I Arrived At Wizard World While Cultivating Immortality Chapter 639: Cooperation

Half a month's time was sufficient for one to grow accustomed to a new metropolis.

A perpetual overcast sky reigned above Mist Capital; Eric could no longer recall the last instance of sunlight gracing his vision.

Each dawn, upon rising, the panorama outside his window presented an identical scene to the preceding day.

The days unraveled like the ceaseless, interlocking cogs of a factory—mundane, predictable, and without respite.

However, a subtle, almost imperceptible shift had recently manifested in his existence.

That peculiar secondhand bookshop.

Even Eric himself couldn't articulate the reason, but after concluding his workday each evening, he would invariably find himself drawn into the narrow alleyway, his hand seeking the worn, creaking door.

He had never once purchased anything from the establishment.

He'd leafed through a number of the aged volumes, yet the majority of the script remained indecipherable. Even when he could recognize the characters, their meaning eluded him.

Reading simply wasn't his forte.

Still, an undeniable pull compelled him to visit.

The youthful proprietor, often found seated in a rocking chair, emanated a curious sort of presence.

Yet, the exact nature of this aura was a puzzle Eric had pondered extensively without finding a suitable descriptor.

It was akin to perceiving a distinct separation, a subtle veil, between him and the rest of the world.

The man might be physically present, engaging in conversation, but his attention seemed perpetually elsewhere, observing phenomena invisible to Eric.

Since childhood, Eric's mother had consistently labeled him as "overly sensitive.".

He possessed an uncanny ability to perceive that which others missed: shifts in mood, veiled falsehoods, the presence of something "unclean.".

This heightened sensitivity had served him well, averting numerous near-catastrophes at the factory and ensuring his survival, albeit with a few broken fingers, for twenty-six years in this city plagued by the strange.

Consequently, upon first entering the secondhand bookshop and detecting the undefinable aura surrounding Jie Ming, his initial reaction was not apprehension, but an overwhelming sense of inquisitiveness.

A man of his own age, managing what appeared to be an illicit establishment masquerading as a humble bookshop, yet possessing an aura that even Eric's finely tuned perception couldn't penetrate.

Who exactly was this individual, and what was his history?

Eric was uncertain, but driven by a fervent desire to uncover the truth.

Thus, over the preceding fortnight, his daily commute home from the factory included a deliberate detour to the aforementioned secondhand bookshop.

These visits typically occurred just before dusk.

After all, venturing out after darkness fell was something he instinctively avoided.

However, the twilight hours, when daylight still lingered and the street lamps flickered to life, offered a sufficient sense of security.

He would open the door, offer a simple nod to Jie Ming in his rocking chair, then spend some time perusing the shelves, idly flipping through books whose contents he barely grasped.

Conversations were infrequent; often, they would simply exist in shared silence for about ten minutes before Eric's departure.

Jie Ming never asked him to leave, but neither did he display any marked warmth.

More often than not, Jie Ming remained seated, engrossed in a newspaper, turning its pages with unhurried deliberation.

Occasionally, he'd turn a page, lift his teacup for a sip, or cast his gaze towards the sky outside.

They would maintain this tableau—one seated, one standing—divided by the dim glow of an oil lamp and stacks of forgotten stories, each immersed in their own quietude.

Today marked the fifteenth such occasion.

As Eric, with practiced ease, pushed open the bookshop's wooden entrance, the sky had already begun to descend into twilight.

Most of the street's gaslights had been ignited, their amber radiance piercing the pervasive fog, casting indistinct halos upon the damp cobblestone street.

As usual, Jie Ming occupied his rocking chair, a newspaper held in his hands.

He briefly acknowledged Eric's arrival with a subtle nod, then resumed his reading.

Jie Ming harbored no particular ill will towards the young man.

There was no need to extract any clandestine information from Eric; during daylight hours, even with a modest exertion of his spiritual power, Jie Ming could survey the entirety of the city, gathering any desired intelligence.

His willingness to tolerate Eric's presence stemmed from the latter's uncommon gift of high perception, which had sparked an idea within Jie Ming.

