parentshiftbook Chapter 639 Cooperation
Chapter 639 Cooperation
Half a month is enough time for a person to get used to another city.
The sky over the foggy city is always gray, and Eric can't remember the last time he saw the sun.
Every morning when I get out of bed, the view outside the window is exactly the same as the day before.
Life is like the endless gears in a factory, monotonous, repetitive, and without end.
But recently, a small change has occurred in his life.
That used bookstore.
Eric himself couldn't explain why he would unconsciously turn into that alley and push open that creaking wooden door every time he got off work.
He had never spent a single penny at that store.
He flipped through a few of those old books, but he couldn't recognize most of the characters, and even if he could, he couldn't understand them.
He's not cut out for studying.
But he still wanted to go.
The young boss sitting in the rocking chair had a very strange aura about him.
But Eric thought for a long time about what exactly constituted that quality, but couldn't come up with a precise word.
It's roughly that feeling of "something separating him from the world".
Even though the person is sitting there and talking to you, you just feel like their attention is elsewhere, like they're looking at something you can't see.
Eric was told by his mother from a young age that he was "too sensitive".
He can sense things that others can't: who's in a bad mood, who's lying, who has something "unclean" about them.
This sensitivity allowed him to avoid several major accidents in the factory and enabled him to live peacefully until the age of twenty-six in this eerie city, only suffering minor injuries to a few fingers.
So when he first walked into that used bookstore and sensed that indescribable aura emanating from Jemin, his first reaction was not fear, but curiosity.
A young man about his age ran a shady clinic that was all show and no substance, yet he possessed an aura that even someone as perceptive as him couldn't fathom.
Who exactly is this person?
Eric didn't know, but he wanted to know.
For the past two weeks, every afternoon after getting off work at the factory, he would stop at that used bookstore on his way home.
The time is usually before evening.
After all, he wouldn't dare to wander around outside after nightfall.
But in the period before dusk, it was still light, and the gaslights on the street were already lit, so it was safe enough.
He would push open the door, nod to Jemin in the rocking chair, then stand in front of the bookshelf for a while, casually flipping through the old books he didn't quite understand.
Sometimes he would start a conversation, sometimes he would just stay in silence for ten minutes or so before going home.
Jemin never chased him away, but he never showed any particular enthusiasm either.
Most of the time, Jemin would sit in that rocking chair, holding a newspaper, reading it slowly.
Occasionally I turn the page, occasionally I pick up the teacup on the table and take a sip of water, occasionally I look up at the sky outside the window.
The two of them sat and stood, separated by an oil lamp and a pile of old books, each in silence.
Today is the fifteenth day.
As Eric effortlessly pushed open the wooden door of the used bookstore, it was already getting dark.
Most of the gaslights on the street were lit, their orange-yellow light filtering through the thick fog and casting a blurry halo on the wet stone pavement.
As usual, Jemin sat in his rocking chair with a newspaper in his hand.
He looked up at Eric, nodded slightly as a greeting, and then continued reading the newspaper.
Jemin didn't really care about the little guy.
He didn't really need to get any information from Eric, since during the day, even just by gently extending his mental power, Jemin could cover the entire city and obtain all sorts of intelligence.
The reason he was willing to get in touch with Eric was because Eric's rare high perception talent gave Jemin an idea.
Eric stopped in front of the bookshelf and randomly picked up a book.
He flipped through two pages but found he couldn't read a single word, so he put the book back, leaned against the bookshelf, and put his hands in his pockets.
"When are you going to install electrical wires here?" he asked.
Jemin paused in his flipping through the newspaper and looked up.
"electric wire?"
“Yeah, right.” Eric pointed to the oil lamp overhead. “You run a bookstore, and you keep using an oil lamp every day. What if you accidentally set the books on fire one day? Your store will be gone. Besides, who still uses oil lamps these days? Even the bakery on the next street has switched to electric lights.”
Jemin glanced at the oil lamp, then at Eric, and a slight smile curved his lips.
"I'm used to it," he said.
"Even if you're used to it, you can't risk your life like that." Eric shook his head. "If you find running electrical wires troublesome, I can ask around for you. Old Jack downstairs is an electrician; he doesn't charge much."
Jemin didn't reply, but simply turned to the next page of the newspaper.
Eric was used to his attitude and didn't mind, continuing on his own: "Besides, the lighting here is too dim; customers can't even see the books on the shelves. Although your shop... isn't really selling books, you still have to go all out with the act."
Jemin didn't reply, but simply turned to the next page of the newspaper.
Eric was used to his attitude and didn't mind, continuing on his own: "Besides, the lighting here is too dim; customers can't even see the books on the shelves. Although your shop... isn't really selling books, you still have to go all out with the act."
Jemin glanced at him but didn't say anything.
Eric wisely kept his mouth shut, but the smile on his lips couldn't be hidden.
