(3/5)
Lucky Cruise
Chapter 563: Good stuff
“Hello?”
Figaro waved his hand in front of Wen Jianyan. “Are you still listening?”
“Mmh.” Wen Jianyan looked up, as if his brief distraction just now had never happened. “Of course.”
“So, what do you plan to do next?” Figaro didn’t seem to mind.
He rubbed the agate stone atop his cane, blinked, and revealed a leading smile. “Of course, even if it’s slightly unconventional, it doesn’t matter. You are my precious client; I will fully cooperate.”
Wen Jianyan seemed to turn a blind eye to his hint, his tone even more business-like than before: “I recall you told me previously that I could auction items through your channel, correct?”
Figaro narrowed his eyes, staring at Wen Jianyan for a few seconds. “Correct.”
“Then help me make contact,” Wen Jianyan said.
Faced with this somewhat mediocre answer, Figaro blinked, seemingly a bit disinterested:
“But you must know, although we are now in an instance, if everyone proposes high prices for competing items after the auction ends, the auction will have no credibility left.”
The expression on Wen Jianyan’s face didn’t budge. “So, can you do it or not?”
“I can. You are the customer.” Figaro flashed a perfect smile, the disappointment from earlier vanishing instantly. He bowed to Wen Jianyan. “I am, of course, willing to be at your service.”
“Please follow me.”
Figaro turned and walked deeper into the hall.
It wasn’t auction time, so Floor B7 was empty and deserted. A familiar sign stood in front of the stage, listing tonight’s auction items.
Wen Jianyan followed Figaro inward. The overhead lights dimmed, and the hall full of portraits was gradually left behind.
Figaro stopped. In front of him was a narrow, dark red arched foyer that allowed only one person to pass—Wen Jianyan was certain he hadn’t seen it before—yet it appeared grandly before him now, as if it had been there from the start.
“Please.”
Figaro turned sideways. Under the faint light, his face was covered by a layer of dark red shadow.
Wen Jianyan remained composed. “Thanks.”
He passed Figaro and walked forward first.
Watching the young man frankly exposing his back to him, the smile on Figaro’s lips remained unchanged. He turned around, closely following Wen Jianyan, his figure quickly disappearing into the darkness of the foyer.
After passing through a long, pitch-black passage, a small, deep red room appeared before Wen Jianyan. The floor was covered with thick carpet, and the walls were hung with heavy curtains. There were no windows in the entire room, only two doors facing each other. One led outside—the one Wen Jianyan had just entered through—and one led further in. The inner door was tightly shut. The air in the room was sealed and stagnant, making one feel inexplicably dizzy.
“Please sit.” Figaro sat down on a chair. “Carl Bell should be here soon.”
Wen Jianyan sat opposite him. “Tell me about the process here.”
Figaro: “It’s simple. After Carl Bell arrives, you take out the item you want to auction for him to appraise—during this process, I suggest you don’t voice any objections, as Carl Bell is a bit sensitive about artistic taste—after the appraisal, he will grade the rarity of the item you brought and provide a quote based on different grades.
If you’re lucky, the item’s price will be split proportionally with the auction house. Of course, if you’re unlucky, there will only be a buyout base price.”
He leaned back on the dark red sofa, watching Wen Jianyan sitting opposite him with leisure, smiling:
“However, whatever the final result is, as the introducer, I will take a fifteen percent cut—considering you are my customer, I am willing to lower it to ten percent.”
In the empty room, the two conversed sporadically.
Figaro picked up the teapot on the side and poured a cup of tea. The warm, dark ochre liquid gurgled into the cup. Figaro picked up the cup, took a sip, and revealed an expression of enjoyment:
“Ah… Carl Bell’s black tea is the best I’ve ever had.”
He looked at Wen Jianyan and asked:
“Would you like some?”
Wen Jianyan: “Alright.”
He picked up the cup Figaro pushed in front of him and took a sip.
It was indeed very good tea, even better than what he had in Figaro’s box last time. The taste was fragrant and mellow, with an endless aftertaste.
However, as the warm tea entered his stomach, a strange dizziness struck.
“Mmh…”
Wen Jianyan furrowed his brows, raising a hand to press his temple, feeling the world spin.
And in this inverted, chaotic vision, only the other party’s fox-like smiling face remained unchanged.
The next second, boundless shadows surged, occupying his vision.
Willpower collapsed.
The young man’s body went limp, his gaze skewing, his forehead hitting the table with a thud.
Opposite him, Figaro sipped his tea methodically, his narrow eyes slightly squinted, seemingly enjoying the scene very much.
Just then, with a creak, the inner archway was pushed open.
Carl Bell walked in.
Like usual, he wore a sharp suit, his face cold and pale.
“Good morning, Carl.”
Figaro greeted him familiarly.
