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

Old Song's voice carried a hint of self-deprecation, but more so, it was filled with satisfaction and pride. His gaze followed Chen Yang intently. Old Song recalled the first time he met Chen Yang; back then, he could never have imagined that this seemingly ordinary young man would shine so brightly on such an important international stage. At this moment, a strong sense of mission rose within Old Song, and he secretly resolved to dedicate all his efforts to nurturing this rare talent and contributing to the future of Chinese art.

Secretary Li, who was standing not far from Chen Yang, opened her mouth wide and looked at Chen Yang in disbelief. She had heard Zhou Jiqing's words clearly, and Chen Yang... Chen Yang was actually right!

Secretary Li felt her heart pounding, and countless questions flashed through her mind: Just who is this Chen Yang? Antiques, clocks, oil paintings... how come he seems to know everything?

Even Dean Zeng looked on in disbelief, her eyes wide as saucers and her mouth slightly agape. Countless questions flashed through her mind: How did this young man do it? Does he really have such amazing talent? Or is it just a coincidence?

But a moment later, Dean Zeng's expression changed from shock to joy, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. She slowly walked towards Chen Yang, each step filled with solemnity and anticipation. When she reached Chen Yang, a kind smile bloomed on her face.

Dean Zeng extended his right hand and gently patted Chen Yang's shoulder. "Chen Yang, congratulations!"

"Thank you, Dean Zeng," Chen Yang smiled slightly, a hint of shyness on his face, but his eyes gleamed with confidence.

He said softly, "Actually..." He paused, as if considering his words, "Actually, I was just lucky. I thought the time period was about right, so I just said it offhand, and it came true, haha!"

Chen Yang's laughter carried a hint of humility, but his bright eyes betrayed him, revealing an affirmation of his own abilities.

“No, no, no,” Anderson strode over, his face beaming with excitement and admiration. He opened his arms wide, his eyes gleaming with approval, his voice filled with enthusiasm, “May I give you a hug for our victory, young man?”

Chen Yang was infected by Anderson's enthusiasm, and his smile became even brighter. "Of course, Mr. Anderson."

He opened his arms to welcome this authority in the Western art world. The two embraced gently, and at that moment, the collision of Eastern and Western cultures created a wonderful chemical reaction between them.

During that brief embrace, Anderson leaned close to Chen Yang's ear. He whispered in broken but sincere Chinese, "I know you weren't just saying it casually; you noticed from the beginning, didn't you?"

As the two parted, a sly glint flashed in Chen Yang's eyes. He looked at Anderson with a smile, his eyes full of wisdom and insight. "Mr. Anderson, you're quite something too. Didn't you start to have doubts about this painting as soon as you came in?"

Chen Yang's tone carried a hint of teasing, and Anderson shrugged slightly. "No, no, I didn't start to suspect it from the moment I walked in. I had suspected it before this 'Untitled' painting, but I just couldn't find any solid evidence."

Hearing the applause from the audience, Jason felt a surge of resentment and anger. He felt his professional authority had been seriously challenged; a young man from the East had seen through the truth faster than them, the Western experts. This sense of defeat pierced his pride like a sharp sword.

Jason gritted his teeth, his eyes gleaming with unwavering determination; he refused to give up. Suddenly, an idea flashed through his mind: perhaps there was still a way to turn the tide. With this glimmer of hope, Jason abruptly stood up, his movement so sudden that it startled everyone around him.

He waved his hand and shouted with all his might, "Wait a minute!"

His voice contained all his unwillingness and stubbornness. Then, like a cheetah poised to pounce, Jason charged towards Zhou Jiqing. His eyes gleamed with urgency and expectation, as if he had grasped at the last straw.

Jason asked, almost breathlessly, "Zhou, are there any external factors that could alter the particles of oil paint, such as humidity or temperature, making fifty-year-old oil paint look like it's from the 1970s under a microscope?"

His voice was filled with anxiety and anticipation, as if he were pleading with Zhou Jiqing for a negative answer so that he could overturn Chen Yang's judgment.

Zhou Jiqing shook his head, then gave a wry smile. "Mr. Jason, your idea is very creative, but I'm afraid it's not very realistic."

He paused, then continued, "The composition and structure of oil paints are very stable. Even after years of use, their essential characteristics do not change much. Moreover, we are using a high-precision microscope, which can capture details at the microscopic level."

Zhou Jiqing's tone carried a hint of helplessness, "To put it another way, even if there were such external factors, it would only make the oil paints of the 1970s look like those of the 1950s, not the other way around. It's just like how we humans only get older, not younger."

Zhou Jiqing's tone became more serious, "Mr. Jason, think about it, who would forge a work from a later period? That doesn't make sense. Forgers always want their work to appear older and more valuable."

He shook his head slightly, a hint of sarcasm flashing in his eyes. "Which has more artistic value, a famous oil painting from the 1950s or a famous oil painting from the 1970s? You should know the answer without me saying it, right?"

He paused to make his words more convincing, "It's like a bottle of fine wine; the older it is, the higher its value."

