769: Chapter 764 Is anyone else bidding higher?

Shen Yan held the steering wheel with one hand.

His other hand rested on the pocket of his chest,

feeling the faint warmth emanating from it.

"Did Daddy find that amazing musical score?"

"I found it."

Shen Yan looked at the city lights gradually brightening ahead.

"Not only did I find the score,"

"Daddy also found"

"A way to make your piano"

"Learn to speak."

He ended the call.

Shen Yan's gaze shifted to the tablet computer on the passenger seat.

It displayed a world map.

The next stop: Asia.

This fragmented scroll was only 35% complete.

The remaining parts,

the system had given him a vague hint,

were scattered in some corner of that ancient continent.

Since he had started this,

he was determined to piece this composition together completely.

Whether it was for Youyou,

or for the empire of Artificial Intelligence he was about to build,

this was a crucial puzzle piece he had to secure.

"Wu Ya."

Shen Yan pressed the call button again.

"Book me a flight ticket to Vienna."

"As soon as possible."

"Also, have Chen Guangke take over all company affairs for this week."

"Tell him,"

"As long as the company isn't bankrupt, don't call me."

The rain in Vienna always carried a scent of old mildew,

like the fermented glories in this city's history.

When Shen Yan walked out of the airport, he didn't let anyone hold an umbrella for him.

The collar of his black trench coat was turned up, blocking the cold wind from sneaking down his neck.

A black mercedes-benz with diplomatic license plates was already waiting by the roadside.

A blonde, blue-eyed local driver stood beside the car, wearing white gloves, his posture perfectly straight.

This was arranged by Wu Ya.

She had said on the phone that in this circle, status was the entry ticket.

If he had taken a taxi to that place, even the doorman would have stopped him a kilometer away.

The destination this time was not a magnificent Golden Hall,

nor the tourist-filled Schönbrunn Palace.

It was a private estate in the suburbs of Vienna: the Vogel Estate.

This location couldn't be found on a map, but within Europe's top collecting circles, this surname represented two centuries of heritage.

Today was the day the Vogel family was clearing out their inventory,

commonly known as the "Attic Auction."

There were no bright lights of Sotheby's or Christie's.

Only a few dozen "insiders" who had received embossed invitations.

Shen Yan sat in the back seat, his fingers lightly tapping his knee.

That was his habitual movement when he was thinking.

The system panel floated across his retina:

[Distance to target location: 15 km.]

[Target status: Stationary.]

[Remaining time limit: 4 hours.]

That red dot was flickering deep within the estate, like a heart waiting to be unearthed.

The car drove onto a gravel road lined with plane trees.

The sound of the tires crushing the stones was exceptionally clear in the silent, tree-lined avenue.

Ten minutes later,

a Baroque-style building appeared in his view.

The exterior walls were covered in dark red climbing ivy,

making it look somewhat eerie.

The entrance was filled with luxury cars.

A rolls-royce phantom was just the starting point.

He could even see two limited-edition Bugattis.

Shen Yan got out of the car.

The attendant at the door took his invitation, his gaze lingering for two seconds on Shen Yan's Asian face,

with a trace of imperceptible scrutiny.

"Mr. Shen."

The attendant switched to standard German.

"Please come in."

"However, please note that today's auction only accepts cashier's checks from the Bank or gold."

Shen Yan didn't speak.

He simply pulled out a black Centurion Card from his pocket,

pinching it between two fingers,

and flashed it in front of the attendant.

The attendant's waist instantly bent down,

the arc so precise it looked like it had been measured with a ruler.

"My apologies."

The hall was not as noisy as he had imagined.

The light from the crystal chandeliers was dimmed low.

Men in tailcoats held champagne glasses and conversed quietly.

Women wore half-veiled hats, their jewelry glittering in the dim light.

The air was thick with the smell of expensive cigars and aged red wine.

Shen Yan found a corner seat.

No one here knew him.

In this circle of old European money, he, the nouveau riche from the East, was like a wild duck that had stumbled into a flock of swans.

Out of place.

But he didn't care; he was here to hunt, not to make friends.

"Hey, look over there."

A few low chuckles came from not far away.

They were speaking English, with a heavy London accent.

"That Asian guy."

"Probably a tourist lost from some tour group."

"Or maybe some petty trader hoping to snag a bargain to resell."

Shen Yan didn't turn around.

He sipped the soda water in his hand.

The system screen suddenly flickered violently.

[High-energy reaction detected!]

[Target item is about to appear.]

[Item description: Giuseppe Tartini's 'Devil's Trill' manuscript (Completion Volume).]

[Current carrier: Lot No. 12 — 'The Anonymous Music Theory Notes'.]

Shen Yan set down his glass.

His gaze pierced through the crowd, locking onto the small display stand ahead.

An old auctioneer wearing a gray waistcoat walked up,

holding a small wooden gavel that was even slightly chipped.

"Ladies and gentlemen,"

His voice was hoarse, yet carried a hint of arrogance.

"You've tasted the appetizers."

"Next up is Lot Number 12."

Two attendants carried forward a dusty wooden box.

The box was opened,

revealing a messy pile of yellowed papers,

a few broken violin strings,

and even a dried-up block of rosin.

"This was cleared out from the family's old warehouse,"

The auctioneer casually flipped through the papers.

"It's said to have been brought back by a Vogel ancestor when he was studying in Italy in his youth."

"No signature."

"No appraisal certificate."

"It's just a pile of 18th-century scrap paper."

A ripple of low laughter went through the audience.

"However,"

The auctioneer shrugged.

"The Head of the Family said that every speck of dust here has its price."

"Starting bid: five thousand Euros."

No one raised a paddle. This kind of thing wasn't even worth buying to clean a fireplace, it was too dusty.

For these collectors who valued elegance, buying this junk was a disgrace.

"Five thousand."

The auctioneer looked around, seemingly having anticipated this awkward silence.

"If there are no further bids, it will be passed over..."

"Five thousand."

A calm voice sounded from the corner.

It wasn't loud,

but it cut through all the whispers.

All eyes instantly focused on the corner.

Shen Yan held up his bidding paddle,

his expression unreadable.

"Oh?"

The auctioneer pushed up his glasses, as if only just noticing the presence of this person.

"The gentleman... has bid five thousand."

"Any other bids?"

"Six thousand."

A languid voice came from the front row.

Shen Yan followed the sound with his eyes.

It was a blonde, blue-eyed young man,

about twenty years old,

wearing a burgundy velvet suit.

He was fiddling with a solid gold lighter.

That was Karl von Strauss,

the core member of the group that had been mocking Shen Yan earlier.