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

Business at Jianzhen Pavilion has indeed been much quieter these past few days.

After the ban was issued, even the elderly people who used to come to the store for free appraisals stopped coming.

Only three customers came in that morning—one asked for directions, one wanted to use the restroom, and one wanted to sell counterfeit goods but was kicked out by Wen Zhaoye.

Ma Guoliang squatted in front of the stone-cutting table on the second floor, holding sandpaper in his hand, sharpening the blade bit by bit.

He went through three sheets of sandpaper, and the blades were gleaming, but he still didn't stop. He put down his tools, stood up, and walked down the stairs.

Wen Zhaoye was flipping through account books behind the counter when he heard footsteps and looked up.

Ma Guoliang stood in front of the counter, took out a payslip from his pocket, and placed it on the counter.

He tapped his finger on the note and said in a low voice, "Boss Wen, don't pay this month's salary yet."

Wen Zhaoye paused for a moment, put down the account book and looked at him.

"I still have some savings at home, enough to tide me over," Ma Guoliang said, his eyes not looking at Wen Zhaoye, but staring at the wood grain on the counter. "The shop is in a tough spot right now, I can't take your money."

Wen Zhaoye stood up, walked around the counter, and went to Ma Guoliang.

He patted Ma Guoliang on the shoulder: "Master Ma, your salary will not be reduced by a penny." Ma Guoliang looked up, his eyes a little red.

"The tougher things get for the business, the less I can let the people who work for me suffer," Wen Zhaoye said, his voice soft but steady. "Do you trust me?"

Ma Guoliang's throat moved, and he opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something.

In the end, he didn't say it, but just nodded with red eyes.

He turned and walked back to the stone-cutting table on the second floor. He picked up the sandpaper and continued sharpening his knife.

But this time, the movement was much more powerful than before.

Sun Bo'an sat behind the counter without saying a word.

He held his teacup, watching Ma Guoliang's retreating figure, then looked at Wen Zhaoye: "Does he know about you helping Ma Xiaoxiao find a tutor?"

"I know," Wen Zhaoye said. "He came to me himself."

"His daughter is a good student, and he wants her to get into the best high school in the provincial capital." Sun Bo'an put down his teacup, took off his reading glasses and wiped them. "But he doesn't have the money to hire a tutor. Your three thousand yuan is a lifesaver for him."

Wen Zhaoye didn't speak, but looked down at the line of numbers in the ledger.

Jianzhen Pavilion's revenue this month is 70% less than last month.

"Boss Wen," Sun Bo'an called out again.

"Um?"

"You are a good person."

Wen Zhaoye looked up at Sun Bo'an and smiled, "Old Sun, are you praising me or scolding me?"

"I'm impressed," Sun Bo'an said. "In our line of work, good people don't live long. But if you're a good person and do the right thing, you can survive."

Wen Zhaoye didn't reply, and continued flipping through the account book with his head down.

At five o'clock in the afternoon, Wen Zhaoye locked the shop door.

He stood at the door, took out his phone, and opened the encrypted folder containing the twelve problematic auction items.

The pale gold text on the Divine Eye appeared page by page—he saw the auction record of the "Ming Dynasty Huanghuali Brush Pot".

The buyer's name column was marked with two words: Lin Boyuan.

Wen Zhaoye stared at those two words, his finger pausing on the screen for a moment.

He turned off his phone, put it in his pocket, and walked into the old street in the twilight.

In his pocket, the list from Qian Bohong's antique shop was soaked with sweat in one corner.

At seven o'clock in the evening, Ma Guoliang returned home. He pushed open the door, and the lights were on inside.

The daughter, Ma Xiaoxiao, sat at the dining table in the living room, with a math problem book open in front of her and a bowl of cold noodles next to her.

"Dad, you're back?" Ma Xiaoxiao looked up, took off her headphones, and said, "The food's in the pot, I'll go heat it up."

"No need." Ma Guoliang put down his bag and sat down opposite his daughter. "Have you eaten yourself?"

"I ate," Ma Xiaoxiao said, then lowered her head to continue working on her problems.

Ma Guoliang stared at her for a long time.

My daughter is sixteen years old this year. She ranks among the top three in her grade and never causes him any worry.

He knew he was a failure in his life, but he couldn't let his daughter end up like him.

"Xiaoxiao." "Hmm?"

"How's that tutor doing?"

Ma Xiaoxiao looked up at her father and smiled, "That's good. She said I have a good foundation in math, but I'm slow at solving problems. I just need to practice."

Ma Guoliang nodded without saying anything.

"Dad," Ma Xiaoxiao put down her pen and looked at him earnestly, "that Boss Wen is a good person."

Ma Guoliang was taken aback: "How did you know?"

"He found me a tutor; it cost 300 yuan per lesson, and he paid for it," Ma Xiaoxiao said. "I know."

Ma Guoliang opened his mouth, as if to say something, but his throat felt like it was blocked by something.

"He said you're a good mentor and that you should work hard," Ma Xiaoxiao said. "He also said that once your shop's business improves, he'll let me intern at his shop and learn appraisal."

Ma Guoliang lowered his head, his eyes stinging. He stood up, walked to the kitchen, turned on the tap, and washed his face.

He looked up at himself in the mirror—a stone cutter, a good-for-nothing who had been in Jiangcheng for over a decade and couldn't even afford his daughter's tutoring fees.

But today, someone told him that his salary would not be reduced by a single penny.

He turned off the tap, wiped his face, and went back to the living room.

Ma Xiaoxiao was still sitting at the table, holding a pen in her hand, writing something with her head down.

She wrote very carefully, the pen tip scratching on the paper.

Ma Guoliang sat down beside her, looking at his daughter's focused profile. "Xiaoxiao." "Hmm?"

"Dad wasn't very capable in his life." Ma Xiaoxiao put down her pen and looked up at him. "But Dad followed a good man."

Ma Guoliang said, "From now on, you should also follow good people."

Ma Xiaoxiao was silent for a few seconds, then smiled.

She reached out and grasped her father's rough hand: "Dad, you've done so well."

Ma Guoliang didn't say anything, but simply squeezed his daughter's hand tightly.

Outside the window, the night had deepened.

This is what winter in Wuhan is like.

No matter how cold it is during the day, there will always be a light on for you at night.

Wen Zhaoye stood at the entrance of Jianzhen Pavilion and locked the door.

He glanced back at the wooden plaque on the wall, which read "Jianzhen Pavilion".

A sliver of light shone through the narrow window on the east wall, casting a warm yellow glow on the wooden plaque.

He took out his phone, opened the encrypted folder, and glanced at the auction record of the huanghuali pen holder.

Lin Boyuan.

He turned off his phone, put it in his pocket, and walked into the night.

The lights in the old street are on.