I, a cultivator, have ended up in the wizarding world

Chapter 640 Shopkeeper and the Psychic Association

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Jemin closed the suitcase and pushed it to the corner.

He turned around, walked to the worktable, opened the cloth bag containing the materials, and poured the few grayish-white fragments onto the table.

The fragments reflected light slightly, and the fine, fractal-like patterns on their surface were clearly visible.

A bizarre fragment of dangerous quality.

There is new research material.

During this period, Jieming's cooperation with those shady brokers gradually improved.

It could even be said that the other party worked extremely hard to fulfill his various requests.

This was not unexpected for Jemin; he had already had this idea in mind when he first met the agent.

Those who can run shady brokerage firms generally have intricate connections.

Making it disappear abruptly will definitely attract attention.

If it were merely a matter of displaying power, even with the added constraints of a contract, it would be very difficult to get the other party to go to such lengths to gather intelligence and materials.

Of course, Jemin also had the option of sneaking in quietly without alerting the other party.

However, Jemin ultimately chose a different approach: to use sufficient power and substantial benefits to motivate the other party to take the initiative.

Those who can act as black market brokers in this underground market are all smart people. Jieming likes to deal with smart people the most because smart people's actions are more likely to meet expectations.

The benefits of the optimized gene serum, along with his previously demonstrated capabilities, were enough to make these shady brokers make the right choice.

Having shady intermediaries help gather intelligence can very effectively compensate for the fact that Jemin cannot gather intelligence at night.

As for collecting various bizarre materials, special channels are required to complete this task; it would not be easy for Jemin to collect so many on his own.

As for optimizing gene-enhancing agents, that's not a problem for Jemin.

With his skills, let alone improving the success rate by 5%, even achieving a 100% success rate for administering these banned drugs wouldn't be difficult for him.

But that would be too conspicuous.

To Jemin's surprise, these gene serums also contained various strange powers, making them very valuable for research.

"Many of these so-called banned drugs are actually byproducts of the incomplete utilization of supernatural forces. To me, the research value of various banned drugs is no less than that of these fragments of supernatural forces."

After thinking about it, Jemin decided not to rush into accepting the next commission.

There weren't any missions this time, so he wasn't short of time...

The next morning, as Eric stepped out of his apartment building, he saw Jemin standing at the entrance of the used bookstore, holding a newspaper and looking up at the gray sky.

That posture didn't seem like he was checking the weather; it was more like he was observing something that ordinary people couldn't see.

"Good morning," Eric greeted, instinctively heading towards the factory.

"Eric," Jemin called out to him.

Eric stopped and turned around.

Jemin rarely called him first, which surprised him somewhat.

Are you free tomorrow?

Eric thought for a moment.

Tomorrow is a rest day; the factory is shut down for maintenance, and he had planned to sleep in all day. "I'm free. What's up?"

"Help me watch the shop for a day."

Eric paused for a moment, then subconsciously glanced back at the used bookstore.

Looking after the shop?

That used bookstore that's usually deserted?

"Are you going out?" he asked.

"Hmm." Jemin folded the newspaper and tucked it under his arm. "I'm going to a lecture tomorrow."

"A lecture?" Eric's expression became subtle.

In his mind, someone like Jemin, who runs an illegal clinic, has absolutely nothing to do with the word "lecture".

"Organized by the official psychic association." Jemin's tone was calm, as if he were saying that tomorrow's weather would be nice. "A public lecture on basic knowledge of protection against the supernatural."

Eric opened his mouth, but for a moment he didn't know what to say.

He was also aware of the official psychic association's public lectures, since related information was published in the newspapers every month.

The public lectures may appear to be free events, but they are actually formal events held in the city hall auditorium or exhibition center.

Most of the participants are middle-class people, government employees, or people with leisure and money who want to learn about strange knowledge.

A black doctor who runs a used bookstore in the old town actually has to attend that kind of lecture?

He looked Jemin up and down.

