The argument between Lucien and the old man had undoubtedly become the biggest attraction of the entire appraisal event.
For a while, nearly everyone had gathered around his table.
Collectors.
Visitors.
Experts.
Even people who originally had no interest in antiques at all had wandered over simply because someone shouted loudly enough.
Human curiosity was universal.
Unfortunately, curiosity also had side effects.
Especially when people witnessed an old man get verbally dismantled so thoroughly that he rolled his eyes and collapsed on the spot.
After the ambulance carried him away, an invisible empty zone formed around Lucien's appraisal area.
People passed by.
People looked.
People whispered.
But nobody dared approach.
Lucien sat there silently holding a cup of tea and looked at the empty surroundings.
Then he sighed.
What a shame.
Earlier, he had noticed someone carrying a bronze item of uncertain origin. Judging from the faint aura around it, it actually looked somewhat interesting.
But the owner had only glanced at Lucien—
then glanced toward the direction the ambulance departed—
then decisively turned around and left.
As though approaching Lucien came with life insurance requirements.
Lucien could only watch regretfully.
People really lacked courage these days.
Still...
thinking about that old man's expression before collapsing...
Lucien suddenly felt much better.
The tea even tasted sweeter.
Maybe happiness really did come from comparison.
He had originally assumed nobody would come over anymore today.
Unexpectedly—
only a few minutes later—
footsteps approached.
Lucien looked up.
A young foreign woman had stopped in front of his table.
She looked roughly his age.
Tall.
Athletic.
A high ponytail swayed lightly behind her.
Not overly glamorous, not especially flashy.
But she gave people a clean feeling.
Like the kind of girl who woke up every morning at six to jog before work.
Normal.
Extremely normal.
After today's events, "normal" itself felt precious.
The woman glanced at the nameplate on the table.
"Mr. Lucien?"
"I have a coin I'd like you to help identify."
Her voice carried a trace of uncertainty but remained very polite.
Lucien looked at her for several seconds.
Then silently nodded.
Good.
At least this one didn't seem mentally unstable.
"Sure."
The girl carefully reached into her pocket and placed a coin onto the table.
"It was given to me by a neighbor when I was little."
"He moved away years ago."
"He said it wasn't worth much and told me to keep it as a toy."
She smiled awkwardly.
"I found it while cleaning recently."
"Out of curiosity I searched online..."
"And now I think it might not be as ordinary as he claimed."
Lucien picked up the coin.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The surface carried signs of age, but not enough to count as ancient.
He examined the markings.
The patterns.
The lettering.
A few seconds later he looked up.
"This is a commemorative coin from modern China."
The girl's expression immediately shifted.
"So... not ancient?"
"Not ancient."
Lucien nodded.
"But valuable."
He tapped the coin lightly.
"And more importantly..."
"Yours is a misprint."
The woman blinked.
"A misprint?"
Lucien nodded.
"Production errors increase rarity."
"And rarity creates collectors."
He placed the coin back on the table.
"Current estimated value?"
He paused.
"Around eight thousand dollars."
Silence.
The girl stared.
"...Eight thousand?"
Lucien nodded.
"Assuming you find someone who understands what they're buying."
She looked down at the coin.
Then back at Lucien.
Then down again.
Her expression slowly transformed into disbelief.
A childhood toy.
Eight thousand dollars.
That kind of surprise was enough to leave anyone stunned.
Carefully—far more carefully than before—she picked it up and placed it back into her pocket.
"Thank you."
"Really."
Lucien waved casually.
Small matter.
Compared to escaping Death itself, identifying coins felt almost relaxing.
The girl hesitated briefly.
Then spoke again.
"Actually..."
"I have something else."
Lucien looked up.
"It's not exactly an antique."
"And not really a collectible either."
"I just wondered if maybe you could take a look?"
Lucien considered for a moment.
Then shrugged.
"Bring it out."
"I'll see."
The girl nodded.
From another pocket she removed an object wrapped carefully in old oil paper.
Then slowly opened it.
Inside—
lay a cross.
Slightly rusted.
Old.
Unremarkable at first glance.
But the moment Lucien saw it—
his eyes narrowed slightly.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
He looked up.
Then looked at the girl again.
Her expression remained completely normal.
Confused, even.
No signs of lying.
No strange spiritual fluctuations.
No hidden darkness.
Nothing.
After several seconds, Lucien asked calmly:
"Where did you get this?"
