Chapter <b>139 </b>


    After decades of delving into medical theories, if the old man could concoct the remedy, he would have done it by now, instead of sitting there, clutching an ancient tome, clueless on how to proceed.


    The elder sighed before continuing. “You might want to show this book to folks over at the Pharmacists‘ Guild. Maybe they’ll get something out of it.”


    Wyatt’s eyes settled on the book the old man was offering. Just as he was about to reach for it. James spoke up slowly. “A gentleman does not covet what another cherishes. Since this is a heirloom of your ancestors, it wouldn’t be right for me to borrow it.”


    Wyatt felt a mix of frustration and urgency. “But what about the condition you have…”


    James raised his hand to stop him, calm andposed. “Didn’t Niki say there’s a temporary solution? That will do for now.


    “If only we could find a descendant from the fabled Massolio n, James‘ predicament might easily be resolved.” Niki sighed and paused. Then he added, “However<b>… </b>no one from that n has ever surfaced, so their very existence remains a mystery.”


    Wyatt, recalling the information he had previously gathered, clenched his fists and said with determination, “No matter what it takes, even if <b>I </b>have to dig three feet into the ground, I will find them.”


    Mirabe strolled through the herbal market. Her luck was not too bad, for she managed to find thest ingredient she needed. With her shopping listplete, she pulled out the business card the middle–aged man had given her earlier and headed toward the spice shop listed on it.


    The sandalwood she needed was rare and precious, causing prices to skyrocket, and counterfeits were rampant. When Mirabe arrived at the spice shop, the owner tried to pass off inferior goods from another region, thinking she was just a naive youngdy. But once she exposed his ruse, he quickly realized he was dealing with a connoisseur and reluctantly brought out the genuine article. Although the quality of the sandalwood was somewhat disappointing, it would suffice for her purposes. Without wasting words or asking for special packaging, she paid and left.


    Outside, the sky had darkenedpletely. Delh had called twice already, so Mirabe hailed a cab and headed home. When she arrived, it was nearly eight o’clock.


    Delh, seeing her daughter carrying several bags, felt a surge of pride and began to help her, saying, “It’s good for a girl to go out. Maybe shop for some clothes or jewelry…” However, her words came to an abrupt halt when she inadvertently glimpsed a piece of wood in one of the bags.


    Mirabe, slipping into her house slippers, turned to see her mother’s stunned face and couldn’t help but call out, “Mom?”


    <b>12:18 </b>


    Delh looked up, dramatically pulling the bag open, and said with a pained expression, “Please don’t tell me you went shopping and brought home a rotten plece of wood.”


    Other daughters brought home dresses or Jewelry, or at the very least, some treats. But hers? She brought home a piece of wood?


    Was that normal?


    Mirabe earnestly corrected her, “It’s sandalwood.” The expensive kind at that.


    Delh didn’t care what kind of wood it was. All she knew was that her beautiful, cute, and clever daughter’s image waspletely ruined by this wretched log.


    Refusing to believe it, Delh opened the other two bags and immediately her expression grew even more despondent. One lousy piece of wood was bad enough, but the other bags were filled with equally strange items.


    Delh shook her head, convinced she had opened them the wrong way.