Banquet 1.1
Private auction at Schönbrunn Palace, Vienna, Austria
The shards of light refracted from the crystal chandelier fell on Fan Jinci's profile. He stood in the corner of the auction hall, his gray-blue pupils coldly sweeping over the catalog of items on the display stand.
He was unusually dressed today—a black suit with a subtle pattern, a silver scalpel-shaped lapel pin, and a glimpse of his pale wrist peeking out from his cuffs.
Without a tie, the top button of the shirt was loosely undone, as if in some silent resistance.
"Don't you like it?" Jiang Zhaoyan's voice came from beside him, with a hint of lazy laughter.
He held a glass of champagne in his hand, his platinum cufflinks gleaming coldly under the light, and he looked as if he had just stepped off the cover of a financial magazine, elegant and aloof.
Fan Jinci didn't accept the wine, but simply said, "I don't drink."
Jiang Zhaoyan chuckled and tapped the rim of the glass lightly with his fingertips: "I know, this is for myself."
His gaze lingered on Fan Jinci's collar for a moment, a hint of interest flashing in his eyes.
Inside the auction hall, guests gathered in small groups, talking in hushed tones.
Occasionally, people would cast their gazes toward Fan Jinci and Jiang Zhaoyan, with curiosity and speculation in their eyes.
"Is that the young master of the Jiang family?"
"Who's that next to him? I've never seen Young Master Jiang bring anyone to this kind of event before."
"I heard he's a newly hired forensic consultant for the Jiang family, but..."
"But what?"
"But look at the way Young Master Jiang looks at him, like he's looking at an advisor?"
Whispers drifted into Fan Jinci's ears. He turned a page of the auction catalog with a blank expression, his fingertip pausing for a moment on a picture of an antique anatomical instrument.
Jiang Zhaoyan noticed it and a slight smile appeared on his lips: "You like this?"
Fan Jinci closed the booklet: "It's just a professional habit."
Jiang Zhaoyan chuckled softly, then suddenly leaned close to his ear, his voice extremely low: "Dr. Fan, do you know that your eyelashes tremble slightly when you lie?"
Fan Jinci gave him a cold glance.
Jiang Zhaoyan had already straightened up and gestured to the waiter: "Lot number 17, register for bidding in advance."
The atmosphere gradually heated up after the auction officially began.
When the set of 19th-century antique anatomical tools was presented on the display stand, Jiang Zhaoyan raised his bidding paddle and bid as casually as if he were buying a cup of coffee.
"Lot 17, the current highest bid is 120,000 euros, Mr. Jiang has bid 150,000, is there any higher bid?"
The venue was completely silent.
Just as the auctioneer was about to bring down the gavel, a deep male voice suddenly came from the corner:
300,000.
The entire audience erupted in uproar.
Jiang Zhaoyan narrowed his eyes and turned to look at the source of the sound—it was a man wearing half a silver mask, sitting in the shadows of the last row, only his sharp jawline and slightly upturned lips could be seen.
Jiang Zhaoyan raised his paddle again: "500,000."
The masked man chuckled: "One million." The hall fell completely silent.
Jiang Zhaoyan's fingers lightly traced the sign, a cold glint in his eyes. Fan Jinci pressed down on his wrist, his voice extremely low: "That's enough."
Jiang Zhaoyan glanced at him, then suddenly smiled and put down the sign: "Give it to him."
After the auction was interrupted, a waiter approached Fan Jinci carrying a black velvet box.
"Sir, this is entrusted to you by the buyer."
Fan Jinci frowned and didn't take it. Jiang Zhaoyan reached out and took the box, lifting the lid—inside was the set of antique dissection instruments, the blades gleaming coldly under the light.
There was also a card tucked inside the box, with the following words written in gold lettering:
"To the Jiang family conglomerate, to Young Master Jiang and Madam Jiang—may your scalpel remain forever sharp."
Fan Jinci's pupils suddenly contracted.
Jiang Zhaoyan's expression turned completely cold. He closed the box, his voice carrying a dangerous undertone: "Where is the buyer?"
The waiter shook his head nervously: "They've already left, only this is left..."
He handed her a silver coin, with an eye engraved on the front and a letter on the back—
“M”
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