Ye Zhen explained that the first and second floors of Central Plains Restaurant were ordinary dining areas, open to the public on a daily basis. The third floor served as the conference hall, primarily hosting wedding banquets and business gatherings. This Flower Fair was taking place there.
“The fourth floor isn’t open to outsiders—the number’s inauspicious, so it’s reserved for offices.”
Gu Xianwang suddenly remembered something. “But my master’s here too. How are we going to slip past him when we go in?”
Ye Zhen waved a hand dismissively. “Relax on that front. The real big shots aren’t on this level. There are five and six above it, complete with sky gardens and cascading tea pavilions, set aside exclusively for the bosses to sip tea and talk business.”
They stepped out of the elevator, and Ye Chan craned her neck, peering around before muttering, “We don’t have to keep our faces covered anymore once we’re here, right?”
Ye Zhen sighed. “…No, we don’t. Take them off already. It’s embarrassing.”
Gu Xianwang had barely spoken a word since boarding the elevator, her face a mask of tension. Her heart thudded inexplicably, as if she had stage fright. It was only upon entering the Flower Fair hall proper that she realized how utterly different it was from her imaginings—hardly distinguishable from an old-fashioned playhouse. A stage dominated the front, with the seating below divided into sections: clusters of stools around low tables where patrons could order tea and light snacks. No one would give you a second glance for cracking open sunflower seeds.
The zones were distinguished by different flowers, arrayed from front to back according to proximity to the stage. The official opening time had already passed, yet only a dozen or so tables were occupied, leaving about a third of the seats empty.
Ye Chan whispered, “Are the seats first-come, first-served? This Eight Gates Gathering doesn’t look that popular.”
Ye Zhen shook his head. “Not even close. We’re stuck in the Peony District—see? Just those two empty tables left.”
“That far back?”
“It’s not as if Old Master Ye is coming in person. Snagging this spot is damn lucky already. And don’t think this is the whole crowd. Nobody pays the Flower Fair’s start time any mind. Come two o’clock, the real auction kicks off, and it’ll fill right up.”
Chatting as they went, the three claimed a table on the far right of the fifth row. Ye Zhen ordered a pot of Tieguanyin tea and two platters of nuts. Gu Xianwang eyed the menu prices—steep compared to the street, but not outrageous for a venue like this.
By the time their tea arrived, the Yang family member who had entered the building with them made his appearance. He strode directly to the front-row Orchid District, glanced between the two tables there, scratched his head, then retreated to the second row before settling in.
Gu Xianwang asked, “Who gets the front row?”
Ye Zhen replied, “Those first two tables are practically never used—reserved for the two bosses of the Rat-Walkers if they ever deign to show for a ceremony. The true Orchid District starts on the second row: seats for the major families and deep-pocketed clients.”
Ye Zhen had given them the rundown on the Rat-Walkers’s bosses over lunch. The pair were phantoms in the underworld, known collectively by their jianghu moniker “Flowing Cloud Mad Dog”—rumored to be a woman handling operations and a man overseeing fieldwork. Their mystique had even inspired a crude little verse: Flowing Cloud drifts illusory, forever formless; when calamity overflows and death comes unwarranted, Mad Dog appears.
Ye Chan shot a dubious glance at the rough-looking guy up front, who had just ordered a Coke to go with his dried squid strips. “Families? That guy?”
“Don’t be dense. Didn’t you spot the Jade Guanyin around that little bro’s neck when he came in? Mark of the Minnan Yang Family. Word is, they’ve got a prodigy this generation with senses sharper than anyone’s. He was wearing gloves to flash his invitation—gotta be him.”
“Oh. Sounds plausible enough. What’s his name?”
Ye Zhen popped a cashew into his mouth, pondering. “He’s from the Bai generation, I think… Yang Baibai.”
Yang Baibai… Gu Xianwang watched his every gesture in silence, her mind flooded with memories from days gone by. The sharp clang of a gong jolted her back to the present. She checked her watch—nearly two o’clock.
The hall hadn’t seemed so full moments ago, but now every seat brimmed with people. In the rear sections, tables groaned under extra stools crammed in, four or five to a spot. The security guards from downstairs now stood sentinel at the hall doors. No more arrivals.
A stunning long-haired beauty in a moon-white embroidered qipao ascended the host’s platform, fiddling with her earpiece and sound check. The massive screen behind her flickered to life, frozen on an image of a corner-chipped antique porcelain bowl.
Ye Zhen frowned. “This is odd. The host’s already up there—why haven’t they shut the doors?”
No sooner had he finished speaking than a subdued murmur rose from behind. Gu Xianwang turned her head and saw two women emerging from the back door. The woman in front wore a bright red cheongsam, her hair pinned up with the tail of a white jade hairpin glinting amid the strands. A pair of vividly green bangles adorned her wrist, perfectly complementing her makeup and lending her an air reminiscent of Zhang Ziyi in Night Banquet—commanding and magnetic.
Someone nearby remarked, “What wind blew in today? How did Third Sister Red end up here?”
Ye Chan blinked in confusion. “Who’s that?”
“…One of the Rat Bosses. Didn’t expect her to show today,” Ye Zhen replied.
Gu Xianwang’s attention, however, was captured by the figure trailing behind this bigwig.
The woman stood around five foot nine, her long hair cascading over her shoulders. She wore a pure black stand-collar Chinese-style suit, but her feet were shod in a pair of striking red Ghost Emperor Alligator Boots—like a streak of blood piercing the night. This splash of color contrasted sharply with her broad shoulders and narrow waist, which radiated raw masculine allure, yet her face was utterly unremarkable.
