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

It was past eight o'clock in the evening when Wen Zhaoye returned to Jianzhen Pavilion. The lingering aroma of roasted meat from the teahouse next door still wafted from the alleyway. He pulled down the roller shutter, and the metal chain clicked shut, immersing the entire shop in the quiet of the jade market in the dead of night.

He didn't turn on the main light, but instead turned on the old table lamp covered with a linen cloth shade. The warm yellow light spilled over the dark green velvet table and fell on the brown paper bag that Yu Tinglan had given him and the worn-out black leather ledger.

Today's information was overwhelming—the provincial capital's jade gambling conference, Qian Bohong's ban, and Yu Tinglan's nonchalant remark that "the Yu family still has some influence in the provincial capital," all weighed heavily on his fingertips.

He sat behind the counter, his fingertips brushing against the yellowed, frayed edges of the ledger. He turned to page 37, staring at the line "Zhou Guilan, bracelet, 280,000, money maker" for a long while, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly.

The image of his grandmother clutching the bracelet and telling him, "This is a family heirloom," suddenly overlapped with this line of scribbled handwriting.

Then he closed the ledger and took out his phone.

Qin Fei's message, "What's wrong with him?" was still displayed at the top of the chat box. He only replied with the three words "white gloves" and then put it down.

My finger hovered over the screen for two seconds, then I reopened the dialog box and slowly typed a line of text:

"Besides the jade business, were there any other financial transactions between Qian Bohong and Bao Dequan?"

After sending the message, I placed my phone face down on the table and slowly ran my fingertips along the wood grain of the lamp base while waiting for a reply.

My phone vibrated.

But it wasn't news about Qin Fei.

It's an email notification.

Wen Zhaoye picked up his phone, the cold white screen reflecting on his brow bone. The sender was an unfamiliar, garbled email address, with no name and only a single, solitary word "money" in the subject line.

He paused for a moment, then clicked on it.

The email body was empty; it only contained a screenshot.

He clicked on the screenshot and zoomed in: it was a bank statement page. The account name was heavily blurred out, but the three characters "Qian Bohong" in the recipient column were clearly visible. The transfer amount was 200,000 yuan, and the transaction date was exactly the same day that Bao Dequan had someone submit the report materials to the association.

Wen Zhaoye stared at the string of numbers for a long time, his knuckles unconsciously tapping the edge of the screen.

Two hundred thousand. On the same day. No sooner had he submitted the materials to blacklist him than he transferred the money to the "money clerk" in the provincial capital.

He put down his phone, twirled his fingertips in the warm light of the lamp, then picked it up again and typed a reply with just four words: "Who are you?"

send.

About three minutes later, a reply came.

"Someone who can't stand the Lin family's way of doing things."

Wen Zhaoye looked at the line of text but did not reply.

The other party sent another message: "I want the Lin family to be finished. You need to prove you're not the next Bao Dequan."

Wen Zhaoye's finger hovered above the keyboard for a few seconds before finally typing: "How do you want me to prove it?"

The reply came very quickly, in less than a minute.

The other party sent a preview screenshot of an encrypted compressed file, with a single line of text: "This is Bao Dequan and Qian Bohong's bank statements for three years. The password, wait for you to show it to me."

Wen Zhaoye stared at the words on the screen, his gaze darkening.

A complete three-year timeline.

This is something that an ordinary whistleblower could never obtain. Either they have connections to the highest levels and can access internal bank data, or they are hidden within the inner circle of Bao Dequan's messy affairs.

Before he could think it through, there was a light knock at the door, accompanied by the slight rattling of the roller shutter chain.

"What are you looking at so intently?"

Wen Zhaoye looked up and saw Qin Fei standing at the door, wearing a dark blue windbreaker that had been washed until it was soft, with a bit of night dew on the hem, and carrying a half-net bag of oranges in her hand.

She didn't go inside, but leaned against the door frame, picked up an orange with her fingertips, her nails were short and clean, and her knuckles had thin calluses from years of holding pens and guns. She peeled the orange as if she were at home.

