Chapter 764 - 639: Watching the Shop and the Spirit Communicator Association (Part 2)
Chapter 764: Chapter 639: Watching the Shop and the Spirit Communicator Association (Part 2)
"Are you sure you want to dress like this for the lecture? I feel like those people will definitely mock you..." Eric couldn’t help but remind him.
"Here’s the key." Jeming handed over a copper key, "The door downstairs, the door upstairs, don’t open the basement door. The electrician will probably arrive around nine in the morning. Have them run the wires openly, don’t let them randomly drill into the walls."
"Got it." Eric took the key, hesitated for a moment, "Um...why shouldn’t I open the basement door? What’s inside?"
Jeming glanced at him.
That glance was very calm, without any hint of threat, but Eric immediately shut his mouth. "I won’t open it, won’t open anything," he said.
Jeming nodded, picked up a small bag, and headed out onto the street.
His pace was neither fast nor slow, but he soon turned into a vague shadow in the dense fog and then completely disappeared.
Eric pushed the door of the old bookstore open and went inside.
The oil lamp was still lit, the flame flickering slightly in the morning breeze.
He glanced at the rocking chair but didn’t sit in it. Instead, he pulled a wooden stool from beside the bookshelf and sat down by the entrance.
There weren’t many people on the street.
At this time, those who were supposed to work had gone to work, and those who were supposed to sleep were still sleeping.
Occasionally, one or two passersby would walk by, glance at him sitting by the door, and then hurry on their way.
Eric leaned against the door frame, gazing at the gray sky, and suddenly felt like he was dreaming.
He was just a factory repairman, yet here he was helping a Doctor Black watch the store.
And that Doctor Black went to attend the official Spirit Communicator Association’s lecture.
This world is really becoming more and more incomprehensible.
...
...
At the same time, in the central district of Wudu, at the headquarters building of the official Spirit Communicator Association.
This gray-white stone building’s exterior walls were covered with bizarre totems and protective runes carved into the relief.
Above the entrance hung the association’s emblem: an open hand, with an eye in the center of the palm.
Symbolizing "insight into the bizarre, safeguarding all."
Inside the building, in the second-floor office, two staff members wearing dark blue uniforms were sitting at their respective desks, processing piles of documents.
One was younger, about twenty-five or twenty-six, his face still showing some lingering traces of youth.
The other was older, in his early forties, with deep crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, his temples mostly white.
The younger one was named Deke, having just completed two years of service, primarily responsible for field liaison.
The older one was Harding, who had been with the association for almost twenty years, now handling office paperwork, in a semi-retired state.
"There’s a new wanted notice again." Deke pulled out a piece of paper from the document basket, glanced at it, and tossed it aside, "The desert bandit group has been annihilated, a few key figures fled. Three men and one woman, one of them even a spiritualist, it’s judged they might be heading in our direction."
Harding didn’t even lift his head: "Stuff from the desert mountains isn’t our concern. Let the security team worry about it."
Deke glanced again at the photos on the wanted notice. Three men and one woman, their faces blurry, the shots taken from a distance, likely captured from some surveillance equipment.
He stuffed the wanted notice into the file box labeled "External" and ignored it.
"There’s another matter." Deke pulled out another document, "Reports of disappearances in the city have increased again. Third Street, Seventh Street, the harbor district... At least dozens of people have gone missing in the past half month. The security team suspects it might be a new anomaly."
Harding finally raised his head, took the document, flipped through it, and started to frown.
"Are there any common attributes in the times, locations, and identities of the missing people?"
"Most of them went missing at night, but two disappeared during the day. The identities are mixed, some workers, some vendors, and one businessman from a nearby town." Deke sighed, "The security team couldn’t gather any clues, so they passed the report to us."
Harding put the document down, rubbing his temples.
"Again. Just finished dealing with a hazard level case last month, and now there’s a new one. When will this work ever end."
Deke also sighed but said nothing.
They both knew complaining was useless with their extensive experience.
Anomalies are endless, and this city is too vast, with too many people. There’ll always be something sneaking through the cracks.
"Let’s table it for now." Harding pushed the document to the corner of the desk, "When the field team has time, have them investigate."
Deke nodded and continued flipping through items in the document basket.
Then he came across a thin piece of paper.
Not an official document, but a clipping from a newspaper, pinned onto the cover of an internal intelligence report with a paperclip.
Deke picked up the clipping and read two lines, raising his eyebrows slightly.
"Old Ha, take a look at this."
Harding took the clipping and read it aloud.
"... Recently, an unusual genetic potion has appeared in the underground black market with a rumored success rate approximately five percent higher than theoretical values. Currently, the potion is only circulating in a very limited range, with unknown origin and authenticity pending verification. The association cautions citizens against believing black market rumors. Any non-officially certified genetic drugs have significant safety risks..."
Harding finished, put the clipping down, and exchanged a glance with Deke.
"Five percent," Deke repeated the number, "doesn’t sound like much, but if true, that’s quite something."
Harding fell silent for a few seconds.
Having worked for twenty years, he’s seen too many scams on the black market.
Some packaged regular stimulants as "genetic drugs" to sell at high prices, some used pieces of anomalies to deceive those seeking power but hesitant to follow official paths, and some simply used sleight of hand, taking money and disappearing.
"Very likely a scam," Harding said, "You know the nature of people on the black market."
"But what if it’s not?" Deke asked back, "If someone can truly optimize the success rate of genetic potions, it’s no small matter. Even our association only has a few who can achieve it."
Harding didn’t respond immediately.
He picked up the clipping again, reading it once more.
"Success rate five percent higher than theoretical values," he slowly said, "Indeed, this number is quite subtle. If it were too high, like twenty or thirty percent, it would obviously be fake at a glance. But five percent... not too much, not too little, just within the ’possible’ range."
"So?"
"No rush, let’s keep observing," Harding placed the clipping back on the desk, "Wait a month. If by then there hasn’t been any negative news, no one encountered problems using this potion, no buyers complained, no deaths... that means this is likely genuine."
"Why?"
"Because those who go to the black market aren’t fools. They buy potions to survive, not to seek death. For such an unofficial prohibited potion, a five percent success rate already represents a significant improvement, making it easy for one to perceive the difference."
"If the potion is fake or problematic, it won’t take long for someone to kick up a fuss. A month without news is the best news."
Deke thoughtfully nodded.
Harding reclined in his chair, his gaze falling on the gray sky outside the window.
"If it turns out to be true..." he said softly, "then we’ll need to take it seriously. Whoever can optimize genetic potions, whether an individual or organization, is worth investigating thoroughly."
For a few seconds, the office was silent.
Outside the window, Wudu’s sky remained as gray and white as ever.
Deke re-clipped the paper into the document basket and continued processing the next file.
Harding also lowered his head again, starting to write a weekly report on recent anomaly activity trends.
Elsewhere, Jeming, who had just boarded a bus and squeezed among a crowd heading towards the auditorium, suddenly smiled.
"The bait is set..."