Chapter 772 - 643: New Investigation Methods and New Eerie News (2)

But in this world, it's enough.

After a month of intelligence gathering and in-depth observation of the mysterious ecosystem, Jeming has confirmed one fact: unless under special circumstances, the mysterious entities do not affect each other.

They are like separate signal towers occupying different channels, with no overlap, no communication, and might not even perceive each other's existence.

The Eye of the Micro-Light exploits this loophole.

Of course, the technology is still immature.

Due to the influence of mysterious powers, the survival time of the Eye of the Micro-Light is quite limited.

Jeming looked at the small point flickering with micro-light in the incubator and silently calculated in his heart.

From the moment it is "activated," it can survive roughly for a month.

A month later, it will decompose and die like a life form, eventually returning to nothingness.

But Jeming is very satisfied.

This is just a preliminary prototype.

Once his research into the mysterious becomes deeper, the survival time of the Eye of the Micro-Light can be extended.

More importantly, this thing can be mass-produced.

He tightened the lid of the incubator and casually stuffed it into his Inner Grotto Heaven.

The corner of the workbench was already neatly lined with a dozen identical incubators, each containing samples of the Eye of the Micro-Light, slowly growing.

Just as he was preparing for the next experiment, his movement paused.

The Array around the bookstore transmitted information.

Someone approached.

Jeming looked up, his gaze passed through the ceiling, layers of bricks and wood, landing on the stone path outside the bookstore door.

His sight seemed to penetrate these obstacles directly, seeing the person coming.

It was that Black Broker.

Jeming withdrew his gaze, tidied the things on the workbench briefly, and then walked up the stairs.

When the old bookstore's door was pushed open, Jeming was sitting in the rocking chair, holding a newspaper.

It looked no different than a month ago.

The oil lamp had been replaced with a bulb, but Jeming rarely used it; most of the time, he still lit that oil lamp.

The orange-yellow light danced between the bookshelves, illuminating the dust on the old book spines like a thin layer of gold powder.

"Mr. Jeming!" The Black Broker's voice came from the door, with a kind of flattering enthusiasm, "Good evening, good evening."

Jeming put down the newspaper and looked at him.

The Black Broker wore a similar dark grey trench coat as last time, carrying no suitcase but a bulging canvas bag on his back.

The bag was large, slightly weighing down his shoulders, but there was no sign of struggle on his face.

It was clear that this person, although not a master, mingled in the underground world, with physical strength much stronger than ordinary people.

"Come in." Jeming said.

The Black Broker hurriedly walked in, casually closed the door, and bolted it.

His movements were skillful, clearly having ingrained this process into muscle memory.

"What did you bring this time?" Jeming did not exchange pleasantries.

The Black Broker carefully took the canvas bag off his back and placed it on the ground, unzipping it.

The bag was filled with glass bottles and metal boxes of various sizes, labeled with abbreviations and codes Jeming couldn't understand.

"This batch is very high quality." A hint of pride was in the Black Broker's tone, "Recently flowed in from the north, things aren't calm over there, many items previously held back are now out in the market. I selected a few of the best just for you."

Jeming squatted down, casually picking up a glass bottle, examining it under the light.

The liquid in the bottle appeared an unhealthy dark red, with tiny flocculent particles floating on the surface.

Solely relying on the passive perception ability of his spiritual power, he could already determine the general composition of this bottle's contents.

"Too many impurities." He put the bottle back, "The purification process is not up to scratch, the mortality rate after injection is probably over ninety-eight percent."

The Black Broker's expression stiffened for a moment, then quickly put on a smile: "That's why I came to you. These items in others' hands are scrap, but in your hands, they're treasures."

Jeming did not respond.

His gaze swept over the items in the canvas bag, then he stood up.

"What about the materials?"

The Black Broker quickly took out a cloth bag from an inside pocket of his trench coat, handing it over with both hands: "The ones you wanted last time, I've got them all. This one was particularly hard to find, especially this one..."

He pointed to a grayish-white, metallic-lustered fragment in the cloth bag: "This is a fragment of a Hazard Level mysterious entity, rarely seen on the market. I went through several channels, finally getting it from an old acquaintance who specializes in this business, and the price wasn't cheap."

Jeming accepted the cloth bag, opening it for a glance.

The grayish-white fragment glowed faintly under the light, its surface's patterns were more complex than those of Dangerous Level mysterious fragments, with more layers and a tighter structure.

He nodded, putting the cloth bag away.

"There's one more thing." The Black Broker rubbed his hands, his expression turning slightly ambiguous, "I have some... intelligence, not sure if you're interested."

Jeming looked at him.

The Black Broker immediately understood the meaning of this glance: speak.

"The Spirit Communicator Association recently confirmed." He lowered his voice, like revealing a huge secret, "The recent disappearances in the old town aren't regular security issues, it's caused by a new mysterious entity."

Jeming's expression did not change, but his focus visibly intensified.

"Already verified?" he asked.

"Verified." The Black Broker nodded, "The association sent two teams to handle it, the first team already... fell. None came back."

Jeming's eyebrows slightly rose.

"None came back?"

"None came back." The Black Broker repeated, a touch of nervousness unable to be concealed in his tone, "Confirmed dead. The association has issued an internal notice, saying that mysterious entity is highly dangerous, preliminarily estimated to be at least Hazard Level, possibly a Hazard Level peak."

Hazard Level peak.

In Jeming's mind appeared the image of Graffiti Mysterious.

That's a Hazard Level mysterious entity, and quite a pesky one among Hazard Levels.

If this new mysterious entity is indeed a Hazard Level peak, it truly deserves attention.

"Is there any more specific news?" he asked.

The Black Broker shook his head: "Just this much for now. They're keeping the news very tight at the association, I heard it through a friend inside the association. But I can continue to keep an eye out for you, and inform you of any new information."

Jeming was silent for a few seconds, then nodded.

"I'll take this batch." he said, "Same rules, pick it up in three days. Leave the money over there."

He pointed to the corner where an iron box had always sat.

The Black Broker hurriedly walked over, opening the box for a glance, confirming the amount was correct.

Then he carefully took the glass bottles and metal boxes out of the canvas bag one by one, placing them neatly on the shelves.

Soon, the goods were stored, and the money counted.

The Black Broker put the canvas bag back on his shoulder, bowing towards Jeming: "Then Mr. Jeming, I'll take my leave. I'll return in three days."

Jeming did not escort him, just nodded.

The Black Broker turned towards the door, hand just touching the bolt when he couldn't help but sneeze.

"What's wrong? Not feeling well?" Jeming's voice came from behind.

The Black Broker turned, seeing Jeming leaning back in the rocking chair, holding the newspaper once more, his expression as calm as if nothing had happened.

"Nothing." The Black Broker shook his head, "Maybe my nose is uncomfortable."

He opened the bolt, pushed open the wooden door, and walked into the night of Wudu.

The wooden door closed behind him.

Jeming put down the newspaper, his fingers lightly tapping the armrest.

That Eye of the Micro-Light was already attached to the inside collar of the Black Broker's trench coat.

With the Black Broker's perception ability, he could never discover its presence.

Extra assurance is always welcome.

Jeming did not stand up, but the glass bottles and metal boxes on the shelf suddenly swayed.

They grew arms and legs made of the same material, bowed to Jeming, and then marched uniformly towards the basement.

"Hazard Level peak mysterious entity..."

Jeming casually picked up a bottle of dark red liquid that passed by, observing it carefully, a slight smile curled his lips.

He just happened to need a decent research sample.