Salted Meat and the Three-Gold-Coin Tag

One lump of salted pork, and three gold coins.

Sitting in this deserted corner where the wind just sweeps the dust, polishing unsold horseshoes all day, I didn't expect that man from the northern village to track me down. He thrust a greasy package into my hands, saying, "Thanks to that amulet, my mother's headache is completely gone."
It was just a kite's bone. A piece of garbage I picked up from some bushes and tied with a fancy thread. It had absolutely no power. Yet, it cured his mother's pain. This isn't the first time. Back then, it was a child's fever.
Every single thing I sell as "authentic" is a sham. And yet, the people who buy them somehow turn them into the real deal on their own. If that's how it works, then what on earth was the point of all those nights I spent flipping through dusty catalogs, studying "appraisal" behind Garon's back?

I look down at the blue stone necklace in my hands.
I tore off the tag that said "two gold coins" yesterday, dipped my brush deep in ink, and rewrote it: "three gold coins."
When Mio comes back, she'll probably stare at this new number in silence again. She might despise me for raising the price. Let her.
It's not that I don't want to sell it. I need the money. I have to buy the deed to the "Shelf" back from Orba.
But as I placed the new, ink-scented wooden tag next to the stone, my fingertips felt a little cold.

According to the rigorous investigation of our appraisal department, this necklace is a miraculous relic salvaged from a sunken southern temple...
Or maybe it's just a piece of pretty glass.
Three gold coins.