At this moment, Wang Guan spoke eloquently, not as himself, but as if possessed by the spirits of great Chinese painting masters like Qi Baishi, Zhang Daqian, and Xu Beihong; hence, his profound insight.

However, no matter how much or how well Wang Guan spoke, it failed to dispel the lingering doubts of the others.

After all, the matter itself was quite esoteric. One must understand that every painter treats their work as if it were their own child, cherishing it meticulously and tolerating no interference. Furthermore, painters inherently possess a professional habit and ethical standard that makes them acutely aware of such taboos, making it almost unthinkable for one to voluntarily complete or retouch another's painting.

This is precisely why everyone felt the possibility was remote. Some were even beginning to loudly denounce Wang Guan as simply engaging in wishful thinking. Yet, the majority turned their gaze toward Elder Ren, seeking his stance on the matter.

“Good, good…” Unexpectedly, Elder Ren suddenly burst into hearty laughter, his expression filled with satisfaction. “Besides that, what else did you discern?”

The implication of Elder Ren’s words was clear: he had tacitly acknowledged Wang Guan’s judgment.

“It truly is so.”

“I never would have guessed.”

In that instant, amidst their shock, a veritable tempest seemed to erupt, and the room filled with a clamor.

“Haha, Wang Guan, I knew you could do it.”

At this, Yu Feibai let out a loud laugh, clapping Wang Guan heartily on the shoulder, and exclaimed, “That’s it, keep talking, let them see who truly doesn’t understand.”

Hearing this, quite a few people subtly backed away, their faces etched with embarrassment.

However, in contrast to Yu Feibai’s unforgiving demeanor, Wang Guan’s attitude remained much more humble. He did not pick up on Yu Feibai’s thread, but instead answered Elder Ren’s direct question.

“The brushwork in the painting is exquisite; the lotus leaves, the water plants, and the shrimp exhibit a perfect balance of motion and stillness, teeming with marvelous interest—it is clearly the hand of a master.”

After offering his praise, Wang Guan smoothly changed tack, suddenly pointing toward Yu Feibai with a gentle smile: “Actually, my friend guessed correctly. This should be the work of Old Master Baishi. As for the other master who collaborated with him, I believe there can be no one else but Mr. Daqian.”

“What!”

The crowd was utterly stunned.

If Wang Guan’s previous assessment had stirred up a minor storm, this declaration was akin to dropping a deep-sea depth charge, leaving everyone in the hall reeling and struck dumb.

Even Elder Ren was taken aback, asking with curiosity, “How did you know that?”

Then, as if realizing something else, Elder Ren quickly inquired, “Who did you study painting under?”

“Study painting?”

Wang Guan paused, bewildered. “Why would I study painting? I’m not an artist.”

“You are not a painter?”

This time, it was not just Elder Ren who was stunned; even those standing nearby wore expressions of utter disbelief.

It was only then that Wang Guan understood that Elder Ren must have misunderstood something. He smiled and clarified, “I don’t study painting; I’m in the business of collecting antiques.”

“Antique collecting?” Elder Ren frowned.

It was evident that he had presumed Wang Guan was a successor of the Da Feng Tang (Zhang Daqian’s studio), which explained how he knew the painting was a joint effort by Qi Baishi and Zhang Daqian. But learning Wang Guan was not a painter but an antiquarian changed his understanding.

However, upon closer thought, Elder Ren felt a sense of relief.

After all, people in the collecting circle were renowned for their superior eye for appraisal. Especially the professional appraisers, who were famously sharp-eyed and keenly perceptive. To notice that the brushwork styles differed and were not executed by a single hand was hardly an extraordinary feat for them.

Still, realizing how young Wang Guan was yet possessed of such seasoned acuity was somewhat astonishing, eliciting sighs about how the new generation surpasses the old.

Nevertheless, Elder Ren remained utterly confident that no matter how good Wang Guan’s eyesight was, he could not possibly discern the painting’s greatest, most hidden secret.

With that thought, Elder Ren suddenly smiled. “Young man, your name is Wang Guan, correct? I had no idea you were a collector; that explains your extraordinary vision.”

“I am still learning, merely an initiate; I can hardly be called a collector,” Wang Guan replied with practiced modesty.

“You are too modest.”

Elder Ren shook his head, walked to the front display table, and gently brushed his fingers over the painting resting there, sighing slightly. “In truth, whether one is a painter or a collector, both professions rigorously test one’s capacity for aesthetic judgment. If one cannot distinguish between a good painting and a poor one, a painter’s skill will never reach true mastery. Furthermore, a collector can never hope to acquire truly fine pieces.”

“Elder Ren speaks the absolute truth; those who pretend to know what they don’t are the most detestable,” Yu Feibai agreed, sweeping his mocking gaze across the surrounding crowd.

Instantly, many felt too ashamed to raise their heads.

Elder Ren acted as if he hadn’t noticed, beckoning Wang Guan forward with a smile. “You haven’t told us yet exactly how you deduced this was a painting jointly completed by Mr. Daqian and Mr. Baishi.”

“I guessed,” Wang Guan said with a smile.

“You are not being honest,” Elder Ren shook his head, displeased. “If your observational skills were insufficient to spot the difference between the style of the lotus and the style of the shrimp, how could you possibly guess correctly?”

