Sandrone clutched the old cloth pouch filled with coins as if holding a ball of fire—scorching and dangerous.
She did not head directly back to her cramped rented room.
Instead, she took a detour, winding through the noisy, bustling market streets.
Finally, she blended into the crowd pouring out of a cheap public bathhouse.
Only after confirming no suspicious gazes were tailing her did she slip back to her little hut like a drop of water merging into a river.
Closing the door, locking it, and leaning her back against the cold wooden panel, she finally allowed herself to exhale the breath she had been holding.
Her heart was still pounding rapidly.
She carefully placed the cloth pouch on the creaking wooden table, untied it, and revealed a pile of gleaming gold coins and even more silver coins, emitting a tempting yet harsh glare in the dim light.
Four gold coins, one hundred silver coins.
A fortune that was a colossal sum to her.
The elation lasted only a very short while, quickly replaced by more realistic anxiety.
That Detective named Ellen Joe had already taken notice of her.
Any sudden expenditure, especially conspicuous spending like improving her living conditions, could attract investigation.
She needed to explain the source of this money—how could an international student, who had just lost her restaurant job and was scraping by on meager savings and odd jobs, suddenly come into so much cash?
She sat down in the hard wooden chair, her ice-blue eyes fixed on the pile of money, her fingertips unconsciously tracing lines on the rough tabletop.
The apartment she had originally rented with her brother had been reluctantly given up after her brother was transferred with his military unit and her own finances grew increasingly strained.
The saved rent became her lifeline to continue her studies.
Now, the money seemed sufficient, but the path back was blocked by invisible gazes.
“It must be made to look…
plausible.”
She muttered to herself.
Proceeds from black market dealings?
No, that could backfire.
Inheritance?
She had no relatives in this country.
Lottery winnings?
Too fake, and would require prize redemption records.
Receiving a generous Reward for solving a thorny mechanical problem for someone?
This seemed the most plausible explanation fitting her identity, but it required a “client” and a problem significant enough to warrant such a price.
She recalled Professor Hammel.
That harsh but professional old scholar occasionally took on paid technical consultations from private individuals or companies, sometimes letting students assist.
If this money could be disguised as “payment for a private project introduced by the professor,” entering her life in batches through some method, perhaps the risk could be reduced.
For example, pretending to have taken on an optimization project lasting several months, with payments made in installments.
She could even genuinely find some complex old mechanical blueprints to study, in case of unexpected inquiries.
But how to transform the cash obtained from the black market into the appearance of such legitimate income?
She needed a channel, a channel that could slowly and dispersedly “launder” the cash.
In this era of restless capital, such grey areas did exist. The source of this chapter is g.com.
She remembered those “mutual savings societies” operating day and night in the Dock District—superficially small financial organizations for workers to support each other, but often involved in small-scale loans, fencing stolen goods, and fund transfers.
For a certain percentage fee, they could transfer money from various sources in batches, under the guise of small “loans” or “dividends,” to designated accounts or directly to individuals, providing simple and superficially compliant documentation.
The risk was that these organizations themselves could be infiltrated by the police.
Alternatively, purchasing some value-retaining and easily resalable items, like certain models of second-hand precision tools, out-of-print engineering books from specific years, then slowly selling them off through different channels to cash out, making the fund flow appear as meager profits from “reselling study materials and tools.”
This was safer but more time-consuming, and required some understanding of the relevant markets.
Sandrone furrowed her brows, her mind racing, weighing risks, time, and feasibility.
She had to be very, very careful.
This windfall was a bridge to a less desperate life, but it could also be a rope dragging her into a deeper whirlpool.
She picked up a gold coin; its cold, heavy touch slightly steadied her nerves.
Regardless, having a choice was better than sinking hopelessly.
On the Moon, Columbina was performing her 47th sit-up in an extremely abstract posture.
Upon completion, the system prompted: Primogem+, and the total Primogem count increased to a pitiful 20.
