Old Mrs. Song is reborn; get out of here, you scumbag husband and illegitimate child!

The four people sat around the table, their heads almost touching. They watched it from beginning to end, back and forth, five or six times.

Old Li straightened up, rubbed his sore neck, and cleared his throat.

"The painting is alright, but it looks more like a copy..." Old Li pursed his lips, deliberately drawing out his words and adopting a critical attitude.

"Nonsense!" Song Xianglan rolled up the scroll, completely unmoved by the nonsense. "I hate people like you who beat around the bush when you talk big. The agreed price is two million, and that's two million. Do you think this is a vegetable market?"

She wrapped the scroll in oil paper and stuffed it back into her bag.

"Don't dream of getting a bargain until sunset. You can have anything in your dreams. This is a one-time opportunity. If you don't agree to the price, I'm leaving immediately. I don't believe that Shanghai is so big that only a few bowlegged old men can afford it."

Song Xianglan first indulged in some verbal sparring.

"The sky has cleared, the rain has stopped, and you think you're all that again. If you had just told me you didn't have money, I wouldn't have had to make this special trip."

Old Li and his group are seasoned experts.

It's common to haggle again upon meeting, the more people you can swindle, the better. "Sister-in-law, let's talk this out. We have money. Isn't that how business is—starting with a price and then haggling?"

"Did you grow a head just to make you look taller?" Song Xianglan spat at him. "A few grown men have hearts smaller than pinpoints, more maggots than a latrine in summer, and brains smaller than sheep droppings. Do you think everyone else is a fool?"

Song Xianglan sat back down in the armchair, arms crossed.

"The rules have changed now. We won't sell for less than 2.2 million."

The four people in the room were all stunned.

They had never seen a situation where their attempts to negotiate a lower price were met with an increase in the price.

"You can't do that, we were just joking."

"An old sow wearing a bra, one trick after another. Garlic stuck in her nose, trying to act like an elephant if you can't afford it. A waste of my time."

Song Xianglan's chest heaved.

She took two deep breaths. These old men really made her uncomfortable; the scheming smell filling the room was nauseating.

Old Man Li's expression changed several times, and he gritted his teeth and shouted for a halt:

"Wait a minute. I'm going to make a phone call."

He walked to the broken wooden table in the corner, picked up the old-fashioned telephone, and dialed a number.

After the call is connected.

Old Li lowered his head and reported the situation on the other side into the microphone.

Goatee and the other two also joined in, taking turns speaking into the microphone.

Several people need to confirm whether the buyer is really interested in buying.

Song Xianglan sat in the armchair and watched coldly.

Chen Zui and Xiao Li stood like two iron towers, blocking her way.

She knew it perfectly well.

The real buyers of the paintings weren't these local bullies, but rather the old guard and their descendants.

The situation was turbulent back then, and those people fled with a large amount of wealth.

For their own benefit, they would do anything, even betray their ancestors.

Especially those powerful and wealthy individuals who fled from Beijing, they did a lot of bad things during their escape. Now that they've made it big abroad, they're spending money to send people back to plunder valuable antiques and paintings in China.

They wanted to take them abroad to maintain their extravagant lifestyle and elevate them to the upper echelons of foreign society.

The phone hangs up.

Old Li didn't hang up the receiver; he dialed another number.

"Master Jin, tell that man to come over here," Old Li instructed into the phone before hanging up.

The room fell into a deathly silence.

The group fell silent and simply waited.

After half an hour.

Footsteps sounded outside the door.

The curtain was lifted, and an old man walked in.

He was dressed in an elegant Tang suit with dark patterns, and wore gold-rimmed glasses. His face was frighteningly deep, covered with a dense network of age spots, which looked extremely incongruous.

As soon as she entered the room, a strong, musty smell of old age hit Song Xianglan's nose.

The smell was a mixture of decay and putrefaction, like something crawling out of a newly unearthed coffin.

As soon as the bespectacled old man entered the room, he first looked Chen Zui and Xiao Li up and down with a critical eye, then turned his head and glared at Song Xianglan with a sinister look.

Song Xianglan glared back without any politeness.

She raised her hand and covered her nose tightly, her brows furrowed into a knot.

"You're going to die tomorrow!" Song Xianglan cursed, "You smell like a coffin. It's not your fault that you're ugly, old, or smelly, but it's wrong of you to come out and stink up people."