Standing before a bookshelf, Eric casually selected a volume.

He thumbed through a couple of pages, quickly realizing the text was beyond his comprehension, and returned the book to its place.

Leaning against the shelves, he put his hands in his pockets and inquired, "When are you finally going to get some electricity installed in here?"

Jie Ming's hand faltered mid-page turn; he looked up.

"Electricity?"

"Yes," Eric gestured towards the oil lamp hanging overhead. "You run a bookshop, yet you rely on an oil lamp daily. What if you accidentally start a fire one day? The entire place would go up in flames. Besides, who even uses oil lamps anymore? Even that bakery down the street has switched to electric lighting."

Jie Ming glanced at the oil lamp, then back at Eric, a slight curve forming at the corners of his lips.

"I've grown accustomed to it," he replied.

“Being accustomed to it doesn’t equate to disregarding your own safety,” Eric stated, shaking his head. “If dealing with electrical wiring is a hassle for you, I can make inquiries. Old Jack downstairs is an electrician; his rates are quite reasonable.”

Jie Ming offered no reply, merely turning the page of his newspaper.

Having grown used to this reticence, Eric continued without pause, “Furthermore, the illumination in here is far too dim. When customers arrive, they won’t even be able to properly discern the books on the shelves. Even if your establishment… isn’t precisely focused on selling books, you should still maintain the facade.”

Jie Ming cast a glance his way but remained silent.

Eric wisely ceased speaking, though a subtle smile played at the corners of his lips.

Over the span of the last fortnight, he had come to grasp Jie Ming’s peculiar disposition.

This individual disdained intrusion into his personal affairs, yet he did not seem to object to Eric’s habit of “stopping by for casual conversation.”

Just as Eric was contemplating another conversational gambit, the shop door chimed.

With a creak of its hinges, a figure emerged from the encroaching twilight.

Eric turned his head.

The newcomer was a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties, clad in a dark gray trench coat and carrying a moderate-sized suitcase. His appearance was remarkably unremarkable.

Neither imposing nor diminutive, neither stout nor slender, his features lacked any distinctiveness—the kind of person who could vanish into any crowd and never be recalled.

Yet, the moment Eric’s eyes met his, a primal tension coursed through his body.

He couldn’t articulate the reason.

The man’s attire, his stance, even the cadence of his breathing all projected the image of an ordinary traveler.

Still, his instincts screamed a dire warning: there was something fundamentally amiss with this individual!

It was a profound sense of incongruity. Much like observing someone wearing their left shoe on their right foot; at first glance, it appears normal, but an persistent feeling of incorrectness lingers.

Subconsciously, Eric took a half-step back, his shoulder brushing against a bookshelf, producing a soft sound.

The man’s head pivoted towards the noise. His gaze settled upon Eric, and the corners of his mouth curved upward into a practiced, polite smile.

“Good evening,” he stated, his voice even and calm.

His eyes then moved past Eric, settling on Jie Ming, who sat in the rocking chair. The look was fleeting—so brief that an average person would likely miss it—but Eric registered it keenly.

That particular gaze wasn't the way a customer would regard a shopkeeper; rather, it bore the deference of a subordinate addressing a superior.

Eric’s heart rate accelerated.

He suddenly grasped the precariousness of his current position.

He was merely an employee, and his presence in the shop at this late hour was inappropriate. This visitor had clearly arrived to see Jie Ming, not as the proprietor of a second-hand bookstore, but as the discreet practitioner of a clandestine medical practice. He ought to depart.

However, the man’s gaze returned, fixing on Eric once more. He appraised Eric with eyes that seemed to assess an object of indeterminate worth.

“And this might be…” the man inquired, turning his attention back to Jie Ming, his tone tinged with a subtle question.

Jie Ming offered no immediate response.

He placed the newspaper aside and slowly rose from the rocking chair. His movements were unhurried, yet Eric perceived a distinct thickening of the room’s atmosphere the moment he stood.

“Eric,” Jie Ming addressed him, his voice maintaining its usual placidity. “It has grown quite late.”

