The peculiar calm stemmed mainly from the silence of the Saudi Prince, Mr. Hill, and Fang Mingsheng; the three of them were subtly sizing each other up, clearly pondering something.

As for Wang Guan and Mr. Anderson, they were self-aware enough to know they were merely incidental players passing through, so they naturally refrained from speaking rashly, focusing instead on savoring their coffee and black tea.

Of course, others could remain silent, but Mr. Hill, as the master of the castle, could not allow the atmosphere to turn cold.

This was a rule of aristocratic social etiquette: one could whisper softly or laugh loudly, but absolute silence was forbidden. Otherwise, word would spread that he lacked proper hosting skills.

With this in mind, Mr. Hill felt compelled to speak, though he didn't address Prince Abdul from Saudi Arabia. Instead, he turned to Fang Mingsheng, a smile that felt like a spring breeze spreading across his face... Seeing Mr. Hill and Fang Mingsheng engaging in rapid, mumbled conversation, Wang Guan felt a degree of confusion.

Finally unable to bear it, he leaned over and quietly asked, "Mr. Anderson, what are those two talking about?" Mr. Anderson, kind-hearted as he was, answered truthfully: "Nonsense!" "What?" Wang Guan froze, suspecting he had misheard.

"Talking about meaningless platitudes."

Mr. Anderson shook his head slightly and explained in a low voice, "They are discussing the weather, current politics, and the newest luxury brands. But this is likely just surface level; they are probably sparring with veiled meanings."

Knowing the term dǎ jīfēng (sparring with veiled meanings) cemented Wang Guan’s admiration for Mr. Anderson's grasp of Chinese culture. He praised him silently but then decided to ignore their sparring, instead probing indirectly: "Mr. Anderson, was your hurried departure yesterday to meet Prince Abdul?" "That is correct."

Mr. Anderson admitted with a smile, "We had arranged to meet yesterday for dinner. So, I had to decline your invitation. My apologies."

"There's a principle of first come, first served; I certainly understand," Wang Guan smiled, then asked as if casually, "If I may be so bold, Prince Abdul meeting you in London—it wasn't just to catch up, was it?" This question was no longer an indirect probe; it was nearly a direct inquiry.

At this, Mr. Anderson's eyes flickered before he chuckled lightly, "Wang. This matter concerns Prince Abdul’s **; I cannot disclose it casually."

"Oh, in that case, never mind." Wang Guan nodded. He wasn't particularly disappointed, having prepared for a refusal before even asking. It would have been best if he’d found out, but it was no great loss either way. After all, it wasn't his business; asking one more question was just a small favor to Fang Mingsheng. Furthermore, whether he could help or not, Fang Mingsheng would owe him a debt of gratitude.

Indeed, despite chatting with Mr. Hill, Fang Mingsheng had been monitoring the conversation between Wang Guan and Mr. Anderson. Hearing Mr. Anderson’s reply, he couldn't help but feel a touch of disappointment. Nevertheless, he still nodded slightly to Wang Guan in thanks.

However, while these men were testing each other, they overlooked Prince Abdul, who was growing bored. Or perhaps, accustomed to being the center of attention, he felt neglected and felt the need to assert his presence.

At this point, Wang Guan noticed the Saudi Prince speaking. Judging by the reactions of Mr. Hill and Fang Mingsheng, he sensed the words were unusual. Alas, Wang Guan couldn't understand what Prince Abdul was saying and had to look again at the good-natured Mr. Anderson, hoping he could act as a translator.

"It’s nothing much," Mr. Anderson said with a smile. "Prince Abdul heard that Mr. Hill has many collectibles here and hopes Mr. Hill will show him around."

"I see," Wang Guan said, feeling a moment of sudden comprehension, tinged with curiosity. Given the castle's extravagance, he knew the collection must be substantial. For some reason, it seemed every billionaire had a habit of collecting things. Perhaps it was genuine passion, or perhaps a way to display refined taste; if one's home lacked items imbued with historical depth, they might be ridiculed as mere nouveau riche.

Mr. Hill was no exception. With nearly a thousand years of family accumulation, lacking any ancient artifacts would certainly be a source of shame. People might suspect his family was just an empty shell, all facade and no substance, already in decline. This wasn't surprising; whether in the East or the West, nobility and the wealthy were synonymous with maintaining appearances, often pretending opulence even when close to ruin.