If anything, it was too unremarkable: rounded, blunt features, flat and expressionless. She lacked the cunning worldliness of a street hustler or the sharp-eyed savvy of a merchant. Her presence was as bland as plain water, leaving everyone baffled at how she had risen to claim a seat beside a Rat Boss.
Ye Chan topped off Gu Xianwang’s teacup and asked, “Sis, what’re you staring at?”
Gu Xianwang snapped back to reality and shook her head. “Nothing.” Still, for some reason, the woman looked familiar.
“Pfft, big shots and their business? Nothing to do with small fry like us. Let’s just see what excitement the auction brings.”
With Third Sister Red and her unnamed companion seated, the hall’s front and back doors swung shut in unison, marking the official start of the Flower Fair. The host skipped the pleasantries and dove right in. Today’s warm-up lots numbered just three, the first being that chipped white porcelain bowl from the picture.
Only then did they grasp the importance of the seating arrangements, front and back. The item came with scarcely any details beyond the image; it sat on the display stand before the screen. Prospective bidders could approach for a closer look, but no farther than the Orchid District.
Gu Xianwang had never been to a proper auction, but she knew the basics had to be provided. “Just leaving this one thing out there like that—who’d even bid?”
“You wouldn’t know,” Ye Zhen murmured, hand over his mouth. “It’s called an auction, but really, it’s just a warm-up game to test everyone’s eye for treasure. That bowl’s clearly some beggar’s rice bowl from God-knows-which dynasty—not worth a dime as an antique. But if a sharp-eyed spotter here recognizes something special and snags it on the cheap, that’s a profit.”
“Most lots here aren’t valuable; the ceiling’s maybe thirty or fifty thousand. Bids run two thousand a hand, and whether you overpay or score a steal comes down to your own eyes.”
Gu Xianwang nodded, seeing the light. “Sounds like a playground for treasure handlers.”
Ye Zhen chuckled. “Anyone can join in. Cheap thrills for a little cash.”
Just then, Ye Chan heard someone nearby call out, “Dart!”
She couldn’t help wondering aloud, “What’s that mean? You folks still doing the old dart betting auction routine?”
The dart betting auction had been a hot Song Dynasty pastime. In essence, while browsing street stalls, if you fancied a twenty-copper trinket but only had two coppers to your name, you’d ask the seller, “Dart?” If he agreed, you’d settle it with coin tosses, lots, or darts. Win, and that twenty-copper prize was yours for two.
“Close enough, but the rules have evolved,” Ye Zhen explained. “See that guy flashing a one? It means either one thousand flat or double. No other bidders? His price is one thousand. If there are counters, his one turns their two thousand into his one thousand equivalent. No cap per item.”
Ye Chan winced, rubbing her temple. “Whoa, this rule feels riddled with holes. So I could just keep darting forever?”
“One dart per round only. Abuse the multiples to jack up prices maliciously? You’re still on the hook for the full amount. Changchun Society members get one return window per year too. Say you land a killer multiple but get caught in a bidding frenzy and overbid—you can hand it off to the top bidder and cover their deposit instead.”
“In a nutshell, you might make some money, but the seller never loses.”
Ye Chan stared at the guy hurling darts from ten meters away at the Dart Betting Auction, smacking her lips in amazement. “You folks really know how to have fun.”
Sure enough, once two items totaling less than eighty thousand bucks went under the hammer, the whole place lit up with excitement.
Gu Xianwang, swept up in the middle of it all, couldn’t help getting caught up in the energy. “I never dreamed there’d be a spot like this in the modern world. It’s just like… a temple fair.”
Ye Chan swung her legs as she nodded. “Right? If I’d known it was this much fun, I would’ve followed Sherlock Holmes’s lead and scoured every last bit of the family stash ages ago. Then I’d charge into this blood-soaked underworld and rise as a big boss.”
“You?” Ye Zhen let out a scoffing laugh. He was about to rib her some more when his phone buzzed. Glancing at the caller ID, he murmured, “I’ve got something to deal with—I need to step out for this call. You two okay holding down the fort in here?”
Gu Xianwang nodded. “We’re good. Don’t worry about us.”
Ye Zhen glanced around, gave a slight nod, and said, “I’ll hurry back.”
The moment he stepped out the door, the crowd erupted in noise again. Gu Xianwang turned back in surprise and spotted a photo of a small bead projected onto the massive screen.
Murmurs immediately flooded her ears.
“You’ve got to be kidding. Someone’s auctioning off a Snake Spirit Pearl here?”
“That’s a fake, right?”
“Has to be. A real one would fetch a fortune.”
Gu Xianwang stared at the knuckle-sized black pearl on the display stand, frozen in shock. What a coincidence—another Snake Spirit Pearl, identical in size and texture, showing up at nearly the same time.
Could Master have slipped out early that morning just to put it up for auction?
No… that didn’t make sense. Master wouldn’t stoop to something like that. Hers was a counterfeit, safely stashed in the family warehouse.
Her mind was a battlefield of doubts when Ye Chan let out a low cry beside her. “Sister Gu, your nose is bleeding!”
Gu Xianwang instinctively cupped her hand to catch it, and a steady trickle of warm blood pattered into her palm. Ye Chan snatched up a few tissues and thrust them at her. Clutching a wad of them, Gu Xianwang frantically pressed it to her nose. When she looked up again, Yang Baibai, Third Sister Red, and that mysterious guest seated in front of them had all turned around to stare right at her.
