“What are you trying to say?” Camille asked, looking at Mei with unconcealed mockery.
Murmurs rippled through the exhibition hall as the guests exchanged confused glances, their whispers growing louder with every passing second.
“So you’re saying this painting is fake?” Camille asked again, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
“What do you even know about paintings?” she continued before laughing softly.
“You grew up in the countryside.”
“The painting is fake,” Mei repeated decisively.
A wave of shocked gasps swept through the crowd.
“Do you even realise the seriousness of what you’re saying in public?” Odessa demanded angrily.
“This isn’t a place where you can throw around accusations.”
“She’s never studied art. Please forgive her. She only returned from the countryside not long ago,” Camille said apologetically as she looked around at the guests, perfectly drawing their sympathy.
In everyone’s eyes, Mei had gone too far.
The Silver Horse of Grace was worth more than three hundred million yuan.
Claiming it was fake was no different from questioning the credibility of the entire exhibition.
“It’s obviously a fake,” Mei replied, the faintest hint of a smug smile appearing on her face.
“Stop talking nonsense, Mei. You’ve embarrassed yourself enough,” Odessa snapped.
Hatred flashed through her eyes.
She despised the calm expression on Mei’s face.
It was as though nothing happening around her could shake her confidence.
Odessa reached for Camille’s wrist, intending to pull her away before the matter grew worse.
“Enough, Camille,” she whispered.
Deep down, Odessa knew that would be the wisest decision.
For some reason, Mei’s calmness unsettled her.
It almost looked as though she genuinely knew what she was talking about.
If they continued making a scene and Mei somehow turned out to be right, the people who would truly lose face would be themselves.
Unfortunately, Camille had no intention of letting Mei walk away so easily.
After enduring so much humiliation because of Mei, how could she possibly stop now?
Just then, someone near the entrance exclaimed, “Master Tang is here!”
The noisy exhibition hall instantly fell silent, everyone turned towards the entrance.
A man in his mid sixties walked in at an unhurried pace.
He was slightly tall with a plump but dignified figure.
His silver hair was neatly combed back without a single strand out of place, and a pair of thin gold rimmed glasses rested comfortably on the bridge of his nose.
Time had left faint wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, yet they remained exceptionally sharp, carrying the wisdom and confidence of someone who had devoted his entire life to art.
Every movement he made was calm and graceful, naturally commanding respect without needing to say a single word.
As soon as Master Tang entered the exhibition hall, everyone instinctively stepped aside to make way for him, making the atmosphere immediately tense.
Many of the guests had already heard the commotion surrounding the painting.
Since Master Tang was both a renowned painter and one of the country’s most respected art appraisers, there was no one more qualified to settle the dispute.
If he declared a painting authentic, very few people would dare question it.
Several journalists quickly raised their cameras while wealthy collectors and socialites watched eagerly, waiting to witness the outcome.
“Master Tang,” Camille greeted respectfully as she lowered her head.
She could not hide the nervousness in her eyes.
She had only heard stories about him during her years of studying art and from countless articles online, but seeing him in person was completely different.
He was even more refined than she had imagined, he stood there with quiet elegance, carrying himself with the confidence of a true master.
“What’s going on?” Master Tang asked calmly.
On his way over, he had already heard rumours that someone inside the exhibition hall had publicly declared one of the displayed paintings to be fake.
That naturally caught his attention because he had personally selected every painting for today’s exhibition.
“I’m sorry, Master Tang. My daughter was simply causing a scene,” Odessa hurriedly explained as she grabbed Mei’s arm.
On the surface, it sounded as though she was trying to protect Mei, but in reality, she wanted Mei to suffer an even greater humiliation before everyone.
“I wasn’t asking you, Madam.”
Master Tang’s calm voice immediately cut her off.
He disliked being interrupted, especially before he had finished asking a question.
That single interruption caused his impression of Odessa to plummet.
Odessa froze.
Her face flushed with embarrassment as she slowly lowered her head before quietly stepping back, wishing the ground would simply swallow her whole.
Master Tang shifted his attention back to Camille and gave her a slight nod, signalling for her to continue.
