Chapter 51: The Three-Eyed Heavenly Pearl
“How about this item?”
Inside a box lay a mask, its surface mottled with the blue-green hue of ancient rust, just large enough to cover a human face.
“This funerary mask is of considerable rank—generally found only in grand tombs, at least from the Liao dynasty. Silver laced with copper, and the first time such an artifact appeared was in a tomb unearthed from the Liao period. Only princes and nobles would possess such things.
On the market, the sale of these artifacts is strictly prohibited. This is an item of great value. Now, let me see—what about the scripture beneath it?”
Beneath the mask, a thick stack of ancient scriptures rested in the box.
After he opened it, she glanced over it briefly.
“Yes, funerary masks are divided into gold and silver; yours is silver. But such items are generally forbidden from being traded or taken out. You can keep it for your own collection, but I won’t be able to take it off your hands.”
Zhong Huayan, though she was fond of it, knew better than to indulge her interests and invite trouble.
These objects from ancient tombs—Fu Yan Yan could handle them, but she had no wish to add to the complications.
“All right, thank you, miss.”
In the comment section, officials from the Bureau of Cultural Relics and those replying seemed ready to pinpoint the address and inspect the young man’s funerary mask.
Still, such cases don’t always require surrendering the artifact; at the very least, it cannot be sold. If handed over, one might even earn a reward.
After closing the video, Zhong Huayan continued connecting to others.
The items that followed were mostly replicas: imitation Western Zhou agate tubes, Warring States period dragonfly-eye beads, Qing dynasty bracelets, Ming dynasty glass court beads…
Some were even bolder—digging up ancestral graves for treasures, only to hand them over directly.
After closing the livestream, she had earned a full ten thousand for the day.
Her followers had surpassed five hundred thousand.
Just then, a message came through her backstage—a man claiming to be the vice-chairman of the Capital Calligraphy Association invited her to appraise an item in person.
Coincidentally, this vice-chairman was the elderly gentleman who had once owned that Yan Bolong bird-and-flower painting.
The next day, she called in sick and, with her tools in hand, headed for the Capital Calligraphy Association.
Before her rose a majestic building, quieter and simpler than the others, yet the entrance was crowded with luxury cars.
Most of these vehicles belonged to the city’s prominent families or officials, parked here long-term or gifted to others.
An assistant approached her. “Are you Li Yanyan?”
“Yes, I’m here to appraise an item for the vice-chairman.”
Upstairs, on the second floor, she found the elderly gentleman, birdcage in hand, amusing himself with his pet. Upon seeing her, he immediately opened the door.
They settled onto the sofa and began the appraisal.
“Ah, I noticed you from your very first livestream,” he said.
Zhong Huayan glanced around—the walls were adorned with priceless calligraphy, paper and ink set nearby. She took a seat.
“It’s rather strange—you’re the vice-chairman of the calligraphy association. Why did you enter a newcomer’s livestream for an appraisal?”
“That’s a fine question. I suppose I’m halfway to the grave, an old horse still yearning for the journey, always cherishing talent. When I saw you in the livestream, you reminded me suddenly of an old acquaintance.”
She had no recollection of having met him before; none of it rang a bell.
“Such memories are best left untold. Now, young lady, take a look—how much is this celestial bead worth?”
She took out her miniature magnifier and examined the bead.
Celestial beads are fashioned from agate, the patterns on them created through a technique called etching, entirely man-made.
This craft vanished after the Tang dynasty, making genuine beads highly valuable.
In recent decades, though, replicas have flooded the market, casting confusion across the celestial bead scene.
“This bead is likely a Guru’s ritual three-eyed celestial bead. From what I can see, it’s an old bead, valued at over a million.”
“Young lady, your insight is remarkable! Among those I’ve invited to appraise treasures, you’re the quickest.”
It wasn’t so much her skill in appraisal, but her intuition—the bead in her hand, combined with her prior experience.
She’d once had a client who collected celestial beads; she’d handled nearly every kind, making it easy to distinguish old from new.
The old man began grinding ink. “This celestial bead was left as a relic after a famous calligraphy master passed away.”
“That makes its worth immeasurable. If you have definitive proof it belonged to a famous figure, the value would increase greatly.”
She and the vice-chairman conversed happily.
The appraisal earned her a full twenty thousand, far exceeding her expectations.
On her way downstairs, she turned a corner and suddenly heard movement within.
The entire building was silent—only this spot felt out of place.
The abruptness of the sounds was striking; it wasn’t the noise of conversation or argument, but something more sinister in the hush.
Just as she stepped forward, she pushed open the door.
A figure pressed her against the wall, a hand tightly covering her mouth, carrying the scent of pear blossoms.
She hadn’t glimpsed his face, but his voice came low: “Don’t open that door yet.”
Xu Chu Yin!
“What are you doing here?” she stared at him, feeling a bit dazed.
“Why? If you can come, why can’t I?”
No wonder the brothers spoke alike.
She still remembered, at the very end, Xu Chu Yin carrying her across desolate wildlands, for who knows how long… that strange pear blossom scent clinging to him.
Suddenly, she heard a woman’s voice from the room—soft, cloying, so saccharine it made her skin crawl.
Next came the sound of a piano, abruptly cut off, followed by furious shouting and the crash of something breaking.
Were they fighting? Or…
Peering secretly through the crack, she saw, under oppressive lights—a man with almond-shaped eyes, their dull brown gaze unsettling, his tall frame revealing sinews beneath his clothes.
Beside him, a naked woman crouched on the floor, blood streaks from friction marking the ground.
Like the frantic piano notes just moments before, the two began to entwine.
The woman twisted like a water snake, their struggle even fiercer than the piano’s earlier frenzy.
On the floor lay a torn white shirt and a tight skirt.
Finally, the man ripped off his suit’s belt and wrapped it firmly around the woman’s neck…
It didn’t last long—her legs flailed desperately, clearly unable to endure.
In just a few minutes, the woman was drenched in sweat, lying on the floor, struggling to breathe, her body beginning to convulse.