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

When Qin Fei appeared at the entrance of Jianzhen Pavilion the next afternoon, Wen Zhaoye was organizing account books behind the counter.

She wasn't wearing her police uniform today; she was wearing a navy blue hooded sweatshirt, her hair was tied in a ponytail, and she was clutching a brown paper envelope in her hand.

He entered without saying a word, sat down directly in front of the counter, and slammed the envelope on the table.

"There's been a new discovery in Bao Dequan's case." Wen Zhaoye put down his pen and watched her pull a stack of documents out of the envelope.

Qin Fei unfolded one of the pages and pointed to a highlighted line: "This is a copy of Bao Dequan's phone call log. Look here—three days before the incident, he called the same number seven times in a row."

Wen Zhaoye leaned over to take a look.

The seven call records were arranged in a row, with times ranging from 9 a.m. three days before the incident to 11 p.m. the night before the incident.

The shortest was forty-five seconds, and the longest was four and a half minutes.

"What's the contact name for this number?"

"No, it's not saved," Qin Fei said. "This number in Bao Dequan's phone doesn't have any contact names saved; it's a blank number."

"How did you find out?"

Qin Fei leaned back and crossed her arms: "The technical department did a reverse investigation. The registered owner of this number is a company in the provincial capital."

She pulled out another piece of paper and placed it on top.

Wen Zhaoye looked down and saw a printout of a company's business registration information. Company name: Lin's Culture Media.

Legal representative: Lin Boyuan.

Registered capital: 50 million.

Business scope: cultural relics auction, art appraisal, and mining development.

Wen Zhaoye stared at the words "mining development" for several seconds.

"Mining development?" He looked up. "A cultural media company, getting involved in mining development?"

"The scope of business is clearly stated," Qin Fei said. "When I saw it, I also felt something was wrong, so I asked my colleagues in the provincial capital to check it out. In recent years, Lin's Culture has participated in several bidding for mining rights in the provincial capital, and all the mines it won were jade mines."

Wen Zhaoye didn't speak, but tapped his fingers lightly on the paper twice.

Sun Bo'an peeked out from behind the counter, his reading glasses perched crookedly on his nose: "Let me see."

Wen Zhaoye turned the paper over.

Sun Bo'an squinted at it for a few seconds, then his expression suddenly changed.

He took off his reading glasses, put them back on, glanced at them again, and then looked up at Wen Zhaoye.

"Lin Boyuan".

"Do you know him?" Wen Zhaoye asked.

Sun Bo'an was silent for a few seconds, then took off his reading glasses and placed them on the counter. He ran his fingers over the lenses a couple of times, as if he was thinking about something.

"The Lin family is a force to be reckoned with in the provincial capital's antique circle," he said. "Not at the level of Bao Dequan. Bao Dequan is at most a local tyrant in Jiangcheng, but the Lin family—they have the power to control the entire industry chain."

"How so?"

"Do you know how Lin Boyuan made his fortune?" Sun Bo'an lowered his voice. "Fifteen years ago, he was a tricycle driver. He would haul goods at the entrance of the antique market in the provincial capital, helping anyone who needed something moved."

Wen Zhaoye didn't respond, waiting for him to continue.

"After three years, he had mastered the ins and outs of the antique market. He knew exactly who was truly wealthy, who was just pretending, whose goods were of dubious origin, and who had dealings with out-of-town buyers. In his fourth year, he stopped hauling goods and rented the smallest stall in the antique market to work as a middleman."

Qin Fei peeled an orange beside her and interjected, "A real estate agent?"

"Yes. He neither buys nor sells goods; he's just a middleman. Can't find a buyer? He'll connect you with one. Have goods you want to sell but are afraid to show your face? He'll help you find a buyer. He takes a cut from both ends, so you don't have to put in a single penny of your own money."

Sun Bo'an tapped his finger on the counter as he spoke: "Then, in the seventh year, he suddenly became rich. He bought a house in the most expensive residential complex in the provincial capital with cash, registered Lin's Cultural Media, and then started collecting antiques and opening an auction house."

"Where did the money come from?"

"Nobody knows," Sun Bo'an shook his head. "Some say he acted as a guarantor for some big boss and received a commission, others say he helped people launder something and received a share. But one thing is certain—starting from the fifteenth year, he began to place people in the provincial antique association."

"Is Qian Bohong one of his men?" Qin Fei asked.

"Qian Bohong is not his man," Sun Bo'an said. "Qian Bohong is his dog."

Wen Zhaoye raised his head and looked at Sun Bo'an.

Sun Bo'an put on his reading glasses and said in a deep voice, "Lin Boyuan is not the kind of person who will personally show his face. He prefers to hide in the shadows and have people like Qian Bohong do things for him. Qian Bohong plays the good guy in front, while he counts the money behind the scenes."

Qin Fei popped the last segment of orange into her mouth, wiped her fingers, and then pulled the last piece of paper from the envelope.

"There's one more thing." She placed the paper on the counter. "This is a group photo of Lin Boyuan at a charity gala in the provincial capital six months ago."

Wen Zhaoye looked down and saw that the photo showed a round table with red wine and brand-name items on it.

Lin Boyuan sat in the middle, wearing a dark gray Zhongshan suit, his hair was neatly combed, and he had the standard smile of a successful person on his face.

The person sitting to his right—Wen Zhaoye—had his finger resting on the photograph.

Qian Bohong.

Qian Bohong was wearing a white shirt, holding a glass of red wine, and slightly turned to the side, as if he was talking to Lin Boyuan.

