A single glance confirmed Wang Guan’s suspicion: the river outside must be the Thames, Britain's mother river, known for flowing through history. Much like China's Yellow River or Yangtze, the Thames could be called the artery of Britain, the cradle of a brilliant civilization.

"Indeed, it is the Thames."

At that moment, Yu Wei approached with a smile. "The Thames flows through many of Britain's famous cities. There are numerous recreational spots along the banks; if you're interested, I can take you tomorrow."

"Forget it, the main business is more important," Wang Guan shook his head. "The urgent priority... is to get some sleep first."

"Fine, then I won't disturb your rest."

It wasn't just Wang Guan; Yu Wei and Fang Mingsheng also felt somewhat weary. After exchanging brief greetings, they each retreated to their rooms to sleep. It wasn't until later that evening that everyone slowly woke up and gathered in the living room.

"Finally feel alive again."

Wang Guan stretched his limbs just as Fang Mingsheng handed him a cup of coffee. He accepted it with immediate thanks, but he wasn't quite accustomed to the taste of coffee. He took only a small sip before setting it down, then casually asked, "You all woke up earlier, didn't you? What were you discussing?"

"We were debating where to have dinner," Fang Mingsheng replied with a laugh. "What about you—do you feel like Chinese or Western cuisine?"

"Western, perhaps something a bit more authentic," Wang Guan sighed. "I've heard that Chinese food abroad is always adapted, tweaked to better suit foreign palates. In that case, I might as well stick to the local Western fare."

"There are still some authentic places, though they are rare," Yu Wei smiled. "There are hundreds of restaurants in Chinatown; a few of them might still have the genuine flavor, though their business probably struggles. I wonder if they’ve closed down by now."

Hearing this, Fang Mingsheng also let out a small sigh. "Making a living abroad is never easy. Adapt and you lose your essence; refuse to adapt, and it’s a dead end."

"That’s why Elder Kong wants to return to his roots," Yu Wei nodded, feeling a touch of melancholy himself.

Sensing the conversation turning heavy, Yu Wei skillfully steered it back on track, saying with a smile, "Actually, Western food here isn't bad either. I know a restaurant that serves decent Western food, adjusted slightly to appeal more to Chinese tastes. Besides, with more Chinese tourists visiting London, some Western restaurants are changing too—how else are they supposed to make money?"

"That’s true..."

Wang Guan and Fang Mingsheng shared the sentiment. Whether Chinese or foreign, competition inevitably forces change; sticking rigidly to tradition leads only to obsolescence.

"Let's go, time to eat."

Yu Wei stood up and ushered them along. Since this was essentially his territory, he naturally felt obligated to play the host. This act of hospitality, rooted deeply in Chinese custom, was ingrained in him. The other two readily agreed and followed Yu Wei out of the hotel to a quiet, atmospheric restaurant.

Upon entering the private room, Wang Guan surveyed the surroundings and realized Yu Wei was right. The restaurant definitely leaned toward a Chinese aesthetic, featuring traditional knots and ink wash landscapes, and even displaying the Chinese national flag. Although he knew it was a subtle ploy to cater to the Chinese clientele, Wang Guan still felt a distinct sense of familiarity upon seeing it.

It made sense, after all. If you intend to profit from Chinese people, you should make efforts to please them. It contrasted sharply with the behavior of those who constantly preached about everlasting bilateral friendship while seeking Chinese investment to revive their own economies, only to simultaneously propagate the 'China threat theory' and scheme to contain China. In such a climate, who could maintain a good mood or a pleasant expression?

"What would you like to order?"

Once seated, Yu Wei handed them the menus.

Wang Guan glanced at the English words, which he certainly couldn't decipher, but thankfully, they were accompanied by Chinese explanations. Even if the text was basic, it was enough for him to grasp the meaning.

"I have no idea how it tastes, you decide," Wang Guan said, handing the menu back after a moment’s study. He then curiously examined the artwork on the room’s walls. Two walls displayed not only Chinese ink paintings but also classic Western oil paintings.

Looking closer, Wang Guan realized this oil painting was not a print or a reproduction but something rendered meticulously by hand with brushes and pigment. And the subject was incredibly famous: Da Vinci's The Last Supper.

At this point, Wang Guan recognized the cultural chasm between East and West. In China, if someone dared to hang The Last Supper next to a dining area, they’d likely be vilified. Yet here, it was displayed openly without anyone batting an eye.

Wang Guan surmised that the person decorating the restaurant likely wasn't aware of Chinese taboos; they simply assumed that hanging a painting related to food—and what could be more famous in that regard than The Last Supper—might enhance the diners' appetite.

