Chapter 3 Is She Master Audrey?

Director Johnson was startled and looked at Audrey with difficulty, his eyes clearly filled with hope and pleading.

After a moment of silence, Audrey finally spoke, "Let's go take a look."

Director Johnson was overjoyed and said repeatedly, "Good, good, good, let's head over now."

The group walked through the corridor to the professional restoration room at the end.

The door was open, and two people were already standing inside. One was an elderly man wearing an iron-gray suit, lean and upright, his white hair combed meticulously.

His eyes were bright and focused intently on the painting before him, his expression full of concentration and care for the artwork. This was none other than Hank Harrington, a giant in the domestic collecting world, famous for his sharp eye and exquisite collection.

Standing beside him was a middle-aged man in his forties, his hair slicked back with gel, pointing at the oil painting and speaking confidently. "Mr. Harrington, for this level of paint layer separation, we must first use micro-vacuum suction for stabilization, then use specially formulated gel for layered reinforcement. The restoration difficulty is extremely high, with a success rate of at most thirty percent."

Hank's brow furrowed deeply, clearly dissatisfied with this assessment.

Hearing footsteps, he turned around and saw Director Johnson's group. His eyes immediately lit up. "Johnson! Can Master Audrey come?"

The middle-aged man was suddenly interrupted and glanced sideways at Audrey as she approached.

Johnson was about to speak when Audrey walked past him and went straight to the work table. She took just one look at the painting and said calmly, "It can be restored."

"Restored? Such big words for someone so young! Do you even know this is an authentic Rembrandt?!" the middle-aged John Doe said angrily.

Hank also frowned. "Young lady, it's good to be interested in oil paintings, but you should just watch the master work from the side."

Director Johnson coughed. "Actually, she is Master Audrey."

Hank's eyes lit up, staring at Audrey. "Master Audrey is mysterious, rarely seen in the industry. I never expected her to be such a young and promising girl."

"What nonsense! For God's sake, stop bragging."

John scoffed. "Master Audrey's skilled hands have saved dozens of national treasure oil paintings in three years. How could she be a little girl?"

"Oh? You admire her that much? Then if I restore this painting, wouldn't that prove I'm Master Audrey?" Audrey raised an eyebrow.

"If you're Master Audrey, I'll kneel down to you right here!"

"I'll be waiting then."

Seeing Audrey's confident look, John suddenly panicked. "Wait, you're really going to restore it? If you ruin it, ten lives wouldn't be enough to pay for it."

Michael, who had been leaning against the doorframe, suddenly laughed.

He walked in slowly, hands in his pockets, posture casual.

"It's just a painting, isn't it?" He walked to Audrey's side, patted her shoulder, and looked coldly at John. "Go ahead and restore it. If you mess it up, your brother will cover it. We can afford to pay, no matter how much!"

John choked on these words, his face flushing red. "You—you're absolutely ridiculous!"

Before he finished speaking, Audrey had already started.

She put on gloves, took tools from the nearby equipment rack, her movements calm and skilled.

John's face changed dramatically when he saw this, and he shouted sharply. "Stop! What do you think you're doing!"

He rushed forward to stop her, but Michael stepped sideways, blocking his path.

"What's the rush?" Michael raised an eyebrow, his height and presence creating double pressure. "Didn't you say you'd get on your knees? My sister's about to show you what's what."

"Absolutely arrogant!" John trembled with anger, turned to Hank and shouted, "Mr. Harrington, are you just going to let them mess around? This is a national treasure!"

Hank was also anxious and stepped forward to stop her, but when he saw Audrey's movements clearly, his steps suddenly froze.

Her technique was too skilled. The vacuum probe in her hands was like a precisely calculated machine, not off by a fraction.

Her gaze was focused and calm, as if the entire world had shrunk to just this damaged painting before her.

John's expression began to change, from initial anger to surprise to disbelief.

"This technique is the highest precision level," he muttered to himself. "How is this possible, how old is she..."

Hank's eyes widened more and more. He moved closer, almost pressing against the edge of the work table, afraid to miss any detail.

"The timing of the layered reinforcement is so precise..." he couldn't help but praise in a low voice. "The temperature control is just right too..."

John's pupils contracted sharply. "Could she really be—"

Director Johnson nodded with a smile.

John's voice was full of disbelief. "But—but Master Audrey should be..."

"Should be an old man?" Director Johnson finished for him, looking at Audrey with pride in his eyes. "I was also surprised when I first met her, but we have to admit that some people are born geniuses. Although Master Audrey is young, she's much better than some seventy or eighty-year-old restorers!"

Hank nodded slowly, his gaze toward Audrey growing more admiring.

At the work table, Audrey had completed the first stage of critical reinforcement. She straightened up, removed her gloves, and looked calmly at the dumbfounded John beside her.

"Now, how would you like to kneel?" Her voice was cold, tinged with mockery.

John's face turned beet red, and he craned his neck forward to argue. "Don't get too cocky! You've only completed the initial reinforcement! Restoring a painting has countless steps. Who knows if you can do well with the cleaning and color restoration later? Maybe the first part was just luck!"

"Luck?" Audrey raised an eyebrow, stepped aside from the work table, and gestured with her hand. "Since you think I was just lucky, why don't you demonstrate yourself what non-lucky restoration looks like."

John was stumped, his lips trembling, unable to utter a word. But under everyone's gaze, for the sake of his pitiful self-esteem, he could only bite the bullet and walk forward.

He picked up the fine cleaning brush. Whether from nervousness or not, his hand couldn't stop shaking. Though the trembling was subtle, for ancient painting restoration requiring millimeter-level precision, it was a disaster.

Audrey crossed her arms, watching coldly, mocking in a cold voice. "Can't even hold your tools steady, and you call yourself a restorer? Has the field really gone to hell? Any Joe Schmoe can call himself a master these days?"