I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Chapter 156 New Year's Eve and Crossing the Curtain (Bonus Chapter 12 for Monthly Tickets)

Briston, Slag Lane.

In the Williams family's small living room, the fir trees still stood in the corner, but most of the Christmas decorations had already been taken down.

Margaret wrapped the glass ball containing the little golden angel in cotton again and put it back in the box in the attic.

Evelyn sat at the dining table with an open book, "The Complete Book of Eastern Continent Desserts," in front of her.

"Dad," she looked up, "have you ever eaten red beans?"

"I've eaten." Rogers sat on the sofa reading the newspaper.

"How do you feel?"

"...So-so." Rogers shook his head. "People around here don't eat many beans."

"What if we used red beans to make a dessert?" Evelyn pressed, "with cream and butter?"

Rogers put the newspaper down.

"Your brother isn't here, so I can't help you with this."

"Dad, weren't you against me opening a bakery?" Evelyn said with a hint of slyness, "Why have you suddenly softened your stance these past few days?"

"When did I object?" Rogers scoffed. "I just want you to finish your studies first."

"And now?"

"Right now, I still hope you focus on your studies first." He reiterated his point: "You need to do both."

Evelyn stuck out her tongue.

Mother Margaret came out of the kitchen carrying a plate.

On the plate is a semi-circular red bean pie, which is the first experimental product that my daughter made today according to "The Complete Book of Eastern Continent Desserts".

"Want to try some?" Margaret placed the plate on the table.

Evelyn cut off a triangular piece and handed it to her father.

Rogers took it and took a bite.

"……good."

"Dad!" Evelyn exclaimed, "What does 'not bad' mean?"

“‘It’s alright’ is ‘it’s alright.’” Rogers finished chewing the last bite. “I can swallow it, but it won’t make me want a second bite.”

"..."

"Evelyn," Margaret said, pressing down on her daughter's shoulder.

"Your dad's taste is the strictest standard for judging whether a food can 'fill an average person's stomach.' If he says 'it's okay,' then it's actually acceptable."

"real?"

"Really," Margaret smiled.

Evelyn cut herself a piece, took a bite, chewed for two seconds, and then frowned.

"...It's not sweet enough." The little girl honestly admitted, "There wasn't enough sugar."

"Then make another one, and adjust it until it's just right."

"It's too late," Rogers glanced at the wall clock. "It's almost midnight."

"It's New Year's Eve tonight." Margaret glanced at him. "Anyway, nobody can sleep."

Rogers no longer objected.

Evelyn ran back to the kitchen to prepare a second serving.

"Your brother hasn't called yet."

Margaret took the plate and placed it on the table:

"He previously said that it would be inconvenient to make phone calls during his internship, but he could send letters."

"Write a letter?" Evelyn blinked.

"I'll mail it out first thing tomorrow morning, and it should arrive in a couple of days."

"...But I don't have anything to write about." The girl seemed a little embarrassed.

"Write down whatever comes to mind." Margaret patted her daughter's head. "Just tell your brother about what happened at home this week."

Evelyn glanced down at the red bean pie recipe notebook in her hand.

"...Is it okay to write about food?"

"sure."

Rogers folded the newspaper and unfolded it again:

"Your brother will be away for a week, he must be craving home-cooked meals, so writing about food would be best."

Evelyn's eyes lit up.

She turned and went upstairs, quickly returning from her room with a stack of things in her arms.

The pen tip made a scratching sound on the paper.

The girl's pen suddenly stopped halfway through the third page.

She put down her pen, jumped up from her chair, and ran back to the kitchen.

When he came back, he was holding a small tin can in his hands.

The tin can contained the leftover red bean paste from the red bean pie she baked today.

She scooped out a little bit with a small spoon and pressed an irregular fingerprint on the lower left corner of the letter.

After pressing her fingerprint, she drew a small arrow next to it and wrote a few words on the arrow.

The mother leaned over and took a look.

"...What does this mean?"

The little girl smiled mischievously: "Let him smell it, consider it a gift sent from home."

"The red bean paste went bad as soon as it got to his hands," the father revealed the cruel truth from the sofa.

"..."

"Just draw one with ink," the father suggested. "Your brother is smart; he'll be able to guess what you're drawing."

Evelyn considered for a moment, then blotted the red bean paste with blotting paper.

The blotting paper absorbed most of the moisture, leaving a yellowish stain on the surface.

She used a pen to redraw the outline of a red bean pie in the blank space next to the mark.

Next to the red bean pie, she drew a small, smiling rabbit.

The rabbit is holding a pie of the same shape in its hands.

"...Who is the rabbit?" the mother asked.

"I."

"Why a rabbit?"

"Because rabbits love to steal food."

Evelyn stopped writing at the beginning of the fourth page.

She glanced at the wall clock, which pointed to 11:45.

"What's your brother doing over there right now?" she asked.

"She's sleeping," her mother replied.

"...Then I'll write that he's sleeping."

The pen tip began to scratch again.

As Evelyn finished writing, she put down her pen, held the letter up to the light of the kerosene lamp, and looked at it one last time.

Margaret heated the sealing wax on the envelope and dripped a drop onto the seal.

She took the wedding ring out of the sewing box and pressed the family crest on the sealing wax.

"Send it to the postman when he passes by tomorrow morning at eight o'clock."

"What about the stamp money?" Evelyn asked.

"I'll pay for the stamps," the mother replied readily. "It's just four pages of stamps; our family can afford it."

"...Four pages, how much are the stamps?"

Threepence.