She was pondering how to compose that “Pious Prayer,” when she suddenly sensed an unusual fluctuation from the mirror.
It wasn’t the scene from Sandrone’s side, but the environment where the mirror itself was located—Old White’s inner workshop.
She focused her perception there.
She saw Old White wearing those glasses that seemed to amplify Spiritual Traces, carefully arranging several items around the mirror:
A dark Stone Slab carved with obscure symbols, a Short Staff topped with a cloudy crystal, and a small vial of shimmering silver powder.
He muttered incantations, gently waving the Short Staff, the crystal pointing successively at the Stone Slab, the powder, and the mirror.
Columbina watched curiously.
As Old White moved, the symbols on the Stone Slab glowed faintly, the powder emitted a misty Silver Light, slowly flowing toward the mirror’s surface.
The mirror seemed…
to be passively absorbing this light.
Very slowly, almost imperceptibly.
Simultaneously, she was surprised to find that the Primogem count in the corner of her system interface, starting from 20, began to tick up extremely slowly: 20.01…
20.02…
20.03…
“Is this some kind of detection?”
Columbina was intrigued.
The increase in Primogems was good, but the speed was utterly maddening.
She wished Old White would provide more of this “full service.”
Unfortunately, not long after, sounds of a bell and conversation seemed to come from the outer shop.
Old White paused his actions, quickly but methodically put away the Stone Slab, Short Staff, and powder vial, returned the mirror to its place, hurried out, and closed the inner door behind him.
The Primogem count finally settled at 20.06.
Columbina: “…”
That’s it?
She tried to probe deeper into the mirror’s surface with her perception, wondering if she could reverse the process like when she had sent lunar soil before.
This time, she felt a sensation…
of being able to penetrate.
Focusing her mind, she concentrated and leaned forward.
There was no feeling of being forcibly pulled like last time; it was more like passing through a layer of cool, soft water.
The next moment, she found herself detached from her lunar physical form, transformed back into that translucent spiritual state, floating above the Inner Workshop Table.
The mirror was behind her; the silver patterns on its frame seemed connected to her by invisible threads.
“So, passing through the mirror turns me into this.”
She verified her hypothesis.
The spiritual state’s range of activity was limited by the mirror’s location, but it seemed somewhat freer.
Her gaze was drawn to other items on the workshop table.
Several items Old White hadn’t put away earlier: a Brass Compass with a slightly trembling needle; several pieces of ore in various colors; a thick, leather-bound book fastened with a metal clasp; and a few small boxes.
On the surfaces or within these items, she saw some flickering points of light, of varying colors and intensities, somewhat similar to the absorbed Silver Light but more substantial.
Curiously, she floated over, extended her translucent finger, and lightly touched the Brass Compass.
A faint suction came from her fingertip.
A few weak points of light on the compass flickered, then dimmed.
Simultaneously, a cool stream of power flowed into her Spiritual Body through the point of contact.
[Primogem +5]
A system prompt quietly appeared.
Columbina’s eyes lit up.
She touched the pieces of ore in turn (+3, +2, +1), the heavy book, the small boxes…
Like discovering a new toy, she enthusiastically touched every glowing thing in the inner room.
The Primogem count soared, finally stopping at 320.
“Struck it rich!”
Columbina was elated.
But soon she noticed that the items she had touched, though unchanged in appearance, felt different—as if they had lost some inner vitality, becoming…
ordinary.
The compass needle no longer trembled, the ore’s luster dimmed somewhat, and the metal clasp on the book no longer felt faintly warm to the touch.
“Uh…
Did I…
suck out their essence?”
She belatedly felt a twinge of guilt.
Was this considered theft and destruction?
Even if the other party might not need these items.
Before she could sort out her thoughts, a fierce argument suddenly erupted from the outer shop, followed by the dull thud of something heavy falling and a short, sharp cry!