I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Chapter 131 Rare Item Recycling (Bonus Chapter 7 for Monthly Tickets)

Although the Williams family had a landline, it rarely rang.

My father's factory would occasionally call to notify us to work overtime.

My aunt would occasionally call to chat with my mother about everyday things, but the rest of the time it was just sales pitches and wrong numbers.

The phone rang suddenly, and Evelyn poked half her head out from the kitchen.

"Brother, take this, I have some flour."

Richard closed the dictionary and placed it on the sofa armrest, then walked to the small table and picked up the microphone.

"Hello, this is the Williams family."

"Richard?"

A somewhat familiar female voice came through the microphone.

Richard was stunned for a moment before he recognized who it was.

"Is that your aunt?"

"Yes." Isabella got straight to the point.

"Senior Hutton reported on the matter of your signed artifact, and I have read his evaluation report."

Richard frowned.

The old gentleman hadn't mentioned this before, but it makes sense when you think about it.

"Did he suggest the Sphinx lamp?"

"Yes."

Tell me more about the lamp.

Richard repeated what he could say.

The parts involving the panel and the "seed" must be avoided, but the objective information of the artifact itself can be presented in its entirety.

"The lamp came from the auction house's list of unsold items."

Richard said, "The auction house's authentication label reads 'Date unknown, suspected to have been unearthed in the Black Soil River Basin.'"

Isabella let out a soft "hmm".

"Did Hutton mention that this lamp resonates with you?"

"Yes."

Richard did not deny that this was a crucial issue that could not be avoided.

"How long have you been in contact with them?"

"About two months."

There was a moment of silence on the microphone.

Richard could sense that the person on the other end was thinking.

"Two months of contact is not enough to explain that level of resonance."

Isabella directly expressed the same judgment as Mr. Hutton at the time.

Richard's heart skipped a beat.

He was preparing his excuse in his mind when Isabella's voice came through the receiver again.

"But things like Ethereum compatibility are impossible to test, and causal relationships are even harder to trace."

"Overall, it's a good thing, better than I expected."

Richard did not respond immediately.

"What were you thinking about before?"

"Normally, Senior Hutton will assign you a standardized artifact from the inventory above."

Isabella spoke a little slower than before.

"Standardized artifacts are characterized by their clearly defined functions and controllable risks, but their potential is limited."

"The lamp in your hand..." she continued to explain:

"If Hutton's assessment is accurate, its potential is likely much higher."

"How much higher exactly?"

"It's not very meaningful to estimate now," Isabella said. "We'll only know for sure after the signing ceremony is complete."

"Being signed is a lifelong matter."

Her tone softened slightly.

"Make do once, and you'll have to pay the price for that make do every time you go through it."

"It took me almost a year to choose the signature item I had back then."

"A year?"

"One year and three months."

Isabella remembers it very clearly.

"During that period, I visited auction houses and antique shops of all sizes dozens of times, and handled almost all the antiques on display."

"In the end, we settled on an early alchemical manuscript from the Alexandrian school."

Isabella was somewhat proud:

"I used this fragment as the subject of my early academic research, and I wrote quite a few papers on it."

"By the time I signed my name, the parchment had already been read hundreds of times."

Richard understood.

Isabella was telling him from her own experience that the compatibility between the signed artifact and the cultivator determined the stability of the signed mark, and also the stability of future rank advancement.

Making do is just digging your own grave.

"I see."

"Um."

Isabella is back at work.

"I may travel to the northern region for work this winter."

"On business trip?"

"There are several areas in the northern industrial zone with high rates of ether anomalies, and the department sends people to conduct routine field surveys every year."

"I will apply to lead the team this year."

"Then to Briston?" Richard asked deliberately.

"...Yes, I just stopped by on my way."

Isabella confirmed again.

"I need to see your light with my own eyes. When it comes to things like signatures, a report alone isn't enough; I need to inspect it myself."

"it is good."

"The exact time has not been determined yet, the earliest is mid-January, and the latest is early February."

Isabella suddenly changed the subject.

"Speaking of which, Senior Hutton mentioned it in that report as well."

Richard's fingers tightened slightly as he gripped the microphone.

"What should I mention?"

"You have more than one rare item to choose from."

Isabella's voice did not reveal any particular emotional fluctuations.

"There's not much of these strange etheric remains..." Richard carefully continued, "I've basically absorbed them all."

"Hmm." Isabella didn't press the matter.

"Many newcomers have a misconception that since there is very little ether left, the artifacts themselves are no longer useful."

