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

Four Terminators landed smoothly on the silver-white hull.

The metal base struck the tile with a dull, short sound, like the sound of a bell being struck.

The ward was crammed into a third of its space. The indicator lights on the bulkhead lit up one by one, and blue and white light bands flowed along the curved surface, the frequency gradually slowing down until it stabilized into a rhythm similar to a heartbeat.

The expressions on the faces of the two doctors on duty in the ICU could be described as "completely frozen".

Their gazes darted back and forth between three things—the equipment that looked like it had been stolen from a science fiction movie set, the scruffy young man at the door who resembled a homeless person, and the dark-faced Deputy Commander Liu Guoliang behind the young man.

The three things look completely mismatched when placed together.

"What...is this?" the older doctor asked first, his voice filled with such deep confusion it was almost palpable.

Liu Guoliang strode in, his steps quick and powerful.

"You'll know what you need to know later. For now—" He gestured with his chin towards Li Yichen, "Listen to him. Do whatever he says."

Having spent over a decade in a military hospital, I know exactly what "don't ask what you shouldn't ask" means—I don't need to teach it a second time.

The two doctors exchanged a glance and then shut their mouths.

Li Yichen walked to the bedside.

He glanced down at Xiao Jingshan.

Ash-gray. Not an adjective, but literally ash-gray. His entire face looked as if it were covered with a layer of old newspaper. His cheekbones protruded high, his eye sockets were sunken, and the lips under his breathing mask were as thin as paper, without a trace of color.

A few months ago, in the military region office, the old general, with a booming voice, presented him with his military rank.

He's so thin now—the wrinkles on the sheets are clearer than his outline.

Li Yichen looked away.

"Ling'er, preheat the cabin."

"Received. Target temperature 36.5 degrees Celsius. Nanorobot activation program ready."

The hatch slid open. A soft, warm light emanated from the interior walls, and a very faint smell of ozone filled the air.

Li Yichen turned to the two doctors.

"Remove all catheters and monitoring lines from his body. Leave only basic intravenous access and replace it with the thinnest indwelling needle."

The younger man raised his hand: "Withdraw guardianship? What if something goes wrong in the meantime—"

"There's an independent vital signs monitor inside the cabin." Li Yichen didn't look at him, his tone as flat as when he said, "It's raining outside." "The accuracy is a hundred times that of your machine."

The older doctor stared at him for two seconds.

Without asking any further questions, I bent down and began to work.

The ECG patches were peeled off one by one. The pulse oximeter, urinary catheter, and nasogastric tube were removed one by one. The young doctor assisted, becoming increasingly skilled with his hands.

The moment the last wire was pulled—

The monitor screen went to zero. An alarm blared, sharp and piercing, echoing through the closed ward.

A commotion broke out in the hallway outside. Cheng Zhiyuan's voice drowned out everyone else's.

"What's going on?!"

Liu Guoliang strode to the doorway, half his body wedged in the door frame, his voice as steady as a pile driver.

"The alarm was triggered by removing the equipment! Everyone's safe! Quiet down!"

After saying that, he turned his head and winked inside—quick.

Li Yichen ignored the commotion outside.

He bent down. One hand supported Xiao Jingshan's neck, while the other went under his knee.

light.

It's too light.

The person who can lift hundreds of kilograms of equipment with one hand is now carrying an elderly person weighing less than seventy kilograms, moving so slowly that it's as if they're afraid the wind will blow them away.

Two steps. Turn around.

Xiao Jingshan was placed inside the cabin. His head rested on an ergonomic headrest, and his limbs were secured with flexible straps.

Throughout the entire process, the elderly man's breathing rhythm remained perfectly steady.

Li Yichen straightened up and took half a step back.

"Ling'er".

"All ready. The patient's vital signs have been connected to the in-cabin monitoring system—heart rate 47, blood pressure 82/51, blood oxygen 89%. All indicators are in the danger zone, but within the range that nano-repair can intervene in."

"start up."

The hatch slid down and closed.

The moment the doors closed, a silver-blue halo illuminated the middle section of the cabin.

a bit.

Two times.

The frequency began to increase.

Li Yichen stared at the data on the bulkhead. Nanorobot release rate—20 million per second, entering the circulatory system through both intravenous access and micropores on the skin surface.

Five billion micro-repair units are being injected into the riddled body of a seventy-year-old man.

Something smaller than a red blood cell travels along the blood vessels, finds the rotten area, and begins to repair it.

It was quiet outside the door.

It's not that people left. It's that no one is talking anymore.

From the generals of various war zones to Xiao Jingshan's daughter, from Cheng Zhiyuan to the sentry with a gun at the door—everyone stared at that door as if it were a verdict.

Liu Guoliang leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His face was calm, but his right toe was unconsciously bobbing.

Inside the ward.

Li Yichen dragged a chair from the corner, placed it next to the medical pod, and plopped down on it.

He slumped back in the chair as if his body had fallen apart.

The two doctors were still standing against the wall.

