783: Chapter 778 I want this pile of waste paper

Shen Yan kept one hand in his pocket while swiping across his tablet with the other.

On the screen was the progress bar for the 'Kangyang No. 1' medical robot project, the red word 'Stagnant' glaring as vividly as dried blood.

The previous R&D team was stuck on the precision of the miniature robotic arm; what they produced was like a brute swinging a giant sledgehammer to repair a wristwatch.

Shen Yan expressionlessly clicked on the folder named 'Nano Swarm,' which was the black technology just rewarded by the system.

His finger hovered over the screen for half a second before pressing down heavily on the confirmation button labeled 'Overwrite Original Scheme.'

The originally cumbersome mechanical blueprints were instantly replaced by countless dense silver particle structure diagrams—an almost biological, elegant construction.

With a 'ding,' the file transfer was complete.

Shen Yan sent a short, five-character message to the project head, Wu Ya, via WeChat.

"Check your email, then follow the instructions."

No explanations were needed, no feasibility discussions required; those were procedures only the mediocre demanded.

The elevator doors slowly slid open in the ground floor lobby, and the surrounding clamor instantly flooded in. Countless reporters and industry insiders were still frenzied over the AI duel that had just concluded.

Shen Yan pulled down the brim of his baseball cap, avoiding the camera flashes at the main entrance, and turned toward the underground Level Three exclusive garage, accessible only with senior management clearance.

Parked there was an inconspicuous black Volkswagen phaeton, Shen Yan's backup car for avoiding attention.

Settling into the driver's seat, the car door shut out the external noise, and the world quieted down again.

Shen Yan didn't rush to start the engine. A line of faint blue text was subtly flickering on his retina, like some kind of hurried breathing.

[Today's Wealth Intel has been refreshed.]

[Type: Ancient Manuscript Fragments.]

[Location: Next to the baler in the backyard of 'Zhao's Scrap Collection Station' in the South City Flea Market.]

[Details: Among a batch of waste paper cleared out from a bankrupt old library, there is a Republican-era 'Elementary Arithmetic' textbook. Hidden within the cover's inner layer are three pages from the Song Dynasty edition of 'Jingui Yaolue' (Key to Gold and Jade).]

[Timeliness Warning: Zhao's Scrap Station's baler is operating. This target will be compressed into a paper brick and sent to the paper mill for pulping in forty-five minutes.]

[Estimated Value: Thirty million, with extremely high medical artifact value.]

Shen Yan's eyebrows lifted slightly, a hint of amusement flashing in his eyes.

Just after sorting out the nanobots, the system delivered him classic Chinese medicine fragments. This system certainly understood how to combine the ancient and the modern.

Thirty million was merely a decimal point flickering on his account balance now.

But some things, once destroyed, are gone forever—they are scars on civilization.

The phaeton's engine emitted a low roar, surging out of the underground garage like a waking beast.

The afternoon sun was somewhat harsh, the asphalt road steaming with distorted heat waves.

Shen Yan glanced at the navigation; the South City Flea Market was still eighteen kilometers away.

This outwardly low-key sedan moved through the traffic like a black fish, weaving and overtaking precisely, without the brake lights illuminating more than three times.

Thirty minutes later, the phaeton stopped at the entrance of the potholed cement road leading to the South City Flea Market.

The area was saturated with the smells of mildew, engine oil, and decaying old wood—a world away from the clean, bright office buildings downtown.

Shen Yan pushed the door open and stepped out. His perfectly tailored custom suit looked completely out of place among the locals wearing tank tops and slippers.

He ignored the strange looks around him and walked straight toward the tin shed bearing the sign 'Zhao's Scrap Paper.'

The giant hydraulic baler emitted a grating metallic screech, like a monstrous beast chewing on garbage.

Several bare-chested workers were using iron shovels to toss piles of old books and newspapers onto the conveyor belt.

It was a slaughter of culture.

"Boss, buying scrap paper?"

Shen Yan's voice wasn't loud, but it carried immense penetration through the noisy roar of the machinery.

Boss Zhao, who was sitting on a recliner fanning himself with a cattail fan, squinted as he sized up Shen Yan's attire.

"Buying. Fifty cents a pound. Weigh it yourself."

Boss Zhao assumed he was some corporate white-collar worker coming to sell off archived documents, not even lifting his head.

"I'm not selling. I'm buying."

Shen Yan walked to the side of the conveyor belt, his gaze sweeping over the slowly moving piles of waste paper like a hawk.

Boss Zhao froze for a moment, the cattail fan in his hand stopping mid-swing.

"Buying scrap paper? Are you sick? This is all going to the paper mill to be turned into pulp."

At that moment, a middle-aged, stout man wearing a Tang suit and twirling two walnuts in his hand walked out from inside the shed.

This was Ma Sanyan, the 'King of Treasure Hunters' famous in this area, specializing in finding gems at scrap yards.

Ma Sanyan glanced sideways at Shen Yan, a dismissive curve forming at the corner of his mouth.

"Young man, trying to learn treasure hunting? I just sifted through this place three times. Not even a single ration coupon for wiping your backside is left."

Ma Sanyan's voice held the arrogance of an expert, as if this pile of trash was his crowned territory.

Shen Yan didn't even look at him, his eyes locked onto a stack of books at the end of the conveyor belt.

There was an old book with a blue and white cover there. The characters for 'Arithmetic' on the front were almost illegible due to stains.

It was less than three meters from the baler's maw.

"Two thousand yuan. I want this pile of scrap paper."

Shen Yan pointed at the stack at the end of the conveyor belt, his tone as flat as if he were buying a bunch of scallions at the market.

Upon hearing two thousand yuan, Boss Zhao's eyes instantly widened.

That pile of waste paper couldn't weigh more than a hundred jin, worth maybe fifty yuan at market price.

"Fine, fine! Take it away quickly! Xiao Li, stop the machine!"

Boss Zhao, afraid the big spender would change his mind, yelled out.

The conveyor belt moved forward another meter due to inertia. The 'Elementary Arithmetic' textbook stopped right at the edge of the compression plate.

Ma Sanyan let out a sneer, the speed at which he twirled his walnuts noticeably increasing.

"Two thousand yuan for a pile of rotten textbooks? Young people nowadays, money comes from the wind, and their brains are blown away by the breeze."

Ma Sanyan walked over to the pile of scrap paper and kicked the dingy arithmetic book with his toe.

"See this? Printed by Hongwen Bookstore in the thirtieth year of the Republic. Millions of copies were printed; they wouldn't take it even if you paid them."

"It's only good because the paper is slightly thicker; you can take it home to start a fire."

Several onlookers who had gathered to watch also started laughing, the air filled with a happy kind of stupidity.

Shen Yan didn't speak. He simply bent down and reached out to pull the book from the messy pile of paper.

The moment his fingertips touched the cover, a strange sense of weightiness came over him.

That wasn't the feel of ordinary machine-made paper.

He straightened up and pulled a clean white handkerchief from his suit pocket, gently wiping the dust off the book's spine.

The action was as elegant as wiping a newly drawn longsword.

"Move aside."

Shen Yan's voice was light, yet it caused Ma Sanyan, who was blocking the way, to subconsciously step back.

That aura of superiority wasn't faked; it was forged through thousands of billions in capital gambles.