“What are you doing?”

  Jiang Yan whispered to Lin Yu. Since when had their family ordered mooncakes from Guihua Building?

  Jiang Jingren also quickly winked at Lin Yu, signaling that it was okay to boast a little, but not to go overboard.

  “You ordered mooncakes from Guihua Building?” Zhang Zhihui’s eyes were filled with a sarcastic smile. “Let me tell you, I asked someone specifically—this year, the mooncakes from Guihua Building are extremely limited. Even Secretary Xie received no more than two boxes. With such high demand, aren’t you afraid of getting caught lying through your teeth?”

  “Oh, Zhihui, how can you talk to Jiarong like that? Maybe Jiarong is telling the truth,” Uncle Zhang pretended to scold his son, then turned to Jiang Jingren and said, “How about we just wait and see? What do you think, Lao Jiang?”

  Jiang Jingren said nothing. He glanced anxiously at Lin Yu, confused by what his good son-in-law was up to. It was already Mid-Autumn Festival—where on earth would he get mooncakes from Guihua Building?

  “I’ll wait and see too,” Zhang Zhihui sneered.

  “Excuse me, is Mr. He here?”

  At that moment, a man in a red uniform confirmed the table number and asked the group carefully.

  In his hand, he held three elegant, traditional brocade boxes, each engraved with three gilded characters: *Guihua Building*.

  “That’s me,” Lin Yu quickly stood up.

  “Mr. He, these are the mooncakes our boss specially reserved for you. We wish you a happy Mid-Autumn Festival and a harmonious family!”

  As he spoke, the man handed the mooncakes to Lin Yu, then turned and hurried away. After delivering this order, he also needed to rush home to celebrate the festival.

  Uncle Zhang and Zhang Zhihui were stunned by the scene. From the packaging alone, these were clearly mooncakes from Guihua Building. They stared at each other, momentarily lost for words.

  “Uncle Zhang, come—didn’t you want to try one? Please,” Lin Yu quickly opened a box and offered the first pieces to Uncle Zhang and Zhang Zhihui.

  “Lao Zhang, what are you waiting for? Eat! Mid-Autumn Festival only feels right with Guihua Building mooncakes. That Changshengzhai stuff? What even is that? Just throw it away—who’d eat that?”

  Jiang Jingren was now beaming, overjoyed inside. His son-in-law was truly capable of anything! Not only had he gotten mooncakes from Guihua Building, but the boss had even sent someone to deliver them in person.

  Uncle Zhang and Zhang Zhihui took the mooncakes with ashen faces. They took a symbolic bite, only to find the mooncakes as bitter and unbearable as their own feelings.

  “How did you get these?” Jiang Yan couldn’t help but wonder.

  “One of my patients is the owner of Guihua Building,” Lin Yu smiled.

  “Oh, right, Dad—I just remembered. I specially prepared a gift for you for Mid-Autumn Festival,” Zhang Zhihui suddenly seemed to recall something. The gloom on his face vanished, replaced by confidence. He turned around, picked up a long brocade box from the floor, and handed it to his father.

  “What is this, Zhihui?” Uncle Zhang asked, pretending to be confused.

  In fact, he had already seen what was inside. But to show off, he deliberately acted like he didn’t know.

  “Just open it and see,” Zhang Zhihui smiled.

  Uncle Zhang nodded, opened the box, and exclaimed in surprise, “It looks like an ink wash painting!”

  Jiang Jingren perked up instantly when he heard that. He craned his neck to look inside—he was utterly obsessed with calligraphy and paintings.

  “Lao Jiang, come—let’s take a look together,” Uncle Zhang said, gesturing with a smile.

  “Good, good,” Jiang Jingren quickly agreed. He wiped his hands clean and helped Lao Zhang unfold the painting.

  “A painting by Bada Shanren?!” Jiang Jingren examined it carefully and gasped in amazement.

  Lin Yu was slightly shocked, caught off guard. He thought to himself, *What a coincidence today! Zhou Chen just gave me a painting by Bada Shanren, and now another one appears here. Since when have Bada Shanren’s paintings become so common?*

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  “Uncle Jiang really has a good eye,” Zhang Zhihui puffed out his chest proudly. “This is *Eagle and Rock*, a late work by Bada Shanren. Look at the style, the ink tones, the charm—it’s definitely a masterpiece among his late works.”

  Lin Yu glanced at the painting. The eagle on it was vividly depicted, its eyes rolled upward in disdain; the rock was strangely jagged. The style was unique—solemn, cold, yet smooth and restrained. It was indeed consistent with the style of Bada Shanren’s late paintings.

  He looked at the complacent Zhang Zhihui, smiled, and said nothing.

  “Well, Lao Jiang? What do you think?” Uncle Zhang asked, quite proud of himself.

  Like Jiang Jingren, he loved ancient celebrity calligraphy, paintings, and collecting antiques. The two often competed privately.

  After Jiang Jingren donated the *Mingqie Tie* (a famous calligraphy work), he had been walking with his head held high at work, overshadowing Lao Zhang. Lao Zhang had long wanted a chance to get even—and today, he finally got it.

  Apart from the *Mingqie Tie*, Jiang Jingren had nothing else impressive at home. This painting by Bada Shanren had completely outclassed all his collections.

  “It’s really good,” Jiang Jingren forced out after a long pause, his voice low. He felt a tightness in his chest, wondering how this old man Lao Zhang had gotten so lucky to acquire such a fine work.

