159: Chapter 159: What was the Christie's auction preview like?

The head of that Buddha statue had long been missing, leaving only the torso below the neck, yet the rendering of the relief drapery was extremely fine.

The thin kasaya clung to the contours of the body as it fell, every fold seeming to contain the rhythm of breath; in the hands of that craftsman from a millennium ago, the hard stone had actually transformed into soft, flowing fabric.

The assessment provided by the System flashed across his retina: Authentic, medium condition, market reference price in the range of 800,000 to 1.2 million RMB.

Hu Tian silently noted the figure in his heart, then stepped forward to continue.

He did not expend too much mental energy on this batch of stone carvings, because his true goal today was only one item: that piece of Sogdiana silverware.

As for the other items, they were nothing more than passing clouds; he was just accumulating information along the way, which might come in handy someday.

He had always been this kind of person; wherever he went, his eyes were at work, and the map of treasures in his mind was always updating in real time.

The last area of the exhibition hall was the Southeast Asia special section, displaying mainly Buddhist artifacts from Myanmar and Cambodia, as well as a few pieces of ancient Vietnamese ceramics.

Hu Tian quickly scanned the area but did not find anything that particularly interested him.

Until he stopped in front of a bronze Buddha from the Angkor period.

The System indicated that it was authentic, but its provenance was quite complex, having undergone at least two restorations, one of which occurred in the 1960s; the materials and craftsmanship used had distinct differences from the original that were invisible to the naked eye but could not deceive the System.

He did not linger on this item and turned to walk towards the exit.

Time had unknowingly reached 3:20 PM.

He had spent over six full hours wandering through the exhibition hall; the soles of his feet were vaguely aching, and more importantly, his stomach had begun to protest.

The little bit of food he had hurriedly eaten in the morning had long since been digested; his stomach was empty now, and waves of hunger were washing over him.

Hu Tian put his hands in his trouser pockets and strolled leisurely towards the exhibition hall exit.

When passing by that piece of Sogdiana silverware, he did not stop, but simply turned his head and took a deep look.

The silverware in the glass cabinet stood there quietly. As the light hit it, the relief patterns cast dense and deep shadows, and the entire piece exuded a heavy, timeless sense of gravitas.

Hu Tian withdrew his gaze and continued forward.

"See you tomorrow."

After leaving the exhibition hall, he stood at the entrance of the building for a while, took out his phone, and hailed a taxi.

The wind by the Huangpu River was much sharper than in the exhibition hall, carrying a hint of the distinct fishy smell of the river water.

He squinted his eyes and pulled the collar of his jacket up to resist the onslaught of the river wind.

The car arrived quickly. He got in, stated the address of the Peace Hotel, then leaned back in the rear seat and turned his head toward the window.

The buildings of the Bund flashed past the car window one by one. Those old buildings left over from the colonial era presented a texture like an old photograph in the afterglow of the afternoon sun—heavy, serene, and carrying a kind of indifference after having seen too many changes in the world.

Hu Tian looked at these buildings, but his mind was still rapidly processing that piece of silverware, processing the Fergana Valley, and processing the coordinates provided by the System.

Genghis Khan's tomb.

He silently repeated these words in his heart, feeling that they had a strange weight, like a huge rock thrown into a bottomless pool; although there were no raging waves on the surface, the vibrations deep at the bottom would travel very far.

For hundreds of years, how many people had searched, how much huge capital had been poured in, how many lives had been lost, yet the result was nothing.

And he, just by being in an exhibition hall for an auction preview in Shanghai, had spent less than two minutes to obtain the coordinates that countless people dreamed of.

This was the absolute confidence of possessing a "Golden Finger".

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, and in that arc hid a kind of calm, quiet satisfaction.

This sense of superiority from mastering core secrets made him feel more pleased than any material enjoyment.

The car stopped steadily at the entrance of the Peace Hotel.

Hu Tian paid the fare, got out of the car, and walked into the lobby.

The lobby of the Peace Hotel retained the grandeur of old Shanghai: high vaulted ceilings, heavy Roman columns, and a floor of black and white marble; his footsteps echoed crisply inside.

Hu Tian walked through the lobby, but instead of going straight upstairs, he turned into the restaurant next to the lobby.

He sat down by the window and ordered a serving of authentic Benbang braised pork belly, a bowl of white rice, and a bowl of soup of the day.

Outside the window was the bustling East Nanjing Road, where the afternoon crowd was already beginning to thicken.

Tourists with various accents wove through the streets; some were taking pictures, some were looking at maps, and some were standing by the roadside in a daze, seemingly somewhat bewildered by the sheer scale of the city.

Hu Tian placed his phone on the table. While waiting for his food, he scrolled through the news for a while, but there was nothing particularly worth noting, so he flipped the phone over on the table and stared blankly out the window for a while.

When the braised pork was served, the rich aroma of meat drifted into his nostrils, and the hollowness in his stomach immediately became more urgent.

He picked up his chopsticks and began to feast.

The Benbang braised pork was made extremely authentically—fat and lean meat alternating, the sauce deep and thick, melting in the mouth.

The sweet flavor had a hint of saltiness and umami; it was the kind of delicacy where you knew it was authentic Shanghai flavor after one bite.

