One Shiji's Trash

A treasure hunt seemed like just the sort of thing Bingshu would love. After all, his time spent on the beach had already been enjoyable, and several pictures of his feet in the sand and little crabs and even playing a few games had provided more entertainment than the toymaker was used to. Which...somehow seemed like it'd be a given, but oh well. 
A treasure hunt sounded like just the way to end the day, and so he hiked up his swimsuit and waded into the water. What sort of treasures were they even looking for? He wasn't sure, but he was certain he would know it when he saw it.

Once he grew used to the water's temperature, he waded further and further into the surf until he sank below the waves, feeling rather safe in the presence of so many big, strong aquatics to rescue anybody who was a poor swimmer...like himself. But by golly, he'd try!
 Deeper and deeper under the waves and into the cerulean blue of the sea, until the reefs of coral and seaweed billowed up around him in technicolor and he wanted to gasp in awe, but..err, no. He needed to hold his breath. So he just stared in wonder instead, several new ideas for toys immediately flooding his mind. He'd file them away for later, to make something new and beautiful.
 But even as he was debating internally on new toys, something shimmered in the corner of his eye. It caught the light reflected from the choppy surface, and glimmered in the depths like... treasure.

A quick trip to the surface for a big, deep breath, and then a dive! Down down down, getting ever closer to that tiny gleam. As it grew clearer and brighter, he reached out to pull it up from the sand-- covered in the spots left from old barnacles, dead coral clung to the side, it was a medium-sized...music box. The wood had all but rotted away, leaving the metal bits to the salty elements. It was that gleam that he had seen. With furrowed brows, he took note that the key mechanism was still intact, and since he was rapidly losing the battle to hold his breath, he booked it back to the surface with his new prize in tow.
Panting, he clamored back onto the beach and flopped down onto his outstretched beach towel, and finally got a chance to examine the box up close. A quick wind up showed that the springs hadn't deteriorated, and he herd the coils tighten and twist before the music began to play. Muffled, almost as if it were still under water, but unmistakable as a melody.
This was a treasure. It was something he would put forth effort in restoring. Some might have called it trash, but not Bingshu. This was a treasure to him.