An Feng’s excitement carried him for several solid hours.
Then his stomach growled loud enough to remind him that even future tech billionaires needed to eat.
He boiled water for a pack of instant noodles, scarfed them down while standing at the tiny kitchen counter, and immediately turned back to his computer.
‘Diamonds.
Prices.
Auctions.
Appraisals.’ He lost himself in tabs for the rest of the night.
The research was useful.
It also brought him back down to earth.
‘These stones look perfect, but I can’t tell fake from real just by staring.’ Current technology made lab-grown perfection extremely difficult, but not impossible.
The smartest move was simple: take a couple of the smaller ones to a reputable jeweler tomorrow and pay for a proper appraisal.
If they were real—jackpot.
If they were high-end fakes… well, he still had alien tech in his head.
Not exactly a total loss.
He stayed up deep into the night, eyes burning.
Eventually he gave up and collapsed onto the bed, but his mind refused to switch off.
The machine brain kept humming along in the background.
‘Interesting.
I can rest and still work.’ After some trial and error, he steered it toward the mountain of garbled data, searching for anything related to diamonds or gemstones.
It wasn’t easy.
Having access to vast knowledge felt like owning an encyclopedia with thousands of pages ripped out and shuffled at random.
No index, no table of contents.
He’d read one fragment, jump to another, and lose the thread completely.
‘This is going to take forever if I do it manually.’ By sunrise he had learned one useful thing: the biological computer wasn’t static.
The bionic cells were dividing and multiplying—geometric growth.
Right now it was only at about 1% capacity, but it would keep getting smarter and eventually organize everything.
‘Patience.
Good things come to those who don’t go insane sorting data manually.’ In the morning he took a long shower, shaved, and put on his best suit.
Standing in front of the mirror, he studied the reflection.
Tall, a little over 1.8 meters, decent build from regular workouts.
‘Not bad for a freshly unemployed 25-year-old.’ He slipped a few small white diamonds and one pink into his pocket, then flagged down a taxi to the busiest commercial street in the city.
He picked a well-reviewed jewelry chain, explained what he needed, and was ushered upstairs.
After paying the appraisal fee, he waited his turn alongside people carrying jade and antiques.
When his number came up, he handed over two white diamonds and the pink one to a pair of middle-aged appraisers who barely spoke.
They examined the stones in silence.
Then a senior appraiser joined them from an inner office.
An Feng couldn’t follow the technical terms, but he didn’t hear the words “fake” or “imitation,” which was a very good sign.
Five restless minutes later, one of the men smiled.
“Sir, these are exceptionally high quality—top-tier in every respect.
We’ll prepare formal certificates.
Here’s the report for now.” An Feng scanned the numbers.
First diamond: clarity LC, color D, excellent cut, 3.2 carats.
The others were just as strong.
The pink one stood out even more because of its rare color.
‘These aren’t just good.
They’re ridiculous.’ “I’d like to sell the two white ones,” he said calmly.
The appraiser immediately called the manager.
Minutes later An Feng was sitting in a private room with good tea and an attentive audience.
The manager got straight to business.
“Are you certain you want to sell these three?” “Depends on the offer,” An Feng replied.
‘These are the smallest ones I have.
Confidence is easy when your pocket still has plenty more.’ The manager named a price: three million yuan for the two whites, three million yuan for the pink.
An Feng smiled.
“I did some homework last night.
The whites should fetch closer to four million yuan combined at auction.
And I’m keeping the pink for now.” They haggled like professionals.
The manager pointed out the risks of stones without provenance or paperwork.
An Feng knew the score—unknown origin meant extra risk for them—but he also knew they’d still make money.
After thinking it over for a few seconds, he accepted three and a half million yuan total for the two whites.
The transfer went through smoothly.
The manager personally walked him out, shook his hand, and said they’d love first refusal on the pink.
An Feng politely agreed, then dropped the business card in the first trash bin he saw once the taxi pulled away.
He treated himself to a proper lunch at a nice restaurant and even ordered a glass of red wine because that’s what rich people did in movies.
One sip later he was smirking.
‘Tastes like… wine.
Not sure why they make such a big deal out of this in films.’ Full and refreshed, he headed back to his rental.
The place was a classic urban village apartment—cramped, poor lighting, thin walls that let him hear every neighbor’s life in surround sound.
Day-shift couples finished their business while night-shift couples started theirs.
It never slept.
‘I’ve put up with this for years because the rent was manageable.
Now?
This place doesn’t match the new reality at all.’ He searched for international auction houses.
Options in the country were limited, but a major American firm had a strong branch in the capital.
‘No time like the present.’ He booked a business class ticket for the next afternoon, then started clearing out the apartment.
He gave away almost everything—fridge, induction cooker, the works—to the old man who collected scraps.
No point dragging it along.
Before leaving, he tossed the black metal box.
‘Too risky for airport security, and it’s not special beyond being tough.’ He kept only his important documents, laptop, and the remaining diamonds.
The next day he settled into the wide business class seat, mind wandering.
The old song kept looping in his head: *buy two Rolls-Royces, drive one and tow the other; live in one mansion, keep pigs in the second…* By the time the plane landed he was grinning like an idiot.
He checked into a nice hotel, made an appointment for the following morning, and slept like a king.
The auction house reception the next day was on another level.
His appointment and the shocking description of the stones—especially the thumb-sized blue diamond and the pair of large matching pinks—earned him the VIP treatment.
Two elegant women in cheongsam escorted him to a private room where a foreign manager with sharp features and fluent Chinese greeted him warmly.
“Mr.
An, we’ve brought in several senior GIA appraisers to ensure the most accurate evaluation.” “I trust your team,” An Feng said with a smile.
He had brought eight diamonds this time: the big blue, two large matching pinks, two big whites, and three smaller ones.
The experts went to work with serious equipment and quiet English conversation.
An Feng waited, trying to read their expressions.
Eventually the manager returned, practically glowing.
“Mr.
An, congratulations!
The quality is extraordinary.
The cut is beyond anything I’ve seen in my career.
These are truly exceptional pieces!” An Feng shook the enthusiastic man’s hand.
‘Easy for you to be excited.
They’re my diamonds.’ The manager leaned in.
“However, the domestic market may not do them full justice.
Eastern buyers tend to favor jade, while diamonds shine brightest in the West.
I recommend we handle the auction in the United States.
We’ll build hype with exhibitions, draw global attention, and push the prices to their peak.
A win for everyone.” “That sounds perfect,” An Feng replied.
“Rough estimate if we auction just the two pink diamonds?” The manager consulted the experts, then came back.
“For that matching pair, we’re looking at twenty-five to thirty-five million US dollars.
We’ll take a standard ten percent commission.” An Feng kept his face calm, but inside he was already running the numbers.
‘This is real.
This is actually happening.’