Hu Tian did not eat fast, but was extremely focused, finishing the bowl of rice completely and drinking every last drop of the soup. Finally, he rinsed his mouth with tea and leaned back against the chair, feeling much more settled.

He sat in the second-floor restaurant of the Peace Hotel for a while longer, watching the endless stream of people outside the window, emptying his mind, not thinking about anything, just sitting purely, letting his tense body completely relax.

He was very familiar with this state; after high concentration, he needed a blank period to let his nerves relax, otherwise, if he stayed tense for too long, problems would easily arise.

Time flowed quietly, and it was about 4:30.

He paid the bill and went upstairs back to his room.

The room was very quiet, the curtains were drawn, the light was dim, and the air conditioning temperature was set just right.

Hu Tian took off his jacket, lay down on the bed, and closed his eyes.

He did not deliberately try to sleep, just let himself be still.

In this half-asleep, half-awake state, he stayed for about an hour, while fragments of images flashed intermittently in his mind: the topographic map of the Fergana Valley, the banquet patterns on the Sogdiana silverware, the historical records of Genghis Khan, those legends about secret tombs, and the coordinates provided by the System.

That string of numbers seemed to have been engraved in his mind by a chisel—clear, stable, and impossible to shake off.

Just like that, he rested for a while, and the time reached past six o'clock.

He got up, washed his face to refresh his mind, then changed into comfortable pajamas, sat down by the sofa in the room, and took out his laptop from the System Space.

He turned it on, opened the browser, and began to search for information about the Fergana Valley.

He researched very carefully, from geography and landforms to historical evolution, from the expansion routes of the Mongol Empire to the military records of Genghis Khan's later years, from the history of archaeological excavations in Uzbekistan to the local political status quo—looking at them one by one, organizing and archiving the useful information in his mind.

Genghis Khan died in 1227.

The place of death is controversial in history, but most historical materials point to the Gansu area, and there are also claims that he died near Liupan Mountain.

Regarding his tomb, the "History of Yuan" and "The Secret History of the Mongols" are both vague, only recording that it was a secret burial, with no mound raised and no markings left; after the funeral, the soldiers leveled the ground and drove horses over it, leaving not a single trace.

This was the tradition of the Mongols; the tombs of great figures must never be found by outsiders, otherwise they would be looted, and their souls would be disturbed.

For hundreds of years, the search for Genghis Khan's tomb has never stopped.

The Japanese searched, the Soviets searched, the Mongolian government searched, American archaeological teams searched, and Chinese scholars also proposed various hypotheses, but not once was conclusive evidence found.

And the Fergana Valley, in the history of these searches, had almost never been seriously considered by mainstream academia.

It was the hinterland of Central Asia, an important node on the ancient Silk Road, and one of the core regions of Sogdiana civilization; yet in the historical narrative of the Mongol Empire, it was more of a conquered place than a chosen final resting place.

Why would Genghis Khan choose that place for his tomb?

If the System's information was accurate, there must be some logic behind it—some deep logic that he did not yet fully understand.

Hu Tian temporarily suppressed this question in his heart, not rushing to answer it.

Some things could only be truly understood after arriving at the place and seeing the actual objects.

He closed the computer and checked the time: 7:50 PM.

Outside the window, Shanghai had completely entered night mode; the light of neon signs filtered through the gaps in the curtains, dyeing a corner of the room an ambiguous orange-red.

The sleepless city of the Magic Metropolis.

This saying was well-deserved; the nights in this city were livelier and noisier than the days, possessing a kind of decadent, intoxicating energy.

But Hu Tian did not intend to go out.

He was not the type of person addicted to nightlife; having run around outside for so long, he instead cherished the quiet time of solitude even more.

Sleep early if he could, rest if he could, and save his energy for where it was truly needed.

He went to the bathroom to take a shower, changed into dry pajamas, took a bottle of mineral water from the fridge, sat on the edge of the bed to take a few sips, and then picked up his phone to send a message to Zhou Waner.

"Are you there?"

The reply came extremely quickly, almost instantly.

"I'm here. How was the Christies auction preview?"

"Hmm, I saw the preview today, I'll attend the auction tomorrow, and I'll return to Binhai the day after tomorrow."

"Then can you reach Beijing on the 3rd?"

"Yes, I've booked an afternoon flight, arriving around four o'clock."

"Good, then let's meet at Panjiayuan. Send me a message when you arrive, and I'll come pick you up."

Hu Tian looked at these lines, the corners of his mouth lifting involuntarily.

He tapped his finger lightly and dialed the call.

As soon as it connected, Waner's crisp voice came from the other side of the phone: "How was it today?"

"It was alright. I saw a few interesting things."

"What good things?"

"There's a piece of silver from the Sogdiana era that's up for auction tomorrow, and I plan to take it."

"Where is Sogdiana?"

"Central Asia. It was a people on the ancient Silk Road, skilled in business, with excellent craftsmanship. The gold and silver ware they left behind is highly sought after in the collecting world."

"That sounds impressive. Does it cost a lot of money?"

The poem says:

The hustle and bustle of the world are all passing guests; holding the secrets of heaven alone, I enter deep dreams.

The silver pot guides the path of a millennium; wait for tomorrow to decide the outcome.