"Similarly, the same applies to works of art. No one would be foolish enough to forge a genuine 1950s piece into a 1970s work; that would be tantamount to destroying its value." Zhou Jiqing's words carried an undeniable air of authority.

Jason was speechless after hearing this. He lowered his head in frustration, frowning as he fell into deep thought. His heart was churning with a mixture of doubt and resentment. How could this young man discern the age of oil paint with the naked eye? This question echoed in his mind, like an insurmountable chasm. He tried to explain it with his professional knowledge, only to find that all theories seemed pale and powerless before this remarkable young Chinese man.

Standing nearby, Yoshida narrowed his eyes, his gaze sharp as a blade, sweeping back and forth between Chen Yang and the jubilant Chinese delegation. A surge of anger burned within him, yet it was suppressed by cold reason. How could these Chinese people possibly surpass us in the realm of Western art? Countless thoughts flashed through Yoshida's mind, each searching for a possibility to turn the tide.

He had to find a way, he roared inwardly. How could they lose to these Chinese? This thought was like a thorn, deeply embedded in his pride. Yoshida felt an unprecedented pressure; he knew that if they couldn't find a breakthrough here, their position in the international art authentication world would be severely shaken.

Anxiety and unease surged within Yoshida like molten lava. His eyes gleamed with resentment and determination, and then, an idea suddenly flashed into his mind like a bolt of lightning in the darkness.

Thinking of this, Yoshida stepped forward and looked at Zhou Jiqing, saying, "Mr. Zhou, are you sure about your test results?"

His tone carried a hint of provocation, yet also a deep sense of testing. Yoshida knew this might be their last chance, and he had to seize it, even if there was only a sliver of hope.

“Of course I’m sure,” Zhou Jiqing said, standing straight and nodding at Yoshida, a hint of disdain in his eyes. “Does Mr. Yoshida have any doubts about my test results? I am an expert with many years of professional training, and every conclusion I draw is supported by sufficient evidence.”

“No, no, no,” Yoshida waved his hand lightly, nodded heavily at Zhou Jiqing, and wore a fake smile. “I still have considerable trust in Mr. Zhou’s skills, but…”

As he spoke, Yoshida frowned, a sly glint in his eyes. He turned to look at Mr. Smith, his voice carrying a hint of conspiracy, "Mr. Smith, because this matter involves a European chiming clock, I have some doubts about Mr. Zhou Jiqing's identity. This matter may be much more complicated than we imagine."

Those around them immediately began to murmur amongst themselves upon hearing this, and a tense atmosphere filled the air. Chen Yang stood to the side, his brows slightly furrowed, as if he sensed something was amiss.

"Yoshida, are you kidding me?" Smith looked at Yoshida in disbelief, his voice filled with anger. "I've known Zhou for many years, and this is him in person, no doubt about it. Do you know what you're saying?"

Yoshida remained calm, his unpleasant smile still on his face. "Mr. Smith, please calm down. We all know that there are many secrets in the art appraisal circle. Sometimes, even the most familiar people may be hiding shocking truths."

“Mr. Smith, that’s not what I meant,” Yoshida smiled slightly, then looked up at Zhou Jiqing with a provocative look in his eyes. “I was referring to Mr. Zhou’s identity. Perhaps we should re-examine Mr. Zhou’s background and qualifications. After all, in this world full of lies and deception, we have to be vigilant.”

Zhou Jiqing narrowed his eyes, immediately understanding what Yoshida was trying to say, and merely gave a faint, cold laugh. His gaze was as sharp as a knife, staring directly into Yoshida's eyes, already seeing through the other's thoughts, "Mr. Yoshida, what exactly are you trying to say? Why don't you just say it outright? I'd like to hear what your brilliant ideas are."

Upon hearing this, Yoshida's lips curled up slightly, revealing a meaningful smile. He slowly turned to Smith, his tone carrying a hint of deliberate concern, "Alright, since Mr. Zhou is so frank, then I will speak frankly as well."

As he spoke, he bowed slightly to Zhou Jiqing, his posture seemingly respectful, but actually concealing a hidden meaning.

“Mr. Smith,” Yoshida began softly, his gaze constantly shifting between Zhou Jiqing and Smith, “what I mean is, although Mr. Zhou claims to be an American citizen, he is ultimately Chinese. I'm sure you're well aware of that, aren't you?”

Smith frowned, seemingly displeased with Yoshida's words, but didn't say anything more. Yoshida, however, didn't stop, instead intensifying his argument: "Just imagine, what if someone had told Mr. Zhou about our bet, and he had deliberately claimed the oil paints were from the 1970s? We have to guard against that possibility."

Upon hearing this, Zhou Jiqing's expression grew even colder. He clenched his fists slightly, struggling to control his emotions. However, Yoshida's next words struck everyone present like a heavy hammer blow.

“Mr. Smith,” Yoshida lowered his voice, speaking with a hint of mystery, “you mustn’t forget that the Chinese are masters at exploiting feelings of kinship and the concept of being descendants of the Yellow Emperor. They can really get to any angle! You should know their methods better than I do.”

These words caused an immediate silence to fall over the room. All eyes were on Zhou Jiqing, awaiting his reaction.