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

Sun Bo'an sent someone to tell Wen Zhaoye to come over for a cup of tea.

When Wen Zhaoye received the news, he was packing up his things in the shop.

He glanced at his phone; it was 2:30 PM.

It's still early before visiting hours, so going won't cause any problems.

Sun Bo'an lives in an old house with a courtyard in the old town of Jiangcheng.

The walls are made of blue bricks, the doors are made of wood, and two osmanthus trees are planted at the entrance.

When Wen Zhaoye arrived, the door was ajar, and he knocked twice.

"Come in, it's unlocked."

Pushing open the wooden door, you pass through a narrow passageway. In the courtyard, there are stone tables and benches, and in the corner, there are several uncut stones.

Sun Bo'an sat in his study, an old cotton cushion on his mahogany chair, with a purple clay teapot beside him.

"Sit down." Sun Bo'an didn't get up, but pointed to the chair opposite him.

Wen Zhaoye sat down and looked around the study.

The walls are covered with books, mostly on authentication, and there are also many fragments of antiques on the shelves.

The most eye-catching thing is a calligraphy scroll hanging on the wall, which reads four characters: "Authenticity can be discerned from falsehood."

Sun Bo'an poured him a cup of tea. The tea soup was red, thick, and bright, and the aroma of aged Pu'er tea immediately wafted out.

Wen Zhaoye took the teacup, twirled it between his fingers twice, and didn't drink it right away.

Sun Bo'an didn't urge him. He took a sip first, put down his cup, and then asked, "I heard you tore up Old Wang's check?" "Yes."

"Two million, and he just tore it up like that. Young people have quite the temper."

Wen Zhaoye placed his teacup on the table: "He sold my grandmother a fake bracelet for 280,000 yuan. My grandmother had saved up for half her life."

Sun Bo'an looked at him, his eyes holding something indescribable.

After a long pause, he sighed and said, "I knew Bao Dequan did something dishonest. He's been in the jade market for twenty years, and selling counterfeit goods isn't a first for him, but he deserved to be caught by you."

"Did Old Master Sun call me here just to praise me?"

Sun Bo'an smiled, a faint smile, more like a sigh of helplessness: "Praising you? I meant to remind you." He put down the teapot and leaned forward slightly: "Your eyes are too captivating."

Wen Zhaoye did not respond.

"I've been in this business for fifty years and I've seen talented people, but I've never seen anyone as uncanny as you. Six hundred and eighty yuan, and you cut out icy green jade in one go. This is the talk of the entire jade circle in Jiangcheng now."

Sun Bo paused for a moment, then said, "People in the provincial capital are already asking about you."

"Who?"

Sun Bo'an did not answer.

He stood up, walked behind his desk, opened a drawer, rummaged through it, and pulled out a yellowed newspaper.

"Take a look at this."

Wen Zhaoye took it; it was a newspaper from five years ago. The front page featured a photograph: a close-up of a Warring States period jade disc, with a headline: "Provincial Capital Young Appraiser's Forgery Case: Warring States Jade Disc Turns Out to Be a Modern Imitation."

He glanced at the contents and saw a familiar name: Sun Qiming.

Sun Bo'an's son.

Wen Zhaoye unfolded the newspaper, his gaze falling on the corner below the photo.

There was a line of pencil-written annotation, the characters were very small, as if it had been jotted down casually—"Qian Bohong received 30,000."

Wen Zhaoye looked up: "Who wrote this?"

"I write."

Sun Bo'an sat back down in his chair, picked up the purple clay teapot, poured himself another cup of tea, and said with a slight tremor in his hand, "My son, Sun Qiming, was an appraiser in the provincial capital five years ago. Qian Bohong brought him a Warring States period jade disc for appraisal, and he issued a report confirming it was genuine. But the next day, Qian Bohong brought several experts to an appraisal meeting and claimed that what he had appraised was a fake, a setup he had orchestrated with tomb raiders."

Sun Bo'an picked up his teacup and took a sip: "My son jumped off a building. He didn't die, but he's paralyzed and still in bed."

The study was quiet for a few seconds.

Wen Zhaoye looked down at the line of pencil writing on the newspaper, his voice very soft: "What did you find out?"

