Fake Painting

"Mr. Johnson, after admiring so many of your collections, why don't you take a look at mine?"

Wade suddenly spoke, noticing that Mr. Johnson's exhibition was nearly over.

Everyone turned their attention to him.

Mr. Johnson raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Wade, have you brought something remarkable with you?"

Wade smiled and gestured to Roe. "Go get it."

Roe nodded and left briefly. Soon, he returned carrying a scroll, which he presented with both hands.

"This is a painting by Gu Kaizhi, the famed artist of the Eastern Jin Dynasty," Wade announced. "While his work might not rival the Master of Clouds, its historical significance makes it highly collectible."

As he unrolled the scroll, a sweeping landscape painting unfurled before the crowd.

It did appear to be Gu Kaizhi's work.

Gasps of admiration rippled through the audience.

Wade basked in their envious stares, his pride swelling—until a voice cut through the awe like a blade.

"Don't embarrass yourself with a fake painting."

Wade's smile froze.

He looked around sharply.

When he saw it was John who had spoken, his face darkened instantly.

"You brat, what did you just say?"

"I said it's a fake," John replied calmly.

"A fake? Are you joking?"

Roe bristled with anger, more enraged than his father. "If this is fake, then are you implying that none of us here can tell the difference? Are you saying your art appraisal skills are superior to all of ours?"

His words ignited hostility in the room.

He noticed something we didn't? Does he think he's better than all of us?

The audience began to eye John with annoyance and contempt.

"Who is this guy, anyway?"

"Why is he always trying to show off?"

Mr. Johnson's expression grew stern. "If you two came here just to cause trouble, then please leave. You're not welcome."

Normally mild-mannered, Mr. Johnson was clearly angered now.

First, Alice had the audacity to criticize a genuine work by the Master of Clouds. And now, John dared to claim Wade's treasure was a counterfeit.

Were they here just to create chaos?

Even with his temper held in check, Mr. Johnson's patience had reached its limit.

John, unfazed, scoffed. "A fake painting doesn't become real just because you're offended. If you can't tell it's a forgery, that only reveals your incompetence."

"What did you say?"

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

"You arrogant punk! Do you even know who you're talking to?"

"Young people these days seriously need some discipline!"

"Enough!"

Mr. Johnson suddenly shouted, pointing angrily at John and Alice. "The two of you, get out right now!"

John didn't flinch. He turned to Alice. "A bunch of fools. I don't want to waste another second here. Let's go."

He took her hand and began to walk out. But before they could leave, Wade's voice rang out.

"Stop!"

John turned around slowly, eyes sharp. "What now?"

Wade's face was twisted with rage. He clenched his fists and growled, "You dare to accuse my collection of being a fake? You better give me an explanation, or I'll shut that mouth of yours myself."

"You want proof? Fine."

John sneered, striding toward the painting. He picked up a cup of hot tea nearby and, to everyone's shock, poured it directly onto the scroll.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Roe lunged at him, fists clenched—but froze mid-step.

Everyone stared in stunned silence.

John calmly rubbed the edge of the scroll. Suddenly, the top layer of rice paper separated—revealing another beneath it.

The crowd gasped.

It was now clear: the painting consisted of two layers of paper. The top had been artificially aged to imitate ancient authenticity. The bottom was a poorly done fake.

"You see?" John said, his voice biting. "The lower layer is a forgery. The upper layer just hides it. And none of you noticed this blatant trick. If that's not incompetence, what is?"

Silence fell like a heavy curtain.

Everyone's face turned stiff.

They were furious—but had no rebuttal.

Because… it was true. They hadn't seen it.

Even Alice looked surprised.

She had assumed John called it a fake just to provoke them, but to her delight, he'd been entirely correct.

Watching these pompous people being exposed was oddly satisfying.

Suddenly, Wade rushed forward and grabbed the ruined scroll in dismay.

"My three million!" he cried out in anguish.

He had spent a fortune on this painting—three million—just so he could flaunt it tonight.

But he had been duped. The painting was a fake.

Wade clutched his head in despair.

But the worst was still to come.

As the wet tea seeped into the paper, faint writing began to emerge near the edge of the scroll.

Small characters, once invisible, slowly revealed themselves:

"Only fools buy this."

"Puff!"

Wade choked with rage and collapsed to the floor. His body convulsed. His face turned the color of a ripe date.

"Dad! Dad, what's wrong? Doctor White, come quick!"

A middle-aged man with round glasses stepped out from the crowd.

Julian White.

He was both an art enthusiast and a respected physician—currently the Chief of the Acupuncture Department at New York Hospital.

Julian quickly knelt beside Wade and examined him. His expression turned grim.

"His anger has caused his liver yang to rise violently, which has stirred internal wind and disturbed his consciousness—he's suffered a stroke. His condition is very critical."

"What?! What should we do? There's no hospital nearby!" Roe cried, his face pale.

Julian hesitated, then said, "My teacher once taught me an acupuncture technique… It might help. But I'm not entirely confident."

"Please! Doctor White, I beg you—try! My father's life is in your hands!"

Julian nodded solemnly. "I'll do my best."

He pulled out a small set of ten-centimeter-long acupuncture needles.

"Target acupoints: Inner Pass, Summit Spring, Cubit Marsh, Middle of the Crook…"

As Julian began his treatment, John observed silently.

A moment later, he frowned and shook his head.

"That's not the correct method for the Restoring Yang Nine Needles technique."

John had recognized Julian's method immediately. It was the legendary Nine Needles technique—but Julian had clearly misjudged several of the acupoints.

Wanting to help, John said gently, "Doctor White, you're using the Restoring Yang Nine Needles, right? A few of your placements are off. You're missing the exact meridian flow—"

"Shut up!"

Roe turned on him with a furious snarl.

"If it weren't for you, my father wouldn't have collapsed! Don't stand there pretending to care now."

"If anything happens to him… I swear, I'll make you pay."