Chapter 153: The Tycoon Domain

Arriving at a study, Amy pointed to several desks and said, “These are exhibits from Liu Zhuba, the owner of Yanruju and a cardiologist. Over the past twenty years, he has hunted far and wide; the desks, chairs, shelves, and beds are all complete. Especially notable are the daily wooden utensils and elegant small collectibles—he’s truly become a great collector.”

“He especially loves sitting on the yellow rosewood Nan Guanmao chair, reading the notes of literary figures by lamplight at night, seeking the refined tastes of ancient scholars, deeply admiring the elegance of bygone eras.”

“The third collector is Mr. Feng Yaohui, a billionaire renowned in the financial world. He quietly amassed over 300 pieces of Ming and Qing dynasty yellow rosewood and rosewood furniture. Since the 1980s, whatever he acquires, he never sells.”

“Eventually, when his collection outgrew its space, with a decisive gesture, he purchased more than ten storefronts at 181 to 199 Hollywood Road, a prime and expensive antique street. There, he directly built a 20,000-square-foot museum—the Two Reliance Museum—the largest private museum on Hong Kong Island.”

Zhuang Chen smiled quietly. When wealth reaches a certain level, one inevitably begins to chase dreams. Whether indulging in food, drink, play, or refined tastes, ultimately it’s just a hobby.

Finally, they reached the center of the room, where the legendary yellow rosewood round-back chair stood. Carved from one piece of wood, the chair’s back curved like a ring; its backrest and armrests descended gracefully, forming an elegant, smooth, and gentle shape.

Spanning dynasties from Tang, Song, Yuan, Ming to Qing, this chair transformed from imperial halls to the common folk, evolving from a mere daily object to a symbol of refined living. It has stood firm for a thousand years, leaving a lasting legacy.

Donning gloves, Zhuang Chen carefully caressed the chair. Its surface was warm and mellow, the form graceful, relaxed, and tasteful. The circular frame naturally extended downward with smooth, flowing lines; the armrests curved with strength, their ends protruding and flaring outward. Carved notches held small corner braces, vivid and clever…

Most striking was the patina accumulated over centuries—the enduring touch of countless hands, the passage of light through the air, layers upon layers of sediment gradually forming a natural surface crust.

The smoothness was gratifying, the subdued glow serene, silently narrating the chair’s passage through time, revealing a tender antiquity, a rustic weightiness, an unalterable heritage of history.

That faint sheen was reserved and gentle, quietly warm, offering a subtle intimacy like an ancient gentleman—modest, gracious, whose presence always brings the feeling of a spring breeze, courteous and polite.

At last, Zhuang Chen slowly sat down. The circle of the backrest and the square of the four legs not only echoed the ancient cosmology of heaven’s roundness and earth’s squareness but also subtly embodied the spiritual pursuit of harmony between heaven and humanity. The blend of curves and straight lines reflected the doctrine of yin and yang balance.

The S-shaped backboard was crafted according to the spine’s curve; centuries ago, artisans already recognized ergonomics. The top was round, the base square. The circle dominated, symbolizing harmony and happiness; the square stood for stability and serene perseverance.

A set of study furniture, a few antiques, calligraphy, and paintings; ink, brush, paper, and inkstone on the desk. In moments of leisure, one could casually write or appreciate. When successful, one helps the world; when poor, one maintains one’s virtue. The scholar’s ideal flexes freely within this limited space.

Do not yearn for fleeting fame, illusions and bubbles are finite; instead, seek joy—the endless romance of wind, flowers, snow, and moon.

Zhuang Chen took a deep breath. When a thousand-year-old tree transforms into a Ming-style round chair, its life continues in another form, accompanying you day and night—quiet, profound, yet always inspiring thought…

Reluctantly, he stood up. This was not for sale, merely an exhibit. Last year, at Christie’s New York, a set of four 17th-century yellow rosewood round chairs from the private collection of An Siyuan sold for $9.685 million, about 60.63 million RMB, twelve times the low estimate, setting the record for the most expensive yellow rosewood round chair ever.

Collectors prize pairs of chairs. Due to history, matched chairs often become separated, so paired chairs are worth several times a single chair. Matched sets of chairs are worth even more, multiple times the value of pairs.

Moreover, a rare collection passed down in order, preserved by renowned connoisseurs, is truly priceless!

Zhuang Chen shook his head silently. Though he owned many high-quality replicas, having seen authentic Ming dynasty treasures firsthand, the feeling was… incomparable.

Amy smiled quietly beside him. Used to seeing such expressions from clients, she knew only the truly obsessed would reveal such genuine emotion. She spoke softly, “First love is the hardest to forget. If it’s love at first sight, the passion intensifies, especially for women.”

“A woman’s obsession is not easily cast off. Lovers can become infatuated, but an attachment to objects often becomes a nurturing passion for life—like Mrs. Wu Jia’en and her love for yellow rosewood furniture.”

“The first time she saw yellow rosewood furniture was at the Victoria and Albert Museum in Britain in 1970. At first glance, she thought they were so beautiful—the breathtaking impact remains unforgettable…”

“She became unstoppable; whenever she saw a good book, she copied it down. Hearing of exhibits, she would visit those museums.”

“She spent her days rushing between large and small museums, poring over related works, research articles, and exhibition news. Later, she even wore a diver’s suit to blend into renowned classical furniture restoration workshops, carefully observing how craftsmen assembled and polished Ming-style classical furniture, studying the mysteries of their internal structures.”

Zhuang Chen was surprised. He had thought Wu Jia’en was merely a businesswoman, unaware she was so passionately devoted to yellow rosewood.

“Every woman, deep down, harbors such a yearning: to have a soulmate—a confidant.”

“He is neither husband nor lover but someone residing in the realm of the spirit. Not necessarily handsome, but certainly eloquent and learned, broadening your horizons and encouraging you to pursue the most beautiful aspects of life.”

“Best if you meet during a business trip or by chance—perhaps a misdialed phone call, or accidentally spilling coffee all over…”

Amy smiled wistfully, envisioning, “In 1981, during a lecture tour in Britain, by fate, Mrs. Wu Jia’en met the renowned master of Ming furniture, Mr. Wang Shixiang. They immediately connected and later formed an ageless friendship.”

“In 1985, Mr. Wang’s first furniture monograph, ‘A Treasured Appreciation of Ming Furniture,’ was published by Sanlian Bookstore—a milestone in Ming furniture collecting.”

“At that time, ninety-nine percent of people had never seen Ming furniture. To support the book’s publication, Mrs. Wu Jia’en tirelessly arranged and funded a small exhibition at Sanlian Bookstore, lending all her exhibits to support her idol.”

“Later, the English edition was personally entrusted by Mr. Wang to Mrs. Wu Jia’en for translation.” Pointing to the plaque hanging in the hall, Amy continued, “In 1987, the trading company was founded. Mr. Wang named it ‘Jiamutang’ and personally wrote those three characters.”

Zhuang Chen looked up at the flowing, vigorous calligraphy, with two small lines beside it:

“Chosen from the chosen, the vessel perfect in spirit.

A brief farewell to fragrant harbor, behold with new eyes.”

He had even compiled two catalogs of Ming furniture: “Chosen from the Chosen” and “The Vessel Perfect in Spirit,” which, along with a Ming furniture exhibition held at Jiade, commemorated the centennial of Mr. Wang Shixiang’s birth.

A sudden inexplicable stir arose in Zhuang Chen’s heart…

Fate is indeed wondrous beyond words. Facing yellow rosewood furniture, one searches for it a thousand times over…

Only to suddenly turn and find,

It has been waiting there, where the lamplight dims.