Vincent was waiting for him, leaning against a lamppost at the corner of the street.
Seeing Richard emerge unharmed, he nodded, not asking how he had managed to get in.
"Let’s go. Number seven is this way."
Richard fell in step with him, using his Perception as he walked.
Inside the walls, the Ether Density of Huayue Street was a whole level higher than outside.
No single point stood out; the entire street was steeped in a denser etheric environment.
The architecture was different, too.
The gaudy display windows and bright signs from outside were all gone. Inside the walls, the storefronts were all plain and simple.
The signs were small brass plaques embedded above the doorframes, the lettering so small you couldn’t read it without getting close.
As they passed a few shops, Richard deliberately slowed his pace to take a look.
One brass plaque was engraved with "R.T. Mineral Appraisal." The shop wasn’t open, and its windows were pitch-black.
The one next to it read "Griffin Archive Custody." Through the frosted glass, he could see silhouettes moving inside.
Two doors down, a shop didn’t even have a brass plaque, but a man built like a wardrobe stood at its entrance.
The large man had his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze lingered on Richard for half a second before moving on.
’Every shop here was likely involved in business related to the Curtain.’
’The mineral appraisal was probably for valuing resources related to Mysticism, and the archive custody was likely for the storage and transfer of encrypted documents.’
’As for the one with no sign at all and a bodyguard posted at the door... you didn’t need to be a genius to figure out that whatever they were selling wasn’t something you’d put on a sign.’
Vincent stopped in front of a dark brown wooden door.
The brass plaque above the doorframe was heavily oxidized, and green rust obscured most of the text.
Only by getting close could he make it out: "Donal - Antiques & Sundries, No. 7."
He pushed the door open, and a Copper Bell let out a DING.
It sounded almost identical to the Copper Bell at the Clement Antiques Store, and Richard felt a surge of familiarity.
A row of copper candlesticks and old photo frames was arranged to the left of the door, no different from an antique shop in the outside world.
But as he walked further in, the objects started to become more unusual.
Several stone bowls rested on a middle shelf, next to a stack of leather-bound booklets with lettering on their spines that had faded to mere shadows.
Two walking canes stood in a corner, one of them carved with a coiled serpent.
’Displaying the rod of the Medical God meant the shop played by the rules. It wasn’t a black market den.’
A short man was sitting behind the counter.
He wore a monocle on the bridge of his nose, attached to a thin chain around his neck.
His bald head could have rivaled Mr. Holland’s, but the shape was different.
Mr. Holland had a classic receding hairline.
This gentleman’s was more... the central region had simply given up growing, leaving only a ring of hair on either side of his temples, like a woolen scarf wrapped around a bald hill.
Richard complained to himself, ’There are so many bald people here.’
’Mr. Holland is bald, and now this Mr. Donal is bald too.’
’They say the water in the Imperial territories is generally hard, which isn’t kind to the scalp.’
’But his own father, an engineer in Brighton, still had a full head of hair despite harder water and harsher working conditions.’
’His grandfather was old, but his hair hadn’t thinned much either.’
’The balding gene probably has nothing to do with me. That’s good news, at least.’
Donal looked up and recognized Vincent first. "Vincent, it’s been ages!"
"Uncle Donald, I brought my cousin today." Vincent clapped Richard on the shoulder.
Donal’s gaze shifted from Vincent to Richard’s face, looking him up and down.
His eyes lingered on his clothes for an extra second: a shirt and vest, cuffs rolled up twice, and shoes that were slightly scuffed.
After his inspection, a faint smile appeared on his face—neither particularly welcoming nor particularly cold.
"Sir, my grandfather sent me," Richard said, taking the Sealed Letter from his schoolbag and placing it on the counter.
Donal picked up the envelope with his short, thick fingers, his attitude clearly warming.
"A letter handwritten by Mr. Gerald himself. That’s a rare sight."
The stool was too high, so he simply hopped down from it.
"Come, let’s have a look in the back."
Donal led the two of them through the front of the shop toward the rearmost wall.
On the wall hung an old tapestry depicting a Phoenix rising from the ashes, with several loose threads hanging from it.
He lifted the tapestry. The back room was much smaller than the front, only about a third of its size by his estimation.
Shelves were also fixed to the four walls, but the number of objects on them was clearly smaller, and they were spaced further apart, with ample room between each item.
The moment Richard stepped into the back room, the Throne of the Sun began to tremble slightly.
The Ether Density in this room was far higher—denser than the entire street outside combined.
But every item had a Seal on it.
His gaze swept over the shelves, one by one.
Top shelf, left side: a copper hand mirror mottled with green rust. The Mirror Surface was so worn you couldn’t see a reflection, and its back was engraved with scrollwork and animal totems.
The panel showed no reaction.
Second shelf: two silver brooches in the style of early Imperial military officer accessories.
The panel showed no reaction.
Third shelf: an ancient copper coin, a size smaller than the silver coin he had drained dry.
The panel’s reading rose, but extremely slowly, similar to the state of the Sphinx Oil Lamp when it was sealed.
Next to it sat a Brass Incense Burner. The body was small, about the size of his palm, and the lid was engraved with an openwork pattern.
The panel’s reading was rising for this one too, at about the same rate as the copper coin—a minuscule amount seeping through the Seal.
’Both items had the goods, but they were sealed up tight. Trying to just hold them and siphon off the power for free probably wouldn’t work.’
He continued further into the room.
In the furthest corner of the back room, a half-man-high fragment of a stone pillar stood against the wall.
The surface of the remnant was covered in dense relief carvings, the theme appearing to be a continuous frieze of alternating flames and wings.
He was just three steps away from the pillar fragment when his chest began to burn.
His entire internal circulation was violently thrown into turmoil by the pillar fragment’s Ether Field.
A frantic heat shot out from the Throne of the Sun, spreading through his blood vessels to his limbs before abruptly retracting.
Richard took a step back, and the burning sensation immediately faded to a tolerable level.
Another half step back, and it disappeared completely.
Donal glanced at him. "Run into something that doesn’t agree with you?"
"That stone pillar..."
"Oh, that." Donal pushed his monocle up with his thumb.
"That’s a fragment of a pillar from a Fire God Temple of the Sasanian Persia period. It’s the guardian treasure of my shop.
"It has a significant amount of Ether deposited in it and a high-density Ether Field inside. Those with higher inspiration experience a repulsive reaction when they get close."
’Sasanian Persia was the Second Persian Empire. The First Persian Empire was destroyed by Macedonia, then came the Parthian Empire, and after that, the Second Persian Empire rose.’
’That would make it a medieval dynasty, from at least fifteen hundred years ago.’
’Fifteen hundred years.’ Richard quickly compared this with the data he had.
’The Copper Pendant and the Divination Disc were thousand-year-old antiques from the Eastern Continent, and they had each provided one point.’
’This stone pillar was five hundred years older than them.’
’And it was a ritual implement from a Fire God Temple. Years of ritual saturation meant its Ether deposits far exceeded those of ordinary antiques of the same age.’
’The thing sealed inside... it’s worth two points, conservatively speaking.’

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