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

The light was on in the room of a small hotel in the provincial capital.

Wen Zhaoye sat on the edge of the bed, with a pile of things spread out in front of him—a black leather ledger, bank statement printouts, an offshore account chart sent by Su Xiaoman, Lao Zhou's handwritten appraisal report, the original appraisal record of the Warring States jade disc case, and the evidence chain of counterfeit goods in Qian Bohong's antique shop, piled up to fill the bed.

He held a red pen in his hand and drew lines on each document.

First, draw page 37 of the ledger—"Zhou Guilan, Bracelet, 280,000," and the code name "Master Qian" in the remarks column.

Then, looking at the bank statement, Bao Dequan transferred 200,000 yuan to the account ending in 7878, with the word "money" in the recipient's remarks column.

Then it connects to the offshore account diagram sent by Su Xiaoman, with the arrow pointing to Lin's Cultural Investment. Finally, it connects to Lao Zhou's handwritten appraisal report—a supplementary explanation of the appraisal opinion on the Warring States jade disc case. The three lines converge at one point on the paper.

Wen Zhaoye stared at that spot for a long time, pressing his finger on the pen cap repeatedly, making a clicking sound. He picked up his phone and opened the second email attachment sent by Su Xiaoman.

The photo of Qian Bohong's office shows a document titled "Emergency Plan for the 17th Jadeite Gambling Conference" on the table. The cover has a blurry stamp, but when zoomed in, four characters can be vaguely seen: "Lin's Culture".

He took a screenshot, saved it, and then turned off his phone.

The night view of the provincial capital outside the window shows streetlights forming a strip of light, with car headlights moving in the distance, and blurry light and shadow swaying on the curtains.

My phone vibrated.

Yu Tinglan.

He answered the phone; the voice on the other end sounded tired and tentative: "Still organizing evidence?"

"Um."

"At tomorrow's hearing, should I use the Yu family's connections in the provincial capital to exert pressure?"

Wen Zhaoye stared at the interconnected chain of evidence on the table, remaining silent for a few seconds. "No need."

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end, then Yu Tinglan's voice carried a hint of amusement: "You're that confident?"

"It's not confidence." Wen Zhaoye looked down at the stack of materials on the table. "It's that they did a terrible job. The ledgers, the cash flow records, the appraisal reports—everything is interconnected. If even one link doesn't match, the chain breaks. But they did it right."

He paused for a moment: "Bao Dequan's ledger recorded three years of counterfeit goods transactions, Qian Bohong's cousin's account received 200,000 yuan, and the transfer records of Lin's Culture are completely consistent with the flow of funds in the offshore account. Old Zhou's appraisal report confirmed the authenticity of the Warring States jade disc case, and Old Chen has another copy."

He picked up the stack of evidence and weighed it in his hand:

"This stuff is enough to keep them in a bind." Yu Tinglan remained silent for a while before asking, "So, what are you planning to do tomorrow?"

"I followed the normal procedures," Wen Zhaoye said. "The association held a hearing, so I followed the rules of the hearing. They said I had a problem, so I provided evidence to prove that I did not."

"Qian Bohong won't let you have it so easy."

"I know." Wen Zhaoye looked at the stack of materials on the table. "So I made three copies of all the evidence. One for the association, one for the disciplinary committee, and one for the media."

Yu Tinglan was silent for a few seconds, then said, "You've made some very thoughtful arrangements."

"It wasn't out of consideration, it was out of necessity," Wen Zhaoye said, switching the phone to his other hand. "Bao Dequan framed me, and Qian Bohong blacklisted me. If I hadn't kept some tricks up my sleeve, the person lying here today wouldn't be evidence, it would be me."

Yu Tinglan chuckled softly on the other end: "Alright, then you should get some rest. Just let me know if you need anything tomorrow."

"Okay." After hanging up the phone, Wen Zhaoye put his phone on the table, then picked up the stack of evidence and looked through it one by one.

On page 37 of the black ledger, in Bao Dequan's handwriting, is the inscription "Zhou Guilan, bracelet, 280,000." The words "Master Qian" in the remarks column are written hastily but are still legible.

He closed the ledger, picked up the bank statement next to him, paused his finger on the word "money" for a moment, and then put it down.

The offshore account chart shows an arrow pointing to Lin's Cultural Investment, labeled "Fund Flow," with Su Xiaoman highlighting the dates and amounts in red below, clearly drawing a line.

Old Zhou's handwritten appraisal report had a cover with the words "Supplementary Explanation on the Appraisal Opinion of the Warring States Jade Bi Case" written in pen. Inside were densely packed appraisal records, and every page was stamped.

He turned to the last page and saw Lao Zhou's signature; the date was today.

He put down the report, picked up his phone again, and opened the email sent today by the anonymous sender.

