Rebirth 93: Break off the engagement at the beginning and marry Bai Fumei

This Qianlong-era gilt bronze gourd-shaped clock with rotating floral and water-powered auspicious patterns carries the hopes and tears of countless Chinese people. Having wandered overseas for nearly two centuries, enduring countless hardships, it has witnessed the arduous journey of countless Chinese people striving and appealing for its preservation. Gazing at this national treasure, Chen Yang felt an indescribable surge of national emotion; the records of the pursuit of lost cultural relics he had seen in the archives all came flooding back to him.

This clock is not only a crystallization of craftsmanship, but also a symbol of culture and a condensation of Chinese wisdom. Now that it is so close at hand, how could Chen Yang not be tempted? Opportunities are fleeting. If he could take this opportunity to temporarily "invite" it back to the motherland, Chen Yang had already made up his mind that he would seize this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity no matter what.

Upon hearing Chen Yang's unexpected request, Jason's expression immediately became complicated, a hint of panic flashing in his eyes. Clearly, he hadn't expected this young man to make such a bold bet. Loaning artifacts of this level was far beyond his authority; even museum directors in the United States wouldn't dare agree so easily. Fine beads of sweat appeared on Jason's forehead, his fingers unconsciously twisting together, caught in a dilemma. After a moment's thought, he could only turn to Smith beside him for help, hoping the other could extricate him from the predicament.

Upon hearing Chen Yang's terms, Smith's heart skipped a beat. His expression turned grave as he turned to look at the ancient, gleaming clock. The exquisite carvings on the clock shimmered with a warm golden light under the lamplight, silently proclaiming its preciousness and extraordinary nature.

Smith frowned, his eyes narrowed, and he quickly weighed the pros and cons in his mind. If such a precious artifact were lent out for a year, wouldn't the other party be able to easily prove that it belonged to them after thoroughly studying it? What worried him even more was whether Chen Yang's offer of such a wager meant that he truly had unique insights into Pollock's works. How could someone who knew nothing about oil painting suddenly become so confident? Did this kid have some hidden trump card?

A storm raged within Smith, and he began to doubt his judgment. A sense of foreboding crept into his heart; accepting the bet rashly could lead to disaster. He couldn't bet with him; what a loss it would be!

Yoshida's eyes darted around, a strange light gleaming in his narrow gaze. He slowly approached Mr. Smith, leaning forward as if afraid of being overheard, his lips almost touching Smith's ear. Yoshida's breathing was slightly rapid, his voice extremely low, yet he couldn't hide his inner excitement.

“Mr. Smith, let’s bet with him!” Yoshida tapped his wrist lightly with his fingers, his tone slightly seductive. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! Just imagine, if we win, he’ll have to kneel down and kowtow to us on behalf of China, admitting his mistakes. How delightful that scene would be!”

A sinister smile curled at the corner of his lips, a hint of contempt flashing in his eyes. "A Chinese person kowtowing and admitting wrongdoing before us—this humiliation will be etched in their memory for the rest of their life. This is not merely a bet on art; it is a cultural contest!"

Smith frowned slightly, unconsciously leaning back a little, creating some distance between himself and Yoshida. His fingers traced the buttons of his suit jacket, and he shook his head gravely. Smith's gaze swept across the crowd, landing on Chen Yang, who still maintained a confident smile, a hint of wariness and unease flashing in his eyes.

“Mr. Yoshida, I don’t think so.” Smith’s voice was low and cautious. “We can’t let our emotions sway our judgment. If this kid really has a way of authenticating oil paintings, we’re playing with fire.”

He looked directly at Yoshida, his tone becoming more serious. "If we lose, it will be a real problem! It's not just about lending out an artifact for a year; it's a huge loss to our professionalism and reputation. I don't want to take that risk."

After listening to Smith's words, Yoshida raised an eyebrow dismissively, a sneer playing on his lips. He put his hands in his suit pockets, leaned back slightly, and his confident, even somewhat frivolous, posture suggested that he had already seen through everything.

“No, that won’t do,” Yoshida shook his head slightly, a sly glint in his eyes, his voice carrying a deliberate ease and a sense of control. “Mr. Smith, you’re being too cautious. This is just a psychological tactic that the Chinese often use.”

He lowered his voice and drew a circle in the air with his right index finger, as if describing a trap carefully designed by Chen Yang. "This kid is trying to create the illusion that he is confident by increasing the stakes, so that we will doubt and back down. This trick is very common in the East, where they call it 'bluffing'."

Yoshida's eyes grew even more sinister, and his tone carried a hint of contempt, "He knows he doesn't have any real skills, so he resorts to this tactic. Look at his expression; he's gambling, not having an academic discussion."

Yoshida leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice, "Mr. Smith, think about it, if we back down now, what will they say? The Chinese will go around telling everyone that we were afraid of losing face and didn't dare to accept the challenge. They will portray this as a cultural victory for them!"

