Franz had two bolts of silk brought in. The patterns on them bore no obvious regional style.
"Mr. John Sina, can you tell which of these is Lyon silk?"
Franz asked with a smile, but John Sina remained unruffled.
"Your Majesty, I'm afraid your calculation will fall short. My lining is made of Lyon silk. As long as I compare them carefully, I'll surely find the differences."
Though John Sina was no fabric expert, he was a man who would not tire of refined food or finely sliced meat. At the very least, he had used high-end goods dozens of times more often than those experts.
John Sina carefully stroked the fabric as he compared them, but even after a long while, he found no obvious difference among the three.
As clever as John Sina was, he immediately deduced the reason.
"Your Majesty, the two bolts you brought came from the same place of origin, didn't they?"
Franz nodded.
"Fine, then these two must both be Lyon silk. Am I wrong?"
John Sina was extremely confident in his answer, but Franz had no choice but to throw a bucket of cold water over him.
"These two bolts did indeed come from the same place of origin, but that place is not Lyon."
John Sina's eyes widened. He could scarcely believe his ears, for the quality of those two bolts was so similar to the Lyon silk he wore.
"There's no need to be surprised. French silk holds few secrets—the dye formulas and mechanical processes are all easy to imitate. As for the silk itself, there is indeed a slight difference, but 99% of people simply cannot tell them apart.
Why should our Venice silk sell for less than Lyon silk?"
Yet Franz's words left John Sina even more astonished. It