"Several thousand years of herbs are precious, but they can't follow it," Yin Xiaofan said lightly.
The old man's heart was also tumbling; he hadn't expected Yin Xiaofan to hold such a high regard for the silvergrass, seeming as if it truly was a fortune.
"I will pay one hundred million US dollars." Someone began to bid step by step, staring at the silver grass, his eyes burning with desire.
"One hundred million is too shy to mention. The grass shines, just like a Luminous Pearl among the blades. How precious it is!" someone sarcastically said, "I will pay two hundred million US dollars."
"Two hundred fifty million."
"Three hundred million."
"Three hundred ten million."
...
It seemed many people were eyeing the silver grass, the bidding had begun, and the price had suddenly soared to eight hundred million.
This was already a very high price, even compared to ordinary millennia-old medicinal herbs, unaffordable for most, and many were reluctant to give it up.