Over the past two weeks, he has figured out Jemin's temperament.
This person doesn't like others prying into his affairs, but he doesn't mind Eric's behavior of "saying a few nonsense words for no reason."
Just as Eric was about to find another topic to talk about, there was a knock at the door.
The door hinges creaked open, and a figure stepped in from the twilight.
Eric turned his head away.
The man who entered looked to be in his thirties, wearing a dark gray trench coat and carrying a medium-sized suitcase.
He has a very ordinary appearance.
She is neither tall nor short, neither fat nor thin, and has no distinctive facial features; she is the type of person who would be easily lost in a crowd.
But the moment Eric saw him, his body tensed instinctively.
He couldn't explain why.
This person's clothes, gait, and even breathing frequency all made him look like an ordinary traveler.
But his intuition was screaming an alarm: something's not right!
It was some kind of deeper sense of disharmony.
It's like seeing someone walking on their right foot while wearing their left shoe. At first glance, it seems fine, but you always feel something is off.
Eric instinctively took a half step back, his shoulder bumping against the bookshelf with a slight thud.
The man turned around at the sound, his gaze falling on Eric, and a standard polite smile appeared on his lips.
"Good evening," he said, his voice calm.
Then his gaze passed over Eric and fell upon Jemin, who was sitting in the rocking chair.
His gaze lingered for a very short time, so short that an ordinary person wouldn't even notice, but Eric caught it.
That kind of gaze wasn't the gaze a customer gives to a shop owner, but rather... the gaze a subordinate gives to a superior.
Eric's heart skipped a beat.
He suddenly realized his current situation.
He's just an ordinary worker; he shouldn't be in this store at this time.
This person was clearly looking for Jemin, but not for "used bookstore owner" Jemin, but for "black clinic doctor" Jemin.
He should leave.
But the man's gaze returned and landed on Eric.
He sized up Eric, his eyes fixed on him as if he were looking at an item of uncertain value.
"And this is..." the man asked, looking at Jemin with a hint of inquiry in his voice.
Jemin did not answer.
He put down the newspaper in his hand and stood up from the rocking chair.
He moved slowly, but Eric noticed that the air in the room seemed to become "heavier" the moment he stood up.
"Eric," Jemin spoke, his voice as calm as ever, "it's very late."
Eric paused for a moment, then immediately understood the meaning of those words.
It's very late, you should go home.
"Ah, right, it's getting dark." Eric chuckled twice, walked out from beside the bookshelf, and headed towards the door. "I almost forgot, I have to go to the next street tonight to help my aunt move some things. You guys chat, you guys chat."
He didn't look at the man with the suitcase as he passed by.
But his senses told him that the man's gaze remained fixed on him until he walked out the door.
The wooden door closed behind me.
Eric stood on the wet cobblestones, took a deep breath, and then exhaled slowly.
He looked down at his hands; his fingertips were trembling slightly.
But... it doesn't seem like fear.
He clenched his fist tightly and subconsciously glanced back at the tightly closed wooden door.
Through the crack in the door, you could see the light of the oil lamp flickering slightly.
Eric shook his head and turned to walk towards his apartment building.
He didn't want to know why that person came to see Jieming, didn't want to know what was in that suitcase, and didn't want to know what the two of them were going to do next.
Although he was indeed curious, and although he could roughly guess what the other party wanted from Dr. Jemin, he knew that it was best not to think about things that "shouldn't be thought about".
This is the most important lesson he learned during his 26 years in Chongqing.
In the secondhand bookstore, the flame of the oil lamp flickered gently in the breeze.
Jemin stood beside the bookshelf, watching Eric's figure disappear through the crack in the door, then turned to look at the man carrying the suitcase.
The man's expression changed the moment Eric left.
His expression changed from a polite smile to an almost fawning, ingratiating one.
His shoulders slumped slightly, and his back curved in a subtle but real arc, making him look as if he had shrunk by several centimeters in an instant.
The lights in the basement clinic were much brighter than those upstairs.
Several gas lamps hung on the wall, their white light illuminating the entire room brightly but not glaringly.
The examination bed, medicine cabinet, surgical instruments—everything was just as neat and tidy as it had been two weeks ago.
Jemin walked to the medicine cabinet and took out a metal box from the back of the cabinet.
The box is small, about the size of two palms, with no markings on the surface. It is well-made, with rounded edges.
He placed the box on the examination bed and opened it.
Ten sealed glass test tubes were neatly arranged inside the box.
The liquid in the test tube was a deep blue color, with a slight luminescence under the light.
Each test tube is double-sealed at the mouth with wax and a metal clamp, and the label indicates the number and date.
The man's eyes lit up the moment he saw the test tubes.
His Adam's apple bobbed, he swallowed, and then cautiously approached, his gaze never leaving the test tubes.
"Mr. Jemin, these are..."