  “Zhihui, this painting must have cost a fortune, right?” Li Suqin’s eyes were filled with envy.

  “It’s okay, didn’t cost much,” Zhang Zhihui said, even more proud as he held his head high. “I went to Taipei to discuss a cooperation project some time ago. A wealthy businessman sold it to me at a huge discount—I only spent less than three million yuan.”

  “Lao Jiang, you must know—if this painting were sold on the market, it would easily fetch over twenty or thirty million yuan,” Uncle Zhang said triumphantly, showing off to Jiang Jingren. “This wasn’t a purchase—it was practically a gift!”

  Jiang Jingren nodded, barely holding back his frustration. His eyes were fixed on the painting, his love for it evident.

  “Alright, that’s enough looking. If you haven’t seen enough, you can come to my house to look again later,” Uncle Zhang deliberately rolled up the painting and put it away.

  “Jiarong, what gift did you give Uncle Jiang for Mid-Autumn Festival?”

  Lin Yu had thought things would end there, but he never expected Zhang Zhihui to suddenly turn his attention to him.

  Lin Yu had stolen the spotlight with the mooncakes earlier, and Zhang Zhihui was furious about it. Now, he was determined to humiliate Lin Yu—compared to this famous masterpiece, those few mooncakes were nothing.

  “I…” Lin Yu was caught off guard by the question. He really hadn’t prepared any gift for his father-in-law.

  “Oh, Zhihui, why are you asking that?” Uncle Zhang said with a laugh, his words like a hidden knife. “Jiarong just became independent recently. It’s already good that he doesn’t spend his family’s money anymore—how can we demand a Mid-Autumn gift from him? Isn’t that right, Lao Jiang?”

  Jiang Jingren felt like his heart was full of holes; he wanted to spit out a mouthful of blood.

  “I really didn’t prepare a gift, Dad. It’s my mistake this time,” Lin Yu said apologetically to Jiang Jingren.

  “We’re family—why buy gifts? I’m not someone who likes to show off!” Jiang Jingren snorted coldly, clearly implying something.

  “Lao Jiang, what do you mean by that?” Uncle Zhang said, looking arrogant. “I kindly took out the painting for you to see, and now it’s ‘showing off’? If you have the ability, go ahead and show off something too!”

  Jiang Jingren’s face turned red with anger, and he couldn’t help but cough a few times.

  “While I didn’t prepare a gift for Dad, a friend of mine specially sent him one. Coincidentally, it’s also a painting by Bada Shanren,” Lin Yu said with a smile.

  “That’s impossible!” Uncle Zhang frowned, looking anxious. “There aren’t many of Bada Shanren’s paintings circulating on the market. How could they be so common all of a sudden?!”

  “Dad, it’s normal,” Zhang Zhihui said arrogantly. “Although there are few authentic works by Bada Shanren, high-quality imitations and fakes are everywhere. It’s easy to buy a fake for ten or twenty thousand yuan.”

  “Oh, a fake? What’s the point of a fake?” Uncle Zhang’s expression relaxed, and he said with a laugh. “But given Jiarong’s ability, it’s already quite a feat for him to get even a fake.”

  “To be honest, one of these two paintings is indeed a fake,” Lin Yu smiled. Then he took out the painting given by Zhou Chen and Shen Yuxuan, handed it to his father-in-law, and signaled for him to open it.

  Jiang Jingren was quite surprised. Fearing Lin Yu had really gotten a fake, he gave Lin Yu a meaningful look.

  “It’s okay, Dad. Ours is an authentic work—feel free to open it,” Lin Yu said.

  “So you’re saying ours is the fake? What big words!” Zhang Zhihui caught the implication in Lin Yu’s words and said angrily. “I’d like to see what kind of thing your painting is!”

  When Jiang Jingren unfolded the painting, Uncle Zhang’s eyes lit up. He found this *Ink Plum Blossom* painting truly extraordinary.

  Its overall style was vigorous yet smooth, exuding a sense of freedom. The ink was sparse but rich; the composition was clever, and the artistic conception was profound. It even faintly surpassed his *Eagle and Rock*.

  “Haha, Lao Zhang! What do you think of this painting? Doesn’t it compare well to yours?” Jiang Jingren also thought the painting was extraordinary and likely authentic. The gloom on his face disappeared, and he laughed loudly, brimming with pride.

  “Whether it’s authentic or not still needs to be verified,” Uncle Zhang snorted, turned his head away, and said no more.

  “Even if yours is authentic, that doesn’t mean ours is fake! And look how simple your painting is—it looks more like a copy!” Zhang Zhihui ground his teeth. This He Jiarong—why did he have to oppose him at every turn? And with his shabby appearance, where had he met such a wealthy friend?

  “Young man, could you lend me that painting to take a look?”

  At that moment, an elderly man with glasses stood up from a table in the adjacent private room. When he saw the painting in Lin Yu’s hand, his eyes lit up, and he hurried over.

  “May I ask who you are?” Lin Yu looked at the elderly man, who exuded an imposing aura, and couldn’t help but ask in curiosity.

  “I’m the director of the Qinghai Academy of Art. Here’s my business card,” the elderly man quickly took out a business card and handed it over. “I heard your conversation just now. I know a thing or two about Bada Shanren’s paintings—I can help you two identify which one is authentic.”