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

The next morning, Wen Zhaoye stood at the entrance of the Cold Tea House with a canvas bag on his back.

A bronze key and a jade pendant hung around his neck, gleaming dimly in the morning light. He stood there for about two minutes without moving.

Gu Qinghan pushed open the door, saw him, and didn't say anything. She placed a bamboo chair under the eaves, then brought out a pot of freshly brewed chrysanthemum tea and placed it on the small table by the door. Then she sat down and poured two cups of tea.

Wen Zhaoye did not sit down.

He took the letter out of his inner pocket and unfolded it again in the morning light. The edges of the letter were brittle, and the creases were almost torn, but his father's handwriting was clear in the morning light—"Zhaoye, if you can get here, it means you have grown up. My biggest regret in this life is that I couldn't be there to watch you grow up. My greatest pride is that you finally came."

He finished reading, his finger pausing briefly on the paper. Then he folded the letter, put it back, and patted the inner pocket. He looked up towards the provincial capital. The morning light slanted in from the east, illuminating the entire street, and the plane tree leaves rustled in the wind.

"Jianzhen Pavilion needs a foothold in the provincial capital," he said, his voice soft but steady. "We can't rely solely on our old store in Jiangcheng."

Gu Qinghan picked up his teacup and took a sip.

"There's a shop for sale at the east end of Wutong Street. I took a look when I passed by the day before yesterday. The location is good and the rent is reasonable."

Wen Zhaoye turned to look at her.

She looked at him, neither smiling nor looking away. The two stared at each other for two seconds.

Then Wen Zhaoye walked over and sat down on another bamboo chair. He picked up the cup of tea and took a sip. The tea was warm, with a slightly bitter aftertaste, but a sweet aftertaste lingered in his mouth after swallowing, like snow chrysanthemums from Kunlun Mountain, yet not quite. He put down the teacup and twirled his finger around the rim.

"What did that shop on Wutong Street used to do?"

"Antique shop," Gu Qinghan said. "It's been closed for half a year. The owner's surname is Zhou." Wen Zhaoye's finger paused on the rim of his teacup. He looked up at her, their eyes met, and neither of them spoke. The morning light slanted in from the east, falling on the small table between them, and the steam from the teapot rose in the light like a thin white line. "Surname Zhou?" Wen Zhaoye asked.

"Yes, my surname is Zhou."

Are there many antique dealers with the surname Zhou in the provincial capital?

"Not much," Gu Qinghan said, her tone as flat as if she were commenting on the nice weather. "But you know the owner of this shop." Wen Zhaoye stared at her without speaking. "Zhou Huaiyuan," Gu Qinghan said, "the person you were looking for."

Wen Zhaoye's fingers paused on the rim of the cup. He remembered the yellowed business card, the back door of No. 13 Wutong Street, the bronze tripod engraved with "Zhou Tiankuo", and the back view of Zhou Huaiyuan moving the tripod away late at night.

"Didn't he leave the country?" Wen Zhaoye asked.

"He's left the country, but the shop is still there." Gu Qinghan picked up his teacup and took another sip. "Before he left, he entrusted the shop to an agency and put up a 'For Sale' sign, saying he wanted to find a reliable person to take over."

"A reliable person?" "Yes." Gu Qinghan put down his teacup and looked at Wen Zhaoye. "He said that if anyone comes to see the shop and asks about the past, just say that the shop has bad feng shui and always loses money in business." Wen Zhaoye didn't speak. He picked up his teacup and took another sip. The tea was still warm, and the bitter aftertaste lingered. "You went to see it?" "I passed by the day before yesterday and happened to run into a real estate agent showing people the shop, so I went in for a look." Gu Qinghan said, "The shop isn't big, but the layout is nice. It has two courtyards, and there's a small patio in the backyard with an osmanthus tree." "An osmanthus tree?" "Yes. There's a stone under the osmanthus tree." Gu Qinghan looked at him. "That stone looks a bit like the piece of black jade you bought in the backyard of Yu Mantang before."

Wen Zhaoye's finger stopped at the edge of the teacup.

He recalled the piece of black jade he had bought in the backyard of Yu Mantang, the icy green jade revealed after it was cut open, the fact that Yu Tinglan had spent six million to buy it, and how he had used that money to pay for his grandmother's surgery.

"You mean that stone?" "I mean that stone," Gu Qinghan said calmly, "but I'm not sure if it's the same one. I just feel that it's not normal for there to be a rough stone under the osmanthus tree."

Wen Zhaoye didn't speak. He picked up his teacup, finished the last sip of tea, then put the cup down and stood up.

"Let's go take a look." Gu Qinghan also stood up. She didn't tidy up the tea set, but simply put the two bamboo chairs inside and then closed the teahouse door. "Is it closed today?" Wen Zhaoye asked.

"The first cup is already free," Gu Qinghan said, then turned and walked towards the east end of Wutong Street. Wen Zhaoye followed behind her. The two walked along Wutong Street, the morning light filtering through the leaves and falling on the bluestone pavement like scattered gold. The shops along the street were not yet open, except for one breakfast shop where steam was rising, the owner frying dough sticks at the door, the oil sizzling in the pan.

