Jamie's confidence hadn't come from nowhere.
He genuinely trusted Lucien.
After all, during their time together, Lucien had demonstrated knowledge that bordered on absurd. Whether it was identifying artifacts, recognizing strange objects, or explaining obscure historical details, he always looked calm and certain—as if answers simply existed inside his head waiting to be retrieved.
And Carl had praised Lucien endlessly after the police station incident.
Apparently, in Carl's version of events, Lucien had practically become some legendary all-knowing master hidden among ordinary people.
So naturally, Jamie believed this appraisal event would become Lucien's chance to make a name for himself.
Lucien himself thought so too.
Because over the following days, he even paused his cultivation and studies for half a day specifically to review antique knowledge his grandfather had taught him.
He reread books.
Reviewed notes.
Refreshed old memories.
Prepared seriously.
Treasure appraisal wasn't simply identifying fake and genuine items.
A true appraiser needed history, culture, craftsmanship knowledge, and countless years of experience.
Though Lucien possessed abilities ordinary people could never imagine, when it came to antiques, he still respected the profession itself.
Soon—
the weekend arrived.
Early in the morning, Lucien packed a few essentials, hailed a taxi, and headed toward the museum.
By the time he arrived, the entrance was already crowded.
Luxury cars.
Collectors.
Media staff.
Experts.
And countless visitors.
The organizers led him directly inside.
According to the staff member, the appraisal area had been divided according to different cultural specialties.
European paintings.
Ancient artifacts.
Jewelry.
Middle Eastern collections.
Chinese antiques.
Lucien nodded in approval.
Jamie had done things properly.
At least this arrangement prevented experts from being assigned random categories they knew nothing about.
Not far away, several cameras had already been installed.
Some staff adjusted lighting while others tested microphones.
Clearly, this wasn't a casual gathering.
Everything looked very formal.
Lucien sat in his designated seat and waited.
Then...
he waited.
And waited.
Ten minutes passed.
Twenty minutes.
Thirty.
Meanwhile, experts handling European paintings and modern art already had long lines stretching outside their areas.
Lucien looked left.
Looked right.
Silence.
No one.
Not a single person.
"..."
He wasn't surprised.
Western collectors overwhelmingly valued local cultural items.
Italian paintings.
French sculptures.
Ancient Roman artifacts.
Chinese collections, on the other hand, interested relatively fewer people.
Many didn't understand the history.
Others simply didn't care.
Lucien remembered a story from years ago.
One of the bronze zodiac heads from Yuanmingyuan had once reportedly been used as decoration in someone's bathroom.
When it was finally identified, people nearly fainted.
History often created situations so absurd that reality itself felt fictional.
At last—
after a long wait—
his first customer finally arrived.
A middle-aged white man wearing a very expensive suit carefully sat opposite him.
His posture was formal.
His expression serious.
Most importantly—
he looked excited.
Very excited.
He slowly placed a box onto the table.
Opening it carefully, he revealed...
a porcelain plate.
"Sir."
The man looked nervous.
"Could you tell me what era this porcelain comes from?"
"When I bought it, the seller told me it was a rare imperial piece made exclusively for the last emperor of an ancient Eastern empire."
Lucien immediately thought of late Qing official kiln porcelain.
Xianfeng-era pieces.
During that period, wars had devastated production.
Combined with political chaos and foreign invasions, authentic surviving items truly were scarce.
Quite a few had eventually ended up overseas.
Thinking this, Lucien sat straighter.
Interesting.
Maybe the first customer really brought something worthwhile.
He reached over.
Picked up the porcelain.
Examined the glaze.
Looked at the craftsmanship.
Turned it over—
Then froze.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Across from him, the man immediately straightened.
Because from his perspective—
Lucien had covered his mouth.
His eyes widened.
His expression changed dramatically.
Clearly shocked.
The middle-aged man practically vibrated with excitement.
"Sir?!"
"How is it?"
"I spent ten thousand dollars on this!"
"It can't be fake, right?!"
Ten thousand?
Lucien slowly lowered the plate.
Then raised it again.
Then lowered it.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Finally—
he cleared his throat.
"Ahem..."
"Judging from the clay quality and glaze..."
"It isn't Qing Dynasty porcelain."
"And definitely not an imperial kiln item."
The man's smile froze.
"...What?"
Lucien looked at him.
"It's modern."
Silence.
The man blinked.
Then blinked again.
"No..."
"But it looks exactly like antique porcelain online..."
Lucien sighed.
"I don't gain anything by lying."
The man swallowed.
"...Not antique?"
"No."
"...Really?"
"No."
"...Absolutely sure?"
Lucien looked at him for several seconds.
Then silently flipped the plate over.
Pointed at the bottom.
Three large black Chinese characters sat there proudly.
康师傅
The middle-aged man stared blankly.
"...What does that mean?"
Lucien looked at him.
Expressionless.
"The largest instant noodle company in China."
"..."
"..."
"..."
Color visibly drained from the man's face.
Then turned purple.
Then red.
Without another word, he stood.
Turned.
And walked away rapidly.
"Sir."
"You forgot your plate."
Lucien called after him politely.
The man's pace increased.
Five seconds later—
he was practically running.
Lucien stared quietly.
Then sighed.
People who knew absolutely nothing about Chinese culture yet dreamed of getting rich overnight through antiques...
If scammers didn't target people like this—
who would they target?
Ridiculous.
Completely ridiculous.
After sending off Mister Instant-Noodle-Porcelain, Lucien resumed waiting.
Thankfully—
the second customer arrived much faster.
An elderly Asian man slowly approached.
Unlike the previous customer, this man carried numerous bags and bundles.
Porcelain.
Boxes.
Long wrapped objects.
Paintings.
He looked like he had emptied half his house.
But Lucien narrowed his eyes immediately.
Something felt wrong.
Very wrong.
His posture looked ordinary.
But his eyes weren't.
Sharp.
Hostile.
Cold.
Rather than appraisal—
he looked like someone preparing for interrogation.
The old man dumped everything heavily onto the table.
"Please appraise these."
Though he said "please," there wasn't even the slightest trace of politeness in his tone.
Lucien acted as though he noticed nothing.
"Open them first."
The old man quickly unwrapped everything.
Porcelain.
Jade.
Ancient paintings.
Various antiques covered the table.
Lucien casually picked up the first item.
Looked.
Put it down.
Second item.
Looked.
Put it down.
Third.
Fourth.
Fifth.
Less than two minutes later—
he finished.
The old man immediately leaned forward.
"Well?"
Lucien calmly looked up.
"New."
The old man blinked.
"What?"
Lucien repeated:
"All new."
Silence.
Then—
the old man's eyes widened.
SLAM!!
His palm struck the table loudly.
Nearby people immediately turned.
Even appraisers from neighboring sections looked over.
The old man's face turned red with anger.
"Nonsense!"
"You're talking complete nonsense!"
"You don't know anything!"
"What qualifications do you have to sit here pretending to be an expert?!"
His voice echoed through the hall.
Veins bulged along his neck.
"Do you know porcelain?!"
"Do you understand jade?!"
"Can you identify ancient paintings?!"
People nearby instantly began whispering.
Lucien remained seated.
Calm.
Motionless.
Then slowly...
very slowly...
he looked down at the old man's so-called treasures again.
And suddenly smiled.
Because now—
he was almost certain.
This wasn't someone seeking appraisal.
This old man...
had come specifically looking for trouble.