The older one finally couldn't hold back any longer, taking small, quick steps to get half a step closer, his voice almost completely suppressed.

"Mr. Li...excuse my bluntness, but what exactly is the working principle of this device? I've been practicing medicine for thirty-one years—"

"Nanorobots." Li Yichen didn't even lift his eyelids, his voice hoarse as if he had just crawled out of the desert. "Billions of repair units, smaller than red blood cells, automatically identify damaged tissue after entering the body and repair it in situ. The bad ones are cleared away, and new ones grow."

The old doctor's mouth opened and closed, then closed again.

"In-situ repair...including organs?"

"The liver, kidneys, and lungs must all be cultivated."

When those three words came down, the old doctor's expression looked as if it had been erased with an eraser.

"this--"

He swallowed the word "impossible."

Because he caught a glimpse of the data panel on the bulkhead out of the corner of his eye.

Heart rate.

48.

49.

50.

It's rising.

It's very slow. As slow as a snail climbing a hill. But it is indeed rising.

Xiao Jingshan's medication dosage has been increased to the maximum. His heart rate hasn't increased even by a single point in half a month.

A thin layer of sweat appeared on the old doctor's back.

He looked up at the young man huddled in the chair, his dark circles almost dripping with ink.

The word "impossible" in his mouth shattered into pieces, and he couldn't utter a single word.

"Ling'er." Li Yichen's voice was muffled, as if his mouth was stuffed with cotton.

"exist."

"Call me if anything seems amiss. I'm going to take a nap."

"Okay. Two hours on the alarm?"

"Um."

Goodnight, bro.

"In broad daylight."

"...Good morning, bro."

The corner of his mouth twitched. Three seconds later, his breathing became long, and he fell asleep.

His posture was crooked and unsteady. His head was drooping to one side, his mouth was slightly open, and he was huddled in the chair, looking exactly like a college student who had stayed up all night working on a paper and had blacked out.

The older doctor looked at him for a long time.

She tiptoed to the cabinet in the corner, pulled out a thin blanket, unfolded it, and draped it over his shoulder.

Then he returned to his original position and continued to watch the numbers jumping on the bulkhead.

Heart rate - 52.

Outside.

Liu Guoliang leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets in front of the window in the corridor.

Cheng Zhiyuan stood three steps to his right. He had been twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers for a while.

It was quiet for about ten minutes.

Cheng Zhiyuan spoke first. His voice was extremely low, as if he was afraid of startling something.

"Old Liu."

"Um."

"Who exactly is that kid inside?"

Liu Guoliang turned his head and glanced at him, letting out a laugh that didn't sound like a real laugh.

"What's his background? The richest man with trillions in assets, you know that." He counted on his fingers, "The Heavenly Soldier Armor—he designed and manufactured it all by himself. The Cold Nucleus Fusion Reactor—he was locked in the lab for eight days, and when he came out, he had something that could power two million people for ten years."

Cheng Zhiyuan stopped holding the cigarette.

"You've heard about the moon landing, right? Sending robots up there to mine and build a base—that's also his job." Liu Guoliang leaned against the wall, tilting his head towards the door. "That machine inside—he locked himself in for twenty-eight days, all by himself, hammering it out from start to finish. He was planning to snatch someone who had been sentenced to death by seven academicians back from the clutches of the King of Hell."

There's a window at the end of the corridor, and the afternoon light streams in from there, casting a warm yellow glow on the terrazzo floor.

Cheng Zhiyuan tucked the cigarette that he had never lit behind his ear.

"Old Liu."

"explain."

How old is he this year?

"Twenty-five."

Cheng Zhiyuan didn't say anything more.

My gaze lingered on the closed ICU door, fixed on it for a long time. My eyes held a complex mix of emotions—respect, fear, and a strange sense of relief.

I'm so glad I was born in Daxia.

Fortunately, this person's heart is with the Great Xia.

Inside the door.

The silver-blue halo pulsated rhythmically, with a more stable frequency than it had been ten minutes ago.

The older doctor unconsciously leaned forward a few degrees, his eyes fixed on the data panel. The younger one had already taken out his phone and was secretly recording the changes in the numbers.

On the bulkhead—

Heart rate: 55.

Blood pressure: 87/54.

Blood oxygen: 91%.

Everything is rising. Slowly, but steadily. Like a river that was about to dry up, someone upstream has opened the sluice gates.

The young man in the chair was wrapped in a thin blanket, breathing evenly, sleeping as if he were dead.

The old doctor stared at the numbers on the panel, then looked at Li Yichen's face, which was covered in stubble and had dark circles under his eyes.

My palms were sweaty.

Thirty-one years of medical practice. I've witnessed miracles, and I've also seen too many miracles shatter.

But the data before us—

My heart rate jumped to 56.

He suddenly felt a tightness in his throat.

It wasn't sadness, but something more primal—like a drowning person seeing light coming through the water from the bottom.

On the bulkhead, the blood oxygen level jumped another notch.

92%.