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

The SUV drove forward into the twilight.

The mountain road was bumpy, and gravel crunched under the tires. Wen Zhaoye leaned back in the passenger seat, his bronze key and jade pendant hanging side by side on his chest, gleaming dimly in the car. He didn't speak, his fingers tracing the indentation at the end of the key, round and round, as if confirming that something was still there.

Gu Qinghan gripped the steering wheel, staring at the winding mountain road ahead. The headlights cut a slit in the darkness, illuminating the gray road surface and the gravel along the roadside.

"Three hundred and seventy-six days," she said, her voice soft but clear.

Wen Zhaoye did not answer.

"How do you plan to prepare?"

Wen Zhaoye took the letter out of his inner pocket and unfolded it again in the dim light of the carriage. The edges of the letter were brittle, and it was almost broken at the creases. His father's handwriting was a little blurry in the dim light, but he remembered every stroke—"Zhaoye, if you can get here, it means you have grown up. Your father's greatest regret in this life is not being able to watch you grow up. Your greatest pride is that you have finally come."

After he finished reading, his finger paused on the paper for a moment, then he folded it and put it back in its original place.

"Let's go back to the provincial capital first," he said, his voice not loud but steady, "and make arrangements for Jianzhen Pavilion."

Gu Qinghan remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"On the winter solstice," Wen Zhaoye looked up at the darkening sky outside the windshield, "I will be back on time." The car was quiet for a moment. Only the roar of the engine and the sound of tires rolling over gravel could be heard.

Gu Qinghan released her right hand from the steering wheel and took the short sword from her waist. The scabbard was black and polished to a shine. She held the sword and handed it to Wen Zhaoye.

Wen Zhaoye looked down at the sword but didn't take it. "Take it," Gu Qinghan said, her tone as indifferent as if she were commenting on the nice weather.

Wen Zhaoye 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"—which felt slightly cool in his palm. He stared at the character for a moment. Then he gripped the hilt tightly, his gaze fixed on the blade, and remained silent.

Gu Qinghan withdrew his hand, gripped the steering wheel again, stared at the road ahead, and said nothing more.

The headlights cut through the darkness as the car headed east.

Wen Zhaoye leaned back in his chair, placing the short sword on his knee, his finger lingering on the character "Xuan" on the hilt. He remembered the horizontal line Gu Qinghan had carved on the stone wall, her words, "When you return, you'll know how much time has passed," and her words when she handed him the sword, "You are the one I chose." He turned to look out the window. The outline of Kunlun Mountain receded into the twilight, its ridgeline blurring into a grayish-white line, like a sleeping dragon lying on the earth. "Your master will regret this," he said, his voice soft.

Gu Qinghan did not answer.

"But I don't regret it."

Gu Qinghan remained silent, but she nodded.

Wen Zhaoye hung the short sword at his waist, alongside his key and jade pendant. He touched the key on his chest, his finger pausing at the notch at the end, then looked ahead. The road illuminated by the car headlights was long and seemed to stretch to the east.

Heading east is the direction of the provincial capital.

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

The car continued driving forward. In the valley, the wind blew in through the cracks in the car windows, cool and carrying the smell of snow.

Wen Zhaoye closed his eyes for a while, then opened them again.

Gu Qinghan.

"Um."

"Do you think my dad, who's inside the cauldron, can sense that I was here?"

Gu Qinghan was silent for a moment before speaking, "Yes." "How do you know?"

"Because he's your dad."

Wen Zhaoye didn't reply, turning to look out the window. He couldn't see anything in the darkness, but he knew that the Kunlun Mountains were behind him, growing ever more distant.

"Your dad is right," Gu Qinghan said in a low voice, "You're better than him."

"Don't you say you don't know him?"

Whether you know someone or not is a different matter from whether you know them.

Wen Zhaoye didn't speak, but gripped the short sword on his knee tightly.

"So, how long do you think he can hold on if I come back in winter?"

Gu Qinghan didn't answer. She stared at the road ahead, silent for a long time before finally saying, "I'll hold on until you come back." "How do you know?" "Because he's your father," she said, her voice still so calm. "You managed to hold on until you found him, why can't he hold on until you come back?" Wen Zhaoye didn't speak, but his grip on the sword loosened slightly. The car continued forward, bumping along the mountain road. The headlights sliced ​​through the darkness, then closed again, like a knife constantly cutting through the darkness.

Wen Zhaoye leaned back in his chair, looking out the window. The night was deep, but his heart wasn't so heavy.

"Is your teahouse still open?" he asked without turning around.

"open."

"Then I'll arrange things at Jianzhen Pavilion. Let's go to your place for tea." "The first cup is free."

"And the second one?"

Original price.

"And the third cup?"

"No money required."

Why?

"Because those who drink the third cup are all friends."

Wen Zhaoye smiled but said nothing more. The car continued driving eastward in the darkness. The headlights, like two knives, sliced ​​open the night. 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 light inside the cauldron, the human silhouette of his father curled up deep within its belly, and the frequency of that light's pulse. Then he remembered the letter his father had left behind, and the words on it—"Your father's greatest regret in life is not being able to watch you grow up."

He said to himself: Dad, wait for me.

I came back on the winter solstice.