"Why are you here so late?" Wen Zhaoye turned off his phone screen and casually pushed it next to the ledger.

"It's on my way home from get off work." Qin Fei tore off a segment of orange peel and popped it into her mouth. The sourness made her raise an eyebrow. "I saw your shop lights were still on, so I came in for a seat. What, not welcome?"

"welcome."

Qin Fei walked in, pulled up the wooden chair in front of the counter, sat down, and pushed half of the peeled orange segments in front of him.

Her gaze swept over the black leather ledger and brown paper bag on the table. Without asking where they came from, she simply looked up at him and asked, "Any clues?"

Wen Zhaoye was silent for two seconds, then turned his phone to the side and pushed it a little closer. Only the word "money" in the email title and the corner of the transaction screenshot were visible, not the full content.

Qin Fei glanced at it quickly, didn't ask where it came from, slowly swallowed the last segment of orange, and spat the orange seed into the orange peel in her palm.

"I'll check the account holder's information tomorrow."

Wen Zhaoye glanced at her: "Aren't you going to ask me where I'm from?"

Qin Fei stood up and patted the orange peel residue off her trousers: "Since you're willing to let me see it, it means this thing is related to the Warring States jade disc case. You investigate yours, I'll investigate mine, and we won't overstep our boundaries."

She walked to the door, placed her hand on the shutter handle, and then turned back to add, "Don't click on that compressed file carelessly. If it contains a virus and your phone explodes, don't blame me for it."

Wen Zhaoye didn't respond, watching her figure disappear into the dimness at the stairwell.

He looked down and turned his phone back on, then zoomed in on the screenshot of the transaction.

The number two hundred thousand gleamed coldly under the warm yellow lamplight, like a thin thread hidden within the numbers, one end tied to Bao Dequan, the other to Qian Bohong, with the indistinct shadow of the Lin family swirling in between.

He locked his phone screen, closed the black leather ledger, stuffed it into the cabinet drawer, and locked it with a click.

As he reached the doorway, he glanced back at the wooden plaque on the wall. The three characters "Jianzhen Pavilion" were bathed in the warm glow of the lamplight, their strokes solid and weighty.

He reached out and turned off the table lamp, plunging the room into darkness, with only a few rays of streetlight filtering through the window. He locked the shop door and went down the stairs, the wooden steps creaking softly under his feet.

Most of the shops on the old street were closed, and two streetlights at the alley entrance cast a dim, yellowish light on the bluestone pavement, reflecting a damp, dark glow.

He stood downstairs and looked up at the signboard of Jianzhen Pavilion. The lanterns on the eaves swayed gently. Then he turned and walked towards home, his shoes crunching over the fallen leaves in the cracks of the stone slabs.

As he walked, he took out his phone again and read the anonymous email twice.

The sender claimed to have three years' worth of bank statements but would only give him the password after he "proved himself."

Wen Zhaoye put his phone back in his pocket without stopping.

He pondered this all the way. This person was able to accurately obtain the bank statements before and after the incident, so either he had an insider in the banking system, or he was someone who had betrayed Bao Dequan.

Neither of them are easy to deal with.

When he reached his front door, he took out his keys and hesitated. The light in the main room was still on, and he could hear the soft strains of traditional opera coming from his grandmother's television through the wooden door.

He pushed the door open, and the hinges made a soft click.

Grandma sat in a wicker chair, her legs covered with the faded old blanket, watching the play with her eyes half-closed.

Seeing him come in, she slowly put down the remote control: "Back so late? Busy at the shop?"

"Yes, I've taken inventory of the goods."

"Have you eaten? There's some porridge keeping warm in the pot for you."

"I've already eaten, don't bother."

Grandma didn't ask any more questions and picked up the remote control again to change the channel.

Wen Zhaoye walked into his room, closed the door, stood with his back against the door for two seconds, and then sat down on the bed.

He took out his phone again, stared at the anonymous email for a moment, then switched to Qin Fei's WeChat chat and typed a line:

"I'll be at the store tomorrow morning."