Esoteric Buddhism: To live as king in America

The scene was clearly replayed on the monitor. Just as Mian had orchestrated, the footage showed him politely handing Emilia Crawford a brochure for her autograph, while Martin Munro approached with obvious impatience and aggression.

As Mian stepped back to make way, Monroe's arm swung precisely, knocking over the sparkling water glass in Mian's hand. The whole process was smooth and natural, with no indication that Mian had deliberately provoked or intentionally bumped into him.

Coleman Matvey stared intently at the screen, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly before relaxing again.

He turned to Martin Monroe, his tone carrying an unquestionable authority.

"Mr. Monroe, the surveillance footage shows that this was indeed an accident, and Mr. Hall did not engage in any wrongdoing."

Martin Monroe's face instantly turned a deep purplish-red. He opened his mouth to retort, but under the overwhelming evidence and Coleman's subtly oppressive gaze, he could only let out a reluctant "humph" and glare at Mian with venomous eyes.

Mian, at the opportune moment, played the role of a "foreign gentleman who values ​​honor." He straightened the front of his suit jacket, which was slightly damp from the spilled drink, and bowed slightly to Monroe with impeccable posture, speaking clearly:

"Mr. Monroe, although this was an accident, it was caused by me and I apologize for disturbing your enjoyment."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over Coleman and the several onlookers who had been drawn to his attention. His voice rose slightly, carrying a sense of declaration.

"To express my apology and to make up for the impact this minor unpleasantness has had on you all, I have decided that, regardless of the final price of my auction item 'Ifaratamuya,' I will donate an additional 20 percent of the sale price to the Free City Children's Aid Foundation."

This proposal was unexpected and instantly escalated a low-level conflict to a charitable level.

A barely perceptible hint of approval flashed in Coleman's eyes. Martin Monroe, on the other hand, seemed speechless. The other party had lowered his stance, apologized, and even donated real money to charity. If he continued to pester him, he would appear extremely unreasonable and utterly lacking in manners.

Under Coleman's calm gaze and the subtle stares of those around him, he could only stiffly extend his hand and give Mian a symbolic handshake with extreme difficulty, squeezing out a few words through gritted teeth.

"...Fine, you're smart to know what's good for you."

With the settlement reached, Coleman immediately resumed his professional smile.

"Very well, gentlemen. It was just a misunderstanding. Well then, the first 'Gemstones and Paintings' auction has begun. If you two are interested, why don't you move to the auction hall? It would be a shame to miss such a wonderful opening."

Mian nodded readily in agreement.

"Of course, Mr. Matvey, thank you for your fair handling of the matter."

His main objective—to locate the monitoring room and Ryan's infiltration—had been achieved, and leaving this conspicuous place was now the best course of action.

Just then, a bone-chilling cold swept over her without warning, causing Mian's body to sway almost imperceptibly.

Ryan is back!

Mian suppressed the urge to investigate immediately, and with a calm expression, followed Coleman and a still somewhat angry Martin Monroe out of the monitoring room and headed towards the auction hall.

Only after parting ways with Monroe and confirming that no one was paying special attention to him for the time being did he quickly sink a wisp of his thought into his consciousness space.

The sight before her made Mian's heart tighten. Ryan's consciousness projection was huddled in a corner, its once solid spirit body now covered with spiderweb-like cracks, its light dim, like a piece of porcelain that had been roughly smashed and was on the verge of breaking. Her figure was even somewhat blurry, with unstable fluctuations at the edges.

"How are you?"

Seeing such a tragic scene, even with their relationship, Mian couldn't help but express genuine concern.

Ryan's projection struggled to lift its head, its purple eyes still stubborn, but the light within them was noticeably weaker. Even so, it still managed a mocking smile.

"Cough cough, I'm perfectly fine, I don't need your fake concern."

She took a few deep breaths, seemingly gathering her strength, and then said:

"The children are in a room next to that materials storage room. I couldn't get far enough away to explore further, but I know there seems to be an iron gate connecting it to the outside."

"How are the children doing?"

Mian asked with concern.

Faced with this question, Ryan's cracked face displayed an extremely complex expression.

She lowered her head and murmured in a very low voice:

"Those children were given drugs, and although they were all conscious, they were all as dull as if they had been swept away by a stream of confusion."

Mian noticed that the "fisherman" clenched his fists, making the cracks on his arm even deeper.

"Those children are so young. Even if they are rescued after suffering such a shock, I'm afraid... they won't be able to be saved."

Mian's heart sank. Through mind reading, he could feel all the shock and pain Ryan was experiencing. He knew the other wasn't lying; those children had indeed suffered such inhuman torture.

This caused him to fall silent for a moment, and it wasn't until a few seconds later that he spoke again:

"As long as I'm alive..."

Mian's voice was low and suppressed, as if he were speaking to himself, or perhaps to Ryan.

"As long as there is a breath left... there is hope."

Mian withdrew his thoughts, took a deep breath, and tried to calm his surging emotions. In reality, he was following the crowd toward the entrance of the auction hall. As he passed the bar in the lobby, he subconsciously glanced at it.

The waiter behind the bar seemed to have changed. The young waiter who had been busy not long ago was gone, replaced by a figure of similar build, but with a distinctly different demeanor. When that person looked up and met Mian's gaze, a familiar smile, tinged with slyness and knowing knowing, curled at the corners of his lips.

It's Toby, or rather, Matt's alter ego.

Mian paused slightly before naturally walking towards the bar.

"A glass of soda, please."

He lowered his voice, his gaze seemingly casually sweeping over his surroundings.

Toby expertly poured the water, pushed it towards him, and spoke in a low voice, tinged with a hint of mockery:

"Mr. Wang, that performance was quite entertaining. But was it really necessary to make such a fuss? You almost led the head of security into a 'sensitive area'."

Mian took the water glass, took a sip, and responded calmly and without changing her expression:

"The information you provided is far from sufficient. In order to ensure the biggest commotion, I must conduct the necessary investigation here."

This reason is plausible and fits the image of a "collaborator" who intends to cause trouble at the banquet. At least Toby doesn't seem to doubt it.

"That makes sense. It seems Mr. Wang is a pragmatist."

Toby smiled and handed Mian a glass of soda, saying:

Taking advantage of the moment, Mian posed the most crucial question, her gaze sharply fixed on Toby:

"Our target, the bishop of the Anthropocentrism in the Free Capital... who exactly is he? You've never told me before, but what does he look like?"

"You didn't know?"

Toby's face first showed surprise, but then his smile became mysterious and unpredictable.

He leaned forward slightly, lowered his voice, and said in a captivatingly seductive tone:

"But don't worry, Mr. Wang. His Holiness the bishop will be attending the upcoming auction. You'll recognize him immediately once you're inside, I swear."