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

As I stepped out of the Taoist temple, dusk had already fallen.

The ridgeline of the Kunlun Mountains gleamed coldly in the last rays of the setting sun, like an unsharpened knife lying across the horizon. The wind blew in from the mountain valleys, carrying the scent of snow and a hint of sand.

Wen Zhaoye stood in front of the ruins, motionless.

Two things hung on his chest—a bronze key and a jade pendant, side by side, gleaming dimly in the twilight. The notch at the end of the key seemed to indicate something was missing, not yet replaced. His hand rested on the key, his fingertips feeling its cool touch, his fingertips pausing briefly at the notch. Gu Qinghan sheathed her sword, the blade and scabbard striking together with a crisp sound. She walked to his side and stopped. "Where to next?"

Wen Zhaoye didn't answer. He took the letter out of his inner pocket and unfolded it again in the twilight. The edges of the letter were brittle, and the creases were almost broken. His father's handwriting was somewhat blurred in the dim light, but he remembered every stroke.

"Teruno, if you've made it this far, it means you've grown up. My biggest regret in life is not being able to watch you grow up. My greatest pride is that you've finally come."

He finished reading, his finger pausing on the paper. Then he folded the letter, put it back, patted the inner pocket, and looked up in the direction of the provincial capital.

"Go back." Gu Qinghan looked at him without speaking. "Three hundred and seventy-six days," Wen Zhaoye said, his voice not loud but steady, "not enough for me to waste."

The wind blew again, ruffling the hair on his forehead. He ignored it, just stood there, gazing into the distance. The provincial capital was to the east of the Kunlun Mountains; from this angle, he could see nothing but the endless snow-capped mountains and the hazy sky.

Gu Qinghan remained silent for a while.

Then she moved.

She took the short sword from her waist; its scabbard was black and worn smooth, and the hilt was wrapped with dark brown rope, indicating it had been used for a long time. She held the sword and handed it to Wen Zhaoye.

"This sword was passed down to me by my master."

Wen Zhaoye looked down at the sword but didn't take it.

"Here you go," Gu Qinghan said, her tone flat, as if she were commenting on the nice weather. Wen Zhaoye glanced at her, then reached out and took the sword. It was heavier than he'd expected, and icy cold to the touch. A single character was engraved on the hilt—"Xuan." He stared at the character for a moment.

"Your master will regret this."

Gu Qinghan did not answer.

She turned around and walked to the SUV parked next to the ruins of the Taoist temple. She opened the car door, and the twilight stretched her shadow long, from in front of the car door all the way to Wen Zhaoye's feet.

"I'm leaving," she said, then got into the driver's seat and closed the door. Wen Zhaoye stood there, gripping the short sword; the character "Xuan" on the hilt was somewhat blurred in the twilight. He glanced down at it, then hung it on his waist, alongside his keys and jade pendant. He walked to the passenger seat, opened the door, and got in.

Gu Qinghan started the car, the engine making a muffled sound in the empty valley. She shifted gears, stepped on the gas, the car bounced on the gravel road, and then drove downhill.

As dusk settled over the Kunlun Mountains outside the car window, they gradually shrank in the twilight. The outline of the Taoist temple ruins became increasingly blurred in the valley, eventually turning into a black dot and disappearing behind the undulating ridgeline.

Wen Zhaoye leaned back in his seat without saying a word. His hand rested on the key in front of his chest, his fingers lingering on the notch at the end.

"How long has your master's sword been with you?" he said, without turning around.

Gu Qinghan stared at the road ahead, not looking at him.

"Twenty-three years."

"They've been following you since you entered the Mystery Pavilion?"

"Um."

Wen Zhaoye didn't ask any more questions. He glanced down at the short sword at his waist; the scabbard gleamed dimly in the car's light.

"Why are you giving it to me?"

Gu Qinghan was silent for a moment. "You need it," she said, her tone still flat.

Wen Zhaoye didn't reply. He looked out the window; the outline of the Kunlun Mountains receded further and further into the twilight, the ridgeline blurring into a grayish-white line, like a sleeping dragon. The car bumped along the mountain road, the gravel crunching under the tires. Gu Qinghan drove steadily, unhurriedly, just like her—unperturbed, doing what needed to be done.

After walking for about half an hour, it was completely dark. There were no streetlights on the mountain road, only car headlights cutting two beams of light into the darkness, illuminating the road ahead. On both sides of the road were dark mountain walls, and occasionally one or two wild rabbits could be seen darting through the beams of light and disappearing into the darkness.

Wen Zhaoye took his phone out of his pocket and checked the signal—not a single bar. He put the phone back and then touched the keys on his chest. "Gu Qinghan." "Mm."

Will your master really regret it?

Gu Qinghan didn't answer. She stared at the road ahead, remaining silent for a long time.

"Yes," she said in a low voice, "but I don't regret it." Wen Zhaoye turned and glanced at her. The car headlights shone on her face, and her expression was calm, as if she were talking about something that had nothing to do with her.

"You gave away the sword your master passed down to you for someone you've only known for a short time. Don't you regret it?"

"You're not someone I just met," Gu Qinghan said, finally turning to look at him. "You're the one I chose."

Wen Zhaoye remained silent.

He leaned back in his seat, looking out the window. The car headlights illuminated the road ahead, a long road that seemed to stretch endlessly, but he knew it led east. East was the direction of the provincial capital.

He touched the key on his chest, then the jade pendant, and then closed his eyes.

"Three hundred and seventy-six days," he said, his voice soft, as if speaking to himself, "I've remembered it."

Gu Qinghan didn't speak, but she gripped the steering wheel even tighter.

The car continued driving forward, and on the dark mountain road, the headlights were like two knives, cutting a slit in the night.

Wen Zhaoye closed his eyes, but he could feel the car bumping and the wind blowing in through the cracks in the windows, cool and carrying the smell of snow. He remembered the light inside the cauldron, the human-shaped silhouette of his father curled up deep inside the cauldron, and the frequency of that light's pulse—it was slower than before.

He opened his eyes and looked out the window.

"One year," he said, his voice soft but steady, "I'll go back after one year."

Gu Qinghan didn't speak, but she nodded.

The car continued forward, the two men standing silently in the darkness, the only sounds the roar of the engine and the tires crunching over gravel. Wen Zhaoye gripped the key to his chest, his fingers lingering on the notch at the end, feeling the coolness of the bronze.

He remembered the letter his father left behind, and the sentence in it: "My father's biggest regret in life is that he couldn't be there to watch you grow up."

He said to himself: Dad, wait for me.