Wu Bao threw the scroll on the table, leaned back on the sofa, pulled the quilt, and wrapped himself warmly: "This painting can't be real, Tang Bohu is not crazy, how could it be possible?

Why are you scolding yourself?" After saying that, he also teased Pan Xiaoqiang: "You think you, a master who can tell the age with small porcelain pieces, could make a mistake in such an obvious place? I really don't understand it!"

Shi Dazhuang burped his wine, then poured a glass: "Old man, if you dare to refute Qiangzi, I will drink another glass of your red wine."

Wu Bao became angry when he mentioned this bottle of Bordeaux. He wrapped the quilt around his neck and shouted at the top of his voice: "You are a gangster. Let me tell you, even if you drink up my bottle of red wine today, this painting will be the same."

Fake."

Pan Xiaoqiang quickly grabbed Wu Bao: "Old Wu, don't get angry first. You can look at this painting again. Tang Bohu, a slightly crazy person, is not incapable of doing such a thing."

Wu Bao still shook his head, saying that the idea Pan Xiaoqiang said was too mysterious and he couldn't believe it.

Pan Xiaoqiang was so angry that he could not stand it. He carefully put the scroll away, slammed the table hard, stood up angrily, pointed at the old man on the sofa and shouted: "Wu Bao!

Do you know how ridiculous your approach is? You are hurting China's antiques. If the real treasure cannot be protected, I want to sue. People like you are not worthy of being the vice president of the China Antiques Association. You only deserve to be

Sweep the floor in Jingdezhen!”

Wu Bao's eyes were darting around. To be honest, he was still a little frightened by Pan Xiaoqiang's small universe explosion just now. When he was sprayed, he even completely retracted his head under the quilt.

After he finished spraying, he stuck his head out and said weakly: "You can let me look at this picture again, but give me a reason first."

"What's the reason? If my brother Qiangzi says this is true, it's true." Shi Dazhuang interrupted.

Pan Xiaoqiang didn't care about this, so he called Shi Dazhuang, and the two of them pulled the scroll apart and placed it in front of Wu Bao: "Old Wu, take a look first."

Wu Bao closed his eyes tightly and said nothing.

"Well, you don't want to look at it, right?" Pan Xiaoqiang snatched the red wine from Shi Dazhuang's hand and drank it all in one breath: "Listen to my reasons. If this painting is a fake, then why is the poem accompanying the painting and Tang Bohu's brushwork

It’s exactly the same, and the painting method is definitely his style!”

"What's this? Someone must have copied Tang Bohu's handwriting, and then wrote a poem scolding Tang Bohu?" Wu Bao still didn't open his eyes. This childishness really made Pan Xiaoqiang laugh.

"Yes!" Pan Xiaoqiang smiled: "Then the appraisal of this painting cannot be based on the poem, but must be judged from the painting itself."

The words woke up the dreamer. Wu Bao quickly opened his eyes and glanced at Pan Xiaoqiang: "There seems to be a philosophical truth hidden in your words - the first impression deceived my eyes?"

Pan Xiaoqiang nodded: "Yes, that's what I mean." He blushed slightly when he said this. After all, he had also been deceived. If it weren't for his supernatural powers, he would probably have destroyed this national treasure-level painting.

Lost.

Pulling the scroll gently, Wu Bao followed Pan Xiaoqiang's thoughts and took a quick look around. He immediately picked up the scroll and swept his right hand across the table, treating the new porcelain drawings that he spent all night sorting out last night as if they were rubbish.

He scanned it and then carefully unfolded the scroll.

"That fat boy, stop drinking. Take out my reading glasses, magnifying glass, and flashlight from that drawer." Wu Bao pointed at the TV cabinet and said to Shi Dazhuang.

Putting on his reading glasses, Wu Bao examined the scroll excitedly. First, he used a flashlight to turn to strong light and scanned the scroll, and then used a magnifying glass to carefully stare at the area.

This action lasted for five minutes, like a sculpture. Wu Bao commented: "At least this painting was not painted by a modern person. The age of the rice paper is correct, and it was not printed on it."

Pan Xiaoqiang watched coldly, not very happy. He just nodded to show that he heard it. Anyway, he already knew the result. Shi Dazhuang, who was next to him, was not thinking about this. He was drinking red wine in peace and mind, not thinking about anything.

Willing to do it.

After looking at it for at least half an hour, Wu Bao's eyes longed to see the "Hundred Birds" painting: "It's definitely an authentic work, it's definitely an authentic work. A two- or three-meter-long scroll can be painted over a hundred times."

There are only peacocks, which requires a relatively high level of artistry, but the main part of this painting that reflects the skill is not the top of these peacocks."

"Where is that?" Pan Xiaoqiang can tell which antique is real and which is fake, but he doesn't have the ability to tell the truth.

