Divine Eye Appraisal: Starting with a Lucky Pickup of a Beautiful CEO's Family Heirloom

At six o'clock in the evening, Wen Zhaoye had just locked the door of Jianzhen Pavilion.

Sun Bo'an walked over from the stairwell, carrying a bag of green vegetables in one hand and two palm-sized crucian carp in the other.

"Come on, my wife is making dumplings today." Sun Bo'an waved the plastic bag in front of Wen Zhaoye.

Wen Zhaoye was taken aback for a moment: "Old Sun, I'm so sorry—"

"Stop talking nonsense, you're acting like a woman." Sun Bo'an turned and left. "Your grandma is still in the hospital. Going back alone will only mean instant noodles. You might as well come to my house for a proper meal."

Wen Zhaoye did not refuse again and followed.

Sun Bo'an's home is deep in the old street, in an old building from the 1990s. There is no elevator, and half of the motion-activated lights in the corridor are broken.

After climbing to the fourth floor, Sun Bo'an took out his key and opened the door.

The room wasn't big, but it was kept very clean.

On the living room wall hangs a faded calligraphy scroll that reads "The true are not false." The strokes are powerful, revealing the calligrapher's profound skill.

"Honey, Xiao Wen is here," Sun Bo'an called out to the kitchen.

A kind-faced woman peeked out from the kitchen. Sun Bo'an's wife, wearing an apron and with flour still on her hands, said, "You're here, Xiao Wen. Come on in. The dumplings will be ready soon."

Wen Zhaoye politely greeted her with "Hello, Auntie".

There were three sets of bowls and chopsticks on the dining table.

Wen Zhaoye noticed this detail—the third mate.

Sun Bo'an, his wife, and himself.

There was no fourth mate. He didn't ask.

The dumplings were served, filled with cabbage and pork, with wrappers rolled out neither too thick nor too thin.

Sun Bo'an poured two glasses of bulk liquor, pushing one to Wen Zhaoye and keeping the other for himself.

"Want some drinks?"

"Old Sun, I don't know how—"

"If you don't know how, just learn." Sun Bo'an picked up his cup. "It's just a sip, it won't kill you."

Wen Zhaoye took the cup, took a sip, and winced from the spiciness.

Sun Bo'an smiled at his expression: "Much calmer than when you're cutting stones."

The two ate dumplings, drank wine, and chatted about things at the shop.

Sun Bo'an asked him about the progress of the renovation, and he said it was almost done, and the plaque could be hung up after a few more days of airing.

Sun Bo'an said he had already spoken to Ma Guoliang, and the stone-cutting machine would be moved over next week.

Halfway through the meal, Sun Bo'an suddenly put down his chopsticks. He picked up his wine glass, but didn't drink it, and then put it down again.

Seeing his expression, Wen Zhaoye knew he had something to say, so he put down his chopsticks.

"Xiao Wen," Sun Bo'an spoke, his voice a little deep, "Do you know why I'm helping you?"

"Mr. Sun, you have such a kind and compassionate heart—"

"Nonsense," Sun Bo'an interrupted him. "I've lived for sixty-eight years, and what I fear most is getting into trouble. Do you think I want to cause trouble?"

Wen Zhaoye remained silent.

Sun Bo'an's wife peeked out from the kitchen, glanced in their direction, then withdrew and gently closed the kitchen door.

"I used to have a son," Sun Bo'an said, tracing his fingers over his wine glass. "His name was Sun Qiming."

Wen Zhaoye's breathing became a little lighter.

Sun Bo'an picked up his wine glass, took a sip, and then put it down. The sound of the glass hitting the table was very soft, but it could be heard clearly in the quiet living room.

"He learned to appraise jade from me since he was a child. By the age of seventeen, he could independently determine the authenticity of jade at a glance. By the age of twenty, all the veteran experts in the provincial capital knew him. He was talented and stubborn; once he made up his mind, he would never back down."

Sun Bo'an tapped his fingers on the table, as if trying to make his point clearer.

"Five years ago, a collector from the provincial capital brought him a Warring States period jade disc for authentication. He examined it thoroughly for three days, determined it to be genuine, and issued a certificate of authenticity. Guess what happened next?"

Wen Zhaoye knew he was about to hear crucial information.

"Qian Bohong," Sun Bo'an gritted his teeth as he said the name, "the executive director of the Antiques Association, the top expert in appraisal in the provincial capital. At the provincial treasure appraisal meeting, he publicly rejected Qiming's appraisal, saying that it was not a Warring States period jade disc, but a high-quality fake, and asked for no more than three thousand yuan."

"Qiming was not convinced. He took detailed photos of the jade disc, analysis of the workmanship marks, and a report comparing the patina to Qian Bohong and went to argue with him. Qian Bohong didn't even look at them. In front of everyone, he threw the report on the ground and said, 'A mere kid who has only studied for two and a half days dares to mess with the big boss.'"

Sun Bo'an's voice began to tremble.

