I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Chapter 121 Medals of Honor and Silver Ring (Bonus Chapter 5 for Monthly Tickets)

That morning, Richard received some unexpected good news.

It was Clement on the phone.

The old man said last time that the clearing cycle is not fixed. Sometimes a batch comes every one or two weeks, and sometimes it takes one or two months.

It's been almost three weeks since I last bought the sun stamp, which is a normal interval.

After school, he didn't take the school bus; instead, he ran straight to Grafton Street.

Upon arriving at the antique shop, I pushed open the door, and a copper bell jingled.

The old man squatted on the floor in the back half of the shop, with several wooden crates and cardboard boxes spread out in front of him, filled with items wrapped in old newspapers and straw.

"You're here?" He didn't even look up, and was taking something out of a wooden box.

"Um."

"Find a place to sit down, I need to take care of things here for a while."

Richard sat down on a high stool next to the cabinet, his gaze sweeping over the boxes on the floor.

Last time I came, there was only one small drawer under the cabinet containing a list of unsold items.

There were at least five or six boxes of different sizes on the floor today, some of which still had their lids on.

"It's almost the end of the year, time to clear out inventory."

Clement rummaged through the box.

"Stuart clears out its inventory every December, selling off items that have been sitting unsold for more than two years at rock-bottom prices."

He then took out a porcelain plate with a blue windmill painted on it, which must have come from the Netherlands.

"Most of these items are ordinary antiques, nothing special."

Porcelain, silverware, old picture frames, discarded candles from churches… proper antique dealers wouldn't even look at them, but they can still fetch a price in a small shop like mine.

The old man placed the porcelain plate on the cabinet and patted the straw crumbs off his hands.

"However, besides Stuart's year-end cleanup, I also got some personal stuff from a few old colleagues."

"smuggled goods?"

"Retired colleagues, they all have some good stuff saved up."

Clement stood up, his knees thumping, and he grimaced as he rubbed them.

"There are a few old guys who have worked at the auction house their whole lives and have handled thousands upon thousands of items."

Occasionally, I'll come across one or two items that I like, and I'll buy them at the insider price and keep them.

"After I retired, we moved. My wife thought it took up too much space, and my children thought it wasn't worth much, so they asked me to help them get rid of it."

He took out something wrapped in velvet and weighed it in his palm.

"Among this batch of contraband, there are two items with labels."

Upon hearing this, Richard's gaze focused on his hands.

Clement opened the velvet cloth to reveal a bronze badge.

The badge is larger than a regular military medal, with a relief of a soaring eagle on the front, clutching a sheaf of wheat in its talons, and a green gemstone inlaid on its chest.

"This badge was bought by an old colleague of mine from an estate auction."

Clement placed the badge on the cabinet.

"The owner of the estate is a retired military officer whose family has been based in Yorkshire for three generations."

The exact date of this badge is unknown, but judging from the degree of oxidation on the bronze and the style of the relief, it is at least 150 years old.

Clement touched the emerald on the eagle's breast with his fingernail.

"My former colleague added a handwritten note to the remarks section:"

The material of the green stone is unknown; it is neither malachite nor turquoise, and it appears to have been treated with gold.

Richard moved closer.

The panel has changed.

The number slowly climbs from its current value, at a rate similar to that of the Sun Seal.

In stock.

He didn't rush to touch it, but continued listening to Clement's explanation.

"This badge has been in the hands of my old colleague for almost ten years, and he's always kept it in his study drawer as a paperweight."

Clement shook his head.

"His wife passed away last year, and his son works as a lawyer in Beijing and doesn't want to go back to his hometown."

The old man lived alone in a large house and began sorting through his belongings.

He said these things had been with him for most of his life, and it would be a pity to throw them away, but he was afraid they would be ruined if he sold them, so he asked me to help him find a suitable buyer.

As Clement spoke, he pulled out an even smaller cloth bag from under the cabinet.

The bag was tied with a red rope, and when it was untied, a ring was poured out.

The ring is made of silver, with a cross and a circle engraved on its face, one of the oldest sun symbols in the Western Continent.

It predates the Greek Apollo sun wheel by several centuries, and can be traced back to the Celtic and even earlier Stonehenge era.

"This ring belongs to another old colleague," Clement said, placing the ring next to the badge.

