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

After Qin Fei left, the entrance to Jianzhen Pavilion became quiet.

Wen Zhaoye stood in front of the counter, still clutching the document in his hand.

The paper was crumpled from his grip, but he didn't let go.

Sun Bo'an came out from behind the counter, put the bag of orange peels into the trash can, and patted the water off his hands: "What did she say?"

Wen Zhaoye didn't look up; his gaze remained fixed on the documents.

"Bao Dequan's case is nearing its end. He faces three charges: fraud, framing, and forgery of documents."

Sun Bo'an nodded: "That's right."

"But he implicated someone."

Sun Bo'an stopped wiping the counter.

He said the counterfeit goods in the store all came from the provincial capital. The middleman's surname was Qian.

The rag in Sun Bo'an's hand fell onto the counter, and he froze.

After several seconds, he finally spoke, his voice a little hoarse: "Qian Bohong?"

"Um."

Sun Bo'an didn't say anything. He turned around, picked up the rag again, folded it twice, and put it back on the counter.

The movements were slow, as if the person was trying to find something to do.

Wen Zhaoye watched his retreating figure.

"Old Sun, the case of the Warring States jade disc was also handled by Qian Bohong."

Sun Bo'an pressed his hand on the counter, his knuckles turning white. He didn't turn around, but the voice squeezed out from his throat: "I know."

"I just told Qin Fei."

Sun Bo'an turned around and looked at Wen Zhaoye.

The wrinkles around his eyes were deep, and something was glistening in his eye sockets, but it didn't fall out.

"What are you planning to do?"

Wen Zhaoye closed the document and placed it on the counter.

He glanced at the completely dark sky outside the window and gave a faint smile.

"I need to get to know that line in the provincial capital."

Sun Bo'an walked to the door, pulled the roller shutter down halfway, and turned to look at him: "Are you going to the provincial capital?"

"Not now," Wen Zhaoye said, "but we need to prepare first."

Sun Bo'an remained silent for a while, as if he was thinking about something.

Then he went back behind the counter, took out an old ledger from the drawer, opened it to a page, paused his fingertip on it for a moment, and then handed it over.

Wen Zhaoye took it and saw that it was a yellowed photograph.

The photo shows two men standing in an antique shop, one young and one middle-aged.

The young Wen Zhaoye didn't recognize him, but the middle-aged man knew at a glance—it was Qian Bohong.

"This photo was taken five years ago when Qiming went to the provincial capital to attend an antique appraisal event," Sun Bo'an said in a low voice. "The night he came back, he handed me this photo and said, 'Dad, this guy surnamed Qian has a problem.'"

Wen Zhaoye looked at the young man in the photo—Sun Qiming. Back then, he was still standing, smiling confidently.

"and then?"

"Then he got into trouble." Sun Bo'an took a deep breath. "Qiming told me that Qian Bohong publicly denied his appraisal at the treasure appraisal meeting, saying that the Warring States jade bi was a fake. But Qiming said he personally saw Qian Bohong meet with the person who gave him the jade bi alone before the appraisal."

Wen Zhaoye stared at the photo for a long time, then put it back in the ledger, closed the ledger, and handed it to Sun Bo'an.

"Mr. Sun, please keep this photo with me for now. I'll come back for it when I need it."

Sun Bo'an took the account book, said nothing, and simply nodded.

Wen Zhaoye turned and walked to the door, pushed open the half-closed roller shutter, and stopped. He glanced back at the document on the counter, then at Sun Bo'an: "Old Sun, for the past five years, you've been waiting for someone who can investigate this case, haven't you?"

Sun Bo'an stood behind the counter, the light shining from behind him, casting a long shadow.

He didn't speak, but he patted the ledger with his hand.

Wen Zhaoye smiled, pushed open the door, and stepped into the night.

The roller shutter behind him slammed shut with a whoosh.

Sun Bo'an stood behind the counter, listening to the footsteps outside the door grow fainter and fainter. He looked down at the old account book in his hand, his fingers tracing the cover for a long time.

Then he opened the drawer, put the ledger inside, and locked it.

He looked up and glanced at the newly hung wooden plaque on the wall—the three characters "Jianzhen Pavilion" gleamed with a warm, wooden glow in the dim light.

He suddenly remembered five years ago, when his son lay in a hospital bed, his whole body wrapped in bandages, and mumbled a sentence: "Dad, that jade is real."

Sun Bo'an stood in the middle of the empty shop, gripping the keys in his hand tightly.

