Chapter Sixty-Three: The Auction House (1)

Seven days passed in the clan of Independence, and Bingyan could no longer resist the fervent hospitality of the blood clan. Each morning, as soon as she opened her eyes, a beautiful blood clan maiden stood at her bedside, assisting her with dressing, then serving her breakfast—a life truly befitting the wealthy. It was no wonder; the blood clan, steeped in ancient history, had accumulated wealth to such an astonishing degree that even the richest families worldwide paled in comparison. The hidden treasures of the blood clan were immeasurable.

On this day, Leng Bingyan had restored his male form, strolling down the streets of Italy with a girl of similar age by his side. The girl had golden hair, deep blue eyes, and appeared to be fourteen or fifteen—a living doll, remarkably adorable. She was none other than Kelly Smith, the youngest princess of the Independent Clan, and the younger sister of Ruth. With Ruth’s status rising sharply, Kelly’s own prestige soared as well; she had become a figure of authority without real power, yet her words carried weight.

The little girl clung affectionately to Bingyan’s hand, pointing ahead to a grand building, exclaiming, “Bingyan, let’s go there! That mall just opened, and last time I saw a gown I liked. Why don’t we buy it today?”

Smack! Bingyan struck Kelly’s head without mercy, scolding, “Call me ‘brother.’ If you dare call me ‘sister’ again, I won’t take you out next time.”

Kelly stuck out her tongue, baffled by why this “goddess” liked to appear as a boy. Wouldn’t it be better to remain a goddess? She knew nothing of Bingyan’s situation, believing him to be a goddess by nature.

“Alright,” Kelly conceded, surrendering to Bingyan’s threat.

Truth be told, Kelly was bored in the clan’s manor. Though she appeared to be a teenager, her real age exceeded two hundred years. Now a blood clan count—a prodigy among her peers—she would ordinarily be sent out to experience the world, much like Ruth, whom Bingyan once saved. But as the only female descendant of the Independent Clan, she was cherished and rarely allowed out alone. Only Bingyan’s presence had given her this chance to venture outside.

Now, hearing Bingyan’s threat, she quickly submitted.

As Bingyan and Kelly bantered, several men in black quietly approached. At first glance, their manner was reminiscent of gangsters—indeed, they were. The Italian Mafia: a name that inspires dread, conjuring images of gunfights, heroic deeds, and murderous intrigue, the epitome of underworld power. There were several mafias worldwide, but none as authentic as Italy’s. The Italian Mafia ruled the criminal underworld, its dominance owed largely to its formidable strength—a strength many outsiders did not realize stemmed from the blood clan behind the scenes.

The Smith Independent Clan, Ruth’s family, controlled the Italian Mafia. The members gathering around Bingyan were blood clan kin, approaching respectfully: “Young master, the patriarch has urgent business with you. Please return to the manor at once.”

Whenever Bingyan resumed his male form, he insisted all blood clan members address him as “young master”—far preferable to “goddess.” The patriarch referred to here was not merely the Smith Clan leader, but Ruth, the blood clan leader of all thirteen clans.

Bingyan frowned. What could Ruth want? He had told Ruth not to disturb him unless it was important. If Ruth was seeking him now, it must be urgent.

A possibility flashed through Bingyan’s mind. He hurried back to the clan’s manor, ignoring the blooming gardens and lush grass as he rushed to the secret chamber, where Ruth and several clan leaders awaited.

“What is it? Is there news about the Divine Dragon Cauldron?” Bingyan took the main seat, wasting no time on pleasantries, voicing his suspicions. On the way, he had wondered if Ruth had finally found a clue to the Divine Dragon Cauldron—a strong possibility.

Ruth nodded respectfully. “Just as the young master says, we’ve received word from the Gangrel Clan in France. There is news regarding the whereabouts of the Divine Dragon Cauldron.”

“You mean the next cauldron—whose name we don’t know, since the third Wind Mocking Cauldron’s guidance to the fourth Pulao Cauldron has vanished—is in France?” Bingyan pressed.

“Yes, young master,” Ruth confirmed. “The Gangrel Clan’s representative in France reports that an auction house will host an event in three days. Among the items listed is a Chinese antique—a small cauldron—remarkably similar to the Divine Dragon Cauldron you described.”

Ruth sought to elaborate, but Bingyan interrupted, “Whether it’s the Divine Dragon Cauldron or not, I must go to France. I want to see for myself what Chinese antique they’re selling!” His words carried a palpable pressure; Ruth and the others sensed Bingyan’s anger, perhaps because he hailed from the East.

The city grew ever more cacophonous, the night cold and bleak.

