I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Chapter 169 Saint Anne's Spring

On the morning of January 4th, the team assembled at the town entrance.

The director was a burly man in his forties named Jenkins.

He had a thick, reddish-brown beard that moved as he spoke, making it look like a squirrel was hanging under his chin.

The team consisted of seven people: Jenkins, Richard, and five hiking enthusiasts.

Of the five people, three were retired railway workers, one was a secondary school teacher from Manchester, and the other was a local wool merchant.

"Young man, how old are you?" Jenkins glanced at Richard before setting off.

"Almost seventeen."

"Seventeen?" Jenkins's beard twitched. "You came alone?"

"one person."

"Have you traveled a long distance?"

"Passed by."

"How long?"

"The longest single-day distance was five miles."

Jenkins' expression fell, and he didn't ask any more questions.

Before the team set off, he took out a folded map from his backpack and spread it out on the old boundary marker at the entrance of the town.

"Today we're taking the northern route."

He pointed to several markers on the map with his finger.

"This route takes two days to complete. On the first day, we travel north along the hill ridge to camp near Sainte Anne's Spring, and on the second day, we circle back."

"St. Anne's Spring?" The high school teacher leaned over to look.

"That's the official name," Jenkins smiled. "We also call it 'Maiden's Spring'."

Why is it called Maiden Spring?

"It's an old local legend," Jenkins said, folding the map.

"About four hundred years ago, there was a girl in Osborne named Anne Moore, the daughter of a local miller."

That year, a plague broke out, and Anne herself contracted it. Her family sent her to a small wooden cabin by a spring in the mountains for isolation.

"And then?"

"Anne didn't die in the end."

Jenkins' account was vague: "She stayed by the spring for a month, the plague passed, and she walked back to town on her own."

"The people in the town believed that the spring saved her, so they named it 'Girl's Spring,' which was later renamed 'St. Anne's Spring' by the parish."

"Is it really that effective?" the wool merchant asked from the side.

"I can't say for sure," Jenkins shrugged.

"The older generation believes in these things. Every early spring, several women from the city will come specifically to fetch a pot of water to boil, saying it can cure cold-related illnesses."

"Most people think there's nothing there, just a very clean mountain spring."

Upon hearing this, Richard felt a slight stirring of inspiration.

He remained silent, mentally reviewing the results of the stone reading.

"Unfinished business", facing north.

If there really is something at Saint Anne's Spring, then the results of reading the stone method will match up.

The group headed north along the ridgeline of the hills.

In winter, the hills are bare, and only the gray-brown branches of the photinia bushes remain, crunching underfoot.

The wind blew in from the west, carrying the scent of earth and withered grass.

Richard walked in the middle of the group, his steps steady and his breathing even.

Both breathing and walking operate automatically, with each step perfectly synchronized with the breathing cycle.

Director Xiang glanced at him, somewhat surprised; he had thought this young boy would be a hindrance.

After walking for about two hours, the group rested in a sheltered mountain hollow.

Jenkins took an iron kettle out of his backpack and placed it on the portable stove to boil water.

"Here, have a hot drink."

He poured everyone a cup of strong tea.

The tea was very hot, and Richard held the cup with both hands, letting the steam warm his face.

"Young man, what do you do?" the secondary school teacher from Manchester asked, leaning closer.

"student."

"What are you studying?"

"Classical literature," Richard said, taking a sip of tea. "Latin, Greek, and the like."

"Oh?" The teacher's eyes lit up. "I teach literature. Have you read Gibbon's *The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire*?"

It was a monumental work of 3.8 million words, covering everything from the golden age of the Roman Empire to the Reformation in the 16th century.

Richard cautiously replied, "I've read the first three volumes."

"The first three volumes!" The teacher slapped his thigh. "I've been teaching for over ten years, and not a single student in my class has been able to finish the first volume."

"The first volume was indeed a bit dry," Richard admitted. "But it gets better from the second volume onwards."

The two started chatting about Yoshimoto.

As the conversation progressed, the topic shifted from the Roman Empire to the ruins of the Roman Wall within the empire, and then from the ruins to the local history of Yorkshire.

Three retired workers also joined in.

"Do you know where the name Osborne comes from?" one of the workers asked.

"In the ancient Albion language, 'Os' means god and 'burn' means stream, so together it means Stream of God."

"Huh!" The worker's eyes widened. "I've lived here for decades and I never knew!"

"What about Whitcomb?" another worker pressed.

"'Whit' means white, and 'combe' means valley, so it's White Valley."

"What about Sheffield?"

"Sheaf is the Sheaf River, and field is a field; the field beside the Sheaf River."

"What about Briston?"

"The word 'Bris' may come from the Celtic word 'brys,' which means hill, and 'ton' means settlement, a settlement on a hill."

