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

Wen Zhaoye sat in the noodle shop, his finger swiping across his phone screen, zooming in and out on the photo of the cauldron.

In the photo, the three characters "Zhou Tiankuo" were exceptionally clear under the bright light, each stroke appearing as if carved with a knife tip, the force intense, carrying a gritted teeth-like intensity. He stared at it for a long time, then looked up at Gu Qinghan opposite him. Gu Qinghan had her head down; the bowl of noodles in front of her was completely cold, a layer of white grease floating on the soup, the noodles clumped together. She hadn't touched her chopsticks, just sitting there like a prisoner waiting to be questioned.

"What does 'Kunlun Mountain, ancestral land' mean?" Wen Zhaoye asked.

Gu Qinghan put down her chopsticks, her fingers pausing on the table for a moment.

She looked up, met Wen Zhaoye's eyes, paused for a few seconds, and then said, "My master is called Xuan Kongzi. Thirty years ago, he and your father went to Kunlun Mountain together." Wen Zhaoye's fingers tightened suddenly, and he almost dropped his phone.

"Did you go in together?"

"Um."

"and then?"

Gu Qinghan lowered her head, picked up the now-cold bowl of noodles, and took a sip of soup. Her expression was calm, but her fingers holding the bowl were a little white.

"Then, the two of them came out together, and then they didn't come out together either," she said. "After returning from Kunlun Mountain, they completely lost contact. Every year, my master goes into seclusion deep in Kunlun Mountain for a month, not allowing anyone to follow him. He goes every year without fail, for more than twenty years."

Wen Zhaoye held his phone, his palms starting to burn. He remembered the broken bracelet his father had left behind, and what Sun Bo'an had said—"The Lin family in the provincial capital might know something about your father."

But now it seems that it's not just the Lin family who know. There's also the Xuanji Pavilion, that person named Xuan Kongzi, and that ancestral land hidden deep in the Kunlun Mountains.

"Your master won't let you go down the mountain?" he asked.

"It's not that he won't allow it," Gu Qinghan said. "He sent me to keep an eye on you, to see if you're qualified."

"What qualifications?" Gu Qinghan didn't answer, but just shook her head. "I can't say that," she said, "but I can tell you—the year your father disappeared, my master stayed in the Kunlun Mountains for three whole months. When he came back, he had lost a lot of weight, and he locked himself in his study for three days and three nights writing, and he only wrote four characters."

"Kunlun Mountain, our ancestral land," Wen Zhaoye finished speaking for her.

Gu Qinghan nodded.

The noodle shop quieted down, save for the bubbling of noodles cooking in the kitchen and the owner's occasional cough. Outside the window, the shadows of the sycamore trees, stretched long by the streetlights, swayed against the glass. Wen Zhaoye put his phone back in his pocket, then pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper from his inner pocket, staring at the four words: "Kunlun Mountain, Ancestral Land."

The place where his father disappeared.

His father might still be somewhere.

He looked up at Gu Qinghan: "Where is your master now?"

"In the Kunlun Mountains," Gu Qinghan said. "He goes into seclusion there every year around this time." "I'm going to find him."

Gu Qinghan looked at him but did not answer immediately.

She picked up the bowl of cold soup, took another sip, and then put the bowl down, her voice very soft: "Kunlun Mountain is not a tourist attraction. The altitude there is high, the air is thin, and the temperature drops to minus forty degrees Celsius in winter. Ordinary people would have difficulty even breathing if they went up there."

"I know," Wen Zhaoye said.

"You know?" Gu Qinghan stared at him. "You know what? You know that over there, one wrong step and you're on a cliff? You know there's no road, just snow and ice? You know there's no cell phone signal there, so if something happens, you can't even call for help?"

Wen Zhaoye looked at her without refuting her.

He knew Gu Qinghan was worried about him, even though she wouldn't admit it. "I know," he said, "but I still have to go."

Gu Qinghan remained silent.

She stared into Wen Zhaoye's eyes for a long time, as if trying to determine if he was insane.

Finally, she sighed, took a handwritten note out of her pocket, and pushed it in front of Wen Zhaoye.

"This address is written on it," she said. "That's where my master stays before his annual retreat. If you really want to go, remember to bring enough oxygen."

Wen Zhaoye took the note, glanced at it, folded it, and put it in his pocket.

"Thanks," he said.

"You're welcome," Gu Qinghan said. "My master sent me to keep an eye on you, but I never said you couldn't know the truth."

She stood up, finished the cold soup in her bowl, then turned and walked to the counter to pay the bill.

Wen Zhaoye sat in the chair, watching her back, and a surge of indescribable emotions welled up in his heart—first it churned, as if something was stirring in his stomach, then it sank, sank to the bottom, and then settled down.

He stood up, folded the handwritten note, put it in his inner pocket, and placed it together with the jade pendant, keeping it close to his body.

He stood up and walked towards the door.

As he reached the door, he turned back and glanced at Gu Qinghan.

She was standing in front of the counter, her back to him, talking to the shop owner.

"If you're going to Kunlun Mountain," she said without turning around, but her voice carried over, "remember to bring enough oxygen."

Wen Zhaoye stood at the door, watching her retreating figure, and said, "I understand."

He pushed open the door and went outside. The night wind rushed in, chilling him to the bone. He stood on the sycamore-lined street, took out his phone, and glanced at the time—1:30 a.m.

He opened his contacts, found Sun Bo'an's name, and pressed the dial button.

The phone rang three times before the other end answered.

"Feed?" Sun Bo'an's voice was a little hoarse, as if he had just been woken up from his sleep.

"Uncle, it's me," Wen Zhaoye said.

"What happened so late?"

"Uncle, I have a question for you," Wen Zhaoye said calmly. "Do you know of a place called Ancestral Land in the Kunlun Mountains?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

There was a full three seconds of silence. Then Sun Bo'an's voice came, low and hoarse: "Why are you asking this?"

"My dad went," Wen Zhaoye said. "I want to go." There was another silence on the other end of the phone. Then Sun Bo'an sighed, his voice carrying an indescribable emotion: "It's hard to explain over the phone. Come to my house tomorrow, and I'll tell you everything I know."

Wen Zhaoye held his phone, his fingertips turning white.

"Okay," he said.

He hung up the phone, put it back in his pocket, and looked up at the night sky.

The night sky over the provincial capital was dark, with few stars in sight, only the lights of a few distant buildings twinkling.

He reached out and touched the note and the jade pendant in his inner pocket. "Kunlun Mountain, ancestral land."

The places his father went to.

His father might still be somewhere.

He stood there for a long time, until the night wind made his face numb, before turning around and walking towards the other end of Wutong Street. Behind him, the noodle shop's lights shone in the darkness, like an ever-burning guiding lamp.