"It's all taken care of." Jemin's tone was flat, as if stating a fact unrelated to himself. "The initial condition of the product you provided was too poor; at most, the formula structure was optimized. The success rate after taking it should increase by about five percent."
"Five percent..." The man's voice trembled slightly.
He reached out, his fingers hovering over the test tube for a moment, as if hesitating whether or not to touch it.
In the end, he withdrew his hand, took out a pair of thin leather gloves from his pocket, and carefully put them on.
Then he carefully picked up a test tube and held it up to the light to examine it closely.
The blue liquid flows slowly in the glass tube, and the fluorescence on its surface exhibits a delicate, silky luster under the light.
The man's eyes were fixed on the vial of liquid, his pupils slightly dilated.
"Do you know, Mr. Jemin?" His voice became somewhat ethereal, as if he were talking to himself, "The original version of this drug has a success rate of less than five percent. Nine out of ten people who take it die. But the one who survives can bend an iron bar with his bare hands and can outrun a speeding carriage."
He put down the first one and picked up the second one.
"On the black market, an original tube sells for this price." He held up three fingers. "Three hundred bright silver coins. And there's no market for it; even if you have the money, you might not be able to buy it. Those powerful psychic families control the supply, and what gets out there are all defective products."
He examined each test tube one by one, his movements as gentle as if he were stroking a baby's skin.
"Giving me these ten vials increases the success rate by five percent." He turned to look at Jemin, his fawning smile deepening. "Do you know what this means? It means these ten vials of medicine are worth the same as twenty or thirty vials of the original. Those who are rich, well-connected, and want power but dare not take too much risk... they will scramble to buy them."
Jemin leaned against the medicine cabinet, arms crossed, staring at him expressionlessly.
"Where's the money?"
"Oh, right, right, money." The man seemed to wake from a dream, quickly put down the test tube, and bent down to pick up the suitcase he had brought.
The suitcase latch popped open, revealing neatly stacked piles of banknotes and rolls of coins inside.
The banknotes come in various denominations and colors, and are bundled together with rubber bands.
The coins were kept in several small cloth bags, the openings of which were tied with ropes.
The man pushed the suitcase in front of Jemin: "This is all the money for this trip. Please check it. As you instructed, the coins and bills are all old and loose currency; there's absolutely no risk!"
Jemin glanced down at it but didn't count.
"What about the materials?"
"I brought it, I brought it." The man then took out a small cloth bag from the inside pocket of his trench coat and handed it over respectfully. "I've gotten all the materials you asked for last time. These weren't easy to find; I had to go through several channels to get them."
Jemin took the cloth bag, opened it, and took a look.
Inside were several irregularly shaped fragments, grayish-white in color, with a subtle sheen on the surface.
He turned one of the fragments over under the light to confirm its material, then nodded.
"What about outside the city?"
The man's expression turned serious: "Things aren't peaceful. New strange occurrences have recently appeared in those towns to the east, and the official psychic association has sent people to handle them. The exact level is unclear; some say it's a 'hazard' level, but others say it might be a 'disaster' level because the losses have been so significant."
"Any other news?"
"Also... recently someone saw people dressed in black robes outside the city, acting suspiciously, and we don't know what they were doing. The authorities are investigating, but they haven't found anything yet."
Jemin took this information to heart and nodded.
Seeing that he was no longer pressing the matter, the man's expression returned to that of cautious, attentive demeanor.
He placed the ten test tubes back into the metal box one by one, closed the lid, then unbuttoned his trench coat and stuffed the box into it, close to his body.
The box wasn't big, but it still bulged out quite a bit when stuffed into my clothes.
The man covered it with the lapel of his trench coat, checked it again, and only breathed a sigh of relief after confirming that there were no obvious marks.
"Mr. Najamin, I'll be going now."
He bowed deeply to Jemin with unusual respect: "I will deliver the next shipment in a few days."
Jemin didn't see him off; he just nodded.
The sound of a man's footsteps went up the stairs, followed by the sound of the bookstore's wooden door being opened and closed, and then the sound of footsteps fading away on the stone pavement.
The basement fell silent again.
Jemin looked down at the suitcase at his feet.
Banknotes and coins were neatly stacked inside, ranging in denomination from gold to silver, as well as some smaller banknotes with a darker color.
To be honest, Jemin didn't really need the money.
If needed, he could use alchemy to create all kinds of coins out of thin air.
Although the currency in this plane has various anti-counterfeiting technologies, with his level of alchemy, it would be an easy task to create coins that are completely indistinguishable from genuine ones.
Even gold and silver coins made of precious metals were easy for Jemin to create.
But it would be too conspicuous for a doctor with such skills and abilities to ask for nothing in return.
So he made a deal with this intermediary.
He helped them optimize prohibited gene drugs and increase their success rate; they paid him handsomely to help him purchase various research materials and collect information inside and outside the city.
Take what you need.
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