"Then let's start with these."
Jade selected a Trash Can and gently lifted the lid.
Another flash of blue light burst forth. The two customers in line behind her instantly turned green in the face.
If only we hadn't taken that measly million credits… we could've had two blue Curios by now!
They'd heard the whip's effect earlier—it was said to be the shopkeeper's first creation. If they hyped it properly, it could fetch an astronomical price.
We've lost big. Lost it big time…
"Pawning is not charity. Once you've decided, you must take responsibility to the end."
The intellectual female voice drifted into their ears. Both men slammed their thighs in regret, left with nothing but bitterness.
Sylvester raised a brow and spoke evenly: "Ms. Jade, do you also find that earlier Curio worth far more than its price?"
Without looking back, Jade replied, "Every work of Shopkeeper Sylvester is worth more than its price. When I return, I'll be sure my colleagues all have a chance to enjoy it."
Damn it…
Sylvester's heart lurched.
Jade herself might not recognize it—but could she guarantee no one in the IPC would?
If she took it back and ended up socially ruined in front of her peers, she might very well turn her wrath on him—and broadcast his "private goods shop" to the entire galaxy.
And if that caught Aha's attention?
That'd be one way to leave his name in history…
"Ms. Jade, I may have been rash in selling that particular piece." Sylvester let a faint trace of sorrow appear on his face—not too forced, just enough to hint at grief. Perfectly measured.
"As the saying goes, one sees the man in the thing. Whenever I behold it, I'm reminded of my master. I'm willing to pay two million to buy it back. Would Ms. Jade be willing to part with it?"
A look of difficulty crossed Jade's face. Then she smiled faintly: "Once a pact is made, one must take responsibility to the end."
Sylvester rubbed his forehead.
Great. The more I struggle, the more excited she gets.
His attempt to repurchase only convinced her further that the whip was extraordinarily valuable. Now she was less likely than ever to let go.
The problem was, its very existence was hazardous to both their reputations.
But with things as they stood, no normal approach could reclaim it.
Fortunately, he still had an emergency plan—but that would have to wait until Jade left.
Jade, blissfully unaware of the looming social disaster, turned her attention to the Curio she'd just drawn.
It was a slice of toast. Ordinary in appearance—just like something from any convenience store.
She turned her head and asked: "Shopkeeper Sylvester, what's this for? Surely not just for eating?"
Sylvester took one glance.
Oh, this one he knew well—he'd seen it since childhood.
[Memory Bread: Slice the loaf, then press it against a page of text, and eat it—you'll instantly remember the content perfectly. Thanks to system enhancement, so long as the loaf isn't finished in one sitting, it will regenerate overnight. (Warning: Overeating may cause indigestion, causing memories to fade.)]
Jade's luck was holding strong. Two blue Curios in a row—better than most.
Especially Aventurine.
Sylvester explained, "[Memory Bread]. Slice it, press it onto text, then eat it—you'll memorize the content instantly, without effort. And as long as you don't finish the whole loaf, it restores itself the next day."
"A method from the Garden of Recollection?" Jade nodded in satisfaction. She didn't linger on the bread itself—it was small, and even with regeneration, it could only help memorize a limited amount daily.
What truly caught her interest was the information Sylvester had just let slip.
Sylvester merely spread his hands and smirked: "Heh. Who can say for sure?"
Seeing his nonchalant attitude, Jade couldn't pin down his true thoughts.
No matter. I'll have plenty of time later to review his words and actions, then piece them together.
For now, it was time to open more Trash Cans.
Jade stroked another Trash Can. Their exteriors were identical, their weight the same—there was no way to distinguish them. She simply chose the nearest one.
Her mindset was calm. But outside, the two waiting customers were staring intently at her hand on the lid, holding their breath as if awaiting exam results.
Two blue flashes already. If another one appeared, they'd be sick with regret.
Jade lifted the lid—this time, green light spilled out.
Though her luck had dipped, her expression didn't change.
The two customers outside, however, both exhaled in relief.
The one at the back patted his chest. "Thank the stars, it was just green. If it had been another blue, I'd have regretted it to death. Losing money and the Curio? I'd never live it down."
The one ahead of him pressed down on his chest as well, though his mouth stayed sharp: "Hmph, why are you so nervous? Even if you hadn't taken the credits, you're behind me. The good stuff would've been mine anyway."
"Yeah right!" the one at the back shot back. "That lady only got her blue after four greens. What if you wasted your turn padding the odds, and I got the prize instead?"
"You little—"
Jade ignored their bickering. She studied the object in her hands: a stack of rectangular papers, neatly bundled.
"Some sort of currency?"
The size and shape matched paper money—but the strange symbols made them seem otherwise.
Sylvester said calmly, "[Explosive Talismans]. As the name suggests, they trigger explosions. Strong enough to demolish a house, give or take."
Jade nodded, unimpressed.
No wonder it was only green. Far too weak to be of any use to someone at her level.
She stored the talismans away and approached the shelves again.
This time, instead of opening them one by one, she chose the last three Cans at once.
The first—green again.
Sylvester sipped his tea without much reaction.
The two customers outside were happy enough with that—until their expressions froze.
For when Jade opened the second Can, a surge of purple light exploded forth, bathing the entire shop.
She quickly closed her eyes, a genuine smile curling her lips.
The two men outside weren't so lucky. Mouths agape, they stared right into the blast of light, blinded for several seconds.
"By the Reignbow Arbiter—there really is no justice in this world at all!"
They looked down at the measly one million credits in their accounts and longed to slap themselves from ten minutes ago.
So close! Just a few steps away from a lifetime of luxury.
They still remembered how Feixiao had once opened a purple-rarity Trash Can—and drawn a battleship, the strongest dreadnought in the galaxy!
With something of that level, they'd never need to line up at dawn again.
And yet, they had sold away their chance… for mere scraps.
Sylvester, ignoring their wails, focused on the new Curio Jade had drawn.
[Truth Chair: Whoever sits upon it will involuntarily speak their true thoughts. They cannot lie, nor remain silent.]
Good grief—it's a torture device!
No lies, no silence, only uncontrollable truth. This was far more terrifying than any lie detector.
Even the closest couples or dearest family members had disagreements. Bridging those differences through compromise was the very basis of society.
But now? A device that laid those differences bare.
And in the hands of the IPC, of all places.
Sylvester could already imagine the scenarios.
A manager, all smiles, asked his subordinate: "So, do you volunteer for overtime?"
Sylvester lowered his head and observed three seconds of silence for the IPC's employees.
This thing is downright evil.