TravelingDreamer
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B6—Chapter 63: Spring Cleaning
🕑 Added 2025-08-02 19:19:31 +0000 UTCHi everyone,
The summer vacation saga continues. Tomorrow, my kid is heading to a water park, and I’m tagging along as a chaperone. So, as always, you're getting the chapter early.
Hopefully, I’ll be able to keep up the tradition of early chapters, due to planned activities, for the rest of the summer break.
Have fun,
TD
>>>>>
Less than an hour into my flight toward Saa, it started raining. For the first few minutes, it was the light drizzle I had gotten used to on the lake, but it quickly developed into a serious downpour. It was a mission for my amazing Chameleon Survival Cloak, which I hadn’t really had the chance to enjoy yet. I paid the 300 mana, and it was as if somebody had flipped a switch. From being wet and cold to the bone, I switched to feeling nice, although I was still wet. It also looked funny. I couldn’t see myself fully without a mirror, and well, being invisible and all, but I “saw,” or more precisely, didn’t see, my front and hands. There was only a gray-blue cloak flapping in the wind. With the rain, it wasn’t really a problem, since no one was out and looking up. Still, just in case, I landed, turned visible and invisible again to include the cloak.
What could I say? It’s an amazing cloak and still my best purchase. Flying through pouring rain with icy winds and feeling toasty warm is the best.
I reached Saa in the early afternoon. I could have made it quicker, but didn’t want the water slamming into my face from the speed. The rain stopped about half an hour from the city, and by the time I reached it, I was dry. I circled the city once, looking for a good place to land and open my house discreetly, but there were people everywhere. Lacking a better option, I landed on the roof of a warehouse on the south side of the city and waited for dark. When dusk arrived, more and more people left and locked the warehouses, and by the time it was dark, the area was deserted. I opened my house against a wall, the gang got out, and we went looking for an inn for the night.
The next morning after breakfast, we headed to the teleporter to find out if it was working. A couple of streets from the inn, a woman walked past us. Her arms and shoulders were bare, but her torso and legs were wrapped in colorful strips of fabric in every color of the rainbow, and then some. Even from where I stood, I could see that the fabrics were not just vibrant but also came in a wide range of textures. There was shiny red with black dots, gauze like fabric in purple with orange geometric shapes, white that looked like coarse linen with colorful speckles, and plenty more. If a Brazilian parrot saw her, it would probably feel undervibrant in comparison. On her back, she had more strips of fabric tied at her waist that trailed along the ground like a flowing train.
Mahya nudged me with her elbow. “Someone’s drooling.”
I turned to look at her. “Not really.” I wiggled my eyebrows. “But we do have a lot of colorful fabric from China.”
They looked at me, and I saw the moment they got it.
“We do indeed,” Al said with a smile.
Mahya gave an evil smile and rubbed her hands together like a cartoon villain. The only thing missing was a Mwahahaha.
We set off down the crowded street, dodging tricycles and sidestepping puddles left over from last night’s rain.
“We should ask around and find out who’s buying fabrics,” I said.
“I have a better idea,” Mahya said. “We should rent a warehouse on the riverfront and have them come to us.”
I looked at her, puzzled. “How would that work?”
“That’s how it worked in the capital,” she said, weaving around a group of children playing near a stack of crates. “I went to the riverfront warehouses a couple of times with the guild. It’s an established practice here. Small merchants usually sell their goods directly, one on one, but if you’re offering wholesale quantities, you rent space and let the buyers come to you. They expect that. It shows you’re serious and have enough stock to make it worth their time.”
“How do we rent a warehouse?” Al asked.
“They should have an office in the port for it,” Mahya said. “As I said, it’s an established practice.”
We turned around and headed to the port. Mahya parked us at a café near the entrance and went to ask about a warehouse. In the meantime, I enjoyed a huge cup of orbos with some sweet cheese pastries that I had to share with Rue. Al joined me for the orbos but skipped the pastries. That was a compliment, in a way. He never skipped my pastries.
Mahya came back after about an hour and waved for us to follow. We left the café and crossed the bustling street, weaving between porters and carts until we reached the far end of the riverfront. The warehouse she found wasn’t very big, tucked between a spice merchant’s depot and a building that looked like it hadn’t seen a broom in years. Still, the place had solid stone walls, a wide double door, and good ventilation. Inside, the air smelled of old wood and dust, but the floor was swept clean and the space was dry.
We stepped inside and got to work. One by one, we pulled out all the fabrics from our Storage. Within minutes, the place was overflowing. I stood there, hands on hips, taking it all in. I knew we had a lot, but between the three of us, that was way more than just ‘a lot.’ The floor was packed with at least five hundred rolls of fabric in every color and texture imaginable.
Mahya giggled behind me.
“What?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder.
She swept her arm toward the chaos. “Our individual tastes are very pronounced right now.”