The girl looked surprised.
"A nun gave it to me."
"When I passed by a church."
"She said it was an old item from the monastery."
"And very useful."
Lucien stared at her.
"Religious?"
The girl scratched her cheek awkwardly.
"My mother is."
"I mostly just follow along."
"It's... psychological comfort, I guess."
Lucien nodded slowly.
Then handed the cross back.
"I suggest cleaning the rust."
"And washing it with holy water."
The girl looked confused.
"...Why?"
Lucien thought briefly.
Then answered:
"Old things collect old problems."
"Cleaning helps."
Not entirely a lie.
The cross itself wasn't particularly special.
Modern craftsmanship.
Ordinary materials.
But what mattered wasn't the object.
It was the lingering traces inside it.
Real traces.
Someone had used this cross for exorcism before.
Not decorative use.
Not ceremony.
Actual use.
And judging by the residue—
they had failed.
Lucien could still sense traces of malicious energy hidden deep inside.
Not enough to kill someone.
Not enough to curse them.
But enough to bring trouble.
Unpleasant things.
Bad luck.
Accidents.
The original target...
had definitely been dangerous.
Much stronger than Mary Shaw.
Possibly even comparable to Freddy.
Whoever carried this before probably had a very unpleasant experience.
As for whether it would involve Lucien eventually...
Meng Tou remained completely silent.
No instinctive warning.
No reaction.
Meaning the possibility was small.
Very small.
The girl wrapped the cross carefully again.
Though confusion remained on her face, she still nodded politely.
"Thank you, Mr. Lucien."
Then she left.
Lucien watched her disappear into the crowd.
His fingers tapped lightly against the table.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then he sighed.
"America really is interesting."
Cults.
Evil gods.
Haunted objects.
Failed exorcisms.
Dangerous supernatural leftovers appearing in random pockets.
You could walk down a street and accidentally begin a horror movie.
Truly...
surprises existed everywhere.
The appraisal event ended several hours later.
As people gradually left, the producer personally walked over smiling brightly.
He practically looked ready to hug Lucien.
"Thank you very much for cooperating today."
The man grabbed Lucien's hand enthusiastically.
"I sincerely hope we can work together again."
Lucien looked at him.
Then smiled politely.
He naturally assumed this was simple courtesy.
What he didn't know—
was that in the producer's mind:
Lucien wasn't an appraiser.
He was television ratings wearing human skin.
Sharp tongue.
Handsome face.
Ridiculous situations.
Perfect.
Absolute perfection.
Meanwhile, Lucien packed his things calmly.
After the old man's incident, many people realized something.
Lucien wasn't harsh.
He wasn't cruel.
He only became merciless toward idiots.
If treated politely—
he acted perfectly normal.
As a result, every remaining appraisal afterward proceeded smoothly.
No more trouble.
No more arguments.
No more ambulance incidents.
Everything ended peacefully.
Days later—
the edited appraisal program aired.
Surprisingly—
Lucien himself appeared in the preview.
And not just briefly.
The editing team shamelessly used his confrontation with the old man as promotional material.
Within days—
the sharp-tongued young appraiser began attracting attention online.
People discussed him.
Searched his name.
And eventually—
someone discovered the location of his antique shop.
Business immediately improved.
More visitors.
More customers.
More curiosity.
Some entered just to look.
Some entered to meet him.
And some actually bought things.
Though transactions weren't huge...
Lucien felt quite satisfied.
At least the store finally felt alive.
One afternoon, after sending off a young working couple, he turned back toward the shop entrance.
Just then—
Jamie walked in.
The moment he saw Lucien, he laughed.
"Business seems good lately."
Lucien looked up.
"It'd be strange if I wasn't happy."
Jamie stared for a moment.
Then his expression became slightly strange.
"Lucien..."
"Did you forget something?"
Lucien blinked.
"Hm?"
Jamie folded his arms.
"What about discussing payment with Scarlett?"
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Lucien froze.
Then suddenly remembered.
Ah.
Right.
Scarlett.
Meanwhile Jamie looked at him with increasingly complicated eyes.
That was Scarlett Johansson.
Famous.
Beautiful.
Popular.
And Lucien had completely forgotten she existed.
Jamie stared at him.
Then stared at the antiques.
Then back at Lucien.
Suddenly—
a terrifying thought appeared in his mind.
...Did this man actually plan to spend his entire life with antiques?