Chapter 760 - 638: Cooperation
Chapter 760: Chapter 638: Cooperation
Half a month is enough time for a person to get used to another city.
The sky of Wudu is always murky; Eric can no longer remember the last time he saw the sun.
Every morning when he gets out of bed, the view outside the window is the same as the day before.
The days are like the gears in a factory that never stop turning, monotonous, repetitive, and endless.
But recently, there’s been a small, insignificant change in his life.
That old bookstore.
Eric himself can’t quite explain why he unconsciously turns into that alley every time after work, pushing open that creaking wooden door.
Clearly, he has never spent a penny in that shop.
He has skimmed through a few of those old books, but he can’t recognize most of the words, and even if he could, he wouldn’t understand them.
He’s not cut out for reading.
Yet he still wants to go there.
The young owner sitting in the rocking chair has a very peculiar aura about him.
But what exactly it is, Eric pondered for a long time without finding an exact word.
Probably the feeling of a "barrier" between him and this world.
Clearly, the person is sitting right there, clearly talking to you, yet you feel his attention is elsewhere, seeing things you can’t see.
Since he was young, Eric’s mother would say he was "too sensitive."
He could sense things others couldn’t: who was in a bad mood, who was lying, who had "unclean" things.
This sensitivity had helped him avoid several major accidents at the factory and allowed him to live safely in this bizarre city until the age of twenty-six, with just a few hurt fingers.
So the first time he walked into that old bookstore and felt something indescribable about Jeming, his first reaction was not fear, but curiosity.
A young man about his age, running a shady clinic masquerading as a bookstore, yet possessing an aura that even a person with high perception couldn’t see through.
Who exactly is this person?
Eric didn’t know, but he wanted to find out.
So for the past half month, every afternoon after finishing work at the factory, he would veer into that old bookstore on his way home.
The time was usually before dusk.
After all, he didn’t dare wander outside after dark.
But in that time before dusk, when the sky was still light, and the streetlights were lit, it was safe enough.
He would push open the door, nod to Jeming in the rocking chair, and stand by the bookshelf for a while, casually flipping through those old books he barely understood.
Sometimes he would start a conversation, sometimes he would just stay in silence for a dozen minutes before going home.
Jeming never drove him away, nor did he ever show particular enthusiasm.
Most of the time, Jeming just sat in that rocking chair, holding a newspaper, slowly reading.
Occasionally turning a page, occasionally taking a sip from the teacup on the table, occasionally glancing at the sky outside the window.
The two of them just like that, one sitting, one standing, separated by an oil lamp and a pile of old books, each in silence.
Today is the fifteenth day.
When Eric pushed open the old bookstore’s wooden door with ease, the sky was already starting to darken.
Most of the streetlights were lit, casting a faint, blurred halo through the thick fog on the damp cobblestone road.
As usual, Jeming was sitting in the rocking chair, holding a newspaper.
He looked up at Eric, gave a slight nod as a greeting, and then continued to read his paper.
To this little fellow, Jeming actually doesn’t mind.
He doesn’t need to gather intel from Eric because, during the day, even with a mild expansion of Spiritual Power, Jeming can cover the whole city to obtain various information.
The reason he’s willing to interact with Eric is that Eric’s rare high perception Talent gave Jeming an idea.
Eric stood in front of the bookshelf, randomly pulling out a book.
He turned a couple of pages, unable to comprehend any of it, so he shoved the book back, leaned against the bookshelf, and put his hands in his pockets.
"When are you going to install electrical wiring here?" he asked.
Jeming paused in his page-turning, raised his head.
"Electrical wiring?"
"Yeah." Eric pointed to the oil lamp above, "You run a bookstore, lighting oil lamps every day, what if one day by accident the books catch fire, the shop would be gone. Who still uses oil lamps these days? Even the bakery on the next street has switched to electric lights."
Jeming glanced at the oil lamp, then at Eric, the corner of his mouth curving slightly.
"I’m used to it," he said.
"Being used to something doesn’t mean you should risk your life," Eric shook his head, "If you think installing wiring is troublesome, I can ask around for you. Old Jack downstairs is an electrician, his rates aren’t high."
Jeming didn’t reply, just turned to the next page of the newspaper.
Eric was accustomed to this attitude, unfazed, continuing on his own, "Also, it’s too dim in here, customers can’t even see the books on the shelves. Although your store... isn’t really selling books, is it? But if you’re putting on a show, you should do it thoroughly."
Jeming looked up at him, said nothing.
Eric sensibly kept his mouth shut, but the smile on his lips remained visible.
Over the past half month, he had figured out Jeming’s temperament.
This person doesn’t like others prying into his affairs, but he doesn’t mind Eric’s behavior of "making small talk over nothing."