The three workers looked at each other, their eyes filled with amazement.

"This young man has a huge dictionary in his head."

Jenkins, listening nearby, was equally astonished by Richard's erudition.

"Alright, finish your tea and let's continue." He stood up to tidy up the stove. "We need to be at the camp before dark."

The group continued north, and around 2 p.m., they reached a fork in the road.

Jenkins stopped and reopened the map.

"Two roads," he pointed out to everyone.

"One route goes directly to the camp, taking half an hour; the other takes a detour, passing Sainte Anne's Spring, adding forty minutes to the journey."

"Shall we go take a look at the spring?"

"Look!" the teacher immediately raised his hand.

"Look!" Three retired railway workers chimed in.

"...I have no objection." The wool merchant stroked his beard, which was almost as thick as a goat's. "It's only an extra forty minutes of walking anyway."

Jenkins glanced at Richard.

"Young man?"

Richard nodded: "Sure, go ahead."

The group turned onto a side road.

The side road was much narrower than the main road, with thickets of thorns towering overhead on both sides.

Some wool was hanging on the thorn bushes.

It's probably because sheep walked through here in the summer, and their wool got caught on the thorns, so it didn't fall off until winter.

After walking for about twenty minutes, the road began to slope downhill.

The slope wasn't steep, but the stone slabs underfoot were covered with a layer of moss, so you had to take each step carefully.

The group descended to a small ravine.

The valley is surrounded by three stone walls, with a small stone-built pool in the center.

The pool was about three steps in diameter, and the water was full to the rim, the surface of which was as still as a piece of glass.

On the north side of the pool stands an old stone tablet, half-buried in the soil.

"This was erected in 1487," Jenkins said, pointing to the stone tablet. "The parish erected this tablet for the spring after the plague subsided that year."

"The inscription on the monument looks like Latin." The teacher leaned closer to look. "Young man, can you read it to me?"

"Saint Anne's Spring, 1487 AD," Richard read aloud.

"That short?"

"It's that short."

"...I thought it would take longer." The teacher was a little disappointed.

Richard remained silent.

He was using his spiritual vision to see the monument.

Beneath the surface of the monument lies a second layer, obscured by the rough Latin script on the surface.

The characters on the second layer are older, representing an early variant of Celtic ancient script, with strokes that are almost entirely curved.

Richard recognized several:

"Tobar" is Gaelic for "spring".

"na nIngean", meaning girls.

"Faoi an mBrat", under the curtain.

Taken together, it roughly means: "The Spring of the Maidens Under the Curtain".

This spring was marked more than four hundred years ago.

Richard used his spiritual vision to look into the spring.

Beneath the surface, however, lies a different scene.

There are no stones or mud at the bottom of the water.

The bottom of the water was a slowly flowing, extremely pale gray light.

The gray light was not deep, not dense, and not aggressive, like a very thin veil spread on the bottom of the water.

This is a weak point in the curtain, but it is very shallow.

The water is so shallow that it is completely harmless to ordinary people. At most, they will feel that the water here is cooler than other places and that drinking it can help them breathe.

It is basically harmless to those of lower rank. Richard stood by the pool, his microcirculation being "sucked" by the spring water very slowly.

But he only took one puff before stopping; the spring itself meant no harm.

The grey light in the water even had a... comforting power.

He remembered the story Jenkins had told him.

Four hundred years ago, Annie Moore lived by this spring for a month and survived the plague.

The seepage from this weak point served as a "mild balancing" effect for someone whose body had been tormented to the limit by the lesions.

Richard squatted down.

"Hey kid, what's up?" Jenkins asked.

"Have a drink of water."

"Is it clean?" the wool merchant asked with some doubt.

"Clean," Jenkins answered for Richard.

"For hundreds of years, I've never heard of anyone getting diarrhea from drinking the water here."

Richard cupped a handful of water in his hands.

The water was very cold.

He brought it to his lips and took a sip; it had a very faint sweetness as it went down his throat.

He silently said to himself, "Thank you for this spring."

The gray light seemed to have "heard" it.

The water surface stirred, the ripples spread, and disappeared at the edge of the pool.

[Perception] The progress has jumped another step.

Richard stood up.

"How is it?" the teacher asked him.

"The water is very good."

"Clean?"

"It's clean and has a slightly sweet taste. It would be great to put it back in to make tea or soup."

"Then I'll have a sip too."

The teacher squatted down to scoop up water.

Three retired workers also joined in, scooping up water.

The wool merchant was the last to squat down.

Before squatting down, he muttered, "I have tap water at home, why would I drink this?" but he still took a sip.

Jenkins stood by and watched.

"The director isn't drinking?" The teacher looked up.

"I've had it many times," Jenkins waved his hand. "It's for the guests."