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

Wen Zhaoye stood at the entrance of the noodle shop on Wutong Street, his phone pressed to his ear, the night wind making the static on the other end of the line intermittent. Sun Bo'an was silent for a moment, then his voice came through the receiver, aged but clear: "Kunlun Mountain is no place to joke around."

"I know."

"You don't know," Sun Bo'an interrupted him, "That place is over 5,000 meters above sea level, and the temperature drops to minus 40 degrees Celsius in winter. Ordinary people can't even catch their breath when they go up there. You need to prepare at least a week's worth of supplies, as well as a detailed map."

Wen Zhaoye held his phone, his fingertips tracing the screen: "Uncle, you've been there before?"

"I went there once when I was young, and I almost didn't make it down." Sun Bo'an paused for a moment, "Your father went there too." Wen Zhaoye's fingers tightened suddenly.

"Uncle, you knew all along?"

"I guessed," Sun Bo'an sighed. "Before your father disappeared, he came to see me once. He had a map of the Kunlun Mountains and asked if I wanted to go with him. I said I had a son and couldn't leave. He said he would go by himself. After that, he never came back."

Wen Zhaoye stood under the streetlight, the light from his phone screen reflecting on his face, his expression a mix of shock and bitterness.

"Is the map still there?"

"It's gone," Sun Bo'an said. "After your father disappeared, I looked for that map and searched the whole house, but I couldn't find it."

Wen Zhaoye was silent for a few seconds, then said, "Uncle, thanks."

"Don't thank me." Sun Bo'an's voice suddenly turned serious. "If you really go, remember one thing—in the Kunlun Mountains, don't trust the map, trust your own eyes."

"understood."

After hanging up the phone, Wen Zhaoye put it back in his pocket, stood under the streetlight, and gazed at the dark night at the end of Wutong Street. The night wind was cold, seeping into his collar. He shrank his neck, then turned and walked towards the "Han" teahouse.

The teahouse door was half-closed, and the lights inside were still on.

He pushed open the door and went in. Gu Qinghan was standing behind the counter, holding a white cloth and wiping a short sword. The sword was short, about two feet long, and reflected a cold light under the lamp. She was wiping it very carefully, as if she were tending to some precious treasure.

"You're back?" She didn't even look up. "Yeah." Wen Zhaoye sat down at the table and placed his canvas bag on it. Gu Qinghan put down her short sword, looked up at him, and asked, "Who did you call?"

"Uncle Sun, my master," Wen Zhaoye said. "He said that Kunlun Mountain needs to prepare a week's worth of supplies and maps."

"He's right." Gu Qinghan sheathed the short sword and placed it under the counter. "The entrance to my master's annual seclusion is in an abandoned Taoist temple on the northern slope of Kunlun Mountain. But it's protected by an array, and ordinary people can't get in."

Wen Zhaoye stared at her: "You went in?"

"No." Gu Qinghan shook his head. "My master doesn't allow anyone to get close to that place. Every year before he goes into seclusion, he sets up an array around the Taoist temple. Even my master doesn't need to go inside; he just sits in meditation outside the temple."

Wen Zhaoye tapped his fingers on the table: "Then how do you know that's the entrance?"

"I followed him," Gu Qinghan said, her tone as calm as if she were talking about what she had for dinner. "When I was thirteen, I secretly followed my master up the mountain and hid behind a pile of stones outside the Taoist temple. I saw him open a stone door. Behind the stone door was a tunnel, very long, with no end in sight."

"You went in?"

"I didn't dare." Gu Qinghan picked up his teacup and took a sip. "After my master came out, he found me and punished me by making me face the wall for three months."

As Wen Zhaoye looked at her, a surge of indescribable emotions welled up inside him—first churning, as if something was stirring in his stomach, then sinking, sinking to the very bottom, and then settling down.

He stood up, took out the broken bracelet and the handwritten note from his canvas bag, placed them on the table, and pushed them in front of Gu Qinghan.

"Your master knows my father, and you know my father too, right?" Gu Qinghan's hand stopped.