Eric paused, momentarily bewildered, before instantly comprehending the underlying message. It’s late; you should leave.

“Ah, yes, it’s certainly getting dark,” Eric managed with a strained chuckle. Stepping away from the bookshelf, he moved towards the exit. “I nearly forgot, I’m supposed to assist my aunt with moving some items on the next street tonight. Please, do continue your discussion.”

As he passed the man with the suitcase, Eric deliberately avoided meeting his gaze. However, his heightened senses informed him that the man’s eyes remained fixed upon him until he had completely exited the shop.

The wooden door swung shut behind him.

Standing on the damp cobblestone pathway, Eric drew a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.

He glanced down at his hand, noticing a slight tremor in his fingertips. Yet… it didn’t feel entirely like fear.

He clenched his fist tightly and instinctively looked back towards the firmly closed wooden door. Through a narrow gap, he could discern the gentle, flickering glow of an oil lamp.

Shaking his head, Eric turned and began walking towards his apartment building. He had no desire to uncover the purpose of the man’s visit to Jie Ming, the contents of that suitcase, or their subsequent plans. Despite possessing a gnawing curiosity, and even though he could likely deduce the nature of the

A noticeable slump in his shoulders, his back bowing just enough to make him appear shorter. “Mr. Jie Ming,” he said, his voice carefully modulated. “Good evening, yes, good evening.”

Jie Ming offered no verbal reply, merely a nod as he turned towards a wooden door concealed behind rows of bookshelves. “This way.”

He opened the door and descended a narrow flight of stairs. Following closely were the man’s hesitant footsteps, accompanied by the quiet click of the bookstore’s wooden door being secured once more. Apparently, the man had remembered to lock it.

The underground clinic was bathed in a significantly brighter light than the space above. Several gas lamps affixed to the walls cast a clear, yet gentle, white illumination throughout the entire chamber. The examination table, the medical cabinet, and the surgical tools remained in the same pristine order as they had been a fortnight prior.

Moving directly to the medicine cabinet, Jie Ming retrieved a metal box from its deepest recess. The container, roughly the size of two cupped palms, bore no outward markings. Its craftsmanship was exquisite, featuring smoothly rounded edges.

He placed the box upon the examination table and lifted its lid. Inside, ten meticulously sealed glass tubes lay arranged in perfect order. The enclosed liquid possessed a deep blue hue, emitting a faint luminescence under the light. Each tube’s opening was further secured with a double seal of wax and metal bands, and each bore a label detailing numbers and dates.

Upon seeing the test tubes, the man’s eyes widened, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He then cautiously stepped closer, his gaze fixed on the tubes. “Mr. Jie Ming, these are…”

“They’ve undergone refinement,” Jie Ming stated plainly, as if discussing a matter of no personal consequence. “The raw components you supplied were of insufficient quality. At best, I managed to optimize the formula’s structure. Consequently, the probability of success upon consumption should see an increase of approximately five percent.”

“Five percent…” the man stammered, his voice tinged with emotion. He extended a hand, his fingers hovering uncertainly above the tubes, as if debating whether to make contact. Ultimately, he withdrew his hand, retrieved a pair of thin leather gloves from his pocket, and donned them with care. Only then did he tentatively select a single test tube, lifting it to the light for meticulous inspection.

The deep blue fluid within meandered slowly, its surface shimmering with a delicate, silk-like luster. The man’s pupils dilated slightly as he gazed intently at it. “Did you know, Mr. Jie Ming?” he mused, his voice drifting into a dreamy tone, almost as if speaking to himself. “The initial formulation of this concoction had a success rate well below five percent. Out of ten individuals administered it, nine perished. Yet, the sole survivor could literally bend iron with their bare hands and outrun a speeding carriage.” He set down the first tube and reached for the second. “On the black market, a single vial of the original formula commands this price.” He held up three fingers. “Three hundred silver coins. And even then, availability is scarce. Possessing the funds doesn’t guarantee acquisition. The influential Spirit Medium families hoard the supply, and only substandard products ever surface.”