The two of them looked very relaxed, clearly old acquaintances.

Wen Zhaoye stared at the photo, a chill running down his spine.

"Six months ago," he said. "That means Qian Bohong was already sitting with the Lin family before Bao Dequan's case came to light."

"Yes," Qin Fei said. "And this isn't their first meeting. I had someone check Lin Boyuan's public schedule for the past two years. He and Qian Bohong have appeared together at least six times—three times at charity galas, twice at the provincial antique association's annual meeting, and once at the opening ceremony of the provincial jade gambling conference."

Wen Zhaoye put the photo back on the table and remained silent for a few seconds.

"Please help me check all the cultural relic auction records that Lin's Culture has participated in over the past three years."

Qin Fei didn't answer, but nodded as she put her phone away.

Sun Bo'an stood to the side, looking at the photo, and suddenly said:

"Boss Wen, this trip to the provincial capital is probably going to be difficult."

"I know," Wen Zhaoye said.

He put the stack of documents away and placed them in the drawer of the counter.

As he closed the drawer, his fingers lingered on the handle for a moment.

"Qin Fei, is there any more information we can find about this encrypted number? For example, which numbers has it been in contact with in recent months?"

"Yes," Qin Fei said. "The technical department has the authority, but I need a legitimate reason—Bao Dequan's case is one thing, tracking communication records across provinces is another."

"Then let's use Bao Dequan's case," Wen Zhaoye said. "This number made a series of calls three days before Bao Dequan's case broke, which is entirely within your scope of investigation."

Qin Fei glanced at him, and the corners of her mouth curled up slightly: "You might as well be the captain of the criminal investigation team."

"Then it's more suitable for me to open my own shop."

Qin Fei stood up and patted off imaginary orange peel from her hands: "Okay, I'll go back and look into it. I'll let you know when I have any news."

She walked to the door, glanced back at the wooden plaque on the wall, and saw the three characters "Jianzhen Pavilion" glowing warm yellow in the afternoon light.

"Your shop will be in the provincial newspaper sooner or later," she said.

"Hopefully it's good news."

Qin Fei smiled but didn't reply.

She turned and walked out of the shop, quickly disappearing into the twilight of the old street.

Wen Zhaoye stood behind the counter, staring at the stack of documents for a long time.

Sun Bo'an brought over the teapot, poured himself a cup, and then poured another cup for Wen Zhaoye.

"Boss Wen, what are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking," Wen Zhaoye picked up his teacup, didn't drink, and twirled it in his hand twice, "that encrypted number of Bao Dequan's made seven calls, all to Lin's Culture. Does Lin Boyuan know how much of what Bao Dequan revealed inside?"

Sun Bo'an held his teacup and remained silent for a while: "Old hand Lin Boyuan likes to leave himself a backup plan. He sent Bao Dequan to lead the charge, and he himself wouldn't contact you under his real name."

"So even if Bao De confesses everything, he still can't implicate Lin Boyuan."

"He can't bite." Sun Bo'an shook his head. "Bao Dequan can at most bite Qian Bohong. Whether Qian Bohong bites Lin Boyuan or not depends on whether he's willing to get himself involved as well."

Wen Zhaoye put down his teacup and looked out the window at the darkening sky.

"Then let's change direction."

Which direction?

"Lin's Culture's business," Wen Zhaoye said, "how could a cultural media company obtain the mining rights for a jade mine? Every step of the approval, qualification, and bidding process was riddled with loopholes."

Sun Bo'an put down his teacup, looked at Wen Zhaoye, and suddenly smiled.

"Boss Wen, you're smarter than I thought."

"Don't flatter me," Wen Zhaoye said. "I just feel that since the connection with Bao Dequan has been severed, we can only find a breakthrough through the Lin family."

He stood up, walked to the door, and watched as the streetlights on the old street lit up one by one.

"Mr. Sun, you said before that Lin Boyuan started out pulling a tricycle?"

"right."

"So where did his initial capital come from over the past fifteen years?"

Sun Bo'an held his teacup and remained silent behind the counter for a long time.

"Some people in the provincial capital's antique circle have asked this question," he said, "but no one dared to delve into it further."

Wen Zhaoye turned around and looked at Sun Bo'an: "Why?"

"Because those people who asked that question," Sun Bo'an put down his teacup, "either went bankrupt or got into trouble later on."

The streetlights on the old street were fully lit.

Wen Zhaoye stood at the door, looking at the sky in the direction of the provincial capital in the distance.

He suddenly remembered what the anonymous sender had said—"I want the Lin family to be finished."

Now, the encrypted number in his hand has revealed the hand hidden behind the scenes.

It's not Qian Bohong.

It was Lin Boyuan.

He took out his phone and sent Qin Fei a message: "Check the call records of the encrypted number, focusing on the last three months. The sooner the better."

After sending it, he glanced at the time—6:20 PM.

Then he locked the door and headed home.

He had walked halfway when he suddenly stopped.

That encrypted number—Lin Family Culture—Mining Development—Jade Mine.

The more I think about these things, the more they seem to be connected.

He took out his phone and opened a screenshot of the compressed file that the anonymous sender had sent last time.

The compressed file is named with a string of numbers: 20221115.

November 15th.

It was exactly two days before the opening of the provincial capital's jade gambling convention.

Wen Zhaoye stood under the streetlight, staring at the string of numbers for a long time.

He put away his phone and quickened his pace toward home.