Yoshida's expression turned serious, his eyes narrowing slightly. "They'll say the Western world lacks confidence in its ability to assess its own culture, and they'll tell this as a joke to the whole world. The reputation and authority we've worked so hard to build will be questioned because of today's retreat."

Jason stood to the side, listening intently to their conversation, occasionally glancing at Chen Yang and the other members of the Chinese delegation to observe their reactions. His fingers unconsciously tapped his arm, his thoughtful expression gradually turning to agreement. When Yoshida finished speaking, he nodded slightly, quickly stepped forward, and gently covered his mouth with his hand to ensure his words wouldn't be heard by the opposing side.

“Mr. Smith,” Jason’s voice was tinged with tension and urgency, “I must say that I think Mr. Yoshida is right.”

His eyes were fixed on Smith, trying to convey his determination: "And things have come to this point, we have no way out now. If we refuse this bet, our reputation in the international art world will be called into question."

He swallowed hard, his voice growing more urgent, "Otherwise, what do we do? Just admit defeat like this? Let a Chinese kid swagger around on our turf?"

A flicker of unease crossed Jason's eyes, and he lowered his voice even further, "If we don't gamble with him now, this will spread like wildfire to every corner of the world tomorrow. Social media, art forums, academic circles—everywhere will be filled with news of our retreat."

His fingers twisted together nervously. "At that time, we will be the ones who suffer! Our professionalism, our authority, and the reputation we have built up over decades may be severely damaged by a retreat today."

Just as Smith hesitated, the bearded Anderson suddenly stepped forward, a resolute look on his face. He strode over to Chen Yang like a knight about to go into battle, his eyes gleaming with unwavering confidence. His signature thick beard trembled slightly with his powerful breathing. He patted Chen Yang's shoulder with his right hand and announced in a booming voice, "Count me in! If he's wrong, I apologize on behalf of the Tank Nation!"

“Mr. Anderson, no!” A middle-aged man from the Tank Nation delegation shouted at Anderson. His face turned pale instantly, and he waved his hands in the air, trying to stop an impending disaster. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, soaking the collar of his expensive suit.

“Mr. Anderson, please reconsider. This concerns our nation’s reputation!” Another representative from the tank nation stood up anxiously, his brow furrowed, his eyes filled with worry and confusion.

“Mr. Anderson, you’ve been too reckless!” A female representative also stood up and hurriedly echoed, a hint of barely perceptible anger on her face, her lips twitching as if she were trying her best to control her emotions.

Anderson remained unmoved. He stood tall and waved his hand to interrupt his companions' objections, his voice booming like thunder: "Enough! I, Anderson, have never been afraid of the consequences in my life! I trust my intuition, and I believe the truth will eventually come to light!"

Chen Yang looked at the burly foreign man who had suddenly sided with him, a hint of surprise and admiration flashing in his eyes. He smiled slightly, nodded, and surveyed the crowd opposite him with a determined gaze, secretly calculating the upcoming developments in the situation.

Smith's face grew even paler, the veins on his forehead becoming faintly visible, and his hands clenched into fists involuntarily, his knuckles turning white. This sudden turn of events had clearly disrupted his original plans.

“Anderson, do you know what this means?” Smith lowered his voice, his tone full of warning, his eyes fixed on Anderson as if trying to read his thoughts.

Anderson scoffed, his thick beard flying with the sound. "Of course I know. It means we should respect history and facts, not just protect our so-called face!"

Yoshida's face instantly turned ashen. He bit his lip, staring coldly at Anderson and Chen Yang, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the buttons on his suit, as if he were secretly plotting something.

The atmosphere in the meeting room suddenly became tense, the air thick with the smell of gunpowder ready to explode. Staff members from several countries exchanged bewildered glances, standing frozen in place, awaiting further instructions from their respective leaders.

Old Geng and Song Kaiyuan exchanged a meaningful glance, both seeing a hint of surprise and anticipation in each other's eyes. This unexpected "ally" might steer the situation in their favor.

The bearded man was Hassen's father, the same Anderson that Geng and his group had met in Barry last time. Hearing Anderson say this, many people from the Tank Nation delegation stood up to stop him. Anderson waved his hand and turned to look at them. "Since we all have doubts about this painting, out of a sense of professionalism, we should stand up. Now that someone can prove the authenticity of this painting, we should support him regardless of the outcome."

At this point, Anderson looked at Chen Yang, his gaze unwavering, "I believe in him!"

"Wow!" Chen Yang thought to himself as he looked at Anderson. "Uncle, you sure know how to bet! But you were lucky this time, you made the right bet!"

Seeing that Anderson had also joined in and even stood on the opposite side, Smith began to have his own thoughts. Since acquiring the painting, Anderson, a renowned European art connoisseur, had always harbored doubts. If this could dampen Anderson's arrogance, it would be a good thing, lest he oppose him at every turn in the future.

"OK!" With that thought, Smith snapped his fingers. "It's settled then..."

"What are you making decisions about? Did I agree to it?" Chen Yang interrupted Smith before he could finish speaking.