"He was in charge of silverware and jewelry appraisal. When he retired, he picked out a few pieces from the leftover stock and took them home. This ring was one of them."

The identification label reads, "Silver ring, origin unknown, dating to approximately the 17th century, with symbols on the ring face that appear to be religious or guild markings."

Clement ran his thumb along the cross symbol on the ring face.

"The second type of label was added by himself."

He wrote in the remarks column: "The silver purity is exceptionally high, exceeding the standards for silverware of the same period."

Richard devoted half of his attention to the control panel.

The ring's ether seeps out slightly faster than the badge's, at approximately 0.015 per minute.

"How much are both items?"

Clement pulled a handwritten price list from under the cabinet.

"The badges cost my old colleague two pounds to buy, I'll sell them to you for three pounds."

"The ring cost me one and a half pounds, I'll sell it to you for two pounds."

"Two items together, five pounds."

Five pounds.

Richard mentally calculated his cash reserves.

The Cicero Cup prize money was thirty pounds. After deducting train tickets, shoes and coats for Evelyn, oil lamps, sun stamps, daily allowances and household subsidies, plus the accumulated income from tutoring... there was still more than twenty pounds left.

Five pounds is not a small amount, but it is within his means.

"Can."

Clement nodded and tore a receipt from the ledger.

Richard took his wallet out of his inside pocket, counted out five one-pound notes, and placed them on the counter.

Clement took the money and handed over the receipt.

Richard folded the receipt and put it in his pocket, then looked at the boxes on the counter and floor that hadn't been fully opened yet.

"Mr. Clement, among this batch of ordinary antiques, are there any that you feel are difficult to sell?"

The old man was locking the money in the tin money box when he heard this and looked up.

Why are you asking this?

"I'd like to buy one or two more," Richard said frankly.

"This time you're getting your own stuff from your old colleague, so the shipping costs and favors are all costs."

Unsold items already have thin profit margins, and those sold through private channels are even more likely to result in losses for the sake of publicity.

"I'll buy a few more regular items to help balance out the total cost of this batch of goods."

Clement's hand rested on the lid of the money box.

"Young man." The old man closed the lid of the money box, and the lock clicked shut.

"How old are you?"

"Almost seventeen."

"That's sixteen years old." The old man shook his head.

"You don't need to worry about these things for me."

"but……"

"I worked at Stuart for thirty years," Clement interrupted him.

"The savings I've accumulated over the past thirty years are enough for me to keep this little shop running until the day I close my eyes."

He tapped the counter with his finger.

"The shop is small and the location isn't great, so the rent is only £12 a year, which I can afford. The cost of goods fluctuates every quarter, but I know what I'm doing."

"The shipping costs and favors for the personal items sent to former colleagues are indeed costs."

But when those old guys asked me to handle their things, they weren't expecting to make any money in the first place.

Clement stood up from his chair, walked around the cabinet, and stood in front of Richard.

The old man was about half a head shorter than Richard and looked up at him.

When I said I would invest in you, I meant it.

"Investing means I put my capital on you, and when you become valuable in the future, I will take back my principal and interest."

"I'm not asking you to start paying off your debts right now."

He extended a finger and tapped Richard's chest.

"The most important thing you should do right now is to spend your money wisely."

"Buying two marked items for five pounds is called spending money wisely."

"Spending a few pounds on vases, old jewelry, and brass candles to gather dust at home—what do you call that? That's called being a sucker!"

Richard opened his mouth, but was silenced.

Clement patted him hard on the shoulder.

"If you really want to help me, then study hard and walk your own path."

"Once you've established yourself in the capital, if my two grandsons run into any trouble, it'll be more useful for you to help them out than if you buy ten pieces of junk now."

After the old man finished speaking, he turned around and went back behind the cabinet to rummage through his belongings.

The newspaper at the bottom rustled twice. The old man had his back to him, only the top of his gray head was visible.

Richard stood there, clutching the two cloth bags in his hands, unsure of what to say.

"What are you still standing there for?" came the old man's impatient voice from behind the cabinet.

"It's getting dark, hurry home and have dinner."

"……good."

Richard put the two cloth bags into his schoolbag.

"Mr. Clement, thank you."

"You brat, get lost."

With a tinkling sound, the door closed behind them.