Jemin will dress no differently than usual tomorrow, wearing a dark coat, old leather boots, and his hair is unkempt.

He doesn't look like someone who would attend any formal event.

"You really have a leisurely life," Eric couldn't help but remark.

Jemin didn't reply, he just looked at him, waiting for his answer.

"Alright, I'll watch it for you for the day." Eric nodded, then remembered something else, "But your shop doesn't usually get many customers, right? I can just sit there and relax, can't I?"

"Someone's coming to lay the wires tomorrow," Jemin said. "Keep an eye on things and make sure they don't break anything."

Eric wanted to say something more, but Jemin had already turned and walked back into the bookstore.

The wooden door closed behind him, leaving only the "Old Bookstore" sign on the door frame swaying slightly in the morning breeze.

Eric stood on the stone pavement, stared at the closed wooden door for a few seconds, then shook his head and turned to walk towards the factory.

The next morning, Eric arrived at the used bookstore on time.

Jemin was already waiting at the door.

He wore a dark gray coat today, which made him look slightly more formal than usual, but only "slightly".

"Are you sure you want to go to the lecture dressed like this? I have a feeling those guys will laugh at you..." Eric couldn't help but remind him.

"Here's the key." Jemin handed over a brass key. "Don't open the downstairs door, the upstairs door, or the basement door. The people who will be installing the electrical wiring will arrive around nine in the morning. Tell them to run the wiring above ground and not to drill into the walls."

"Okay." Eric took the keys, hesitated for a moment, and then said, "Um... don't open the basement door. What's inside?"

Jemin glanced at him.

That glance was calm, without any hint of threat, but Eric immediately shut his mouth. "No, no, I won't open anything."

Jemin nodded, picked up a small bag, and walked onto the street.

His pace was neither fast nor slow, and he soon became a blurry shadow in the thick fog before disappearing completely.

Eric pushed open the door of the used bookstore and went inside.

The oil lamp was still burning, its flame flickering gently in the morning breeze.

He glanced at the rocking chair, but instead of sitting down, he moved a wooden stool from next to the bookshelf and sat down by the door.

There weren't many people on the streets.

At this time of day, those who should be at work have already gone to work, and those who should be sleeping are still sleeping.

Occasionally, one or two pedestrians would pass by, glance at him sitting at the door, and then hurry past.

Eric leaned against the doorframe, gazing at the gray sky, and suddenly felt as if he were dreaming.

He, a factory maintenance worker, was actually helping a shady doctor run a shop.

And that black doctor went to attend a lecture by the official psychic association.

This world is becoming increasingly incomprehensible.

……

……

At the same time, in the central district of Fog City, at the headquarters of the official psychic association.

This is a gray-white stone building, with various eerie totems and protective runes carved on the reliefs on the exterior walls.

Above the main entrance of the building hangs the association's emblem: an open palm with an open eye in the center.

It symbolizes "seeing through the mysterious and protecting all living beings".

Inside the building, in an office on the second floor, two staff members in dark blue uniforms were sitting at their desks, dealing with mountains of documents.

One was younger, probably around twenty-five or twenty-six years old, with a youthful look still lingering on his face.

The other one was older, in his early forties, with deep crow's feet around his eyes and his temples mostly white.

The younger one is named Dirk. He has been with the company for just over two years and is mainly responsible for field liaison.

The older one is called Harding. He has worked at the association for almost twenty years and now sits in the office handling paperwork, so he is in a semi-retired state.

"Another wanted poster." Dirk pulled a piece of paper from the file basket, glanced at it, and tossed it aside. "The Wasteland Bandits have been wiped out, but a few key figures escaped. Three men and one woman, one of whom is a psychic. Based on our assessment, they seem likely to head this way."

Harding didn't even look up: "Things over in the wasteland aren't our business. Let the security team worry about it."

Dirk glanced at the photo on the wanted poster again. It showed three men and one woman, their faces blurred, and the photo was taken from a distance, probably from some surveillance equipment.

