732: Chapter 727 Iris Spinning Emblem

Alan spoke, his voice hoarse with tension. He seemed to want to say something but didn't know where to begin.

Shen Yan smiled slightly and proactively extended his hand.

"Mr. Delaroche, welcome back."

His tone was natural and calm, as if welcoming an old friend after a long separation.

Alan was stunned for a moment, then awkwardly shook Shen Yan's hand.

Warm, strong.

This warmth seemed to dispel the last trace of gloom in his heart.

"Mr. Shen, the restoration expert, Mr. Pierre, has arrived and is waiting in the side hall."

Irene's voice sounded at the appropriate time. When her gaze fell upon Alan, she still couldn't hide a hint of amazement and shock.

In just two hours, a person's external appearance could undergo such a world-shaking transformation.

This gave her a deeper, unfathomable understanding of Shen Yan's methods.

The power of money was certainly immense, but the person who could wield money with such precision and efficiency was the truly terrifying existence.

"Very good, let him come in," Shen Yan nodded.

A moment later, a gray-haired, gold-rimmed spectacle-wearing, meticulous French old man walked in, carrying a silver metal box.

His name was Jean Pierre. He was a renowned master of cultural relic restoration in Lyon and even all of France, specializing in serving the Louvre and major private museums.

Pierre's eyes carried a professional scrutiny and an imperceptible arrogance.

He surveyed the people in the room, his gaze lingering for a second on Shen Yan's young, Eastern face before shifting to the oak statue carefully placed on the velvet tablecloth by the bodyguard.

"This is the item?"

Pierre's voice was somewhat cold. Clearly, having an expert like him handle a mere folk wood carving worth only a few hundred Euros at an auction house felt like overkill.

"Yes, Mr. Pierre,"

Irene stepped forward and said respectfully.

"Our request is to open its base without damaging the main body of the statue or any items that might exist inside."

Pierre snorted and remained silent.

He put on white gloves, took a high-power magnifying glass from the box, and began to examine the statue closely.

His movements were slow and meticulous, from the wood grain to the carving marks, right down to the seams of the base—nothing was missed.

The room was silent.

Only Pierre's breathing and the faint sounds of the instruments could be heard.

Alan clenched his fists tightly, his eyes fixed on the statue. Within it lay the glory and the blood and tears of his family spanning several centuries.

Time passed second by second.

About half an hour later, Pierre finally straightened up and took off the magnifying glass.

He glanced at Shen Yan. The contempt in his eyes had subsided considerably, replaced by a hint of solemnity.

"This base is not original."

Alan's heart suddenly sank.

"It was later reattached by someone using a very ancient and clever mortise-and-tenon structure. The joint was disguised with a special wood glue. If not for ultrasonic detection, it would be almost impossible to distinguish with the naked eye."

Pierre's tone now carried the excitement of a professional.

"What a genius design. Opening it will take some time, and it requires absolute silence."

"Please proceed," Shen Yan made a gesture of invitation.

Pierre nodded and opened his toolbox.

Inside were various strangely shaped tools that shimmered with precise luster.

He was like a surgeon about to perform a delicate operation—focused and devout.

First, he carefully dripped a special solvent onto the seam of the base.

A faint scent of pine wood permeated the air.

It was used to dissolve that ancient wood glue.

Next, he took out several steel needles as fine as ox hair and gently inserted them along the gap at an incredible angle.

His fingers were as steady as a rock, and every exertion of force was accurate down to the micron level.

He was dismantling the mortise-and-tenon structure.

Once this ancient craft was locked, brute force would only destroy the contents inside along with it.

The only way was to find its 'acupuncture points' as he was doing now and use finesse to unlock them one by one.

Alan's breathing almost stopped.

Irene was also watching intently.

Only Shen Yan remained seated calmly on the sofa, picking up a cup of black tea and taking a gentle sip.

It was as if everything happening before him had long been within his expectations.

Click.

An extremely faint sound echoed clearly in the silent room.

It sounded like the core of some long-sealed lock had been turned.

Fine beads of sweat appeared on Pierre's forehead.

He let out a breath and gently pried with a specially made thin wedge.

The oak base, which looked seamlessly integrated with the statue, was thus quietly and completely removed.

A rectangular, flat object tightly wrapped in oilcloth lay silently in the hollowed-out space inside the base.

The color of the oilcloth had turned dark brown due to the passage of time, but it still maintained good toughness, protecting the contents very well.

"My God..."

Pierre let out a low exclamation.

He never dreamed that this inconspicuous wood carving truly hid something.

Alan's eyes instantly turned red.

He reached out, wanting to touch the wrapping, but his fingers trembled violently in mid-air.

That was the soul of his ancestor, the Delaroche family.

Shen Yan stood up and walked forward.

"Open it."

Pierre carefully took out the oilcloth-wrapped object and placed it on a tray covered with sterile cloth.

Using tweezers, he peeled away the oilcloth, which had long lost its elasticity, layer by layer.

His movements were as gentle as if he were tending to a newborn infant.

When the last layer of oilcloth was removed,

A manuscript bound with some kind of unknown animal hide cover was presented before everyone.

The cover had no text, only a complex crest branded in the center.

It was a blooming fleur-de-lis, encircled by two interlaced weaving shuttles.

"The Fleur-de-lis and Shuttle Insignia..."

Alan murmured the name in French as if in a dream.

"This is the mark of the Delaroche Atelier, there's no mistake..."

Pierre gently turned the first page of the manuscript with his tool.

On the yellowed paper were elegant, ancient French handwritten characters, accompanied by many complex and detailed diagrams.

Those diagrams depicted strange parts of a loom and intricate silk thread winding paths resembling orbital tracks.

"My heavens, this... this is practically a living fossil of 17th-century textile craftsmanship!"

Even Master Pierre, accustomed to rare treasures, had a trembling voice in his excitement.

"Many of the techniques described here only existed in legends! If this is real, it is enough to rewrite the entire textile history of Europe!"