I Arrived At Wizard World While Cultivating Immortality Chapter 640: Watching the Shop and the Official Spirit Medium Association

Jie Ming secured the suitcase and nudged it toward a corner.

Turning, he approached the workbench and unfastened the cloth bundle, revealing the materials within. He then tipped several dull, gray-white fragments onto the surface.

Under the lamp’s glow, the fragments emitted a faint luminescence. Intricate, fractal-like patterns were clearly discernible on their surfaces.

Hazard Grade Strange fragments.

New research subjects had come his way.

Over this span of time, Jie Ming’s rapport with the black-market brokers had progressively strengthened.

It could even be said that the other party fulfilled his various requests with notable dedication.

This development did not catch Jie Ming by surprise, as it was a notion he had formed from their initial encounter.

Individuals operating as black-market brokers inherently possessed vast networks.

Their sudden disappearance would undoubtedly stir suspicion.

Merely exerting authority, even with contractual constraints, posed challenges in motivating them to gather intelligence and materials with such exceptional zeal.

Naturally, Jie Ming had the capability to infiltrate without detection.

However, he ultimately opted for an alternative strategy: a combination of substantial power and significant incentives to harness the other party’s utmost initiative.

Those who thrived as black-market brokers within the underworld were invariably sharp individuals. Jie Ming found it most agreeable to engage with such people, as their actions tended to align with his expectations.

The advantages derived from refining gene drugs, coupled with the power he had previously showcased, proved sufficient to guide these black-market brokers toward making the sagacious choice.

The assistance of the black-market brokers in intelligence gathering effectively bridged the gap created by Jie Ming’s nocturnal limitations.

Furthermore, the acquisition of diverse Strange materials necessitated specialized channels; accumulating such a quantity single-handedly would have been a formidable undertaking for Jie Ming.

The refinement of gene drugs presented no obstacle for Jie Ming.

With his expertise, he could not only enhance the success rate by five percent but also elevate the success rate of these illicit substances to a perfect one hundred percent with relative ease.

Nevertheless, executing this would be far too conspicuous.

What somewhat astonished Jie Ming was the discovery that these gene drugs incorporated various distinct Strange powers, rendering them quite valuable for his research.

“These so-called prohibited drugs are, in essence, largely byproducts stemming from the incomplete application of Strange powers. For me, the research potential of these various prohibited drugs rivals that of the Strange fragments themselves.”

Jie Ming contemplated for a moment but refrained from immediately accepting the subsequent commission.

There was no pressing task at hand, nor was he constrained by time…

The following morning, as Eric exited his apartment building, he observed Jie Ming standing outside the used bookstore, a newspaper in hand, gazing up at the overcast sky.

His stance suggested not a casual check of the weather, but rather a perception of something beyond the ordinary human senses.

“Morning,” Eric offered, proceeding as usual toward the factory.

“Eric,” Jie Ming called out, halting him.

Eric stopped and turned around.

It was unusual for Jie Ming to initiate contact, which piqued Eric’s curiosity.

“Are you available tomorrow?”

Eric pondered for a moment.

Tomorrow was his day off. The factory was scheduled for maintenance, and his intention had been to spend the entire day resting at home. “I am. What’s up?”

“Help me mind the shop for a day.”

Eric blinked in surprise, then instinctively glanced back at the quiet used bookstore.

Mind the shop?

That particular used bookstore, which rarely saw any visitors, let alone patrons?

“You’re going somewhere?” he inquired.

“Mhm,” Jie Ming confirmed, folding the newspaper and tucking it beneath his arm. “I need to attend a lecture tomorrow.”

“A lecture?” Eric’s expression shifted, becoming somewhat quizzical.

In his perception, an individual like Jie Ming, operating a clandestine clinic, seemed incongruous with the concept of a “lecture.”

“It’s being hosted by the Official Spirit Medium Association,” Jie Ming stated matter-of-factly, as if noting an impending pleasant weather forecast. “A public seminar on general Strange protection protocols.”

Eric’s mouth opened slightly, momentarily at a loss for words.

He was aware of the Official Spirit Medium Association’s public lectures; after all, such events were regularly advertised in the newspapers each month.

While ostensibly free, these public lectures were, in reality, formal gatherings held in prominent venues like the municipal auditorium or convention center. The attendees typically comprised individuals from the middle class, civil servants, or those with ample financial resources and leisure time seeking to educate themselves about Stranges.

Could a black-market practitioner, proprietor of a used bookstore in the old quarter, genuinely be attending such a lecture?

He surveyed Jie Ming from head to toe.

Jie Ming’s attire for the following day appeared indistinguishable from his usual wear—a dark overcoat, worn leather boots, and hair that was scarcely more than casually arranged.

He hardly presented the image of someone poised to attend any sort of formal engagement.