He stuffed the arrest warrant into a file box marked "External" and ignored it.

"There's one more thing," Dirk said, pulling out another document. "Recently, there have been more reports of people going missing in the city. Third Street, Seventh Street, the port area... at least dozens of people have disappeared in the past two weeks. The sheriff's team suspects it might be a new kind of strange occurrence."

Harding finally looked up, took the document, flipped through it, and frowned.

Are there any commonalities in the time, place, or identities of the missing persons?

"Most of them disappeared at night, but two went missing during the day. Their identities are mixed; there are workers, vendors, and one is a businessman from a nearby town." Dirk sighed. "The security team couldn't find any leads, so they forwarded the report to us."

Harding put the file down and rubbed his temples.

"Here we go again. We just dealt with that high-risk case last month, and now a new one has come. When will this work ever end?"

Dirk also sighed, but didn't say anything.

They're both seasoned veterans; they know complaining is pointless.

The eerie things can never be completely eradicated. This city is too big, and the population is too large. Something will always emerge from the cracks.

"Let's put it aside for now." Harding pushed the file to the corner of the table. "When the field team has time, have them investigate."

Dirk nodded and continued flipping through the files in the basket.

Then he turned to a thin piece of paper.

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

Dirk picked up the clipping, read two lines, and raised his eyebrows slightly.

"Old Ha, take a look at this."

Harding took the clipping and read it aloud.

"...Recently, a special gene-enhancing drug has appeared on the black market, reportedly with a success rate about 5% higher than the theoretical value. This drug is currently circulating only within a very small area, its origin is unknown, and its authenticity is yet to be verified. The association reminds the public not to believe rumors circulating on the black market; any gene-enhancing drugs that have not been officially certified pose significant safety risks..."

After Harding finished reading, he put down the clipping and exchanged a glance with Dirk.

"Five percent," Dirk repeated the number. "It doesn't sound like much, but if it's true, it's a lot."

Harding was silent for a few seconds.

He had worked in this field for twenty years and had seen far too many scams on the black market.

Some people repackage ordinary stimulants as "gene drugs" and sell them at high prices; some use bizarre fragments to fool fools who want power but dare not take the proper channels; and some simply make money out of thin air, taking the money and disappearing.

"It's most likely a scam," Harding said. "You know what kind of people are on the black market."

"But what if it isn't?" Dirk countered. "If someone can really optimize the success rate of gene therapy, that's no small matter. Even in our association, only a few people can do that kind of technology."

Harding did not answer immediately.

He picked up the clipping again and read it once more.

"The success rate is five percent higher than the theoretical value," he said slowly. "Indeed, this number is subtle. If it were too high, say twenty or thirty percent, it would be obvious that it's fake. But five percent... no more, no less, it's just within the 'possible' range."

"so?"

"No rush, let's observe further." Harding put the clipping back on the table. "Wait a month. If there are still no negative news, no one has had any problems using this drug, no buyer complaints, no deaths... then it's highly likely that this is true."

Why?

"Because people who go to the black market aren't stupid. They buy drugs to survive, not to die. For these unofficial, illegal drugs, a 5% success rate is already a significant improvement, and the difference is easily noticeable."

"If this medicine is fake or has problems, it won't be long before someone causes trouble. If there's no news for a month, that's the best news."

Dirk nodded thoughtfully.

Harding leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the gray sky outside the window.

"If it really is true..." he said in a low voice, "then we need to take this seriously. Anyone or any organization capable of using gene-enhancing drugs deserves our thorough investigation."

The office was silent for a few seconds.

Outside the window, the sky over the foggy city was as gray and white as usual.

Dirk put the clipping back in the file basket and moved on to the next document.

Harding lowered his head again and began writing a weekly report on the recent strange activity trends.

On the other side, Jemin, who had just boarded the bus and was squeezing into a crowd toward the exhibition center, suddenly smiled.

"The bait is ready..."