The email had no body, only an attachment named "Review Panel.zip", which contained three photos after being unzipped.

The first photo shows an envelope with the words "To be opened by Director Wang Ming" written on the cover and signed by Bao Dequan.

The second photo shows the contents of the envelope: a painting, neatly wrapped in a scroll, with the three characters "Autumn Mountain Painting" faintly visible on the silk.

The third photo shows a note next to the calligraphy and painting, which reads, "Please, Director Wang, take care of us out of our long-standing friendship. I will reward you handsomely once the matter is settled." It is signed by Bao Dequan and stamped with his seal.

He zoomed in on the photo, confirmed that the handwriting on the note matched Bao Dequan's handwriting, then turned off his phone and saved the photo on his phone.

He stood up and arranged the stack of materials in order—at the bottom was Lao Zhou's handwritten appraisal report, above that were bank statements and offshore account diagrams, above that were copies of the ledgers, and on top of that were copies of photos and notes printed from anonymous emails.

He stuffed all the materials into a canvas bag, zipped it up, and placed it on the bedside table.

Then he took out his wallet, opened the inner compartment, and took out the family photo—himself at seven years old, his smiling mother, and his father standing at the back, their faces blurred.

He stared at the blurry face for a long time, then gently put the photo back in the compartment and zipped it up. He turned off the light.

In the darkness, he lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

The cracks in the ceiling are still there, extending from the corner to the lamp base, like a dried-up riverbed.

He closed his eyes, his mind racing with numbers and arrows.

Bao Dequan's account books, Qian Bohong's bank statements, Lin's Culture's offshore account, Lao Zhou's appraisal report, and photos provided by an anonymous sender—five lines converge at a single point on the paper.

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling in the darkness.

The time displayed on the phone is 11:40 PM.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to sleep.

Outside the window, in the night view of the provincial capital, Qian Bohong's villa was brightly lit.

In the study on the third floor of the villa, Qian Bohong sat behind his desk, on which lay a document that read "Hearing Regarding Jiang Cheng Wen Zhaoye's Suspected Irregular Appraisal".

He held a cigarette between his fingers, not lit, just twirling it between his fingers.

The middle-aged man wearing glasses sitting opposite was the messenger who had met Wen Zhaoye at the teahouse during the day.

"He refused?" Qian Bohong asked.

"They refused, saying you should tell him in person at the hearing."

Qian Bohong didn't say anything, put the cigarette on the ashtray, then picked up the cell phone on the table and dialed a number.

After the call was connected, he only said one sentence: "Hearing tomorrow, proceed as planned."

Then hang up the phone and put it on the table.

The middle-aged man opposite him asked cautiously, "Director, are we really going to proceed as planned?"

Qian Bohong didn't answer. He just picked up a cigarette, tapped it on the ashtray, stood up, and walked to the window.

Outside the window, the night view of the provincial capital is spread out before my eyes, with thousands of lights twinkling in the night.

He looked into the distance, his gaze landing on the gray brick building of the Provincial Antique Association, where the light behind the third-floor window was still on.

"Wen Zhaoye," he said softly, "now that you're here, don't even think about going back."

After saying that, he turned and walked back to his desk, picked up his phone, and dialed another number. Once the call connected, he said, "Tomorrow morning, tell Lao Zhou and Lao Chen to shut up."

Then he hung up the phone, put it on the table, sat down, picked up a cigarette, and lit it.

Smoke swirled under the light, blurring the documents on the table.

It was late at night. The lights were still on in the archives room on the third floor of the provincial antique association.

Old Zhou sat behind his desk, wearing reading glasses, looking down at the files in his hands.

He turned to a page, his finger stopped, he took off his reading glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers, then picked up the phone on the table and dialed a number.

After the call connected, he said, "Old Chen, are you ready on your end?"

An aged voice came from the other end: "Ready. I'll go to the association first thing tomorrow morning."

"Okay," Old Zhou said. "We have to back that kid up at the hearing tomorrow."

"Back up for me?" The other end laughed. "We're both old bones these days, what kind of support can we offer?"

"Supporting someone means supporting them," Old Zhou said. "That kid has evidence, and we have the expert report. Together, it's irrefutable proof."

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end, then someone said, "What are you planning to do about Qian Bohong?"

Ignore him.

Old Zhou said, "No matter how capable he is, can he control whether others tell the truth?"

The person on the other end laughed again: "Okay, see you tomorrow then."

"See you tomorrow."

Old Zhou hung up the phone, put it back on the table, put his reading glasses back on, and continued to look through the files in his hands.

Outside the window, in the darkness of night, the lights of Qian Bohong's villa were still on.

A silent contest unfolded quietly under the night sky of the provincial capital.