"Why do you think Zhou Huaiyuan would place a rough stone under the osmanthus tree?" Wen Zhaoye asked, walking beside her without looking at her. "Maybe he just didn't have anywhere else to put it."

What do you think?

Gu Qinghan didn't answer. She took a few steps before saying, "I think he's waiting for someone."

"Waiting for whom?"

"Wait for someone who can tell there's something wrong with that stone."

Wen Zhaoye didn't reply, but he quickened his pace.

At the east end of Wutong Street, on the street corner, there is a shop with its doors closed. The roller shutter is pulled down, and a sign above it reads "Prime Location for Sale," with a phone number below. The shop is small, with a storefront only about two meters wide, sandwiched between a general store and a barbershop, and is not very eye-catching.

Gu Qinghan stood at the shop entrance, took out a key from his pocket, and unlocked the bottom lock of the roller shutter door.

"Where did you get the key?" Wen Zhaoye asked.

"The agent gave it to me when I was looking at shops the day before yesterday, saying he wanted me to see if anyone wanted to take it over," Gu Qinghan said, then pulled up the roller shutter door.

As soon as the door opened, a whiff of dust and old wood wafted out. Wen Zhaoye stood in the doorway and glanced inside. The shop was empty; the shelves had all been moved, leaving only a few rags piled in the corner and a dusty counter. Behind the counter, a mirror hung on the wall, its surface covered in a layer of dust, making it difficult to see clearly.

At the end of the path, there was a small door leading to the backyard. Wen Zhaoye pushed open the door and entered the backyard. The yard wasn't large, only about ten square meters. In the corner, there was an osmanthus tree, its canopy covering half of the yard, and sure enough, there was a stone pressing down under the tree.

Wen Zhaoye squatted down and looked at the stone.

The grayish-white outer skin was rough and looked no different from ordinary granite. But when he reached out and touched it, the moment his fingers touched the skin, pale golden characters automatically appeared in his divine eyes—"Mowan Old Mine Black Skin Material, two centimeters below the skin, icy green, full of emerald."

His finger stopped on the stone.

"When you came the day before yesterday, were these stones pressed down like this too?" he asked without turning around.

"Yes, nothing has moved under the osmanthus tree."

Wen Zhaoye stood up, wiped the dust off his hands, and looked up at the osmanthus tree. The trunk wasn't thick, about the size of a bowl. Several characters were carved on the bark, now blurred. He leaned closer to look and could vaguely make out two characters—"Zhou" and "Tian." His heart sank. "Before Zhou Huaiyuan left, he left this shop to you," he said, his voice soft but steady. "Not to the real estate agent, but to you." Gu Qinghan stood behind him, silent. "He said if anyone came to see the shop and asked about the past, he should say the feng shui was bad, and he always lost money in business." Wen Zhaoye turned to look at her. "When you came the day before yesterday, there was this stone under this tree. You didn't move it, and you didn't tell the agent." "Yes."

"You're waiting for me to see it."

Gu Qinghan looked at him without saying a word.

Wen Zhaoye squatted down, moved the stone from under the osmanthus tree, and held it in his hands. The stone wasn't big, about the weight of a watermelon, with a rough, grayish-white rind, and it really didn't look much different from an ordinary stone.

"Before Zhou Huaiyuan left, besides this shop, what else did he leave behind?" he asked, standing up, holding the stone, and looking at Gu Qinghan. Gu Qinghan was silent for a moment, then took out a slip of paper from her pocket and handed it to him.

Wen Zhaoye took the note and unfolded it. A line of writing was on it, crooked and illegible, as if written with a left hand—"Under the osmanthus tree, a stone presses down on a key. The key opens the door. The door is inside the stone." Wen Zhaoye stared at the note, reading it three times. "There's a key inside the stone?"

"It should be."

Which door does the key open?

"have no idea."

Wen Zhaoye folded the note and put it in his inner pocket. He looked down at the stone in his arms; its grayish-white surface gleamed dimly in the morning light. He remembered Zhou Huaiyuan's retreating figure as he carried away the bronze cauldron late at night, remembered the three characters "Zhou Tiankuo" engraved on the cauldron, remembered the letter his father had left behind, and remembered the sentence in the letter—"Your father's greatest regret in life is not being able to watch you grow up." He squatted down, placed the stone on the ground, and then drew the short sword Gu Qinghan had given him from his waist. The character "Xuan" on the hilt felt slightly cool in his palm. "What are you doing?" Gu Qinghan asked, his voice a little nervous.

"Open the stone."

Wen Zhaoye gripped his short sword, pressing the tip against the stone's outer layer, and pried it open with force. A crack appeared in the outer layer, and grayish-white fragments fell out, revealing a dark green interior.

He pried it open again, and more debris fell off, the icy green jade dazzling in the morning light. But he didn't look at the jade; his gaze fell on the center of it—where a bronze key was embedded, exactly the same as the one Wen Zhaoye wore around his neck.