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

When the train arrived at the station, it was just getting light in Golmud.

Wen Zhaoye jumped off the train with his canvas bag on his back and stood on the platform. The cold wind rushed into his collar, making him shiver. He glanced back and saw Gu Qinghan slowly walking out of the train, his old travel bag slung over his shoulder, the short sword at his waist gleaming coldly in the morning light. "It's really cold here," Wen Zhaoye said, shrinking his neck. Gu Qinghan glanced at him and said indifferently, "This isn't even Kunlun Mountain yet; it's only 2,800 meters above sea level." Wen Zhaoye didn't reply and turned to walk towards the exit. The two of them walked through the underpass one after the other, exited the station, and found an SUV in the station square. The driver was a Tibetan man wearing a felt hat. Hearing that they were going to the northern foothills, he asked for 800 yuan. Wen Zhaoye didn't haggle, handed over the money directly, and threw his canvas bag into the trunk.

The trunk was crammed with oxygen cylinders, dry rations, and several bottles of mineral water. Wen Zhaoye sat in the passenger seat, glancing back at Gu Qinghan in the back. She had her eyes closed, her hand resting on the short sword at her waist, as if she were resting. The drive had taken five hours. The road grew narrower and bumpier. The scenery outside the window changed from gray-green plains to gray-white mountain ridges, and then even the ridges disappeared, replaced by a vast expanse of white snow. The altitude rose sharply from 2,800 meters to 4,600 meters. Wen Zhaoye felt a tightness in his chest. He took out his oxygen cylinder, inhaled a couple of times, and glanced back at Gu Qinghan. She hadn't even opened her eyes. "Are you alright?" Wen Zhaoye asked.

"I'm used to it," Gu Qinghan said in a very calm tone, as if she were saying that the weather was nice today.

The driver called out from the front, "The northern foothills are just ahead. The car can't go in there; you'll have to walk."

Wen Zhaoye glanced out the window. In the distance was a gray-white hillside, with a few large rocks scattered here and there, like chess pieces carelessly tossed aside by a giant. A faint path ran along the hillside, half-hidden by snow, and was not clearly visible.

"Let's stop here," Wen Zhaoye said.

The driver parked the car next to a large rock. Wen Zhaoye jumped out, took out oxygen cylinders and dry rations from the trunk, and gave some to Gu Qinghan. Gu Qinghan took the backpack, slung it over her shoulder, then took out a map from her pocket, unfolded it, and glanced at it. "Go east, about two miles," she said.

Wen Zhaoye didn't say anything, picked up his bag, and followed behind her, stepping into the snow with uneven feet.

After walking for about forty minutes, Wen Zhaoye's legs began to weaken, his chest felt like it was being crushed by a stone, and he was having difficulty breathing. He took out his oxygen tank, took a couple of breaths, and looked up to see a gray-black shadow deep in the mountain valley in the distance.

Abandoned Taoist temple.

The Taoist temple's main gate was half-collapsed, and withered vines climbed the blue brick walls, their tendrils covered in ice that glistened in the sunlight. A thick layer of snow covered the courtyard, with several deep footprints on its surface, indicating recent footsteps. Wen Zhaoye stood at the gate, took out the map Gu Qinghan had given him, glanced at it, and then looked up at the stone steps. There were nine steps in total, stretching from the temple gate into the courtyard.

Wen Zhaoye squatted down and used his hands to clear away the snow, revealing the blue bricks underneath. He counted the steps: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight—the ninth step.

He ran his fingers along the cracks in the brickwork of the ninth step.

The grout lines were wider than the other levels, enough to fit a finger. He inserted his finger and felt a groove, cool and refreshing, as if it had been deliberately carved out.

"There's something there," he said.

Gu Qinghan drew a short sword from her waist and handed it to him.

Wen Zhaoye took the sword and made a small cut on his fingertip. Blood seeped out, steaming in the cold air, and dripped into the groove. At that moment, a dull thud came from the ground.

It wasn't a rumbling sound, but more like something that had been stuck for a long time finally loosened. Wen Zhaoye felt the stone slab beneath his feet moving. He took a step back and saw that the blue bricks on the floor of the main hall of the Taoist temple were sinking one by one, revealing a dark entrance.

Hidden door.

Below the hidden door was a stone staircase that stretched downwards, its bottom invisible. A gust of wind rose from the depths, carrying the smell of rusting metal, as if something had been trapped underground for too long and was finally breathing. Wen Zhaoye stood beside the hidden door and glanced down. The stone staircase was narrow, allowing only one person to pass at a time, and the walls on either side were damp, covered with a thin layer of ice.

He folded the map and stuffed it into his inner pocket, then took out the broken bracelet from his pocket and held it in his hand. The bracelet was cold, so cold it hurt his palms, but he didn't let go. He glanced back at Gu Qinghan.

Gu Qinghan stood behind him, holding the short sword in her hand, her expression calm, so calm that it revealed no emotion. "Are you sure you want to go in?" Wen Zhaoye asked.

Gu Qinghan didn't answer, but glanced at the hidden door, then at the Kunlun Mountains in the twilight. The mountain ridges gleamed golden in the setting sun, like a sleeping dragon, lying quietly on the horizon. She took a deep breath and whispered, "Master, I'm here."

Then she turned to Wen Zhaoye and said, "Let's go."

Wen Zhaoye nodded, turned around, and walked down the stone steps one by one.

The hidden door behind him slowly closed.