Ryan stood in the center of the exhibition hall, acutely aware of the growing number of curious eyes on him. The murmurs of the crowd hummed around him, but he deliberately tuned them out, focusing on maintaining his composure. Opposite him stood Philip, his face tight with a smile that barely masked his discomfort and irritation.
Suddenly, a deep, authoritative voice broke through the low buzz of conversation. "What's happening here? Why is there such a commotion?"
The crowd fell silent, parting to make way for an elderly gentleman who strode into the center of the gathering. Dressed in a dark, tailored suit, he walked with a steady, deliberate pace, his bright eyes scanning the room with a sharpness that seemed to pierce through pretenses. His neatly combed silver hair and imposing presence demanded respect. The moment he entered, the atmosphere shifted; even the most casual observers straightened their posture.
"That's Mr. Stuart!" someone whispered in awe, their tone a mixture of reverence and excitement.
Philip's expression flickered—an instant of unease quickly replaced by a deferential smile. He stepped forward, his voice laced with nervous cordiality. "Mr. Stuart, what a surprise to see you here. I didn't expect you to visit this section."
Stuart Wilson, a renowned expert and one of the world's leading authorities on antiques, was the exhibition's special guest and chief evaluator. His presence alone was enough to turn heads. With decades of experience, countless published works, and a reputation for unparalleled accuracy, his name carried immense weight in the art and antiques world.
Stuart gave Philip a brief nod before letting his gaze settle on the blue-and-white porcelain vase at the center of the discussion. His voice, calm yet commanding, cut through the lingering tension. "I heard there's been some disagreement over this piece. Can someone explain what's going on?"
Philip, clearly eager to take control of the narrative, was quick to respond. "Mr. Stuart, this is a Yongle-period blue-and-white vase, acquired from a private collector. However,"—he cast a derisive glance toward Ryan—"this young man seems to think it's a forgery. I suspect it's just inexperience talking."
Stuart turned his sharp eyes toward Ryan, studying him for a moment before speaking. "And what do you think, young man? Do you believe this piece is inauthentic?"
Feeling the full weight of Stuart's attention, Ryan took a steadying breath. Though the pressure was immense, he refused to falter. "Sir, it's not my intention to disrespect anyone," he began, his voice steady. "But based on the glaze, the thickness of the body, and the inconsistencies in the brushwork on the base, I believe this vase is more likely a late-Qing-era replica, not a genuine Yongle piece."
A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some exchanged skeptical glances, while others whispered in hushed tones.
"Bold claim," someone muttered, half impressed, half dismissive. "He's taking a big risk calling that out."
Unperturbed, Stuart said nothing more. Instead, he moved toward the vase with a measured grace, slipping on a pair of white gloves. Picking up the piece carefully, he began his examination. His movements were deliberate, each action executed with the precision of a seasoned professional. He ran his fingers over the surface, tapped gently on the body to assess its sound, and examined the base with a magnifying glass.
Minutes passed, though to those watching, it felt like hours. The air in the hall was thick with anticipation. Even Philip, usually so self-assured, stood stiffly to the side, beads of sweat forming at his temple.
Finally, Stuart straightened, removing his gloves with practiced ease. He set the vase back on the pedestal and turned to Philip. "This is, without a doubt, a late-Qing-era replica," he said, his voice steady and unequivocal.
The reaction from the crowd was immediate. A mix of gasps and murmurs erupted as people leaned toward each other, exchanging excited commentary.
"He was right?" someone whispered, sounding incredulous.
"I can't believe Philip got it wrong," another added in disbelief.
Philip's face turned a deep shade of red, his composure cracking under the weight of Stuart's verdict. "Mr. Stuart, are you sure?" he stammered. "Perhaps the thickness of the body is—"
Stuart raised a hand, silencing him. "I'm certain. The overly bright glaze, the heavy body, and the crude brushstrokes on the base are all telltale signs. This isn't even a particularly convincing replica."
Philip's lips pressed into a thin line, his shoulders slumping slightly under the scrutiny of the onlookers.
Ryan stepped forward, his voice calm yet firm. "If we've established the vase's authenticity—or lack thereof—might I ask you to evaluate another piece? This wooden elephant," he said, gesturing to the small sculpture. "Philip dismissed its value earlier, but I believe it deserves a second look."
Intrigued, Stuart turned his attention to the wooden sculpture. He lifted it with the same care as he had the vase, his fingers tracing the intricate carvings. He examined the inlaid ivory and gold details under his magnifying glass, tapping lightly on the base to assess its material and craftsmanship.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of Stuart's mouth as he set the piece down. "This," he began, his voice carrying a note of admiration, "is a remarkable find. A 19th-century rosewood carving with ivory and gold inlays. The level of detail in the carving is exceptional—only a master craftsman could achieve such precision. Its current market value would be no less than $12,000."
Gasps of astonishment rippled through the crowd.
"I can't believe it! That tiny sculpture is worth more than twelve grand?"
"And Philip just left it in a corner? That's a major oversight."
Philip's face turned ashen, his lips parting as if to protest, but no words came out. He looked at the wooden elephant as if seeing it for the first time, his humiliation now complete.
Stuart directed his next words to Philip, his tone measured but firm. "It's concerning to see such a valuable piece treated so casually. If you claim to be an expert, you must show greater respect for the items in your care."
Philip lowered his gaze, mumbling something unintelligible before stepping back.
Ryan, meanwhile, approached Stuart, nodding respectfully. "Thank you for your evaluation, sir. It's an honor to have your expertise confirm my thoughts."
Stuart gave a small smile. "You have a good eye, young man. It's not often I see someone with such sharp instincts. With time and experience, I believe you could make a name for yourself in this field."
Before Ryan could respond, Stuart turned to the elderly gentleman standing beside Emma. His expression softened. "Harold," he said, a note of familiarity in his voice. "It's been years. You haven't changed a bit—still as sharp as ever."
Harold chuckled, stroking his white beard. "And you, Stuart are as meticulous as I remember. It's good to see you again."
Emma watched the exchange with an amused smile before glancing at Ryan. She seemed to silently reassure him that this was a rare moment between two old friends.
As the crowd began to disperse, Ryan felt a familiar buzz in his mind. The system interface appeared before him:
"Hidden Task Completed: 'Defeat Philip Hargrove.'"
"Reward: +150 Bonus Points."
Ryan blinked in surprise. He hadn't received any notification about this task before, but it seemed his actions had triggered the reward. "Hidden tasks…" he muttered under his breath. This opened up entirely new possibilities—could he find other hidden tasks if he paid attention to the right opportunities?
Stuart interrupted his thoughts, gesturing toward the wooden elephant. "Young man, this piece is extraordinary. If you're willing to part with it, I'd be happy to make an offer."
Before Ryan could respond, the system flashed again:
"New Task: Sell the Wooden Elephant."
"Requirements: Ensure a safe and fair transaction. Minimum sale price: $12,000."
"Reward: +200 Points."
Ryan's lips curved into a small smile. "Mr. Stuart," he said, his tone calm yet confident, "I appreciate your interest. If you'd like to discuss terms, I'd be happy to find a quiet place to negotiate."
Stuart nodded approvingly. "I respect your professionalism. Let's talk."
The crowd gradually dispersed, and Philip's figure had long since vanished.