He whispered, "Qiming, it'll be soon."

Outside, all the streetlights were already on.

Shops on the old street closed one after another, except for a lamp still lit at the entrance of Jianzhen Pavilion, illuminating the wooden plaque on the wall and the steps at the entrance.

On the steps lay a small piece of orange peel, left by Qin Fei.

A gust of wind blew, and the orange peel rolled on the ground before coming to a stop.

After Wen Zhaoye and Sun Bo'an left, they pulled down and locked the roller shutter door of Jianzhen Pavilion.

He didn't turn on the light, but walked in the dark behind the counter, squatted down, and took out the black leather ledger from a hidden compartment.

It's Bao Dequan, the one.

He had flipped through a few pages of the ledger during the day, just glancing at it casually, without looking at it carefully.

But after Qin Fei left today, the more he thought about it, the more something seemed off—how could that guy Bao Dequan manage such a big operation?

He turned on the desk lamp and spread the account book out on the counter. The lamp was one of those old-fashioned green-shaded desk lamps, its yellowish light shining on the pages of the account book, the edges of which were shiny with oil, clearly indicating that it had been read for many years.

Wen Zhaoye turned to the first page.

The golden characters of the Divine Eye jumped out onto the paper, like printed text, floating line by line next to the handwritten words.

"A jade dragon pendant, made of Nanyang material, dyed, costing 300, selling for 30,000."

"White jade bracelet, Russian material passed off as Hetian jade, cost 700, selling price 12,000."

"Jade pendant, B grade, injected with resin, cost 200, selling price 8,000."

Wen Zhaoye flipped through the pages one by one, finding it increasingly absurd.

Bao Dequan is really daring; he dares to mark up something that costs a thousand to sell for ten thousand, and yet people still buy it.

He stopped when he turned to page thirty-seven.

The words read: "Zhou Guilan, Bracelet, 280,000."

It's Grandma's bracelet.

The cost price column reads: "Two hundred".

In the remarks column, there was a hastily written code name, just two characters: "Master Qian".

Wen Zhaoye stared at those two words for a long time.

He flipped forward.

In the first few dozen pages, there are also "money masters", each time involving large transactions, and the descriptions of the goods are very vague, unlike other entries that clearly describe things like "jade dragon pendant" or "white jade bracelet". They just write four words - "special goods".

The phrase "special goods" started appearing three years ago, with a batch appearing every one or two months, each batch exceeding 100,000, with the highest amount recorded as 450,000.

Wen Zhaoye folded the corners of the pages and then took pictures of them one by one with his phone.

After taking the photos, he closed the ledger and lingered on the cover for a long time with his fingers.

This ledger is not just evidence of Bao Dequan's crimes—it is the key to the line leading to the provincial capital.

Who is "Master Qian"?

Is it Qian Bohong?

Or is Qian Bohong himself a node on the "Master Qian" line?

He locked the ledger back in the hidden compartment of the counter, stood up, and glanced at the time on his phone.

9:40 PM.

He thought about it and decided to call his grandmother.

The phone rang for a long time before being answered. Grandma's voice sounded a little groggy, as if she had just fallen asleep. "Feeding?"

"Grandma, it's me. I might be a little late getting back tonight; I have some things to take care of at the shop."

"Oh, then you go ahead and get busy, don't stay up too late."

"understood."

Grandma was silent for a moment on the other end of the phone, then said, "Your dad used to be like that too, never coming home in the middle of the night."

Wen Zhaoye held his phone, but didn't say anything.

He could hear something in his grandmother's voice that was hard to describe—it wasn't a complaint, nor was it sadness, but rather a calmness that said, "I've seen this all before," as if she had long been used to waiting for someone until late at night.

"Grandma, I'll be back soon."

"No rush, you go about your business," Grandma said and then hung up.

Wen Zhaoye put his phone back in his pocket, stood in front of the counter, and looked at the streetlights outside the window.

The streetlights in the direction of the provincial capital formed a blurry band of light, stretching from the edge of Jiangcheng all the way to the distant horizon, like some kind of silent summons.

He stood there for a long time.

Then he turned around and turned off the lamp.

The Jianzhen Pavilion suddenly darkened, with only the light from the streetlights outside the window filtering through the cracks, casting a narrow streak of light on the ground.

He walked to the door, placed his hand on the handle of the roller shutter, and glanced back at the counter.

The ledger was locked in a hidden compartment.

But he knew it wouldn't stay locked there forever.