Of course, Mr. Hill wasn't in such dire straits; maintaining such a vast castle and paying the salaries of over a hundred servants were considerable expenses. Without substantial wealth, it would be impossible to sustain it. Moreover, times had changed; many people delighted in the downfall of the ultra-rich. Any ripple, like an economic crisis, would be instantly broadcast, causing widespread scandal until the man woke up one day to read in the paper that he was suddenly underwater.

Clearly, Mr. Hill had no such immediate worries, but what was surprising was his hesitation upon hearing Prince Abdul’s request. Everyone found this odd, but it was then that Wang Guan suddenly realized: Mr. Hill seemed to have forgotten the vault code...

To be honest, when Wang Guan first heard this story, he thought the man was bizarre. How could one forget the password to such a vital location as a treasure vault? It was as unreliable as forgetting your bank account PIN. But Fang Mingsheng had sworn that Mr. Hill suffered from mild forgetfulness, and his family usually helped him remember important data and passwords. However, last year, Mr. Hill’s son brought friends to the vault to show off. Teenagers fooling around is normal, and somehow—regardless of whose fault it was—a precious item was broken.

As a man of breeding, Mr. Hill generously forgave the youths’ mistake, even hosting a grand banquet for his son and his little friends. But once the rowdy kids left, Mr. Hill promptly changed the vault password. And then... trouble began. Two or three days later, Mr. Hill prepared to show friends the vault again, but when he habitually entered the old sequence of numbers, the vault door emitted a warning sound. In that instant, he realized he had changed the password. The crucial problem was that while he remembered changing it, he had completely forgotten what the new password was, and no amount of racking his brain could bring it back.

And so, he was ruined. For a year, Mr. Hill had hired numerous experts to crack the code, all to no avail. The vault remained securely sealed, leaving everyone staring helplessly.

Under Mr. Hill's troubled explanation, Prince Abdul found the situation astonishing and managed to suppress a smile, offering a few words of comfort in return. It was then that Fang Mingsheng seized the opportunity, subtly signaling Wang Guan before beaming and stating that he might be able to solve Mr. Hill’s problem.

"What?" Mr. Hill was naturally disbelieving, his eyes filled with suspicion.

Fang Mingsheng smiled and declared that the purpose of his visit today was precisely to resolve Mr. Hill's predicament. "If you don't believe me, you can certainly let me try. Whether he’s a mule or a horse, we’ll know once we take him for a spin."

The preceding section was purely Wang Guan’s conjecture, but Mr. Hill’s subsequent actions confirmed his guess was quite plausible. At this, Mr. Hill stood up and gestured an invitation. Under his guidance, everyone rose in turn and followed him deeper into the castle.

At this moment, Fang Mingsheng slowed his pace slightly and whispered, "Wang Guan, it's up to you now."

"I wouldn't dare guarantee anything," Wang Guan shook his head. "If the password set is exceedingly complex, I might not be able to help." Wang Guan wasn't being overly modest; such matters are sensitive and shouldn't be flaunted. Humility and low-profile behavior were always preferable, lest one be treated like a potential thief wherever they went.

"Just do your best, just do your best," Fang Mingsheng said with a smile, though inwardly he prayed fervently to every deity, saint, and Buddha to ensure Wang Guan didn't fail at the critical moment. Driven by the instinct of a businessman, Fang Mingsheng was certain that the meeting between Mr. Hill and Prince Abdul was far more than casual social activity; they were likely discussing some collaboration. Fang Mingsheng could not afford to miss such a golden opportunity. However, the two men deliberately avoided the topic, leaving him unable to pry the secrets from their lips. After much thought, he reasoned that successfully solving Mr. Hill’s problem would make it easier to broach the subject of his own interests.

As Fang Mingsheng pondered, the group gradually arrived at a room in the central part of the castle. Everyone looked around casually and saw that the room was filled with books—clearly a study. Apart from the entrance they used, the other three walls were adorned with several oil paintings; no other doors were visible. Naturally, no one found this strange. A treasure vault demanded high security; there might even be hidden mechanisms in the room.

And indeed, there was. Under everyone's gaze, Mr. Hill casually touched a button near the doorway. A wide section of the study floor suddenly sank, splitting open to reveal a massive circular turntable. The turntable was truly large, about a meter in diameter, constructed entirely of metal, with concentric rings of movable combination lock keys. A rough count showed at least ten tumblers. This meant at least ten correct turns were required just to unlock it.

"One wrong entry gets a warning; two wrong entries trigger an alarm; three wrong entries..." Fang Mingsheng paused, then quietly reminded them, "If it’s wrong three times, there’s no second chance."

(To be continued)〖Book Network∷Fast Update∷No Pop-ups∷Pure Text∷www.〗RT