"Qiming couldn't stay in the provincial capital any longer. His old clients stopped contacting him, his competitors were afraid to associate with him, and his former employer fired him for 'issuing false appraisals.' Three months later, he jumped from the fourth floor."

The living room remained quiet for a long time.

"He's not dead." Sun Bo'an's voice became very low. "His spine is broken, and he can't move below the neck. He's lying in a rehabilitation center on the outskirts of the city now, and he even needs a caregiver to turn over."

Wen Zhaoye's knuckles were already white as he held the cup.

"Right after my son's accident, every time I closed my eyes I would see him standing at the fourth-floor window. He later said that when he jumped, he wasn't thinking about dying, but about proving that he hadn't misjudged me—that he hadn't let his father down."

Sun Bo'an took off his reading glasses and pinched the corners of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

The kitchen door moved slightly, but didn't open.

"Qiming wouldn't be mistaken," Sun Bo'an said. "He's someone I personally mentored. The jade's patina is an old yellow patina, the kind that's seeped into the very texture. It wouldn't have penetrated without hundreds of years of handling and soil erosion. The workmanship is a double-incised-out line technique, unique to the Warring States period. Later imitations simply can't achieve that level of precision. The patina is warm and smooth, with fine, hair-like lines on the surface."

He spoke faster and faster, as if trying to convince himself, or perhaps trying to convince fate.

"Completely correct. Every single detail is correct. But Qian Bohong is all-powerful in the provincial capital. With just one word from him, no one else in the entire industry dares to say it's true."

Sun Bo'an's hands began to tremble again.

"It's been five years, and I've racked my brains to find evidence. I've dug up everything—the photos Qiming took back then, the detailed diagrams, the lab reports. But Qian Bohong has suppressed all the materials that are unfavorable to him, and everyone who stood up to support Qiming has been ostracized. I can't find any evidence to overturn the case."

He looked up and gazed at Wen Zhaoye through his reading glasses.

"I know that jade is real. But I can't find any proof."

Another silence followed.

Wen Zhaoye looked down at the half-full bowl of dumpling soup that remained in his bowl.

The steam blurred my vision; a few green scallions floated on the dumpling soup, rising above the oil.

He heard suppressed sobbing coming from the kitchen.

He placed the chopsticks on the edge of the bowl, the plastic chopsticks making a crisp sound as they touched the porcelain bowl.

"Old Sun, where is that jade disc now?"

Sun Bo'an was taken aback. He hadn't expected Wen Zhaoye to ask that.

"After Qiming's incident, the collector, fearing trouble, sold it to Qian Bohong at a low price. He bought it for 3,500."

Wen Zhaoye nodded.

He raised his eyes and looked at Sun Bo'an. His gaze was not sharp, even calm, but Sun Bo'an saw a deep underlying quality in those eyes—the kind of quality that only comes after experiencing betrayal and desperate situations.

"I've memorized the name Qian Bohong."

Wen Zhaoye picked up his wine glass and downed the rest of the liquor in one gulp.

His throat burned as he swallowed, but he didn't frown.

Sun Bo'an looked at him, his eyes already red.

"Xiao Wen, you don't need to—"

"Old Sun," Wen Zhaoye stood up, "the dumplings were delicious. I'll treat you another day."

He went to the door to change his shoes, and Sun Bo'an followed him out, holding something in his hand.

"Take it."

Wen Zhaoye took it and saw that it was an old photograph.

The photo shows Sun Qiming standing next to a stone-cutting machine when he was young, holding a freshly cut piece of jadeite rough in his hand, with a bright smile.

"This photo was taken two months before Qiming's incident. At that time, he had just won the Youth Gold Award from the Provincial Jewelry Appraisal Association and was full of vigor." Sun Bo'an patted the photo. "You need to know who you're helping to overturn the verdict."

Wen Zhaoye carefully placed the photo into the inner bag, folding it together with the family photo.

"Brother Qiming," he said, "Brother Ming will be alright."

He turned and went downstairs.

The motion-activated lights in the hallway flickered on and off, and his footsteps were steady and without hesitation.

When I stepped out of the building, it was already completely dark.

The streetlights in the old street were sparse, and some were even broken, but the roads in the distance were bustling with traffic, and the neon lights were dazzling.

He stood under the streetlight for a while, then took out the photos from his inner pocket and looked at them.

Sun Qiming is smiling so brightly in the photo.

Wen Zhaoye folded the photo and put it back in the inner bag.

Then he raised his head and looked in the direction of the provincial capital.

The night breeze was a bit chilly.

A thought suddenly popped into his mind: if he could find the Warring States jade disc that Qian Bohong had taken away, and let the Divine Eye take another look at it, could he trace back its circulation record?

From the moment it was unearthed, through whose hands it passed, to who authenticated it as genuine, and then to what tricks Qian Bohong played—every frame of the story will be recorded by Shentong.

That is the most conclusive evidence.

As he thought of this, the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

"A jade disc from the Warring States period..." he muttered to himself, "That's interesting."