51. The Foolish Man

The crowd of elites had no idea what Ye Feng actually did, yet he settled himself casually, paying no mind to their astonished glances. No sooner had he taken his seat than a mocking voice drifted to his ear: “Hey, janitor, this isn’t a place for someone as lowborn as you.”

Ye Feng turned to look and saw a young man. Thanks to a little help from Huai Huai, he knew this youth was the scion of a nouveau riche family—a household with some money, the son of an upstart. Perhaps Ye Feng was simply looking for amusement, for he didn’t retort, but instead asked with a smile, “According to you, where should I be sitting?”

“Who cares where you go, just get lost! If you know you’re worthless, don’t wander about!” Seeing several ladies glance their way, the young man puffed up with pride and repeated himself.

At that moment, the owner of the hotel entered the banquet hall, passing right by them. The foolish young man beamed with sycophantic delight: “Uncle Lin, please, take a seat here! There’s a spot open!” As soon as he said this, he switched faces, barking at Ye Feng, “Get out of here! Or do you need me to call security and have you thrown out?”

His words made Mr. Lin happy at first—who doesn’t enjoy being treated with respect? But then he caught sight of Ye Feng sitting nearby and froze. Others might not know who Ye Feng was, but Mr. Lin certainly did; the commotion at the entrance had already reached his ears. Though he wasn’t afraid of the Luo family’s young master’s brother, he couldn’t afford to offend him either.

So Mr. Lin smiled and said, “It’s alright. Since this young man wants to sit here, let him. An old friend is waiting for me upfront, so I won’t sit here.” With that, he quickly strode away, unwilling to entangle himself in such petty squabbles.

With Mr. Lin gone, the foolish young man grew even more resentful of Ye Feng, but dared not speak further. After all, the owner himself had spoken, and he couldn’t possibly override him, could he? Besides, he saw himself as someone with status—a rich man's son—and how could he stoop to fight over seats with a nobody? The thought itself was embarrassing.

Ye Feng paid no mind to the young man’s anger, only admiring Mr. Lin’s finesse. Clearly, the man knew about Ye Feng’s connection to Luo Ming. As the saying goes, every successful businessman is a first-rate actor, and Mr. Lin’s performance was flawless.

After marveling at the proprietor’s acting, Ye Feng seized the interval before the auction began to tease the foolish young man: “Ah, temperament isn’t bought with money. Some people think a few stinking coins make them nobility, when in truth, they’re nothing but upstarts.”

Anyone could understand Ye Feng’s meaning, and the young man immediately exploded, yelling, “Who are you talking about?”

“Hey, this is a public place. Shouting like that is unbecoming of your noble status. If you keep yelling, people will think you’re just another upstart,” Ye Feng shrugged, continuing his mockery.

“You bastard!” the young man cursed loudly.

“Oh, you’re angry? Nobles should always be mindful of their bearing. In settings like these, they would never shout or curse. If you keep this up, you’ll really be seen as an upstart.” Ye Feng smiled, his words cutting like knives, prompting quiet laughter among the surrounding elites.

“You…” The young man’s face flushed red, hearing the soft laughter around him. He was too embarrassed to curse again and finally squeezed out a line: “You’re a pauper, just here for a free meal. You couldn’t buy a single thing here!”

“I can’t buy it, but can you?” Ye Feng shrugged again, retorting, “Shall we wager? If I buy fewer things than you tonight, I lose and will kneel and call you grandfather. If you lose, you’ll kneel and call me grandfather!”

“Fine! I refuse to believe you, a pauper, can beat me!” The young man, furious, agreed immediately, pulling his companions to witness the bet. After getting their verbal confirmation, he turned with smug arrogance to Ye Feng, declaring, “Prepare to kneel and call me grandfather, my good grandson!”

“Ah, what a dutiful grandson, already calling me grandfather. Too bad I don’t have a red envelope for you.” Ye Feng had originally planned to leave early, but since someone was offering themselves up to be humiliated, why not oblige?

“You…” The young man wanted to swear again, but remembered Ye Feng’s earlier jibes and bit his tongue. Well, soon enough Ye Feng would have to call him grandfather—why rush?

At that moment, the auctioneer mounted the stage. All eyes were upon him as he produced a black box, announcing, “This is a landscape painting purchased by Miss Amy while studying in England. Today, she’s offering it for charity auction, starting price: one hundred thousand yuan.”

He hadn’t even struck the gavel when the foolish young man raised his hand, shouting, “Two hundred thousand!”

After bidding, he gave Ye Feng a proud look. He knew the painting wasn’t worth so much, and everyone present understood it. Bidding so high, he figured no one would follow up; money wasn’t spent so carelessly. His look at Ye Feng was clear: “See, pauper? I just bid two hundred thousand. What do you have?”

Under his arrogant gaze, before the auctioneer finished his third call for higher bids, Ye Feng calmly raised his hand and said, “Four hundred thousand.”

The entire hall was stunned. All eyes fell on Ye Feng: four hundred thousand for a mediocre landscape painting? It wasn’t even a famous work—this was simply burning money! Judging by his shabby attire, he hardly looked wealthy. Surely, he must be some young master from a rich family playing at humility. Envy and disdain rippled through the crowd.

While they speculated, Ye Feng smiled faintly at the young man. “Your turn, nobleman.”

“Turn nothing! You, a pauper, don’t have four hundred thousand. Don’t think I don’t know—if I call your bluff, you’ll chicken out. You haven’t spent a dime and you’ve played me for a fool!” The young man, thinking himself clever, refused to bid further. Four hundred thousand for a lousy landscape? He simply wouldn’t do it. He didn’t have that much money—his father only gave him five hundred thousand a year in pocket money. He was cash-strapped, whereas Ye Feng, though not wealthy at the moment, could still produce several million if needed.

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