"I've been investigating for five years." Sun Bo'an put down his teacup and tapped the table with his knuckles. "Qian Bohong accepted a bribe of 30,000 yuan from the Lin family. That jade disc was a genuine artifact unearthed from a robbed ancient tomb. He not only took the money but also introduced the buyer to the Lin family, allowing them to make the lion's share of the profits."

"The Lin family."

Wen Zhaoye repeated those two words.

Sun Bo'an looked at him: "The contact Bao Dequan revealed is Qian Bohong. Qian Bohong works for the Lin family. Now you know who's inquiring about you in the provincial capital, right?"

Wen Zhaoye remained silent for a while, then folded the newspaper and put it into the inside pocket of his coat.

"I will investigate this case."

Sun Bo'an paused for a moment, then laughed—this time a genuine laugh, so much so that the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes crinkled together: "You don't need to do this for me—"

"It's not because of you," Wen Zhaoye interrupted him. "When Bao Dequan framed me, the ledger clearly showed that he had been giving gifts to Qian Bohong for five years. I was going to investigate that lead as well."

Sun Bo'an stared at him for a long time before finally standing up and patting him on the shoulder: "Be careful. Bao Dequan is more ruthless than a mad dog when he's broke."

Wen Zhaoye nodded and stood up to leave.

As he reached the door, Sun Bo'an called him back.

"etc."

Wen Zhaoye turned around.

Sun Bo'an pulled a yellowed book from the bookshelf, turned to the middle page, and handed it to him.

"This contains some details for identifying Warring States period jade discs. Take it back and take a look."

Wen Zhaoye took the book, flipped through it, and found it to be an old, professional book with brittle paper.

"Thank you, Mr. Sun."

"Don't thank me." Sun Bo'an stood at the door with his hands behind his back. "Helping me solve this case is the greatest thanks you can give me."

Wen Zhaoye tucked the book under his arm, pushed open the door, and went out.

The alley was narrow, with high walls on both sides. In the afternoon, the sunlight shone down from above, casting a long shadow on the ground.

Wen Zhaoye walked slowly, his mind still replaying the words he had just spoken.

Qian Bohong.

Lin.

Bao Dequan had recorded Qian Bohong's name in his ledger, and Qin Fei had also investigated the connection between Bao Hu and Qian Bohong's driver.

Now Sun Bo'an told him that Qian Bohong was backed by the Lin family, and the Lin family was already inquiring about him.

He walked to the alley entrance, about to turn, when he stopped.

Twenty meters away, a person was standing under a sycamore tree.

He wore a gray jacket, an old style, and had a cigarette between his fingers.

It was none other than Bao Dequan.

He stood alone under the tree, without any followers or anyone else, his eyes fixed on them with a sinister gaze.

Wen Zhaoye didn't dodge; he stood still and stared at him.

Bao Dequan didn't move either. The two of them were separated by twenty meters of street, like two wolves testing each other's bottom line.

After about five seconds, Bao Dequan stubbed out his cigarette on the tree trunk, rubbed it hard twice, and then turned and walked into the alley across the street.

He walked at a moderate pace, as if to tell Wen Zhaoye – I know this place well, and I can find you anytime I want.

Wen Zhaoye watched him disappear at the alley entrance but didn't chase after him.

But his gaze fell on the inside of Bao Dequan's left wrist—the gold ring was still there. He had seen bluish-white powder on the inside of the ring before, but now the powder was gone, replaced by a rusty red mark.

Like oxides.

Wen Zhaoye took out his phone and sent Qin Fei a text message: "Bao Dequan has recently been in contact with bronzes. Check if there are any records of unearthed cultural relics being traded around Jiangcheng."

After sending it, he glanced at the time—3:20 PM.

There are still forty minutes until the ICU visiting hours begin.

He put his phone back in his pocket, tucked the book between his fingers, and walked toward the hospital.

The evening breeze was a bit cool, rustling the leaves of the trees along the roadside.

As Wen Zhaoye walked, he reached into his pocket and touched the folded newspaper.

The corner of the newspaper was digging into his palm; he squeezed it, but didn't stop walking.