The new work of Master of Clouds

Tuesday.

At the Oriental Auction House.

The venue was packed.

Such a grand occasion could only compare to a concert by a top-tier superstar.

Master of Clouds was the superstar—of the calligraphy and painting world.

Alice, clearly impressed, asked, "John, how did you manage to get such amazing seats?"

When she received the ticket yesterday, she'd been too excited to notice the seat number. It wasn't until she arrived at the auction that she realized it was the absolute center position—prime real estate.

The lighting, the view, even the comfort of the seat—everything was perfectly adjusted.

These were seats typically reserved for renowned collectors in the art world. Ordinary attendees didn't even dare dream of sitting here.

Alice could feel the gazes of countless people falling on her, many likely wondering who she was.

But John simply replied with a calm smile, "Maybe I got lucky."

"Are you kidding me?" Alice shot him a look. "If you're that lucky, go buy a lottery ticket."

She didn't believe for a second that luck could land him two center seats with consecutive numbers. Besides, she'd heard these seats were permanently reserved and not even for sale. There had to be more to it.

But John only smiled and offered no further explanation.

Alice pouted and vowed to drag him to bed for questioning after the auction.

Meanwhile, in the very back row of the hall, several pairs of gloomy eyes fixated on the two of them.

They belonged to the people John had embarrassed at Mr. Johnson's gathering two nights ago.

Roe sneered, "How dare they sit in those seats!"

Then he shifted uncomfortably.

What kind of garbage chair is this? So damn hard!

Just then, the host took the stage and launched into a typical round of opening remarks before introducing the first auction item.

The early lots were mostly warm-ups—novel, but not impressive enough to stir the crowd. Everyone was here for one thing:

The final item.

Finally, after several rounds, the moment everyone had been waiting for arrived.

"The next item to be auctioned," the host announced, "is the new work by Master of Clouds—what you've all been eagerly anticipating."

A collective gasp rippled through the hall.

The crowd erupted into excitement, collectors straining forward in their seats, eyes gleaming.

A glamorous woman walked onstage, carrying the auction piece in her hands.

The host, relishing the suspense, continued, "I'm sure you're all curious to see what Master of Clouds has created this time. I promise, you'll be surprised."

"Oh, come on already!" someone shouted. "Just show us the damn painting!"

A wave of agreement swept through the room.

With a teasing smile, the host finally nodded, signaling the woman to unveil the work.

The red cloth fell away.

And the moment the painting was revealed, the room fell into stunned silence.

It was unmistakably the style of Master of Clouds—but…

"Isn't that Eagle Rests on the Tree?" someone called out, shocked.

Indeed, it was.

It was a well-known piece, exposed and admired long ago.

"What the hell?" someone muttered. "That's an old work. How can they claim it's new? Are they seriously trying to pass this off as fresh?"

"This is a scam! The Oriental Auction House is better than this!"

"Shameless! Absolute fraud!"

Despite the outrage, a few collectors grumbled grudgingly, "Well, fraud or not, I've decided to buy it."

The room buzzed with dissatisfaction—not at the painting itself, but at the perceived deception.

Even if the auction house hadn't hyped it as a "new" work, people would still have shown up in droves. But to promote an old painting under false pretenses? That was insulting.

As loyal admirers of Master of Clouds, many in the crowd felt betrayed.

Among them, Mr. Johnson sat frozen.

His heart skipped a beat.

Wait… don't I already own this painting?

Is mine a fake?

Or… has my house been robbed?!

He broke into a cold sweat.

Despite the rising frustration in the crowd, the host remained perfectly composed.

He chuckled and said, "Please don't panic. This is 'Eagle Rests on the Tree,' but it's also Master of Clouds' new work."

"What do you mean?" voices chorused in confusion.

"Look carefully," the host said. "Don't you notice anything different?"

The crowd turned their eyes back to the painting, scrutinizing it.

Then someone exclaimed, "I see it! The red mark on the eagle's head—it's gone!"

Indeed, it was missing.

Most people in the art community had already seen images of the original online. Now, comparing the current version, the difference was striking.

The host explained, "Yes. This painting is actually a revised version of the original. Master of Clouds believed the red mark was a mistake. He thought it was careless and decided to redraw the piece—this time, properly."

A murmur of understanding and appreciation began to spread.

"So that's it. I knew the auction house wouldn't stoop to deception."

"I always thought the red mark looked out of place. This version feels more harmonious."

"Master of Clouds is so meticulous! He actually redrew the whole thing just to correct one detail. I admire him even more now."

"He's like a second parent to me," someone gushed.

John: There's no need for that.

Alice beamed and wrapped her arms around his neck, practically vibrating with excitement. "Told you! Quick—praise your amazing sister!"

"You're amazing, Alice," John said, smiling.

Meanwhile, in the back row, the mood was ice-cold.

The expressions of Roe and his companions twisted with discomfort.

Roe, in particular, looked like he'd swallowed a lemon.

He had confidently analyzed the original painting's symbolism the other night, even earning praise from Mr. Johnson as a "mind reader of Master of Clouds."

And now, here he sat, embarrassed beyond words.