.