The bespectacled old man's face trembled as he was scolded, and his composure vanished instantly.

"You want to see the painting?" Song Xianglan glanced at him sideways. "Three thousand yuan. No touching, no heavy breathing. And don't talk to the painting."

Old Man Li: "Wasn't it two thousand before? How come it's gone up again?"

"He's uglier and smellier," Song Xianglan said, her finger almost poking the old man's face. "The extra money is for washing my eyes when I get back. You old folks, you're all getting uglier with age. Don't you ever bathe?"

The old man with glasses was furrowed in worry, his face contorted with wrinkles. He had lived most of his life being treated like royalty, and this was the first time he had ever heard of someone being ugly having to pay extra to see a painting.

He didn't want to delay important matters.

He turned his head and gestured with his chin towards Old Man Li.

Old Li, holding his breath, pulled out three thousand yuan from the drawer and gave it to Song Xianglan.

Song Xianglan didn't even look at it, grabbed the banknotes, and shoved them directly into her canvas bag.

She took out the scroll again and spread it out.

He kept issuing warnings.

"Don't ruin it. Don't drool on it, and don't talk to it. I'm not in a rush to do business with you. I don't need the money right away; I can sell it in a year or two."

The old man with glasses ignored her and took out a monocular magnifying glass from the pocket of his Tang suit.

He bent down, his face almost touching the drawing paper.

Song Xianglan: "Don't breathe."

The bespectacled old man examined it inch by inch with extreme care.

He stared at it for a full half hour before straightening up and putting away the magnifying glass.

"The seal isn't quite right," the bespectacled old man said slowly and deliberately, in a affected tone.

The skinny old man immediately chimed in when the man with the gold glasses spoke: "That's right. I also think the way the clothing and architecture are depicted is off. It's not from that dynasty."

Song Xianglan sneered, knowing their tricks.

I've seen it all before. First, an expert tells you your painting is fake. Then they intimidate you into selling it to them for a pittance.

"You've been staring at me like a lapdog staring at a female dog for so long, are you blind?" Song Xianglan shouted, spitting at the group.

They were forced to retreat repeatedly by the spray.

"After seeing so many fakes, you can't even recognize the real thing anymore, huh? You're a fool with two eggs hanging under your eyebrows, all you can do is blink and not know how to look."

The old man with glasses turned completely black-faced.

Song Xianglan pointed at their noses and started cursing.

"You guys can spend three thousand yuan to look at fake stuff twice? A bunch of old fogies who can't even afford to live, you're practically throwing money down the drain. Trying to get my stuff for free, don't you even know if you're capable of taking it?"

Song Xianglan pulled the pig-slaughtering knife from her waist.

With a flash of light, the blade struck the wooden table beside him with a heavy thud.

Wood chips flew everywhere.

"I'm a certified mental patient. Do you think I'd be afraid of a few old bastards like you? Let me tell you, you might be able to eat a mountain of excrement, but don't even think about double-crossing; your teeth aren't strong enough to handle that."

Chen Zui and Xiao Li stepped forward with perfect coordination, standing on either side of Song Xianglan, their hands simultaneously reaching for their waists.

The five old men opposite were completely stunned by the scene.

Song Xianglan's hands remained firmly pressed on the table.

I used too much force just now, and my thumb and forefinger are numb from the impact. My wrist and the tendons in my wrist are also throbbing with pain.

She gritted her teeth and swallowed back her cries of pain.

In his heart, he cursed those old geezers' ancestors for eighteen generations, saying that even cabbages wouldn't haggle like that.

Seeing the stalemate, the goatee quickly stepped in to appease him:

"Sister-in-law, don't get angry. There really is an identical painting of the Han Dynasty Spring Morning in the Forbidden City across the river. We're just trying to avoid being mistaken."

"So what? You don't study history, and you don't even read unofficial histories." Song Xianglan retorted mercilessly, "That old scoundrel Long had more than four versions painted back then. If you like Long's imitations, hurry up and buy a boat ticket to the other side to see them. Don't come here to see Qiu Ying's original works."

"Who is Zha Zha Long?" The old men looked at each other in bewilderment.

"Who else could it be?" Song Xianglan squinted. "It's that bastard you all call Jin Ye's ancestor, the one who calls himself the Perfect Old Man."