She was right. Our personal tastes were on full display, just by looking at the fabrics we’d picked.
Most of mine were in solid colors. Even the ones with patterns were subtle. A shiny blue fabric with a matte wave design that only showed at certain angles. Black cloth with dark gray leaf patterns you wouldn’t notice unless the light hit just right. Nothing flashy.
Mahya’s pile, on the other hand, looked like a festival had exploded. Vibrant reds, electric blues, bright greens, oranges, purples, and a dozen other colors. Her fabrics were adorned with intricate Chinese-inspired prints: blossoming cherry trees, flying cranes, koi fish, mountains shrouded in soft mist, golden clouds, and entire miniature landscapes all packed into a few square meters of cloth. Everything in her collection was loud and bursting with life.
Then there was Al’s. His choices practically radiated luxury. Fine silk, heavy satin, delicate lace, lush velvet, and intricately woven brocade. The colors were soft and refined, mostly pastels like the ones he always wore. Pale blue, lavender, soft cream, dusty rose. Each roll looked like it came from a boutique with a waiting list and a dress code.
After laughing a little at the differences in our fabric piles, I turned back to the task and continued pulling more boxes from my Storage.
Mahya squinted at one box and tilted her head. “What's that?”
“All kinds of sewing supplies. Thread, buttons, zippers, and whatever else seemed useful.”
She joined me in adding to the suplies.
“That reminds me,” I said, walking to another corner of the warehouse. “I have more stuff.”
I took out large bags of yarn, followed by a stack of boxes packed with knitting needles in every size and material imaginable. Once I was done, I gave my Storage another quick scan to see if there was anything else I could add. Near the back, I found the fabrics and sewing supplies I had “picked up” in Vegas and added them to the piles.
I spotted the leftover clothes from Vegas, the ones that hadn’t sold in Lumis. Only the black ones were left, but it was worth a shot. I grabbed the stack and added them to the piles as well.
Hmm, what else?
There were a few other things I wasn’t sure about, so I turned to Mahya. “Do you think we could sell other stuff here?”
She looked up from arranging her stack of stuff. “Like what?”
“We still have some things from Vegas. Glow-in-the-dark paint, art supplies, office stuff—and that’s on top of everything we bought in China. With the prices here, this might be a good place to sell.”
“That is a good idea,” Al said.
Mahya hummed in agreement.
We kept pulling out more and more items until the warehouse had no visible floor space left.
“Should we check the storage hall in the house?” Mahya asked.
“Yeah, good idea,” I said.
We added a lot of things we’d bought with the gambling and drug money, like bed linen, towels, and blankets, home decorations, and glassware. That reminded me, and I added some odds and ends I had left from the fox’s spire in Lumis, mainly decorative stuff. By the time we were done, the warehouse was almost packed to the rafters.
Al glanced around the warehouse, then folded his hands behind his back. “We need to find someone like that man who assisted you in Lishuan,” he said.
“Master Sho,” I replied, giving a slight nod.
“I’ll go ask around,” Mahya said and disappeared out the door.
I did another inspection in the storage hall, and my Storage, added some last items, and joined Al and Rue in waiting.
Mahya came back about an hour later. “They didn’t have a sales master for the stuff we’re selling available today. We’ll have to wait till tomorrow morning.”
We locked up and went sightseeing. Or more precisely, in Saa it wasn’t about the sights but about the outfits. This city was wild.
When the sales master walked into the warehouse the following morning, we stared. He was dressed in what, on Earth, would be called a surf suit in bright orange with black embroidery of flowers and leaves running along his arms and legs. It was so tight I wondered how he could even walk in it.
“Dear Spirits,” Mahya said telepathically.
Al and I looked at her.
“I can count his pubic hairs,” she said.
I snorted. Al kept his composure, but I could tell it cost him. His jaw was a little too tight, and he blinked just a bit too slowly.
The sales master, in his turn, planted both hands on his hips and stared at the towering piles. He kept shaking his head, muttering under his breath, and his expression radiated judgment. That outfit didn’t help. The man looked like a high-visibility caution sign.
“What is the problem?” Al asked, his tone perfectly polite, though I caught the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“You put too many things in too small a space,” he said, stepping around a pile of yarn and kicking a box of thread aside with the tip of his shoe. “I cannot inspect your merchandise properly to determine which buyers to contact.” He bent down to examine a roll of fabric, then straightened with a sigh. “You need to move everything into a bigger warehouse and arrange it by logical groupings.”
The three of us looked at the mountain of stuff. The chaos spoke for itself. I had to admit, he was right. Al gave a short nod. Mahya sighed. Yeah, they saw it too.
Mahya went and rented a bigger warehouse, and we spent the rest of the day hauling everything over. We left all the sewing and knitting supplies in the smaller one and moved the rest to the additional space. That setup earned the sales master’s approval the following day.