“You certainly live a carefree life,” Eric couldn’t help but comment.

Jie Ming offered no reply, merely maintaining his gaze upon Eric, awaiting a response.

“Very well, I shall mind the shop for you for one day.” Eric gave a nod, then recalled a detail. “Though, you rarely have any customers, do you? So, I can just sit around?”

“An electrician is scheduled to install wiring tomorrow,” Jie Ming stated. “Please oversee them and ensure no damage occurs.”

Eric considered further remarks, but Jie Ming had already turned and re-entered the bookstore.

The wooden door closed behind him, leaving only the “Used Bookstore” sign, its wooden letters swaying gently on the doorframe in the morning air.

Standing on the stone-paved road, Eric’s eyes remained fixed on the closed door for several seconds before he eventually shook his head and proceeded towards the factory.

The following morning, Eric arrived punctually at the used bookstore.

Jie Ming was already present at the entrance.

Today, he wore a dark gray coat, presenting a slightly more formal appearance than usual, though the change was minimal.

“Speaking of which, are you certain about attending the lecture dressed like that? I suspect those individuals will surely mock you…” Eric felt compelled to remind him.

“Here is the key.” Jie Ming passed over a brass key. “There’s the door to the lower level and the one upstairs. Do not venture into the basement. The electricians should arrive around nine in the morning. Instruct them to use exposed wiring and to refrain from haphazardly chiseling into the walls.”

“Understood.” Eric accepted the key, pausing briefly. “Um… you mentioned not to open the basement door. What exactly is down there?”

Jie Ming cast a look in his direction.

The expression was serene, devoid of any overt menace, yet Eric immediately ceased his questioning.

“I won’t open it. I won’t open anything.”

A nod was exchanged, and Jie Ming, retrieving a small satchel, stepped out onto the street.

His gait was unhurried, neither fast nor slow. Soon, he transformed into a faint silhouette within the dense fog, ultimately vanishing from sight.

Eric pushed open the door to the used bookstore and stepped inside.

The oil lamp’s flame still danced, flickering softly as the morning breeze wafted through.

His gaze fell upon the rocking chair, but he opted not to occupy it. Instead, he retrieved a wooden stool from near the bookshelf and settled himself at the entrance.

The street was not bustling with activity.

By this hour, those who needed to labor had already commenced their duties, while others who preferred rest remained asleep.

Occasionally, a solitary pedestrian would pass by. Observing him seated at the doorway, they would offer a fleeting glance before quickening their pace.

Leaning against the doorframe, Eric surveyed the somber sky, suddenly experiencing a sensation akin to a dream.

A factory maintenance worker was now tasked with overseeing the establishment of a black-market physician.

And that same physician had departed to attend an academic discourse hosted by the Official Spirit Medium Association.

This world was increasingly becoming an enigma.

Concurrently, within the central district of Mist Capital, at the imposing headquarters of the Official Spirit Medium Association.

The edifice was constructed from gray-white stone, its exterior adorned with intricate carvings of peculiar totems and protective sigils.

Dominating the main entrance was the Association’s sigil: an open palm, emblazoned with a single, unblinking eye at its core.

This emblem signified its purpose: “to perceive the unseen and safeguard all living existence.”

Inside the building, on the second floor, within an office space, two personnel, clad in dark blue uniforms, were engrossed in processing formidable stacks of documentation at their respective workstations.

The younger of the two, approximately twenty-five or twenty-six years of age, retained a discernible trace of youthful vivacity.

The elder, belonging to his early forties, bore noticeable crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, his temples streaked with a considerable amount of gray hair.

The junior staff member, Dirk by name, had been employed for just over two years, primarily managing external communications.

Harding, the senior employee, had dedicated nearly two decades of service to the Association, now dedicating his time to administrative tasks in the office, effectively in a state of semi-retirement.

“A new wanted poster has arrived.” Dirk retrieved a document from the inbox, scanned its contents, and casually discarded it. “The wilderness bandit syndicate has been neutralized. Several key members managed to evade capture. Comprising three males and one female, one of them identified as a Spirit Medium. Intelligence suggests they are en route towards our location.”

Harding remained engrossed, not even lifting his head. “Affairs originating from the wilderness fall outside our purview. Delegate such troubles to the security forces.”

Dirk’s attention returned to the wanted notice, focusing on the depicted individuals—three men and one woman, their visages indistinct, captured from afar, presumably through some surveillance apparatus.

He then filed the notice into the designated bin marked “External,” dismissing its contents.

“There is one additional matter.” Dirk extracted another document. “Reports of individuals missing within the city have escalated once more recently. Pertaining to Third Street, Seventh Street, and the harbor district… A minimum of several dozen people have vanished over the past fortnight. The security forces are operating under the assumption that this may be the work of a new Strange.”