She looked at the bracelet and note on the table, remained silent for a few seconds, then put down her teacup, raised her head, and looked into Wen Zhaoye's eyes.

"I don't know your father," she said, her voice calm, but somewhat deliberately so. "But there's a painting in my master's study, depicting two people posing for a photo at the foot of Kunlun Mountain. One of them is your father, and the other is my master."

Wen Zhaoye's breathing paused for a moment. "Where's the painting?"

Gu Qinghan did not answer. Instead, she stood up, walked behind the counter, opened the drawer, and took out a yellowed photograph from the bottom.

She walked back and placed the photo on the table in front of Wen Zhaoye.

In the photo, two young men stand side by side in front of a snow-capped mountain. The man on the left, wearing a gray cotton-padded coat, has a smile on his face and his right hand on the shoulder of the man on the right. The man on the right, wearing a black overcoat, has a serious expression, but the corners of his mouth are slightly upturned, as if he wants to laugh but is holding it in.

Wen Zhaoye stared at the man on the right, his pupils suddenly contracting.

That's his father. Twenty-seven-year-old Wen Tiankuo stood at the foot of Kunlun Mountain, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Wen Zhaoye's hand paused on the paper, his fingers tracing the edge of the photograph as if afraid of damaging it. He stared at the face in the photo, the face he had seen countless times in his dreams, and his eyes suddenly reddened.

"This is my dad." "Yes." Gu Qinghan said, "My master said this photo was taken thirty years ago."

Wen Zhaoye's fingers traced the photograph, his fingertips pausing on Wen Tiankuo's face. He looked up at Gu Qinghan: "Why does your master have this photograph?"

"They were friends," Gu Qinghan said. "My master said that your father was his best friend in his life. Later, they went into Kunlun Mountain together, and after they came out, they never saw each other again."

Why?

Gu Qinghan shook her head: "My master never said that. He only said that your father made a choice he couldn't understand." Wen Zhaoye held the photo, his fingers tightening on the paper. He remembered what Sun Bo'an had said—the Lin family in the provincial capital might know something about your father's matter.

But now it seems that it's not just the Lin family who know.

There's also the Xuanji Pavilion, the man named Xuan Kongzi, and the ancestral land hidden deep in the Kunlun Mountains.

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

"In the Kunlun Mountains," Gu Qinghan said. "He goes into seclusion in the Kunlun Mountains every year around this time."

"I'm going to find him."

Gu Qinghan looked at him but did not answer immediately.

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

"I know."

"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 that Gu Qinghan was worried about him, even though she wouldn't admit it.

"I know," he said, "but I'm still going."

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, stood up, walked behind the counter, took a hand-drawn map from a drawer, walked back, and placed it in front of Wen Zhaoye.

"I drew this when I was thirteen," she said. "I marked the location of the Taoist temple, the location of the stone gate, and the approximate area of ​​the formation."

Wen Zhaoye took the map, unfolded it, and glanced at it. The map was drawn very roughly, but the locations were clearly marked. The Taoist temple was located on the northern slope of Kunlun Mountain, circled in red.

"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 turned away from him and continued wiping the short sword.

Wen Zhaoye put the photos and map into his inner pocket, placing them together with the jade pendant close to his body. He stood up, looked at Gu Qinghan's back, remained silent for a few seconds, and then said, "I'll go to Kunlun Mountain tomorrow."

Gu Qinghan didn't turn around, but her hand wiping the sword paused for a moment. "I understand," she said, her voice calm, so calm that no emotion could be detected.

Wen Zhaoye turned around, pushed open the door, and walked out.

The night wind blew in, chilling him to the bone. He stood on Wutong Street and looked up at the night sky. The provincial capital's night sky was dark, with few stars in sight, only the lights of a few distant buildings twinkling.

He reached out and touched the photos and the map in the inner pocket.

Kunlun Mountains, ancestral home. A place his father visited. A place where his father might still be.

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 lights of the "Han" teahouse shone in the darkness, as if seeing him off.