Super Rich: Starting the game by going back ten years to buy Bitcoin

"Brother, it's done."

Ling'er's voice was still lingering in the air when Li Yichen had already taken out his phone.

Dial the number. Liu Guoliang.

It rang once, and the call went through.

"Brother Liu."

My throat feels like it's been sanded for a month; my vocal cords are practically rusting. I haven't spoken more than a few complete sentences to a living person in twenty-eight days, and when I do speak, I feel like a stranger to myself.

"It's done."

There was a full second of silence on the other end of the phone.

Then came a heavy exhale—like someone squeezing out all the air they had been holding in for thirty days from the bottom of their lungs.

Are you serious?

"When have I ever lied to you?"

"Okay, okay, I'll come pick you up myself right away! Ten minutes—no, five minutes! The helicopter will take off now!" Liu Guoliang's voice cracked, the last syllable rising a half-tone. "Xiao Li, you wait! I'll be there in a minute!"

Snapped.

It's over.

They didn't even have time to say "goodbye".

Li Yichen stared blankly at his phone for two seconds, then his lips twitched.

Ling'er peeked half her head out from behind her watch, tilting her head to look at him: "Brother, he said five minutes. It's seventeen kilometers from here as the crow flies. Is he planning to run a red light?"

There are no red lights in the sky.

"...That's true."

Li Yichen put his phone back in his pocket and leaned against the worktable, looking as if his bones had been removed.

Sleepy.

hungry.

Every muscle in my body was aching. The fatigue that had been suppressed by adrenaline these past few days suddenly surged up like a burst dam once the matter was resolved.

He glanced down at himself—his T-shirt was splattered with unidentified reagent spots, making it impossible to distinguish which were chemicals and which were food stains. His stubble, unshaven for almost a month, lay haphazardly on his chin, and his dark circles looked as if they had been drawn on with ink.

Ling'er flew around him once, clicking her tongue in delight.

"Dude, with that look on you, even the security guards might not recognize you."

"Shut up."

"I'm serious, look at yourself—"

"Say it again and I'll lock you up."

Ling'er covered her mouth with her two little hands, her eyes darting around on it.

Twelve minutes later—not five minutes—the roar of rotors came from outside the laboratory building.

A heavy attack helicopter crashed into an open area. The moment its landing gear hit the concrete, the cabin door popped open from the inside.

Liu Guoliang suddenly appeared.

The word "dart" might seem a bit unseemly to describe a military region deputy commander in his fifties, but that's the reality. His military boots thumped on the ground, and he moved so fast that the six fully armed special forces soldiers behind him almost couldn't keep up.

Li Yichen came out from the entrance of the laboratory building to greet him. Before he could even stand up straight, two iron-like hands had already gripped his shoulders.

The force was so great that he bared his teeth.

"Where is it? Where is it?"

There wasn't a single pleasantry.

Li Yichen tilted his head and tilted his chin behind him.

"in."

Liu Guoliang let go and rushed inside. The moment his footsteps crossed the workshop threshold and he saw the silver-white medical pod—he was nailed to the spot.

A 2.5-meter-long, fully enclosed capsule rests quietly in the center of the workshop. The capsule lid has a smooth curve, and its surface is embedded with densely packed miniature sensor windows, with indicator lights flowing with fine blue-white light bands.

The whole thing was so quiet that it didn't seem like a creation that should exist on Earth.

Liu Guoliang walked half a circle around it, his mouth open, his hand raised as if to touch it, then he pulled it back.

She turned to look at Li Yichen.

That look in his eyes—like a six-year-old seeing the biggest box under a tree on Christmas morning.

"This is..."

"Nanomedical chamber." Li Yichen leaned against the worktable, hands in his pockets. His voice was languid, a mixture of exhaustion and relaxation. "A person lies inside, twenty-four hours. A complete overhaul from the inside out. Multiple organ failure, shrapnel residue, chronic inflammation—all cleaned up."

Liu Guoliang's Adam's apple bobbed up and down twice.

"...Can it really work?"

"Ling'er, report the data."

The watch lit up. Ling'er's voice came through the external speaker on the surface of the cabin, her tone serious: "Full system self-check complete. All 472 indicators meet the standards. 5.3 billion nanobots in reserve. Simulated repair test of liver tissue success rate—100%. Equipment status: Perfect."

Liu Guoliang took a deep breath, then exhaled.

His eyes were red-rimmed, but he stubbornly held them back. His soldierly frame held up the strain.

He whirled around and yelled at the door, "Clear out the cabin! Get ready to load it!"

The six special forces soldiers immediately prepared to move the items.

Li Yichen raised his hand to stop him.

"Let my people carry it; this thing weighs a ton and a half."

He beckoned towards the depths of the workshop.

Four Terminators emerged from the shadows. Beneath their bionic skins were four burly young men in black overalls, their steps perfectly synchronized, like copies pasted together.

Eight hands simultaneously supported the bottom of the cabin.

One and a half tons. It's no different from holding a pallet in their palms.

It lifted smoothly and moved forward at a steady pace. A half-finished glass of cold water rested on the top of the cabin—it remained completely still.

Liu Guoliang stared at the actions of the four "people" for a moment, then swallowed back the words he was about to say.

Well, Li Yichen is right. It's more than a ton, and six people really can't move it.

