Chapter 620 — Never Bid First

CHAPTER 620

Never Bid First

“Lot Forty-One,” Fan Baoshou read, holding the catalogue up to the dawn light. “Black bronze cauldron, three legs, known as the Pit-Breaker. Attributed to Mo Tianheng. Lost for sixty years. Seller unnamed.” He looked up, beaming. “It’s better to see it with your own eyes, Master Feng! The viewing is this morning, and the sale is at noon!”

Shi Feng took the catalogue and read the entry himself. Then he read it again.

The Pit-Breaker. Third kiln, cold, he thought. Of course the old devil named his pot after where he walked out of.

“Xiaoyu,” Shi Feng said. “The Book.”

Tao Xiaoyu had already rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and opened it. She ran her brush down the column.

“Three hundred and eighty thousand, near enough,” Tao Xiaoyu said. “Two more contracts pay today.”

“Bidders lodge a bond of a hundred thousand at the door,” Fan Baoshou said quickly. “You get it back if you don’t win. That’s the rule.”

“Then I’ll lodge it,” Shi Feng said.

The Pavilion’s great sale hall had carved boxes along both sides for the Old Houses and the sect branches. Above them, under the roof beams, ran the cheap gallery: long benches at a silver a seat, packed with small buyers, old alchemists and people who’d come to watch the rich spend money.

Shi Feng took a bench seat in the cheap gallery between two old men, with Fan Baoshou sweating on the end.

In the Zhuo box, Zhuo Heng sat alone with the house seal on the rail in front of him. Fan whispered that Grandmaster Zhuo had sent his grandson with a sealed limit and orders to win something back for the house’s face.

When the porters carried Lot Forty-One onto the stage, the gallery went quiet.

It was squat and black, wider than a man’s arms, with three heavy legs and a lid mended at one edge with a seam of dull gold. The blackened bronze and heavy legs made it look built for years of harsh use, not for display.

“Mo Tianheng,” the old man on Shi Feng’s left breathed. “The greatest alchemist south of the river in a thousand years.”

“The greatest thief, you mean,” the old man on his right snorted. “He took formulas from three houses that I know of. My master cursed his name every New Year.”

“Your master couldn’t light a furnace without help,” the first old man said.

“My master was twice the man!” the second old man said.

“One plum blossom, the whole spring,” the first old man went on, ignoring him. “Sixty years gone, and they still carry out his pot like a sect treasure. He named it the Pit-Breaker himself. Nobody ever found out what pit.”

Shi Feng kept his eyes on the stage. I know what pit, he thought. I scraped its slag.

“Lot Forty-One opens at fifty thousand,” the auctioneer announced from the stage. He was a tall Pavilion man in blue who bowed to the boxes and to the gallery alike.

Fan Baoshou elbowed him.

“Bid, Master Feng!” Fan Baoshou hissed. “Bid now, before the houses wake up!”

“Senior Brother Lin’s Lesson thirty,” Shi Feng whispered back, enjoying himself enormously. “Never bid first. The first man to raise his hand tells the whole room how badly he wants it.”

“But what if nobody bids?” Fan Baoshou asked, horrified.

“Then I’ll buy it for fifty thousand,” Shi Feng said.

Somebody bid. A grey-haired master in the Yao Old House box raised two fingers.

“Eighty thousand,” the auctioneer said.

The Zhuo seal lifted.

“One hundred thousand,” the auctioneer said.

After that the ladder climbed fast. The Yao and Zhuo boxes answered each other's bids almost at once, neither willing to concede. One hundred and fifty thousand. Two hundred thousand. Two hundred and forty. In the gallery, people stopped whispering and started counting along.

Shi Feng kept his hands in his sleeves and let the two houses drive the price upward. He wasn't going to let Fan Baoshou's nerves rush him.

“You’re just going to watch?” Fan Baoshou asked, wiping his face.

“Let them reach their limits first,” Shi Feng whispered. “If I bid now, they'll both start fighting me instead of each other.”

Halfway up the ladder, a boy from Lamp-Oil Lane came panting up the gallery stairs with a folded note. Fan passed it along the bench. It was in Tao Xiaoyu’s hand.

Tang retainer paid. Salt guild paid. Book: 410,000.

Shi Feng folded the note and grinned.

“Two hundred and eighty thousand, to the Yao Old House,” the auctioneer said.

Zhuo Heng didn’t hesitate. He slapped the seal on the rail.

“Three hundred thousand,” Zhuo Heng said loudly.

In the Yao box, the grey-haired master looked at the cauldron for a long moment. Then he closed his fan and shook his head.

The gallery sighed.

“Three hundred thousand, to the Zhuo Old House,” the auctioneer said. “Three hundred thousand, once.”

Zhuo Heng leaned back in his chair. For the first time in days, he smiled.

“Three hundred thousand, twice,” the auctioneer said.

In the cheap gallery, between two arguing old men, Shi Feng stood up.