Dori launched into praise without the slightest reservation. Flattery was second nature to a merchant, but this time, she meant it.
Alhaitham nodded as well—though his thoughts strayed for a heartbeat. He was a man who loved to read; if he had a headset like that, he could listen to music while turning pages, undisturbed. Delightful. He'd already decided: the moment the Music Walkman (MP3) went on sale, he would be first in line.
"Grand Sage Idris," he said, "transforming canned knowledge into a Music Walkman is ingenious. If we market it as a uniquely Sumeru-made product, it can replace the contraband trade entirely. But… it won't be enough on its own to fix Sumeru's economy."
If the device only worked within Sumeru, the market would be too small; tourists wouldn't buy it, and given the state of the wilds, there weren't many tourists anyway.
Idris had anticipated that. He gathered the canister and the two headsets back into the drawer.
"In addition," he said, "the accompanying headset I designed operates independently of the Akasha. Which means: with this Walkman and these earsets, you can listen to music anywhere outside Sumeru as well."
"Truly?!"
Even Nahida, watching quietly from afar, brightened at that. Alhaitham understood at once: if Idris spoke true, this device could become a signature Sumeru export—sold across all seven nations, its name spreading far. Dori's eyes glittered with a different light: profit. If the Walkman really offered on-demand playback, and if the two hundred tracks inside were all high-quality, the returns—while still shy of Liyue's scale—could still ease Sumeru's brutal economic split.
I may be the 'villain' Grand Sage, Idris thought, but I can admit it—I envy Liyue's prosperity. And I want Sumeru to stand in the same light.
He rapped his knuckles on the desk. "As for your… past contact with contraband and canned forbidden knowledge—I won't ask today.
"Scribe Alhaitham. Merchant Dori. I have commissions for you."
He looked from one to the other. "Go back and identify the site, personnel, and processes for a factory to produce the Music Walkman. If your picks are… less than ideal—well, I hear the Alcazarzaray Palace has ample space these days."
Cold sweat sprang to Dori's brow. Tyrant, she thought. Moody villain. She bowed her head like a pecking chick. "R-right! This humble citizen will fulfill the commission!"
Alhaitham inclined his head as well. No penalty had been stated, but he could guess that failing the task would not end well. New Grand Sage or not, this one was no less strict.
"Good," Idris said. "From today, Alhaitham, the Akademiya charges you with oversight of the Walkman factory. If you keep it shipshape, when we launch I'll send you a limited master edition—over five hundred tracks, best of the best."
"Dori, you'll handle operations, manufacturing, and publicity. Do it well, and you'll personally receive ten percent of the Walkman's net proceeds."
"As for the schematics and technical notes, I'll transmit them to both of you via the Akasha."
"Understood," they answered in unison.
Idris gestured to the door. Dori gave a flourishing bow and practically hopped out, all smiles; merchants who wanted money were easy to motivate. Alhaitham rose more slowly. He took two steps, paused—then remembered the song he'd heard through the headset.
Ask the Gods.
A line drifted back to him: "Why does the human world crave the divine?" His gaze sharpened. He looked over his shoulder at Idris still seated in the chair.
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