Chapter 185: Bidding Wars
Bidding Wars
Today’s auction has attracted quite a crowd.
The Glass Villa, nestled between quiet hills and still water, seemed almost alive tonight. Warm golden lights spilled from its tall glass panels, reflecting across the lake like broken fragments of stars. Luxury cars lined the curved driveway outside, engines cooling, doors shutting with soft authority as the wealthy and powerful stepped into the night air.
Inside, the atmosphere hummed—low voices, restrained laughter, the faint clink of crystal glasses. It wasn’t just an auction. It was a battlefield disguised in silk and smiles.
The items up for auction include not just antiques but also various rare treasures.
Some were relics of forgotten dynasties. Others were things whispered about in Old Martial Arts circles—objects soaked in history, power, or rumor. Every seat in the hall carried someone who wanted something... or someone who didn’t want others to have it.
Things like centuries-old herbs are basic setups in feel-good novels.
As for finding hidden gems at auctions and villains bidding up prices, those are standard setups too, allowing Fortune’s Chosen to show off and slap faces while collecting magical treasures.
Thinking about playing the role of the villain bidding up prices today, Julian D’Aurelius felt a bit excited inside.
He leaned back in his seat, one leg crossed over the other, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. Between his fingers, a pistachio cracked open with a soft snap. He tossed it into his mouth casually, chewing as if this entire gathering meant nothing more than mild entertainment.
But beneath that calm?
There was calculation.
There was anticipation.
And just a hint of mischief.
"Let’s see how this little show unfolds..." he muttered under his breath, voice low enough that only he could hear it.
Popping a pistachio into his mouth, Julian D’Aurelius glanced at Yana Tyson out of the corner of his eye.
She sat a short distance away, posture straight but relaxed, her long black hair falling smoothly over her shoulders like ink flowing in water. The soft glow of the overhead lights traced the contours of her face—sharp, vivid, alive. Her orange eyes, bright as embers, flickered with quiet attention.
Beside her sat Lucas.
The man wore confidence like a second skin. A faint, devilish smile rested on his lips—controlled, deliberate. His blue eyes carried that familiar arrogance of someone who believed the world would eventually bend to him.
Yana was talking to him.
Not stiffly. Not coldly.
Naturally.
Soft laughter slipped from her lips once, light and brief—but enough.
Seemingly not having taken his previous words to heart.
Julian’s chewing slowed.
Then—
[Sigh, damn it, all brainless teammates.]
His inner voice came with a dry edge.
[Still giggling with that Lucas.]
[I’ve hinted so clearly, if it doesn’t work, I’ll have senior Miracle Doctor Ravenswood pay a visit to your dad later.]
Julian sighed inwardly.
Yana Tyson’s fingers paused for the slightest moment.
It was subtle—so subtle that no one around her would notice. But inside, her thoughts stirred like ripples breaking the surface of still water.
Again.
That voice.
Clear.
Unmistakable.
She didn’t turn her head immediately. Instead, she let the conversation with Lucas continue, nodding occasionally, offering brief replies.
But part of her attention... drifted.
Why could she hear Young Master Juian’s thoughts?
Could it be that she was connected to him in some way?
Her brows drew together slightly, though her expression remained composed.
Connected...?
The idea felt ridiculous.
And yet—
She tried again.
Quietly, without moving her lips, she formed a thought deliberately.
(...Can you hear me?)
Silence.
No reaction.
Julian remained exactly the same—leaning back, casually cracking another pistachio, eyes lazily scanning the room like a bored spectator.
But when she tried speaking in her mind just now, he didn’t react.
Her lips pressed together faintly.
Strange.
So it was one-way?
Or... something else entirely?
"Miss Tyson?"
Lucas’s voice pulled her back.
She blinked once, then offered a small smile. "Hmm? Sorry, I got distracted."
Lucas chuckled softly, tilting his head. "You seem a bit off today. Still thinking about your father?"
That word—father—tightened something in her chest.
But she didn’t show it.
"I’m fine," she replied calmly. "Just thinking about a few things."
Lucas’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, as if trying to read something deeper. Then he smiled again—easy, confident.
"Don’t worry. I already told you, with a few more treatments, your father will recover completely."
Yana’s fingers curled slightly in her lap.
A few more treatments...
Julian’s voice echoed again in her mind, uninvited.
(...after treatment... he won’t live more than a year.)
Her heartbeat shifted—just slightly.
But outwardly?
She simply nodded.
"I know," she said softly.
After about half an hour, most of the guests had arrived.
The hall gradually settled. Conversations dimmed into low murmurs. Eyes turned forward.
A little old man in a white Tuxedo suit stepped onto the stage and began addressing the guests.
His steps were slow but steady, his presence calm yet commanding. The kind of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to be heard.
This little old man was the head of the Auction house in the Valemont area.
Behind him, the stage lights brightened, casting a soft glow over the display platform where the items would soon appear one by one.
Auction Building was the largest auction house in China, and in the later stages, it naturally became one of Obsidian Kings’s staunch allies, providing them with plenty of intelligence.
Julian’s eyes flickered faintly at that thought.
(Yeah... loyal dogs in the making.)
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
Once his speech concluded, the auction officially began.
A ripple of anticipation spread through the hall.
The first item up for auction was Dong Qichang’s "painting of lonely snow".
A staff member carefully brought it onto the stage, the scroll unfurling slowly under controlled hands.
The painting revealed a vast, desolate landscape—snow-covered mountains stretching endlessly, a lone path winding through silence. The brushwork was delicate yet powerful, carrying a quiet loneliness that pressed gently against the viewer’s chest.
Even those who didn’t understand art could feel it.
Cold.
Still.
Endless.
"This is a painting by William Dynasty artist Michelangelo ..."
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