898: Chapter 893 Which deity is it?

Due to loose skin and wrinkles, the tattoo looked somewhat distorted, like a blurry blot of ink.

But Shen Yan's pupils suddenly constricted.

It wasn't an ordinary tattoo; it was a Mobius strip made of 0s and 1s, with a broken ancient Greek spear thrust through the center.

If Shen Yan hadn't caught a glimpse of this pattern in some top-level intelligence before, he would have definitely dismissed it as the failed work of some clumsy tattoo artist.

"The Prometheus Fire Project."

This was the logo of that mysterious Silicon Valley genius team that vanished twenty years ago. It was said they possessed the underlying logic of neural network algorithms that transcended the era.

Later, the team vanished overnight. Some said they were recruited by the FBI, while others said they died in internal strife.

He hadn't expected this logo to appear on a fat man who dealt in antiques.

The so-called batch of "electronic waste" was likely not just some scrap circuit boards at all.

Shen Yan stood up, walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window, and looked down at the ant-like flow of traffic.

This wasn't just a matter of money; this was the most critical key for the Shenyan Group to step into the field of Artificial Intelligence.

"Wu Ya."

He pressed the intercom button on his desk.

"Book me the earliest flight to Country M. Also, tell Chen Guangke to meet me in the underground garage in ten minutes."

Thirteen hours later.

In Country M, the fog on the West Coast carried a salty, fishy sea breeze, mixed with the scents of marijuana and stale engine oil as it hit them.

This was the underground district of San Francisco, known as the "City of Sin," a gray zone where prosperity and decay coexisted.

Chen Guangke dragged two massive suitcases, following behind Shen Yan like a mistreated little daughter-in-law.

"Brother Yan, aren't we here to discuss a major project worth hundreds of millions? Why have we come to such a godforsaken place?"

He looked warily at several burly Black men with full-sleeve tattoos and unfriendly gazes on the roadside, inconspicuously moving closer to Shen Yan.

"Doing business in a place like this? Don't tell me we've been scammed. Watch out for your kidneys."

Shen Yan wore a black trench coat, hands in his pockets, his pace as steady as if he were walking in his own backyard.

"The people sitting in office buildings drinking coffee can't negotiate real business. Truly good things are often hidden in the trash."

Following the navigation provided by the system, he passed through two small alleys covered in graffiti and stopped in front of a shop with a dilapidated sign that read "Treasure Gathering Studio."

A thick layer of dust had accumulated on the display window glass. Inside were several blue and white porcelain vases that looked obviously fake, along with a beckoning cat with a broken arm tirelessly waving its hand.

The door was slightly ajar, and the singing of the Peking Opera "The Empty Fort Strategy" drifted out from within. The high-pitched warbling sounded exceptionally eerie on the streets of this foreign land.

Shen Yan pushed the door open and entered.

The brass bell on the door gave a crisp "ding-ling," startling the fat man who was dozing on the counter.

Guo Zhendong jerked his head up, a trace of glistening saliva still hanging from his mouth, as he hurriedly straightened the reading glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, welcome, customers! Please, feel free to look around. These are all authentic pieces from the Qianlong era of the Great Qing... er..."

As he took in Shen Yan and Chen Guangke's attire, his voice immediately dropped an octave.

Although the clothes on these two had no obvious logos, the tailoring and fabric were definitely not something tourists looking for bargains in Chinatown could afford.

Especially the young man in front.

Guo Zhendong was all too familiar with that look; it was the look of a hunter seeing his prey—calm, yet enough to make one's bones feel cold.

"I'm not buying antiques."

Shen Yan walked to the counter, his fingers lightly tapping the grease-stained glass surface.

"I'm here to pick up some junk."

Guo Zhendong froze for a moment, then his eyes darted around as the fat on his face crinkled into a fawning smile.

"Junk? Oh, Boss, you sure know how to joke. This is a legitimate antique shop; how could there be any junk?"

"The four hundred scrapped servers in that warehouse, and that pile of motherboards you were planning to sell as scrap metal."

Shen Yan didn't beat around the bush, directly stating the core information from the system's intelligence.

Guo Zhendong's smile froze on his face. His originally squinted eyes instantly widened, revealing a trace of panic that was hard to hide.

His hand instinctively reached under the counter, where a Remington for self-defense was usually hidden.

Although Chen Guangke usually seemed careless, his reaction in this moment was extremely fast. He stepped forward, pressing half his body onto the counter, and the murderous aura he had brought from the military instantly enveloped Guo Zhendong.

"Fatty, don't move your hand. Otherwise, I guarantee your wrist will snap easier than those porcelain pieces of yours."

Guo Zhendong shuddered, pulled his hand back, and gave a couple of dry laughs.

"A misunderstanding, it's all a misunderstanding... Since the Boss knows about that batch of goods, I won't hide it any longer."

He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, trying to regain control of the conversation's rhythm.

"That is indeed a batch of electronic waste. A bankrupt internet cafe gave it to me to settle a debt. Since the Boss is interested, then... fifty thousand US dollars, and you take it all away?"

He was testing the waters.

He was gambling that Shen Yan was just an uninformed sucker.

Shen Yan smiled.

It was a very faint smile, yet it precisely dissected Guo Zhendong's ridiculous pretense like a scalpel.

"Guo Zhendong, formerly known as Guo Yuan. Once a Level 3 researcher at 'Titan Laboratory.' You were fired for privately selling laboratory waste and later smuggled yourself into Country M."

With every word Shen Yan spoke, Guo Zhendong's face grew a shade paler.

By the time the words 'Titan Laboratory' came out, Guo Zhendong's entire body seemed to have its spine removed, and he slumped into the worn-out armchair.

He had kept this secret for twenty years.

He had lived under an assumed name in this foreign slum, pretending to be a mercenary antique dealer, all to evade the pursuit that had never stopped.

Who was this young man in front of him?

How could he possibly know all this?

"You... just who is this god?"

Guo Zhendong's voice was as raspy as if he had swallowed a handful of sand.

Shen Yan didn't answer. He simply pulled a check from his trench coat pocket and placed it gently on the counter.

"Here is one million US dollars."

"I'm buying the 'junk' in your warehouse, and... what's in your head."

Guo Zhendong stared at the check. The number of zeros on it made him dizzy, but he didn't reach out to take it.

He knew this money wasn't just for a transaction; it was blood money, or rather, a pledge of loyalty.

"Young people nowadays are truly impossible to read."

Guo Zhendong gave a bitter laugh and rolled up his sleeve, revealing that somewhat faded Mobius strip tattoo.

"Those servers might be twenty-year-old antiques, but the architecture inside was designed according to 'Biological Brain' logic."

"Without the specialized startup key, they're just a pile of scrap metal."