France’s nights blazed with neon, awash in decadence. Whether friends or strangers, people greeted each other with a pat on the shoulder and a brief exchange, as if they’d known one another for years. Such was Western sociability, distinct from China’s reserved isolation and scholarly focus.

Yet Bingyan knew that behind the revelry lurked cold hypocrisy. The one who called you brother today might stab you tomorrow. While the West’s intrigue in war paled before China’s strategists, its duplicity in business was unmatched.

Walking the streets, Bingyan’s handsome figure drew the eyes of heavily made-up women, some of whom brazenly threw flirtatious glances his way.

“Damn!” Bingyan cursed internally, rolling his eyes. “A bunch of insatiable females!”

Few understood his disdain. Just then, a seductive French woman sidled up to Bingyan, winking flirtatiously. “Hey, little brother, are you from Japan?”

Bingyan felt a wave of disgust. Japan? Did she see all Asians as Japanese? He replied coolly, “China.”

“Oh, so you’re from China!” the woman exclaimed, moving closer and whispering in his ear, “I know China is very conservative. Chinese men are shy. I bet you haven’t experienced life’s greatest pleasures yet?” Her warm breath caressed his ear, her manner enticing.

“Life’s greatest pleasures?” Bingyan sneered, casting a cold glance at her.

“Exactly!” she chirped, oblivious to his scorn. “You’re so handsome—I bet you’re far better than those empty Japanese men. Why not let me show you a good time tonight?”

Bingyan ignored her, freeing himself from her embrace and walking on without a backward glance. “With you? I’m not interested.”

The woman, seeing her quarry disregard her, grew angry. “I knew you kids couldn’t handle it! Acting all aloof—do you know who I am? My father is a Paris city councilman. Offend me, and you’ll face cruel retribution!”

Listening to her hysterics, Bingyan chuckled, muttering, “Big chest, small brain!” He continued his tour of Paris, paying her no mind.

Truthfully, he was deeply disappointed in Paris, in this nation that flaunted human rights and prosperity. Beneath the splendor lay real filth.

In Western countries dominated by capital, the poor held no status, even less so than in China’s bureaucracy-led society. Human rights? Bingyan scoffed. Apart from using “human rights” to attack political rivals and developing nations for greater gain, had they ever considered improving the plight of their own impoverished masses?

Amid the dazzling lights, the rich ruled as predators. True democracy lacked real social justice. Some struggled in the cold, but those in power could selectively ignore them. Outwardly, they proclaimed: “France is a democracy; everyone lives well, carefree and joyful…”

Self-deception, nothing more!

Bingyan hurried to the auction house, leaving the city’s nightlife behind. The towering building occupied a vast area, its white façade epitomizing French architecture. Standing before it, Bingyan felt the smallness of humanity—like ants.

“This Christie’s Auction House is quite impressive,” Bingyan mused. The auction would take place in the grand hall at the top of this skyscraper.

Before coming to France, Bingyan had obtained information about the auction from Ruth.

Christie’s Auction House, founded in 1766 by James Christie in London, was the world’s oldest art auction house. Its offices spanned ninety major cities globally, and the opulent building before Bingyan was its French branch.

“Young master, please follow me.” A blood clan member waiting at the entrance greeted Bingyan, confirming his identity and speaking quietly.

Cain Smith was an ordinary count of the Smith Independent Clan, and had been Ruth’s close friend since childhood. Their bond was deep. Recently, when Cain learned Ruth had become the blood clan’s first golden emperor, leader of the entire race, he could scarcely believe it. He doubted that the patriarch was truly his childhood companion, but ultimately confirmed it, and was stunned by Ruth’s rapid rise—had Ruth been blessed by Satan and Cain himself?

Thankfully, Ruth was not one to forget old friends. Even as clan leader, he kept Cain at his side. On this trip to France, Ruth brought Cain along to arrange Bingyan’s itinerary and serve him.

This was an opportunity! Knowing all about Bingyan, Cain’s gaze toward Ruth grew ever more sincere—a true friend, who treated others equally regardless of status.

Cain also knew that serving the “goddess” was a rare honor, and strove to do his utmost, attending to every detail, even daily meals.

Bingyan knew all of this, and thus held a favorable impression of the diligent young blood clan member.

Nodding to Cain, Bingyan followed him into the VIP auction suite on the second floor of Christie’s. Though the auction hall was at the top of the building, the top two floors were connected; their location could rightly be called the hall’s second floor.

Obtaining a VIP suite was easy, given the blood clan’s wealth and influence.

“Young master!” As Bingyan entered, Ruth rose from the sofa, ushered him to the main seat, and handed him a buttoned bidding device.

“Young master, this is Christie’s bidding device. If you wish to bid, simply press this.”

Bingyan nodded, moving to the front. Through the glass, he could observe every movement in the auction hall below.