The bustle of Silk Street fernted under the afternoon sun.
Luke set up his temporary stall at a relatively quiet corner where the foot traffic slowed.
An old wooden table and a small piece of faded linen canopy overhead, just enough to block the harsh sunlight.
The location was chosen cleverly — not eye-catching enough to draw investigation, yet not so remote that no one would stop.
After sending off two Gold Cloaks who had softened considerably after receiving a "care fee" of one silver coin, Luke steadied himself.
He didn't rush to display all his goods. Instead, he quietly observed for a mont first.
Silk Street lived up to its na.
The air was thick with the mingled scents of face powder, cheap but pungent perfu, roasting at fat, sour ale, and a certain indefinable atmosphere of indulgence and desire.
Brightly dressed n and won moved through the crowd like colorful fish: noble youths wearing house sigils, rchants with large rings on their fingers, rcenaries with tal plates embedded in their leather armor, and lightly dressed, heavily made-up prostitutes in sheer gowns…
Voices, string music, horse hooves, and street vendors' cries all boiled together in one noisy cauldron.
Once he confird that no one was paying special attention to the new stall owner, Luke carefully took out his goods from the gray backpack.
Unlike the shouting vendors on both sides, he didn't yell. He simply arranged the items neatly on the table, creating an eye-catching display all on its own.
On the left: two slender, deep-green glass bottles containing clear, pale-green liquid — floral water. The labels had long been torn off, leaving only simple curved patterns on the bottles.
In the middle: ten small, rounded glass bottles of wind oil essence. Unassuming in appearance, but full in quantity.
On the right: three distinctly shaped glass bottles — one elegant like a swan's neck, one short and plump with cut diamond patterns all over, and the last one flat and square with sharp lines. Inside were the cheap perfus he had bought from Pinduoduo. The flashy packaging had been completely removed, leaving only the crystal-clear bottles and the variously colored liquids gently swirling within.
Under the slanting afternoon light, these glass items refracted tiny sparkling gleams. Compared to the crude pottery and wooden wares around them, they looked completely out of place — and extrely eye-catching.
Almost the mont he finished setting up, people were drawn over by the shiny gleam.
The first to stop was a scarred rcenary in a silk robe with a short sword at his waist, his eyes sharp as blades.
He picked up a bottle of wind oil essence, weighed it, squinted at the brown liquid inside, and asked in a heavy accent: "Alchemy potion? Or poison?"
Luke was prepared. He motioned for him to open and sll it.
The rcenary suspiciously pulled out the stopper and took a sniff.
A strong, cool, complex scent of mint and camphor rushed into his nose. He shivered all over, eyes brightening: "Strong stuff! Clears the head?"
Luke nodded, using simple words and gestures: "Repels insects. Refreshes. Rub a little. Headache, insect bites — works well."
He pointed at his own temple and arm.
The rcenary clearly beca interested, especially after hearing "repels insects" — vital for n who often slept outdoors.
"How much?"
Luke raised one finger, deliberately sounding a bit uncertain: "One hundred… silver stags?"
He waited for the counteroffer.
The rcenary frowned: "Too expensive! For such a small bottle."
But he didn't leave. His gaze slid toward the three perfu bottles.
"What about those? Scented?"
Luke picked up the swan-neck bottle, gently removed the stopper, and fanned the opening with his hand.
A mixed floral fragrance drifted out. Though cheap by modern standards, in this era such a pure, rich, and long-lasting scent was still rare.
The rcenary leaned in for a deep sniff and showed a playful smile: "For won?"
Luke nodded, then pointed at the other two bottles: "Different scents."
He nad an even more shocking price: "Ten gold dragons per bottle."
The rcenary sucked in a sharp breath, looking at Luke like he was crazy: "Robbery! Ten gold dragons could buy good wine for a whole year!"
But Luke remained calm and indifferent, clearly willing to walk away if the price wasn't t. His mind didn't seem entirely focused on selling quickly.
After much haggling, the rcenary finally bought one bottle of wind oil essence for fifty silver stags, muttering "I'll try it," while steering clear of the perfus.
This was only the beginning.
As the sun moved westward, more people gathered around Luke's stall. The glass bottles themselves were rare, and what they contained was completely unheard of.
A well-dressed man who looked like a rich rchant's steward showed strong interest in the floral water. After asking about its uses — repelling insects, removing odors, leaving a fresh scent — he bought one bottle for ten gold dragons, saying he wanted to "present sothing new to my master."
Several noble ladies walking together were drawn by the perfus. They clustered around the stall, chattering excitedly, their noses especially sensitive to scents.
In the end, three of them, clearly of high status, each paid ten gold dragons and took the three distinct perfu bottles.
They imdiately tried them on their wrists and behind their ears, drawing low gasps of envy from their companions.
Wind oil essence was popular with older people, those with chronic headaches, or anyone who simply liked the strong cooling sensation. Prices ranged from fifty to one hundred silver stags.
During all this, there were occasional greedy or malicious glances at the shiny bottles.
But when they noticed the Gold Cloaks occasionally patrolling nearby and seemingly paying slight attention to the stall, and saw that Luke himself, though silent, showed no fear, most of them dropped the idea.
As the sun set and lanterns lit up Silk Street, the noise grew even louder.
Luke's stock was almost sold out.
Two bottles of floral water, ten bottles of wind oil essence, and three bottles of perfu — all gone.
He didn't restock. Seeing that it was enough, he quickly packed up his stall.
A rough calculation: just this afternoon on Silk Street, he had earned three hundred gold dragons and five hundred silver stags!
Adding the nearly thirty gold dragons from selling sugar and salt on Silent Sisters Street that morning, today's total revenue exceeded three hundred and forty gold dragons!
And that didn't even include the scattered copper coins and foreign Essosi currency.
He didn't leave imdiately. Instead, he sat down in the corner of a relatively clean-looking tavern nearby, spending a dozen copper pennies on a mug of ale.
He only touched it to his lips for appearance's sake and didn't drink much.
He sat quietly, Bluetooth earphone hidden in his ear, the translator in his backpack silently working, collecting all kinds of fragnted conversations flowing through Silk Street at night: market prices, opportunities, rumors…
He needed more information.
Even more, he needed a place — quiet, hidden, sowhere he could rent long-term or even buy as a base.
Flea Bottom was too chaotic, Silk Street too busy. He wanted a stable pivot point for traveling between the two worlds.
While concentrating, the earphone translated a fragnt of conversation from a few drunk rcenaries at the next table:
"…over by the Mud Gate… there's an old house… the owner ran off to Braavos after owing gambling debts… selling it cheap… it's a bit remote, right by the Blackwater Rush…"
Luke's ears perked up imdiately.
Near the Mud Gate? By the Blackwater? Remote… old house… selling cheap?
He slowly took a sip of the ale that didn't really suit his taste. Under the dim yellow lantern light, a glint flickered in his eyes.
Perhaps it was ti to go take a look.
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