Wu Bao pointed to the corner of this traditional Chinese painting and said: "Look at the background, the view of the cliff, and the white clouds that seem to be able to flow. Without these embellishments, these peacocks would really be impossible to see lifelike."

Holding his reading glasses between his two fingers, Wu Bao spoke at a particularly slow pace: "The pen cannot be modified by nature. In the world of traditional Chinese painting, the author is God, so we cannot just paint what is in nature."

, you have to rely on brushwork to repair these incomplete things and create extremely high artistic value."

Not to mention, this old naughty boy was really precise when he talked about really interesting things. Pan Xiaoqiang even seemed to understand, and Shi Dazhuang felt like he was listening to a book from heaven. However, both of them listened to Wu Bao's next words.

understood.

"Tang Bohu is not only the God in the world of traditional Chinese painting, he should be, should be." Wu Bao probably couldn't find any better modifiers, so he said directly: "He should be the Wushi Emperor!"

This sentence did not shock the two young people to death, especially Shi Dazhuang, who had a fat head and said to Pan Xiaoqiang: "This old guy has been reading a lot of fantasy novels recently."

Pan Xiaoqiang nodded in agreement.

"By the way, this time I'm looking for you, Lao Wu, not only to look at the painting, but also to help us issue an appraisal certificate so that we can auction it." Pan Xiaoqiang said politely.

Wu Bao looked at Pan Xiaoqiang with squinting eyes: "Are you going to sell it?"

Pan Xiaoqiang pointed to Shi Dazhuang beside him: "This painting belongs to him, and there is no one in their family who loves collecting. Why not sell it? Keep it to have babies?"

"Haha, that's it." Wu Bao kept giggling while holding the scroll. The two monks, two feet tall, were confused. What kind of trouble was this?

Wu Bao didn't even want the quilt. He stood up and said, "I want this painting! I'll pay 70 million!"

Pan Xiaoqiang was a little suspicious, and said with the same precision as a calculator: "Old Wu, Tang Bohu's "Pine Creek Quiet Place" on vertical scroll silk was sold for 26.45 million at the Poly Auction last year. This Chinese painting is worth even more. Speaking of which,

It should be three times the price. Excluding the tax deducted by the auction house, it is almost 70 million."

"The old man's price is fair." Wu Bao still smiled stupidly. Shi Dazhuang ran out and called his father. This was a big deal.

Pan Xiaoqiang smiled: "Old Wu, I'm not talking about this, I'm trying to say where did you get the 70 million? Are you embezzling? How about money laundering for our paintings!"

"Pan Xiaoqiang, you have insulted my character and my IQ. Let me tell you, my son's name is Wu Haoran. He is known as a prodigy on Wall Street. He can make hundreds of millions a year. Seventy million is nothing." Wu Bao.

He even gouged out Pan Xiaoqiang's eyes angrily.

Pan Xiaoqiang suddenly realized, no wonder this old boy sleeps and studies antiques every day. He also heard people say that he opened a kiln factory in Tongzhou, and instead of making money, he just makes fire for himself? It turns out that he has a rich son.

!

Sitting next to Wu Bao, Pan Xiaoqiang patted the old boy on the shoulder and smiled: "Everyone knows that my father is Li Gang, and you are almost the same. My son is Wu Haoran, haha."

"You don't care. I have a rich son. If you have the ability, you can have one." It gave Pan Xiaoqiang a headache that an old man as old as Wu Bao still loved to act petty.

"Come on, I'll take over for Da Zhuang and sell you for 70 million." Pan Xiaoqiang decided.

Wu Bao was immediately in high spirits. He took the phone lively and asked his son to transfer the money. "My son said, let the little fat man go to the CBD business district and find the financial director of Tianshui Financial Company to get the check." After that, he lay on the table.

The study of "Hundred Birds" that I can't put it down.

Pan Xiaoqiang nodded. This old man was still trustworthy. At this time, Shi Dazhuang walked in with a disgraced face: "My dad scolded me."

"What's wrong?"

"I asked my dad if this painting could be sold for RMB 70 million?" Shi Dazhuang felt aggrieved.

Pan Xiaoqiang was very curious: "What did your dad say?"

"My dad yelled: Are you crazy, you bastard! If you don't want to sell it for 70 million, why should you ask for 100 million?" Shi Dazhuang said, making himself happy.

"Let's go, I'll take you with 70 million." Pan Xiaoqiang opened the door and said goodbye to Wu Bao: "Old Wu, I'm leaving first."

Wu Bao waved his hand impatiently without looking at Pan Xiaoqiang: "Go out and close the door."

"Oh, I don't know who just decided it was a fake."

Wu Bao picked up the magnifying glass and threw it away: "You brat, are you going to leave or not?"
Chapter completed!