730: Chapter 725 The Soul of the Family

The middle-aged merchant who bid one thousand Euros looked as if he had swallowed a fly.

The auctioneer was also stunned. He adjusted his glasses, confirming he hadn't misheard.

"Five... Fifty thousand Euros? This lady bids fifty thousand Euros! Is there anything higher?"

His voice trembled slightly; this was practically a windfall performance for him.

No one bid again.

Spending fifty thousand Euros to gamble on a wooden carving worth at most a few hundred Euros—no one would commit such a foolish act.

"Sold!"

The gavel fell, settling the matter with one strike.

From start to finish, Shen Yan hadn't even opened his eyes.

It was as if none of this concerned him.

Irene quickly completed the procedures, and two bodyguards carefully loaded the wooden carving into a specially made box.

The people around them watched them, their eyes filled with confusion and mockery.

In their eyes, this young man with an Eastern face was just a profligate "sucker."

Shen Yan paid no mind to these gazes.

He knew that what was inside this box was the future, capable of overturning the entire luxury goods industry.

The group walked out of the auction house and were preparing to get into the car.

A figure suddenly rushed out from a nearby alley, blocking the way in front of the car.

It was a man who looked to be in his early forties.

His clothes were ragged, his hair was a tangled mess, his face was covered in stubble, and he exuded a sour odor.

A standard homeless person.

The two bodyguards immediately stepped forward and blocked him.

"Sir, please move aside."

The homeless man ignored the bodyguards. His eyes were fixed tightly on the box in the bodyguard's hand, his gaze resembling that of a dying wolf seeing its only hope.

"That statue..."

His voice was hoarse, laced with a tremor.

"Could you please give it back to me?"

Irene frowned and spoke in French, "Sir, this is an item we legally purchased. Please do not obstruct us."

"No, that is not an item!"

The homeless man's emotions became agitated.

"That belongs to my family! It was passed down by my ancestors!"

Shen Yan signaled the bodyguards to step back.

He walked down the steps and calmly looked at the man before him.

"You say that belongs to your family?"

Seeing Shen Yan, the homeless man seemed to find his backbone, and he eagerly stepped forward.

"Yes, Sir! My name is Alan de La Roche."

When he spoke that name, his back straightened instinctively, and a hint of pride, completely incongruous with his appearance, flashed in his eyes.

Delaroche.

A barely perceptible curve appeared at the corner of Shen Yan's mouth.

The system's intelligence had been verified once again.

"What evidence do you have to prove it belongs to you?" Shen Yan asked.

"I don't have any evidence..."

Alan's expression dimmed.

"All the documents were lost during the war. My grandfather sold it to that antique shop to pay for medical treatment, but he didn't know... he didn't know the secret inside."

"Secret?"

"Yes, a secret!"

Alan's eyes lit up again.

"The base is hollow. Inside is hidden my family's manuscript on silk weaving! It records the production method of 'Flowing Light Brocade'! That's not wealth, that is the soul of our family!"

He finished speaking in one breath, his chest heaving violently, staring fixedly at Shen Yan, awaiting his judgment.

Irene and the bodyguards were utterly bewildered.

A homeless man telling a story that sounded like something out of an Arabian Nights tale.

Only Shen Yan's mind was perfectly clear.

He knew that every single word Alan spoke was true.

"If you knew there was a manuscript inside, why didn't you buy it back yourself?" Shen Yan asked the crucial question.

A trace of bitterness and shame appeared on Alan's face.

"I... I don't have the money. I saw the auction house's announcement, but I couldn't scrape together the funds, not even the starting bid of five hundred Euros..."

His voice grew softer until it was almost inaudible.

The descendant of a legendary artisan family was reduced to such destitution.

Shen Yan fell silent for a moment.

He looked at Alan.

Although the man was down on his luck, his eyes held no greed, only a persistence and longing for his family's legacy.

Shen Yan suddenly spoke.

"The manuscript is mine now."

Alan's body swayed, and the last light in his eyes seemed about to extinguish.

"However..."

Shen Yan changed his tone.

"An inanimate object has no soul. What can truly bring 'Flowing Light Brocade' back to the world is not a yellowed piece of paper, but a person with the blood of the Delaroche family flowing in their veins."

Alan abruptly looked up, staring at Shen Yan in confusion.

Shen Yan extended his hand toward him.

"I am Shen Yan, Chairman of the Shenyan Group."

"I came to Lyon specifically for this manuscript. I plan to invest ten billion to establish the most advanced laboratory, allowing this ancient craft to shine again in the twenty-first century."

"Now I have found the manuscript, and I have found its soul."

"Mr. Alan de La Roche, I officially invite you to become the Chief Technical Consultant for the Heavenly Works Creation French laboratory."

"I will provide you with the best environment and the strongest funding, allowing you to personally bring your family's glory back to this world."

"Will you accept?"

Alan was completely stunned.

He stared blankly at the hand Shen Yan had extended.

Clean, strong, and warm.

Happiness had arrived too suddenly, making him feel as if he were dreaming.

He thought he would lose everything, but this mysterious Eastern man before him had given him a future he dared not even dream of.

The surrounding hustle and bustle seemed to vanish.

Hot tears welled up in Alan's eyes.

He trembled and extended his own grimy hand, grasping Shen Yan's tightly.

"I will!"

That grimy hand and Shen Yan's clean, long hand clasped together.

Alan de La Roche's tears mixed with the dust on his face, carving two clear tracks.

He tried to say something, but his throat was choked by overwhelming emotion, only managing to emit choked, sobbing sounds.

Bystanders cast strange glances, watching a well-dressed Eastern tycoon and a homeless man who looked like a madman perform this bizarre scene on the street.

Irene stood to the side, her mind completely short-circuited.

She was accustomed to the deceit in the business world and the cold-heartedness of capitalists.

But she had never seen a scene like this.

Spending fifty thousand Euros on a broken wooden carving, only to immediately offer a position as Chief Technical Consultant to a homeless man claiming to be the original owner? And planning to invest ten billion?

Was this charity, or was her young boss truly mentally unstable?

Shen Yan's expression showed no change.

The reason he was so decisive, without even a shred of doubt, was because just a few minutes ago, the instant the man announced his name...

"...My name is Alan de La Roche."

The moment the words fell, a cold and familiar mechanical prompt, audible only to Shen Yan, suddenly sounded in his mind.