Harding finally lifted his gaze from his work, accepted the document, and skimmed through its contents, a frown creasing his brow.

“Is there any commonality among the missing persons regarding their times, locations, or identities?”

“The majority vanished under the cover of night, though two were taken during daylight hours. Their backgrounds are diverse—ranging from laborers and street vendors to even a traveling merchant. The security forces were stumped and consequently forwarded the case to us,” Dirk explained with a sigh.

Harding set the file down, massaging his temples with weary fingers.

“It’s happening again. We had just resolved the Hazard Grade incident last month, and now another new case emerges this month. Will this job ever cease?”

Dirk echoed his sigh but remained silent, understanding the futility of such laments.

As seasoned veterans, they knew that voicing complaints was pointless.

Aberrations, or 'Stranges,' could never be entirely eliminated. The sheer size of the city and its massive populace meant that some anomalies would inevitably slip through the net.

“Let’s put this aside for the moment,” Harding stated, nudging the document towards the edge of his desk. “Assign field agents to investigate when they have an opening.”

Dirk acknowledged this with a nod and resumed sorting through the remaining paperwork in his inbox.

His attention was then drawn to a slim sheet of paper.

It wasn't an official document but rather a newspaper clipping, attached with a paperclip to the cover of an internal intelligence report.

Dirk retrieved the clipping. After reading just a couple of lines, his eyebrows arched slightly.

“Old Harding, have a look at this.”

Harding took the clipping and began to read its contents aloud.

“…Recently, a specialized gene drug has surfaced in the underground black market. Rumor has it that its efficacy rate is approximately five percent superior to the theoretical benchmark. This drug is currently circulating within a highly restricted area, its origin is unknown, and its authenticity is yet to be confirmed. The Association strongly advises all citizens against placing undue trust in black-market gossip. Any gene drugs lacking official certification inherently carry substantial safety risks…”

Having finished reading, Harding placed the clipping down and shared a knowing look with Dirk.

“Five percent,” Dirk mused, repeating the figure. “It may not sound like much, but if the claim holds true, it would be truly remarkable.”

Harding remained uncharacteristically quiet for a few seconds.

His twenty years of service had exposed him to countless fraudulent schemes peddled in the black market.

He thought of those who disguised simple stimulants as potent ‘gene drugs’ to extort exorbitant prices. He recalled others who exploited Strange fragments to deceive ambitious individuals seeking power outside official channels. And then there were the outright scams, where perpetrators simply absconded with the money.

“It’s almost certainly a fabrication,” Harding concluded. “You know the modus operandi of those operating in the black market.”

“But what if it isn’t?” Dirk countered, his tone thoughtful. “If someone has genuinely found a way to enhance the success rate of gene drugs, that’s a development of considerable magnitude. Even our Association possesses only a handful of individuals capable of such advanced technology.”

Harding offered no immediate response.

He picked up the clipping once more, rereading the passage carefully.

“A success rate five percent higher than the theoretical value,” he stated deliberately. “Indeed, that figure is remarkably subtle. If the enhancement were significantly greater—say, twenty or thirty percent—it would be an unmistakable fabrication. But five percent… not excessively high, not negligibly low, just within the realm of perceived possibility.”

“So, what’s the plan?”

“There’s no need for haste. Let’s adopt an observational stance for now,” Harding suggested, returning the clipping to the desk. “We shall wait one month. If, by then, no adverse reports have surfaced, no individuals have experienced negative side effects after using the drug, no buyers have lodged complaints, and crucially, no one has perished… then, it is most likely authentic.”

“And why is that?”

“Because the individuals frequenting the black market are not simpletons. They seek these drugs to improve their chances of survival, not to hasten their demise. For any non-officially sanctioned, prohibited substances, a mere five percent increase in success rate constitutes a tangible improvement. It’s readily perceptible to the user.”

“Should this drug prove to be counterfeit or harmful, trouble would inevitably arise swiftly. Therefore, a month of silence represents the most auspicious outcome.”

Dirk nodded, deep in contemplation.

Harding leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting towards the perpetually overcast sky visible through the office window.

“If it turns out to be genuine,” he murmured, his voice low, “then we must treat it with the utmost seriousness. Whoever possesses the capability to refine gene drugs—be it an individual or an organization—warrants thorough investigation.”

A brief silence settled over the office.

Outside, the sky over Mist Capital remained its usual dull, grayish-white hue.

Dirk re-secured the newspaper clipping within the document tray and proceeded to address the subsequent file.

Harding lowered his head again, commencing the drafting of his weekly report on the recent trends in Strange activity.

Concurrently, Jie Ming, who had just boarded a crowded public bus en route to the exhibition center, allowed a subtle smile to grace his lips.

“The lure has been cast…”