He examined each test tube individually, handling them with a tenderness usually reserved for an infant. “You’ve provided me with ten vials, and the success rate has been boosted by an additional five percent.” He turned to face Jie Ming, his expression beaming with a sycophantic smile. “Do you comprehend the implications? It means these ten tubes in my possession are equivalent in value to twenty, perhaps even thirty, tubes of the original. Those affluent individuals with connections, who crave power but shy away from excessive risk… they will eagerly vie for these.”

Jie Ming remained leaning against the medicine cabinet, arms crossed, observing him with a neutral expression. “And the payment?”

“Ah, yes, yes, the payment.” The man snapped back to the present, promptly setting down the test tube. He stooped to retrieve the suitcase he had brought with him. The latches popped open, revealing neatly stacked bundles of currency and rolls of coins. The banknotes, in varied denominations and colors, were secured with rubber bands, while the coins were contained within several small, drawstring cloth bags.

The man slid the suitcase towards Jie Ming. “This constitutes the complete payment for this consignment. Please verify. As per your specifications, the coins and bills are exclusively old currency and petty cash. There is absolutely no risk involved!”

Jie Ming glanced down but made no move to count the contents. “The materials?”

“I have them, I have them right here.” The man produced a small cloth-wrapped bundle from an inner pocket of his trench coat and reverently presented it. “The various components you requested previously—I managed to procure all of them. This particular item was exceptionally difficult to obtain, requiring me to navigate several complex channels.”

Jie Ming accepted the bundle, opened it, and peered inside. It contained several irregularly shaped fragments, a grayish-white in color, exhibiting a subtle sheen on their surfaces. He turned one fragment over beneath the light, confirming its composition, and then gave a slight nod.

“How is the situation beyond the city walls?”

The man’s face grew more serious. “It’s far from peaceful. Recently, new Stranges have surfaced in several eastern towns. The Official Spirit Medium Association has dispatched personnel to manage the situation, but the exact threat level remains uncertain. Some speculate it’s Hazard Grade, while others suggest it could even be Disaster Grade due to the substantial losses incurred.”

“Any other developments?”

“There’s also… lately, individuals clad in black robes have been observed near the city, behaving suspiciously. The authorities are conducting an investigation, but thus far, no concrete findings have emerged.”

Jie Ming absorbed the information, committing it to memory, and gave a slight nod.

Perceiving that he had no more inquiries, the man’s demeanor shifted back to one of careful, attentive deference.

He proceeded to place the ten test tubes back into the metal container, one by one, before closing the lid. Subsequently, he unbuttoned his trench coat and concealed the box against his person. Though the container was not substantial in size, it nonetheless created a discernible bulge beneath his clothing.

The man adjusted the front of his trench coat to cover it, performing a final check. Once assured that no obvious signs were visible, he exhaled a breath of satisfaction.

“In that case, Mr. Jie Ming, I shall take my leave now.”

He offered Jie Ming a deep, respectful bow. “I will deliver the subsequent shipment in a few days’ time.”

Jie Ming did not escort him out; he merely inclined his head.

The man’s footsteps ascended the stairs, followed by the creak of the bookstore’s wooden door opening and closing, and then the gradual fading of his steps upon the stone-paved street.

The subterranean chamber returned to its former quietude.

Jie Ming’s gaze fell upon the suitcase resting by his feet.

Within, paper currency and coins were meticulously arranged, encompassing gold and silver pieces as well as several smaller denominations of darker hues.

To be entirely candid, Jie Ming found little personal need for this sum of money.

If he so desired, he possessed the ability to employ alchemy, conjuring various forms of currency directly from thin air.

Despite the various anti-counterfeiting measures implemented on this plane, his mastery of alchemy rendered the creation of coins entirely indistinguishable from authentic ones a trivial matter.

Even coins wrought from precious metals like gold and silver could be produced with the effortless ease of turning one’s hand.

However, a healer wielding such advanced technology and formidable power who desired nothing would be far too conspicuous.

Consequently, he had entered into an agreement with this intermediary. They would receive optimal adjustments to their prohibited gene-based pharmaceuticals, enhancing their success rates.