“Master Tang, first of all, I’m truly sorry for disturbing today’s exhibition. My name is Camille Zhao, and my sister claims that the Silver Horse of Grace is forgery,” Camille explained as she pointed towards the painting resting on the display stand beside Mei.
Master Tang’s gaze slowly landed on Mei, she looked far too young.
She certainly did not resemble someone who possessed such deep knowledge of art.
Something about her drew him in.
It was the quiet confidence she carried, as though she was certain of every word she spoke.
“Young lady,” he asked, “are you the one who said this painting is fake?”
“Yes,” Mei answered without hesitation.
“I said that.”
Master Tang carefully lifted the painting, examining it from every angle.
At first glance, everything appeared perfectly authentic.
There was nothing obviously wrong with it.
“Do you know who painted this?” he asked.
“Yes,” Mei replied.
“Master Yishen, It was one of his earliest paintings.”
A trace of surprise flashed through Master Tang’s eyes.
Most young people could barely recognise Master Yishen’s work, yet she answered without the slightest hesitation.
“Very good,” he said with a small smile.
“Then tell me, why do you believe it’s fake?”
The entire exhibition hall fell into complete silence.
Everyone stared at Mei, expecting her to embarrass herself.
“You can feel its weight yourself. Master Yishen had always preferred premium handmade linen canvases with several layers of traditional gesso. They were dense and slightly heavier than ordinary canvases because he believed the stronger foundation helped preserve every brushstroke for generations.”
She looked directly at the painting.
“This canvas is far too light, especially near the upper section. It lacks the firmness his usual materials always had. Someone probably chose a cheaper replacement that looks similar, but the difference becomes obvious once you hold it.”
Master Tang gently supported the painting with both hands.
The moment he paid attention to its weight, his expression subtly changed.
She was right.
The difference was incredibly slight, ordinary collectors would never notice it.
Even experienced appraisers could easily overlook it without deliberately comparing it to Master Yishen’s original works.
Admiration slowly appeared in his eyes.
“Secondly,” Mei continued, “Master Yishen’s brushstrokes were always bold and confident. Every stroke naturally overlapped the previous one without looking forced. His layers blended together like flowing water, creating remarkable depth even in the smallest details because he patiently built the colours one layer after another instead of rushing the process.”
Master Tang listened attentively, a faint smile gradually spread across his face.
She was describing techniques that only people who had truly studied Master Yishen’s paintings would understand.
“But this painting is different,” Mei continued.
“The brushstrokes are slightly lighter than they should be. Some layers overlap awkwardly instead of merging naturally. Certain areas even feel hesitant, as though the painter was carefully imitating Master Yishen’s style rather than painting with the confidence that made his works unique.”
She gently looked at the painting.
“To most people, the difference is almost impossible to notice.”
Master Tang immediately examined the painting again.
This time, the flaws seemed impossible to ignore.
Once Mei pointed them out, they stood out clearly before his eyes.
His heart was shaken.
Master Yishen had been his mentor.
He had spent years studying every one of his masterpieces, yet he had never noticed such subtle details.
He suddenly remembered seeing the Silver Horse of Grace during a prestigious appraisal auction days ago.
Perhaps the excitement of discovering what he believed to be a lost masterpiece had clouded his own judgement.
“It really is a forgery,” Master Tang finally declared.
His voice was calm, yet every word echoed throughout the silent exhibition hall.
His eyes rested on Mei with unmistakable admiration.
Who was this young lady?
How did she understand Master Yishen’s artistic habits so thoroughly?
What family had raised someone with such astonishing knowledge?
Question after question filled his mind.
The crowd instantly erupted into an uproar, they had expected to witness Mei humiliating herself.
Instead, she had exposed a forgery worth more than three hundred million yuan in front of everyone.
Not only was she breathtakingly beautiful, but she also possessed an astonishing talent for art appraisal.
If perfection had a face, it would surely look like hers.
Camille’s face twisted with unconcealed anger and resentment as she stared at Mei, her fingernails digging deeply into her palms.