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

Wen Zhaoye placed the photo on the teahouse table, his finger pausing briefly on his father's face.

In the photo, Wen Tiankuo stands at the foot of Kunlun Mountain with a smile on his lips. Xuan Kongzi, who is also young, stands beside him. The two of them look like they have just won a battle and are full of victories.

He looked up at Gu Qinghan behind the counter.

Would you like to take me to Kunlun Mountain?

Gu Qinghan stopped wiping her sword.

She didn't speak, just stood there, the white cloth in her hand draped over the sword, as if someone had pressed the pause button.

The teahouse was quiet for a few seconds, with only the potted green ivy in the corner swaying its leaves in the breeze from the vent.

"The entrance to my master's annual retreat is an abandoned Taoist temple on the northern slope of Kunlun Mountain." Gu Qinghan put down his short sword, his voice calm. "But the altitude there is high, so we need to prepare a week's worth of supplies and oxygen cylinders."

She turned around, opened the cabinet drawer, and took out a piece of paper from the bottom.

The hand-drawn map was made of yellowed paper with frayed edges. Several lines were marked with red pen, and a few dots were crossed out.

Gu Qinghan walked over and placed the map in front of Wen Zhaoye. "I started drawing this when I was thirteen, secretly memorizing the routes every year when I went up the mountain with my master," she said. "The location of the Taoist temple, the location of the stone gate, and the approximate range of the formation are all marked."

Wen Zhaoye took the map, unfolded it, and glanced at it.

The drawing is rough, but the location is clearly marked. On the northern slope of Kunlun Mountain, a red line extends from the foot of the mountain to the middle, ending at a small circle with the words "Taoist Temple" written next to it. Outside the circle, there are several dots marked with an "X", indicating the "array range".

He ran his fingers over the map, then folded it and put it into his inner pocket.

"Is there anything else you need in the provincial capital?" he asked. Gu Qinghan thought for a moment and said, "One last thing."

"What is it?"

"Go to No. 13 Wutong Street and check if Zhou Huaiyuan is still there." Wen Zhaoye paused for a moment, then nodded.

The two of them didn't say anything more and walked out of the teahouse one after the other.

Dusk had fallen, and the streetlights on Wutong Street in the provincial capital lit up, casting long, orange shadows on the cobblestones. The street was nearly deserted, with only a few shops still lit. A cart selling roasted sweet potatoes sat on a street corner, steam rising from it. Wen Zhaoye walked ahead, with Gu Qinghan a couple of steps behind, a small distance between them, neither speaking.

Number 13 Wutong Street is an old-fashioned two-story building with gray brick walls and a wooden door. Most of the paint on the door has peeled off, revealing the whitish wood underneath. The back door is ajar, with a little light shining through the crack, but it's very dark inside, as if only a small lamp is on.

Wen Zhaoye pushed open the door and squeezed in sideways.

Gu Qinghan followed behind him, moving very lightly, almost making no sound.

The warehouse was empty.

The old wooden crates that used to be piled in the corner were gone, and the dusty shelves had been cleared away, leaving only a few scattered wooden strips. The whole space felt empty, and even breathing echoed.

Wen Zhaoye stood at the door, his gaze sweeping around before finally settling on the corner of the wall.

There used to be a tripod-shaped object there.

It's empty now.

There was a ring of marks on the ground, made by the pressure of the cauldron. The dust was compacted, forming a circular mark. There were also several scratches nearby, as if something had been dragged away.

Wen Zhaoye crouched down, his fingers rummaging through the dust. His fingertips touched something hard. He picked it up; it was a fragment.

It's made of bronze, about the size of a palm, with irregular edges, as if it had been forcibly broken off. There's verdigris on the fracture surface, and half a character remains at the bottom—half of the character "周" (Zhou).

Wen Zhaoye stared at the half-character, his fingers tracing the broken surface.

He stood up, put the fragments into his inner bag, and placed them together with the photos and maps.

"Zhou Huaiyuan is gone." Gu Qinghan stood behind him, her voice calm, so calm that it was impossible to tell whether it was regret or expectation.

"Hmm," Wen Zhaoye responded, glancing again at the empty mark in the corner. He turned and walked towards the door.

As he reached the door, he glanced back.

The warehouse was empty, with only the marks around the corner reminding people what had once been stored there.

He pushed open the door and went out.

Dusk deepened, and the streetlights illuminated the entire Wutong Street. Gu Qinghan stood beside him, the two of them side by side at the back door, neither speaking. "See you at the provincial capital train station tomorrow morning," Wen Zhaoye said.

Gu Qinghan glanced at him, but didn't answer; she simply nodded.

Wen Zhaoye turned around and walked towards the other end of Wutong Street. After taking a few steps, his phone vibrated.

He took it out and saw it was a message from Qin Fei: "Zhou Huaiyuan left the country last night, his whereabouts are unknown."

Wen Zhaoye stared at the screen, his finger pausing on the words "departure".

He put his phone away and did not reply.

A night breeze blew in, making him a little cold. He zipped up his jacket and continued walking.

Behind him, Gu Qinghan stood at the back door of No. 13 Wutong Street, watching his figure disappear into the end of the streetlights. She stood there for a while, then turned around, closed the half-closed back door, and locked it. She took out her phone and glanced at the time.

8:47 PM.

She put away her phone and walked towards the cold teahouse.

Tomorrow morning, at the provincial capital train station.

She had to go back and pack her things.