"...Then I'll contribute a penny." Evelyn pulled a copper coin from her small purse: "Mom will pay the remaining two pennies."

"Okay." Margaret accepted the copper coin.

The clock struck twelve.

The new year has arrived.

Rogers folded up the upside-down newspaper and placed it on the armrest of the sofa.

He finally found the right newspaper.

"Dad," Evelyn called out to him.

"Um?"

"Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year," Rogers replied.

"mom."

"Happy New Year," Margaret said before her daughter could speak.

"Could I have another piece of red bean pie?"

"...Eat."

Evelyn ran to the kitchen to cut the pie.

Margaret put the envelope into her apron pocket.

The snow was still falling outside, and the first bells of the New Year rang out from the Anglican Church in the distance.

The chimes swirled among the chimneys, landing on the windowsills of every house.

………………

On the morning of the first day of the new year, at the southeast corner of the exterior wall of Whitcomb Mill.

Richard was crouching against the outer wall, conducting final checks with Mrs. McNeil before their nightly escapade.

His right hand was covered in silver powder.

Mrs. McNeil walked up behind him.

She squatted down next to him and gestured to the inscription.

"Alright, I've checked it several times already."

She took a pocket watch out of her pocket and glanced at it.

"Let's call it a day, then we can make it back for lunch."

"it is good."

Richard's hands were numb from the cold.

In the highlands during winter, the temperature is so low that you have to keep even an ink bottle tucked inside your clothes.

Once the ink freezes, the inscription cannot be drawn.

He flexed his fingers, and his knuckles cracked several times.

Mrs. McNeill squatted down beside him, watching him tidy up the odds and ends.

"Richard, how many people are in your family?" she suddenly asked.

"Four people." Richard continued, "Father, mother, sister, and me."

How old is your sister?

"She's a year younger than me and still in middle school," Richard said, smoothly transitioning the conversation. "She's always been talking about wanting to open a bakery."

"A bakery?" Mrs. McNeill said, somewhat surprised. "A bakery in Briston?"

"She's still thinking about it." Richard shook his head. "The initial plan is to finish high school first, and then go to the capital for further studies."

"They have big ambitions."

"She has loved making desserts since she was a child."

"Did you do a good job?"

"...Some were pretty good, some were just so-so." Richard didn't make any definitive statements: "Last week, the scones she made, my dad said, were only passable in appearance."

Mrs. McNeil chuckled beside her.

Richard wiped the ink and silver powder off his hands with a damp cloth.

Mrs. McNeill.

"Um?"

How many people are in your family?

Mrs. McNeil didn't mince words and answered directly, "My parents are still alive, living in a small courtyard in the old city of the capital."

"I also have two younger brothers, one serving in the navy and the other a primary school teacher in the capital."

"...Are they all ordinary people?"

"They're all ordinary people." She nodded. "I'm the only one in my family who went into this line of work."

Why?

"When I was a child, I realized that I saw things from one more perspective than others."

When I was twelve, I saw an old lady pacing around the street corner in front of my house.

I ran to tell my mom that there was an old lady walking back and forth at the door.

My mom went out to look around and came back saying there was no one at the door.

I pulled her to look again, but she still couldn't see.

"And then?"

"Later, an old cat died in the neighbor's house."

Mrs. McNeil's expression was not good: "After the old cat died, the old lady disappeared."

"..."

"My mom took me to see a doctor, and the doctor said I wasn't sick."

Later, my mother took me to see an old pastor. After learning the whole story, the pastor gave my mother an address: No. 7 Huayue Street.

Richard wisely refrained from asking further questions.

After finishing the final maintenance and returning to the hostel, Edmund, Maggie, and Theodore were already at the table.

Mr. Hutton sat in his usual spot.

"Sir," Richard sat down opposite him, "you'll be in charge of today's incantation portion?"

"What exactly is it...?"

"You'll find out tonight," Mr. Hutton smiled. "You should rest today. After dinner, go back to your room and sleep until the afternoon."

"...Sleep until the afternoon?"

You need to be extra alert tonight.

"Any state of fatigue will be amplified tenfold by the 'crossing the bridge' at night."

Richard nodded.

"Then what do we do?" Maggie asked.

Mrs. McNeil began assigning tasks:

"You four, go and move the carved name stones to the mill cellar."

Mr. Hutton had already marked the exact location with chalk.

"That's it?" Theodore asked.

"That's it." Mrs. McNeil nodded. "After the Name Stone is moved, come back to sleep."

………………

At five o'clock in the afternoon, the landlady knocked on Richard's door.

"get up."

Richard opened his eyes and instantly became fully awake.

[Sleep] Lv.2 brings a waking reaction, making you fully conscious within five seconds.

He went downstairs, and dinner was already prepared.

The bowl contained a dark brown, thick soup with a peculiar smell.

It's a bit like medicinal wine, and a bit like the broth for stewing meat, but much thicker.

"This is the last meal before crossing the curtain, a special 'calming soup'."

Mrs. McNeil explained, "After drinking it, the body's stability inside the curtain will increase by 30% to 40%."

"Three to four tenths?" Theodore's eyes lit up.

"Um."

"Then I'll have another bowl."

"One bowl per person." Mrs. McNeil shook her head. "If you drink another bowl, your stomach will protest."

Richard picked up the bowl and took a sip.

It has a bitter taste with a sweet aftertaste, and your stomach will feel warm immediately after swallowing it.

The heat rose all the way up to the Sun Throne, and the leaves of the light tree opened completely.

He finished the whole bowl of soup.

"Let's go." Mrs. McNeil stood up.