Like a squeezed-out toothpaste tube, it'll just gather dust in a drawer.

"In fact, the few remaining artifacts of ether also have their own value."

Richard was intrigued: "Even an empty, strange object has value?"

"When using a rare object as a sealing medium, the biggest fear is that the medium itself may have its own opinions."

Isabella gave the first example.

"If you use an artifact that is still full of ether to seal something else, the old ether inside will fight with what you want to seal in."

"When seal masters create a seal, they all look for an old object with very little ether left to use as a base."

She smiled and added another sentence.

"The same logic applies to using exotic objects as mediums for spellcasting."

"If you want the procedure to go according to your intention, you need an 'obedient' medium."

The milder the medium's personality, the better; the more established its framework, the better.

As Richard listened, he slowly sorted out the logic in his mind.

The etheric reserves and structural basis of the wondrous objects correspond to two completely different markets.

"So..." Richard tried to continue, "If I had a few empty artifacts, Auntie, could you..."

Isabella was quite composed.

"I don't do those kinds of orders, but there are special channels within the academy system for collecting these kinds of things."

"If you don't have many of those ethers left, instead of letting them gather dust in your drawer, why don't you let me collect them for you on my way?"

"If you're lucky, you might get a new artifact with a reserve of ether in return."

Even if you're unlucky, at least you can get some money back.

Richard held the microphone and gave a soft "hmm".

"I need to take stock."

"Whatever, I'll just check it out for you on my way." Isabella remained noncommittal.

"By the way, is your mom next to you?"

Richard turned his head and glanced in the direction of the kitchen.

My mother was still inside; the tap was running, and the clinking of dishes could be heard.

"In the kitchen."

"Let her answer the phone."

"Hold on."

Richard placed the microphone on the small table and walked to the kitchen doorway.

"Mom, your aunt is looking for you."

Margaret turned off the tap, dried her hands on her apron, and picked up the microphone.

Isabella.

A barely audible response came from the other end of the microphone.

Richard couldn't hear the specifics, but the voice was completely different from the cold, aloof tone he used when speaking.

Before, it was all business as usual, but now it's all soft and sweet like a marshmallow.

Have you eaten yet?

A buzzing reply came through the microphone.

The mother raised her eyebrows.

"It's past 5 PM and you haven't had lunch yet? Do you think you're still 18?"

buzzing.

"Your stomach started growling halfway through the lecture; that's your own fault."

buzzing.

"Biscuits don't count as a meal. Doesn't your office building have a small cafeteria downstairs?"

Richard stood next to the sofa, pretending to flip through a dictionary while eavesdropping.

My mother gave me a few more instructions, which were nothing more than being careful on the way here, not getting so engrossed in reading on the train that I forgot to get off, and calling her in advance when I arrived in Bristol.

Every word of instruction was given, and the other party obediently accepted it.

Evelyn poked her head out of the kitchen, her face full of questions like, "What happened?"

Richard gestured for her to be quiet.

Evelyn quietly slipped out and tiptoed behind the sofa.

"What is Auntie saying?" she asked in a very low voice.

"I don't know," Richard replied in a low voice.

"What is Mom listening to?"

"have no idea."

"...How come you don't know anything?"

"My aunt called my mom, but how would I know what to say?"

Evelyn puffed out her cheeks, but didn't leave.

She pricked up her ears, trying hard to catch what was coming through the microphone.

"...Okay, I'll be careful."

The mother responded again and hung the microphone back on the fork spring.

As soon as she turned around, she saw two children sitting on the sofa, one on each side, staring at her.

"What are you doing?" the mother asked.

"...I didn't do anything." Evelyn shrank back.

"Read a book." Richard held up the dictionary as proof.

Margaret pointed to the chopped onions in her daughter's hand.

"Evelyn, you haven't finished chopping the onions yet."

"...Oh." Evelyn slipped back into the kitchen.

The mother walked over and sat down opposite Richard.

"Your aunt will be coming in a while."

"Yes, she told me on the phone."

Margaret placed her hands on her knees.

"Don't be nervous when you see her. She's always been good with words."

"When she was little, she would braid daisy wreaths in the garden and wear them on her head, saying that she was the Daisy Queen."

When her cousins ​​teased her, saying, "Why is the Queen wearing wildflowers?" she threw the flower wreath on the ground.

"After a while, he ran out again, picked up the wreath, and put it back on his head."

I told my older cousins, "Daisies are the flowers worn by the Queen; you wouldn't understand."

When talking about her sister's embarrassing past, the mother's face beamed with smiles.