The Winter Solstice stood behind her and was excited to see her. She bent over and leaned over and said with interest: "Princess, listen..."

As soon as he opened his mouth, Youmeng's folding fan handle tapped his head and said sweetly: "Idiot, what are you calling me?"

Dongzhi was stunned for a moment and quickly changed his words: "My husband... Master, are you listening to them chanting poems and essays there? Do you want to join in the fun too?"

This is a conscience. If she doesn't say it, Youmeng will not be angry.

"Recite poems and essays? Look, those who are either artful and elegant or flattering villains, how can they have any real material?" Youmeng spreads out the fan to cover herself, and whispers with her, "I think there will be no talent here, and mediocre talents are almost the same, embroidered pillows, which are not useful."

The Winter Solstice also laughed in a deep understanding after the fan. He stood back with a smile. Suddenly, he heard a gong sound. Youmeng followed everyone to look at each other, but saw a curtain on the stage being taken away. In an instant, a row of characters and paintings appeared in front of him.

A man in a long gown walked up to him. It was the owner of the museum here. He bowed to everyone and smiled with a spring breeze on his face: "These are the calligraphy treasures displayed in our museum today. If you have any of them, the price will be higher!"

It turned out to be an auction of calligraphy? Youmeng felt that the scene was interesting, so she stood up and rushed over with the Confucian scholars, looking at the calligraphy and paintings one by one with a curiosity.

"This running script was written by Mr. Wenshan, Tang." With the introduction of the owner, a man with beautiful eyes stood up proudly and glanced with his eyes high. The owner spread his fingers and pointed at him, "As we all know, Mr. Tang's calligraphy can be sold at a high price in the museum every time, and has been ranked first dozens of times. This calligraphy is also rare."

Youmeng looked at her, and the owner was bragging and showing off her. She didn't hear any of them, but stopped in front of a painting, focused on her, and became more surprised as she looked at her, as if she was possessed by a demon.

"Owner, who painted this "Wushan Yunmeng Picture"?" She suddenly called the man who was talking endlessly to praise Tang Wenshan.

The owner paused, walked up to take a look, and smiled and said, "Oh, it's a young man in green clothes. His signature is on the painting, look." As he said that, he pointed to the seal in the corner of his finger to show her.

Youmeng carefully identified and said lightly: "Ye...Yu..."

"The young master originally planned to sell this painting and take away the silver he earned to help those victims who were injured by fireworks in the state banquet." The owner of the museum stroked his beard with a smile, "If you buy it with your interest, it will be a merit."

Youmeng looked sideways and smiled happily: "Okay, the owner, you might as well offer a price!"

Just as they were discussing, everyone around them looked at them, but no one noticed that in the crowd, a tall and thin man with sharp eyes, cautiously as if he was hiding something, quietly left the hall.

Next to the carriage across the street, the man hidden behind the curtain was talking to Feng Lang. His eyebrows were cold and meaningful: "I guess he was thirsty in the Confucian Pavilion."

The tall and thin man sneaked out of Lu Li's hall came under the car, greeted his commander Feng Lang, and then bowed down to call the car: "Young Master."

Feng Lang looked suspiciously: "Have everyone stared at it? Is the target still inside?"

"Don't worry, the commander, the goal is still there." The subordinates were about to report the situation to them.

Feng Lang asked, "What's wrong with it?"

His subordinate said: "Young Master Qi Bing, the target saw a painting in the calligraphy auctioned by the Confucian Pavilion, which seemed to be very fond of."

The man in the car said nothing, but his eyes moved slightly, revealing sensitive and alert light and shadow.

"Drawing?" Feng Lang saw that the car did not respond, so he asked for him, "What kind of painting is it?"

The subordinate raised his eyes and hesitated: "I am far away from him, and I can't see clearly... It seems to be a landscape painting?"

There was still silence in the car, and the man seemed to be thinking about something. Bai Yu Ningshuang's fingers gently rubbed the handle of the folding fan. Suddenly, he made a decision.
Chapter completed!