Xiaoxi saw that she had so many treasures that she hadn't yet sold, and she was determined not to let the old man be half-dead and waste time.

There's no other way; we have to resort to drastic measures.

She picked up the tea in front of Elder Cheng, quickly took out the other half of the Enhancement Pill from her brocade storage bag, and threw it into the tea.

"Grandpa, have a cup of tea to calm your nerves."

After drinking the tea, Old Cheng's eyes soon lit up with a sharp light. He then took several large gulps and emptied the teacup, leaving only tea leaves.

He felt as if he had been injected with a vial of chicken blood, and he almost did a somersault, sitting up straight on the sofa.

Old Cheng pulled off the microphone and earpiece, and whispered, "Little friend, don't bid on this book, just sell it to me directly, how about that?"

"Grandpa, I'm not selling these three books; I'm keeping them for myself."

Old Cheng's heart skipped a beat. He didn't dare to show too much on stage, and his thoughts drifted away...

Master Cheng's full name is Cheng Sheng. This book, "The Art of Dividing Gold," has been lost to the world for over a hundred years. I never thought that the book written by their ancestor, Master Cheng, would still be seen in my lifetime.

Because Cheng Sheng's ancestors were tomb raiders, they stopped in his generation, but that didn't prevent Cheng Sheng from becoming a master of treasure appraisal later on.

This is their clan's book, and no matter the cost, they must return it to the clan.

Old Cheng calmed himself down, put on his earpiece, and began seriously appraising the treasure: he couldn't afford to offend this young lady in front of him.

Soon, the entire table of treasures was auctioned off and sold out.

Even the cheap goods that Du Xin bought for 500 yuan at a street stall were resold for more than 20 million yuan.

Next, Xiaoxi took out the painting "Snow-Covered Reeds".

Old Master Cheng wanted that book, and he also wanted to curry favor with Xiao Xi.

"Little friend, everyone says this painting isn't an original. Can you prove it?" Let's hand the stage over to the little auntie for a performance.

Xiaoxi stood up and walked to the center of the auction stage, whereupon the staff quickly helped her unfold the painting.

"Good evening, everyone. I am Ye Xiaoxi. The painting I am going to introduce today is an authentic work by Wang Chaoyun, a calligrapher and painter from the Southern Dynasties."

"Wang Dajia is mainly devoted to calligraphy, and he has very few paintings."

The years he spent in exile in Cangzhou were the most unsuccessful period of his life. It was during this time that he painted two masterpieces, one of which is this "Snowy Reeds and Grass".

Later, after Wang Chaoyun was reinstated as prime minister, he never painted again.

Many knowledgeable people in the audience were stunned.

I never expected the little girl to be so knowledgeable; every word she said hit the nail on the head.

At this moment, Dong Guangfa stood up, no longer able to remain calm.

“Miss Ye, we know all that you’re talking about. I’ve been collecting for so many years and only now do I realize that the painting ‘Snowy Reeds’ on stage is a fake. You keep saying it’s genuine, but you’re just spouting nonsense.”

This immediately brought the atmosphere to a climax.

"Quiet down, everyone. Why are you adults so restless? Xiaoxi hasn't finished speaking yet."

“Look closely here.”

The photographer quickly pointed the lens at the spot Xiaoxi was pointing to, and an enlarged version of the thatched cottage section of the painting "Snowy Reeds and Thatched Huts" appeared on the big screen.

The room fell silent.

Xiaoxi pointed to the window of the thatched cottage, where an old man was sitting.

"The old man held an oil lamp in his hand. Although the oil lamp only illuminated the remaining snow in front of the window, it reflected the undying hope in Wang Dajia's heart. It was a lamp in his heart that illuminated his future."

Xiaoxi's tender and calm voice seemed to have a magical power, drawing everyone into the atmosphere of a cold night, a thatched hut, and lingering snow.

"So the difference between a genuine work and a fake is..."

"The oil lamp in the old man's hand!"

"The copyist of the forger, though talented, was so eager for quick success that he inadvertently overlooked this precious detail."

"Therefore, the painting on the stage is the original."