The medical pod was loaded onto the helicopter cargo hold and secured with shock-absorbing straps. Li Yichen climbed onto the helicopter, and four Terminator drones followed, sitting neatly in a row.

Liu Guoliang sat down opposite him and slapped the back of the pilot's seat.

"Takeoff! To 307!"

With the rotors fully extended and the fuselage airborne, it turned and hurtled towards the northwest at full speed.

The cabin was noisy, so Liu Guoliang leaned forward, his mouth almost touching Li Yichen's ear.

"Commander Xiao's condition was not good yesterday. He was conscious for less than two hours. His physical functions are deteriorating, and I'm afraid he won't be able to hold on for much longer!"

Li Yichen nodded. He didn't say anything.

But the fist on his knee was clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Liu Guoliang patted him on the shoulder and said nothing more.

The view outside the window changed from towering buildings to low hills. Twenty-three minutes later, the descent slowed.

A cluster of gray buildings, hidden in a mountain valley, appeared directly below. Their exteriors were unremarkable, no different from any other sanatorium.

But the high density of security cameras on the wall and the row of military-plated SUVs at the gate completely betrayed their true identities.

The plane landed on the tarmac. The cabin door popped open, and a mountain breeze carrying the mixed smells of pine trees and disinfectant rushed in.

Li Yichen's legs felt a little weak when he jumped—the aftereffects of nearly a month of intense seclusion were brought out again by the turbulence of the helicopter.

Liu Guoliang led the way. They walked through a corridor lined with greenery and turned into a detached six-story building.

Two armed sentries stood at the entrance, their guns loaded. Upon seeing Liu Guoliang's identification, they snapped to attention and made way for him.

Enter the building. Take the elevator. Sixth floor.

The moment the elevator doors opened, Li Yichen paused.

The corridor was full of people.

Shoulder epaulets, medals on the chest, crisp military uniforms—everyone standing here could make the garrison commander of a province stand up and salute.

The most recent one, in his early sixties, with a short, graying haircut and a back as straight as an iron plate—was Cheng Zhiyuan, the Commander-in-Chief of the Western Theater Command. I met him once during a military exercise.

Scan further—

Northern Theater Command. Southern Theater Command. Central Theater Command.

They're all here.

Beside them was a group of middle-aged people in plain clothes. Some looked haggard, with red-rimmed eyes. A woman in her fifties leaned against the wall, clutching a crumpled tissue in her hand, clearly having just cried.

Those were Xiao Jingshan's family members.

All eyes turned to Li Yichen the moment he stepped out of the elevator.

That kind of pressure is greater than being locked on by fifteen F-35C missiles.

It wasn't hostility. It was expectation. It was the weight of everything being placed on his shoulders.

Li Yichen's back muscles tensed up.

Cheng Zhiyuan was the first to act.

He took two steps forward, and a pair of large, calloused hands gripped Li Yichen's right hand tightly. The force was as strong as if he were squeezing an iron pipe.

"Comrade Xiao Li."

His voice was rough, and his eyes were red.

"Old Xiao and I joined the army together when we were seventeen. It's been over forty years."

Li Yichen tightened his grip even more, and he could hear the sound of his knuckles being squeezed.

"If you can, you absolutely have to bring him back to me."

Li Yichen looked at the hands that had left red marks on his own, but didn't pull away.

"Uncle Cheng, don't worry, I will do my best."

"That's good." Cheng Zhiyuan looked at him gratefully. "I thank you on behalf of Lao Xiao."

Liu Guoliang squeezed in from the side and forcefully pried open Lao Cheng's fingers.

"Let go! Xiao Li has been working overtime for a month, he's practically falling apart, don't break his hand."

Upon hearing Liu Guoliang's words, Cheng Zhiyuan quickly released his grip, his gaze towards Li Yichen filled with apology.

From the back of the crowd, a woman in her early forties, dressed in military uniform, stepped out. She stood ramrod straight, but her eyes were terribly red.

Xiao Jingshan's daughter.

"Mr. Li." Her voice was steady, almost deliberately so. "Thank you. My father mentioned you—he said you were a national hero of the Great Xia Dynasty."

Li Yichen looked at her, the words in his mouth swirling around on his tongue twice, and finally only one sentence remained.

"Don't worry, leave it to me. Commander Xiao will be fine!"

The corridor fell silent for a moment.

Liu Guoliang cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

"Alright, everyone, make way. Get the equipment in place first, we'll take it one step at a time. Let Xiao Li in first."

The crowd parted to make way.

Li Yichen walked towards the door at the end of the corridor. Four Terminators carrying a nanomedical pod followed behind him, their steps steady and silent.

The indicator light above the door is red.

ICU.

He paused for a second in front of the door.

Twenty-eight days of seclusion. Four hundred and seventy-two processes. The cost of seven hundred million defective products. The second twelve days of zero-tolerance for errors.

Everything—

It's all for the person behind the door.

Li Yichen raised his hand and pressed the doorknob.

The door opened.

The smell of disinfectant hit me, mixed with the regular beeping of the electrocardiogram monitor.

On the hospital bed, Xiao Jingshan lay with his eyes closed, his face ashen, his cheekbones prominent, and his chest rising and falling slightly beneath the breathing mask.

The vital signs data by the bedside—every single one hovered on the edge of danger.

Li Yichen didn't stop.

He turned to look at the Terminator behind him, his voice soft but each word carrying weight.

"Put it down. Turn it on."