He also showed up dressed more “normally.” Wide, thin white pants that left no doubt he wasn’t wearing underwear, and a flowing light blue silk shirt with no buttons, belt, or anything to keep it closed. His nipples were covered in dark red makeup. We exchanged a glance, suppressed a snicker, and rolled with it. Compared to some of the other outfits we’d seen in the city, this was practically conservative.
“I need one of you to escort me while I inspect and register everything,” the sales master said, glancing between us. “Only after the inspection will I be able to tell you approximately when everything might sell.”
“Follow me,” I told Rue mentally and began inching toward the door.
Mahya caught the movement and narrowed her eyes at me.
“I handled the sales with the cultivators,” I said quickly, hands raised in mock surrender. “Now it’s one of your turns.”
Two minutes later, Al joined me outside.
“How did you manage that?” I asked, eyeing him.
“I am going to the Alchemy Guild to look for recipes to buy. Mainly something to make our alcohol stronger,” he said, completely straight-faced.
“You sneaky bastard,” I said with an appreciative smile.
He winked at me.
Wow.
That was new. Al was coming along nicely with removing the stick from his ass.
I spent the day touring the city, mostly the art quarters. There were sections for painters, sculptors, potters, and fabric designers, each packed with galleries. It was an interesting experience. The art in this world—or maybe just in this particular city—was as over the top as their dress code.
The “paintings” in one gallery had so much metal in them, they looked more like forge projects than anything you’d hang on a wall. The gallery owner proudly claimed the artist was expressing “the hardship of art” through the use of unyielding material.
Whatever.
One sculpture was a massive spiral of glass shards glued to a rotating platform, complete with fog effects that hissed every few seconds.
In the pottery sector, I saw a teapot that stood over a meter tall, shaped like a screaming bird. It came with sound effects. Then there were a series of tapestries that told a dramatic love story between two jellyfish. How did I know? There were captions. In rhymes.
And just when I thought I’d seen it all, I walked into a room featuring a giant floating cube, covered in dripping wax and suspended by four men in robes chanting in a language they made up on the spot. How did I know that? Because I paid the mana, and didn’t understand a word.
The worst, without a doubt, were the “traditional” paintings. I visited six or seven galleries, and while it was clear each display came from a different artist, they all had one disturbing thing in common. The faces of the people in them were either warped into abstract shapes, stretched into cartoonish caricatures, smeared beyond recognition, or fogged over like someone had breathed on the glass. The surrounding scenes were also muted, either through the use of light, almost transparent colors, or by the same fogging-over technique. But the outfits were painted with such precision they looked more like HD photographs than brushwork.
One artist even took it further. Every one of his scenes was set outdoors. Between trees, on a riverbank, or in a desert, and the outfits were alive with motion. They lounged, poured tea, played games, and danced… all without a single person inside them.
Yeah. I really didn’t get their art.
We were halfway through dinner when Mahya came back. She dropped into the chair across from us, set her plate down with a little more force than necessary, and started eating without saying a word.
Al and I exchanged a glance.
“How’d it go?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.
She chewed slowly, then finally said, “The sales will take at least a week.”
I nodded. “Makes sense. We did throw a mountain of stuff at him.”
She didn’t respond, just chewed forcefully.
Al cleared his throat. “Did the sales master say anything else?”
That got a reaction. Her eyebrow twitched, and she pointed her fork at me. “He went crazy over your zippers.”
I blinked. “What?”
“They don’t have them here,” she said. “He asked me what they were, how they worked, how to attach them, whether they were magic. I had to give him a full explanation, while he took notes like I was unveiling a lost artifact.” She leaned back and crossed her arms, still chewing.
I hesitated. “Thanks for handling it. Really.”
She didn’t look at me, but her jaw clenched a bit.
“Anything else?” Al asked, nudging the plate of pickled vegetables toward her.
She picked one up and stared at it for a moment before popping it in her mouth. “He held up the crochet needles and asked what sort of surgical tools they were.”
I choked on my orbos. “Surgical tools?”
She gave me a flat look.
“I told him what they were for,” she said. “But I couldn’t show him. I don’t know how to use them.”
Her shoulders dropped a little, and she stabbed at her food again. Definitely not happy.
I poured her another cup of orbos. “Want one of us to take the next shift?”
She didn’t answer, but her hand closed around the cup and her posture eased a little.
Message received.
The next day, I went to the warehouse, met with the sales master, and demonstrated how to use the crochet needle.
Way back on Earth, right after I discovered the Gates, I attended a workshop on making macramé jewelry. The instructor mostly focused on macramé techniques, but she also taught us the basics of crochet for finer details.
Never, ever, in my wildest dreams, did I imagine I would actually, at any point, end up using that knowledge.
Life has a way of surprising you.
Comments
Angela Roberts
Al's becoming human!
TravelingDreamer
Oops! Thanks
sboss678
Thank you for the Chapter - but it should be 63 instead of 61 :)