He stood up, stepping aside slightly to expose the unconscious Wen Jianyan behind him to Carl Bell’s view. His eyes were cunning, his smile eager:
“—You won’t believe what good goods I brought this time.”
“Ugh…”
Dizzy.
Very dizzy.
A hoarse voice squeezed out of Wen Jianyan’s throat.
His consciousness was returning bit by bit. As control over his limbs gradually returned, a strong, irresistible dizziness struck again. He felt his internal organs churning together, as if the back of his head had been hit hard with a sap, then stuffed into a washing machine for a two-hour spin cycle.
He struggled to open his heavy, lead-filled eyelids. His eyeballs moved slowly. It took a full ten-plus seconds for the chaos before his eyes to finally dissipate bit by bit.
Wen Jianyan looked around.
Only then did he realize he was currently lying in a not-so-large iron cage. The space wasn’t enough to stand, so he could only curl up in a very awkward posture. Beneath his body were bone-chillingly cold iron bars; most of his body was frozen stiff.
Wen Jianyan propped himself up, trying to crawl, but clanking sounds rang in his ears.
“…”
Sensing something, he looked down at his body.
His wrists and ankles were shackled by heavy iron cuffs. Weird, twisted symbols were carved on the surface of the cold, heavy black iron. Even his neck was bound by a similar iron collar, pressing heavily on his collarbone, painfully hard.
Furthermore, Wen Jianyan found that his clothes had been changed—his personal belongings had been looted clean, leaving only a single layer of clothing that couldn’t hide anything.
Damn.
Wen Jianyan cursed inwardly.
No wonder it was so cold.
“You’re awake.”
Carl Bell’s flat voice sounded not far away.
Wen Jianyan raised his eyes and looked toward the source of the sound.
He saw Carl Bell standing not far away, still looking refined and gentle: “Out of respect, I came to inform you in advance that tonight you will be auctioned as the finale item. I hope you are prepared.”
“…Figaro?” Wen Jianyan’s voice seemed squeezed through his teeth. “That guy f*cking sold me?”
“Yes.”
Carl Bell’s voice remained calm and waveless.
“I didn’t know your auction house also had a human trafficking business.” Wen Jianyan seemed to laugh out of anger.
“Generally, we don’t.” Carl Bell lowered his eyes, his gaze landing on Wen Jianyan. A greedy look flashed deep in his cold eyes. “But I can never refuse handling a precious collection—especially a slave of your quality.”
Wen Jianyan said gloomily:
“Should I say thank you?”
“You’re welcome,” Carl Bell said politely.
Wen Jianyan: “…”
He suddenly changed the subject, and his tone changed simultaneously—voice smooth, full of sweet words: “But ultimately, how much can a human slave be worth? My face and body aren’t top-tier among humans. Moreover, my assets aren’t meager. In fact, I can totally pay to buy myself back—”
“No. You undervalue yourself too much,” Carl Bell shook his head. “Face and body might be important to you, but to us, they are merely secondary.”
He scrutinized Wen Jianyan with a deeply profound gaze:
“A Nightmare top ten, this isn’t business we get every day.”
“Please believe me,” the greed on Carl Bell’s face was unconcealed, “it’s not just anchors who wish to obtain you.”
With that, he stepped back and covered the cage with the deep red curtain again, blocking the gradually rising voice of the young man underneath:
“Hey, wait, what did you mean by that? Come back here!”
However, his shouting didn’t stop Carl Bell’s steps. As the sound of shoe soles tapping the ground faded away, silence returned to his ears.
Under the curtain-covered cage, the panicked expression on Wen Jianyan’s face faded like the tide, leaving only calmness.
He narrowed his eyes, revealing a thoughtful look.
…What Carl Bell just said was truly interesting.
His harvest from this trip might be greater than imagined.
Rewind a few hours.
“…Considering you are my customer, I am willing to lower it to ten percent,” Figaro quoted with a smile.
Wen Jianyan thought for a moment: “Five percent.”
Figaro’s expression stiffened, and he said patiently, “You might not know, but in our line of work, ten percent is already very low.”
Wen Jianyan wouldn’t budge: “Five percent.”
For the first time, the smile on Figaro’s face wavered:
“You’re being a bit excessive here.”
Once money was involved, Figaro usually wasn’t as easy to talk to as usual. Although his lips were still smiling, his eyes flashed with fierce light.
But Wen Jianyan wore a smile, seemingly completely unaffected by the murderous intent gradually surfacing from the other party.
“Trust me, even at five percent, this will definitely be the most valuable deal you’ve ever made.”
“…” Figaro frowned, staring at Wen Jianyan scrutinizingly, seemingly weighing something. “What do you want to sell?”
“—Myself.”
Wen Jianyan said with a beaming smile.
WOAH PLOT TWIST