The underground recycling station was tucked away on basement level one of the Old City's Air-Raid Shelter.
A faded sign hung at the entrance: Scrap recycling.
Three flights of steps down, damp air mixed with the smell of motor oil hit him in the face.
Scrapped Psionic Conduits covered the walls, thick and thin pipes wound into coils, gleaming dully beneath the lights.
Su Bai stood at the entrance, folded his old umbrella, and shook off the water.
One glance had been enough for him to memorize the address and password on the slip of paper.
That soggy scrap had washed down a drain halfway here.
He knew storefronts like this.
Back when he worked part-time as a demon hunter, Black Crow's shop had smelled the same.
Except Black Crow dealt in Abyssal Cores, while this place even dared to take military-regulation contraband.
An old man sat behind the counter, wearing reading glasses and a goatee, with a magnifying glass in his hand.
Chen Shu pushed an oilcloth bundle onto the counter.
"A bracelet. Prototype type. Half the wax seal is still there."
The old man unwrapped the oilcloth, brought his magnifying glass close, and examined it for a full minute.
"Military-regulation contraband."
He named his price. "Three thousand."
"Three thousand?"
Chen Shu laughed. "Back in the day, I took a slap from a lord-class while wearing that."
"That's your business."
"To me, it's just a lump of scrap metal." The old man lowered his magnifying glass.
"Thirty-five hundred, tops."
"Five thousand."
"Four thousand." The old man held up four fingers. "Not a penny more."
"Things are tightening up next week. Once I finish this deal, I'll have to close for half a month."
"I checked the wax seal. It's genuine."
He added, "But that's exactly what makes it too