"This painting... is it hand-painted?"

Just then, Fang Mingsheng also leaned in to look. "It looks quite good," he commented with a smile.

His artistic discernment shouldn't be doubted. While perhaps not reaching sublime heights, his basic ability to appraise art was sound. With just a brief inspection, he could tell the composition was refined, especially the handling of details, which was quite precise. It couldn't compare to the original, but it clearly possessed some of the master's technique.

Fang Mingsheng had specifically traveled to see the original, painted on the refectory wall of a convent in Milan, and the impression remained vivid. A quick comparison now allowed him to distinguish the strengths and weaknesses.

However, it wasn't surprising. The Last Supper is a world masterpiece. Over centuries, countless artists have copied or reinterpreted it, yet none dare claim their rendition surpasses the original. Possessing even a fraction of Da Vinci's skill was already a high commendation.

"You can find things like this all over the galleries," Yu Wei said, having finished ordering. "There are masterpieces meticulously rendered by famous artists, and works by unknowns. But mostly, they are practice pieces painted by art academy students earning extra cash. For a few dozen pounds, you can buy a nice piece. So, tourists who come here often like to pick one up to take home..."

A few dozen pounds was only a few hundred yuan; tourists weren't typically short on that amount. If one were lucky and bought a painting from a student who later became famous, the early work would naturally appreciate, netting the buyer a tidy profit.

Most people lacked such patience, but in Hong Kong, Wang Guan had heard art dealers Sha Qingfeng and Old Meng discuss how some of their peers engaged in long-term investments alongside seeking short-term returns. They targeted promising, emerging artists, buying their works or helping to promote them. There was no immediate need for profit; waiting twenty or thirty years could yield massive returns.

Of course, there was also the risk of it amounting to nothing. This was inevitable; investment inherently carried risk, leaning almost into gambling, requiring sharp vision. In ancient times, it was said that talented horses were common, but few true judges existed. In modern times, the opposite was often true: many judges, but fewer genuinely exceptional talents. Finding that rare genius truly depended on opportunity and luck.

"Student works vary wildly in quality; they aren't ideal for investment," Fang Mingsheng stated frankly, as a businessman, his acquisitions of ancient calligraphy and painting were half for pleasure and half for investment, a fact he never hid. "I prefer purchasing works from slightly established young artists. They are in an upward trajectory, making success more likely."

Everyone understood that 'success' here had a dual meaning: the success of the young artist, and the success of the investment. Compared to betting on students, this approach was certainly more secure, though it required significantly more capital, making it out of reach for the average person.

"I’ll pass on the oil paintings; I don't know much about that," Wang Guan chuckled. "But I always hear rumors about mainland experts making lucky finds overseas. London must have an equivalent gathering place for antiques, similar to China's curio markets, right?"

"Oh, yes, there are a few large flea markets," Yu Wei laughed. "They’re like Panjiayuan; every weekend, they fill up with all sorts of old furniture, curios, and trinkets. There are tons of stalls, offering antiques from all over the world—items spanning from the Roman era up to the twentieth century."

"Oh, and the Mr. Paul we are visiting tomorrow, there’s a flea market near his place," Yu Wei added, suggesting, "If you're interested, you could swing by after we finish our business."

Mr. Paul was the liaison for the Overseas Porcelain Research Association in London. He should have some basic information about Mr. Zhu (Senior?)—or at least, that's what they hoped. Even if the information turned out to be fabricated, they intended to check, hoping to uncover useful leads.

"We'll see," Wang Guan nodded, then fell silent. At that moment, the waiter began setting down their food in neat order onto the table.

"Come on, everyone, don't be shy, let's dig in," Yu Wei smiled. "We don't need to worry about table manners when we're among friends; eat however you like..."

Despite the casual invitation, Wang Guan was well aware of the basic etiquette: fork in the left hand, knife in the right. The initial awkwardness was purely habit; using them more would resolve it. It was similar to chopsticks, which many Westerners likely couldn't figure out how Easterners managed to wield those two slender sticks with such dexterity.

The rest of the dinner needs no elaborate telling. Yu Wei’s recommendation proved accurate; the food was certainly palatable, but for some inexplicable reason, Wang Guan felt it lacked a certain je ne sais quoi, stopping just short of true deliciousness. Still, being away from home, he decided to make do.

After about half an hour, the three concluded their meal. Led by Yu Wei, they walked along the Thames to admire the night view on both banks until late into the night before returning to the hotel.

Nothing eventful occurred overnight. The next morning, they rose and proceeded according to their original plan to visit Mr. Paul...