Chapter 3: Live Treasure Appraisal
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“Huh?...” Zhong Huayan was stunned for a few seconds.
She wore a black dress, and on her wrist was a white hair tie blooming like gardenias on withered bones.
She let out a cold laugh. “Ha, is this your taste?”
The man opposite her lounged against the sofa, the light casting a sheen across his shirt.
His gaze shifted rapidly, cunning and deep.
“What taste?”
Zhong Huayan reached into her pocket for a lighter; in a flash, he saw her expertly place a cigarette between her parched lips.
As the smoke curled around her, it conjured the image of a water nymph rising from a tranquil lake.
“A forbidden romance. You look over thirty, and I’m only nineteen.”
In an instant, the naïve college student transformed into a woman of irresistible charm.
The contrast, paired with her face, was stunning.
“It’s not so forbidden for me,” he replied.
She always remembered her foster brother as polite and upright since childhood—honorable, kind, praised by elders for his adherence to propriety and sense of shame. When he proposed to her back then, it was as a sister, trying to pull her out of the abyss of the Zhong family.
Now, it seemed he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
“That’s not what I meant. Don’t get the wrong idea.” She casually flicked cigarette ash.
A faint smile played at his lips; naturally, he had no interest in little girls. He just found some solace gazing at this face.
His bony hand toyed idly with the teacup, ready to press his advantage and raise the stakes.
“If you leave now, the Xu family won’t let you go.”
“They won’t kill me.”
She had planned, if truly desperate, to confide in her brother. But now, things seemed to be taking a turn for the worse.
“Indeed, there’s no need for that. But don’t you care about your parents and brothers?”
“I see now—it’s Boss Fu who needs me,” she quipped as she stubbed out her cigarette.
She had almost forgotten that the original owner of this body had a family, that her actions should consider them.
Fu Yanyan was in no hurry; he guided her patiently, bringing the teacup to his nose, savoring the aroma, sipping slowly.
“It’s always others who need me. I’ve never needed anyone myself. But perhaps one day I’ll invite you for tea. Is this number always reachable?”
She tacitly agreed.
Fu Yanyan had no intention of touching her.
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She was merely a specimen, feeding his obsessive love—a face he wished to preserve, the one ravaged by fire.
When his eyes caught a scratch bleeding on her face, he spoke:
“You haven’t finished repaying your debt. As long as you’re under my care, don’t let any more scars appear.”
Zhong Huayan didn’t care about the money; she could earn it back quickly enough. Taking advantage of power, making things difficult for others—she was the one who’d taught him that.
He continued to pour tea, the liquid flowing gently, the figure’s silhouette as familiar as his own, bringing a flush to his eyes before he realized the cup was overflowing.
His heart had long since become a desert; to live was to bear a blood feud.
He played with a prayer bead, calculating how to bring down the Xu family without leaving a trace, to fulfill his elder sister’s final wish.
“So, you really did slap Xu Yuan hard enough to swell her face?”
Her elder brother asked as he rode an electric scooter, giving her a lift to dinner.
Zhong Huayan watched the news intently.
On the Times Square screen, the anchor reported, “It has been half a year since the fire at the Zhong family villa. Many netizens have expressed their condolences. Over forty people perished, including Zhong Qidong, Zhong Zhuquan...”
She was certain she hadn’t misheard a single word.
Revenge was achieved, but her heart remained inexplicably empty.
A family so rotten to the core was long overdue for destruction...
Now only the Xu family remained! Their blood debt was due...
“We should change schools,” her brother said. “I can’t bear to see you suffering every day.”
In this life, she unexpectedly experienced familial warmth in another’s body.
“I don’t want to quit school. There are still things I need to do.”
She had once lived over thirty years, always in the depths of hardship, and died that way, too.
Her brother ran a small steel shop. Though not large, the rent in Beijing was hardly cheap.
“Little darling, Mom made your favorite braised pork!”
Braised pork—so greasy.
Zhong Huayan’s eyes reddened as memories of days in the Zhong house surfaced.
Back then, she also loved braised pork, but her mother never allowed the maid to make it.
She’d say, “Girls from wealthy families mustn’t get fat, or they won’t please men or bring value to the family.”
If she ate even a little extra meat, her mother would lose her temper and slap her until she was too afraid to eat again.
Her father cared only for profit; whenever trouble arose, he’d ship his daughter off to take the blame.
Later, both parents died of cancer, and only then did those restrictions slowly lift.
“Come say hello to Dad, Second Brother, and Third Brother!” her mother called on a video chat.
The original owner’s father was an educated, kind-faced uncle.
Her second brother was a researcher, taciturn but always smiling at her.
Her third brother was an e-sports player with blond hair and a broken eyebrow, always joking around.
Her family all doted on her unconditionally.
“Later, just tell Third Brother. He’s got connections—he’ll take care of anyone who bullies you!”
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“We need to handle this calmly. Second Brother found a top-notch lawyer. We’ll sue the Xu family and demand justice!”
A simple dinner table, steaming food, everyone warmly piling her bowl high.
The moon’s reflection shimmered on the lake outside.
In her mind, Fu Yanyan’s image emerged; it had been ages since she’d sat at a table like this with him.
After the meal, Zhong Huayan pulled out her phone, went to her room, and started a livestream.
That afternoon, inspiration had struck—she’d posted a notice for free artifact appraisals, and soon a crowd arrived for her expertise.
[Whoa, she’s gorgeous! Which auction house does this beauty work for?]
[To be honest, I only clicked in because the cover photo was stunning.]
She was straightforward, swiftly updating her stream’s title: [If my appraisal is wrong, I’ll compensate.]
Instantly, viewership soared, everyone clamoring for a connection.
Zhong Huayan connected with a male caller.
The screen filled with a massive, multi-colored figure of Palden Lhamo.
Idly turning a piece of flawed agate in her hand, she hadn’t expected her first case would be such a treasure!
“Was this given to you by a temple?”
“Yes. The monks there said it was made of human skin.”
She examined it and replied, “No, this one’s a collectible—there should be a few more like it. It probably came with a set of blue Thangkas. This piece was painted after those. Is that a Thangka by Anduo Qiangba Laoshi beside you?”
[Impressive! She can identify it immediately and so accurately over video—must be a plant, right?]
[She really seems professional. So young yet so knowledgeable?]
The livestream shifted to show the Thangka.
On the painting, a high monk sat cross-legged on the grass, scattered with vibrant flowers, offerings at his side, scripture piled high. The green leaves glimmered, setting off the golden robes in dazzling contrast. The figure’s expression was compassionate, as if transcending time itself.
“Teacher, is this an original? It was a gift, so I’m not sure.”
The man, impressed by her knowledge, now addressed her as “teacher.”
Zhong Huayan admired the painting and replied, “Yes, yes, that’s a beautiful Thangka—an original, worth at least a million. It depicts Panchen Lama Chirel Gyatso. Without a halo or Dharma throne, this is a modern-style Thangka. Yours is likely the only classic original on the market. Temples don’t usually give these away for nothing.”
The man on video grew visibly excited, his tone lightening.
“Teacher, you’re truly skilled! This Thangka does depict Chirel Gyatso. Years ago, our family worked with the Fu family, who funded the restoration of a hundred temples. My father was the chief sculptor, restoring statues. The abbot gifted these paintings to our family.”
[Wow, such a beautiful Thangka. I’ve learned something new—truly, only the rich find enlightenment.]
[The Fu family? Is that the same Fu family from Beijing we always hear about in the news? Impressive!]
[She must be a plant—how else would she know so much?]