“Heh heh, that’s everyone’s credit,” Wang Guan, unwilling to reveal the secret, continued smiling. “My friend claimed it was Old Master Baishi’s painting, while the people downstairs insisted it must be Mr. Daqian’s work. So, I simply combined the opinions and gambled that the two of them collaborated on it.”

“What rubbish…”

“Is that true? He actually guessed correctly just like that?”

“Hey, do you actually believe that? Didn’t you hear they were just joking?”

Hearing Wang Guan’s explanation, the crowd became confused, caught between belief and skepticism.

Meanwhile, Elder Ren also felt uncertain, pondering for a moment. Following his plan, he tested the waters: “Wang Guan, your friend just said this was Master Baishi’s shrimp painting, didn’t I argue against his assertion of certainty? Are you implying that you suspect I lied?”

The crowd grew even more bewildered, completely unable to follow the logic.

Since Elder Ren had already admitted the painting was a joint effort by Zhang Daqian and Qi Baishi, his prior rebuttal to Yu Feibai must have been a deliberate lie to mislead them. What was there left to doubt?

Unexpectedly, Wang Guan not only dismissed this implication but nodded instead. “Elder Ren is highly respected; how could he lie? Since he stated this is not Old Master Baishi’s shrimp painting, then it certainly is not.”

“Wang Guan, what do you mean by that?” Yu Feibai was now also completely lost and confused.

At this moment, Elder Ren glanced at Wang Guan, his face thoughtful. It was then that Wang Guan chuckled lightly, “I mean, who stipulated that Old Master Baishi must only paint shrimp?”

That lightly delivered sentence dropped like a nuclear bomb, instantly silencing the cacophony of arguments in the hall.

“Clap, clap, clap, clap…”

In the ensuing silence, Elder Ren couldn't help but applaud, his face filled with astonishment and a touch of disbelief. “Young man, I am now intensely curious as to what reasoning led you to this exquisite conclusion.”

This painting, and the history behind it, was a piece of deeply guarded secret history known only to a very small circle. Especially as time passed, many of the original insiders had passed away.

As of now, Elder Ren believed that the number of people who truly understood the matter could be counted on one’s fingers. Moreover, because the incident somewhat compromised Zhang Daqian’s public image, many insiders—especially Daqian’s own disciples—chose to keep the secret and would not disclose it casually.

Even Elder Ren’s closest disciples and protégés were unaware of the specific details of this event; they only knew that the painting was a collaborative work between Qi Baishi and Zhang Daqian.

“It’s actually true again.”

This time, the people in the audience could no longer sit still. They rose as one, completely encircling the main stage.

Having first heard that the painting on display was a joint creation by Zhang Daqian and Qi Baishi, their interest had already been piqued. Now, learning that it might be a work of "role-swapping" between the two masters, they could no longer remain restrained.

Role-swapping (fànchuàn) is a term from opera, originally meaning a man playing a female role, or vice versa, on stage—like the renowned opera artist Mei Lanfang or Meng Xiaodong, known as the ‘Winter Emperor.’

In painting, role-swapping would mean that Qi Baishi painted the lotus flowers that Zhang Daqian was famous for, while Zhang Daqian painted the shrimp that Qi Baishi excelled at, together forming a single composition.

If this were indeed the case, the painting’s value would become immeasurable.

Simultaneously, seeing the surging crowd, several individuals nearby—presumably security personnel—hurriedly set up a cordon around the table displaying the artwork, struggling to keep the surging mass of people back.

“Everyone, please remain calm, maintain order…”

The organizers, clearly startled by the commotion, quickly seized a megaphone to loudly pacify the gathering.

Gradually, everyone calmed down. However, their eyes, blazing with fervor, remained fixed on the painting on the table. The intensity of their gaze seemed hot enough to scorch the canvas.

“Elder Ren, the matter is out now. Stop concealing it. Please tell us exactly what the story behind this painting is.”

“Yes, we’ve been sitting down here, nearly suffocating!”

“Please, Elder Ren, enlighten us.”

At this point, many began urging him, desperate to hear the answer directly from Elder Ren.

With the crowd’s fervor reaching a fever pitch, Elder Ren found it difficult to press Wang Guan further. He raised his hand gently to signal for quiet. Once the noise subsided slightly, he touched the painting on the table with a sense of poignant recollection, softly beginning, “This story begins after the victory in the War of Resistance. To celebrate that hard-won triumph, Mr. Xu Beihong and his wife, Madam Liao Jingwen, hosted a banquet at their home specifically to entertain two honorary professors of the Beiping Art Academy. That is, Mr. Daqian and Mr. Baishi.”

“Madam Liao Jingwen cooked the meal herself; the food was excellent, and the four shared drinks and conversation happily. After the meal, Mr. Xu Beihong proposed that Mr. Daqian and Mr. Baishi collaborate on a painting, but with a condition: they must swap roles.”

Elder Ren recalled, “However, during the painting process, Mr. Baishi quickly finished painting the lotus leaves and flowers. When it was Mr. Daqian’s turn to paint the shrimp, Mr. Baishi quietly tugged on his sleeve…”

Here, Elder Ren paused, then asked, “Do any of you know why he did that?”