I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Chapter 182 Heavenly Names and Earthly Names

"Come in."

Richard pushed open the door and went in.

The office has been renovated to look quite different from before.

The lesson plan that was originally placed in the center of the desk was moved to the side, and waxed paper was laid in the center of the desk.

A complete sealing circle was drawn on the waxed paper, with twelve silver needles surrounding the circle, all pointing outwards.

Mr. Hutton sat behind his desk, finishing the last stroke on the seal inscription.

"You've come at the right time." He didn't look up. "Take out your bronze plate."

Richard pulled the bronze piece out from the innermost compartment of his backpack.

Mr. Hutton accepted the quill pen.

He took his parchment scroll out of the drawer.

At the end of the winter break sealing ceremony, when the spoils were divided, this parchment scroll went to him, and they agreed to study it together after the start of the new semester.

He had preserved the parchment scroll in excellent condition; the edges were not curled at all, and the color had not darkened.

Mr. Hutton reached out and pushed the parchment scroll on the left side of the table over, then pointed to Richard's bronze plate.

"You went to Whitcomb with the team this time to reinforce the Border Stones."

"The Boundary Stone Array marks the 'boundary' of this seal."

"Boundaries are inanimate things; they only define where the inside is and where the outside is, but they don't function themselves."

"But a truly sustainable seal cannot consist of only boundaries."

"The seal also needs a 'core'."

Richard suddenly realized something.

"...The parchment scroll and bronze tablet, do they record the 'core' that was sealed there back then?"

"Um."

Mr. Hutton leaned back in his chair.

"The boundary stones are buried underground and form the framework of the outer ring of the Whitcomb Seal system."

The job you're doing with us this time is to tighten the screws on the frame.

"The people who built this whole system held a ceremony on the day the construction first began."

The record of the ceremony was divided into two parts and kept by different people.

Over the years, the two records had been scattered and lost, but finally, at the end of this field mission, they returned to the same table.

Richard's gaze fell between the parchment scroll and the bronze piece in his satchel.

"We've worked together these past few days to crack this data, which will be of more help to your empirical text."

"Let's get started."

The old man placed the parchment scroll and bronze pieces on either side of the seal circle.

"Look," he pointed, "the symbols have similar structures."

Richard leaned closer.

Two samples were collected, one of animal hide and the other of metal.

At first glance, the style of the symbols above is completely different.

The strokes on the parchment scrolls are fine and smooth, while the strokes on the bronze pieces are thick and sharp.

But the further he looked, the more he realized that there was indeed a structural correspondence between them.

Similar, but not the same.

"Hmm, tell me your understanding." Mr. Hutton nodded.

Richard pointed his fingertip at the parchment scroll:

"This line of symbols moves from left to right, with each stroke starting from the bottom and rising upwards."

"Go on."

"A line on the back of the bronze plate in the corresponding position."

Richard's fingertip moved onto the bronze plate:

"The symbols move from right to left, with each stroke falling from top to bottom."

A hint of a smile appeared in Mr. Hutton's eyes.

"This is a kind of 'dual'."

"Dualistic?"

"A structure that was very common in ancient Celtic rituals."

Mr. Hutton took out a tightly rolled hemp rope.

He placed one end of the hemp rope on the parchment and the other end on the bronze plate.

"Write two copies of the same set of symbols, one for 'underground' and one for 'heaven'."

He pointed to the hemp rope: "The directions are opposite, but the meanings are complementary."

"So these two parchment scrolls and bronze tablets were originally two records of the same ritual, so why were they separated?"

"The separation came later; initially, they were paired together."

Mr. Hutton took the rope back.

"If you keep reading, you'll discover that the true core of this pair of symbols isn't in their direction."

Richard carefully compared the two samples again.

He used his spiritual vision to fixate on the set of three symbols in the very center of the parchment.

As I held in place, a leaf of the tree inside my chest trembled slightly.

Richard immediately withdrew his spiritual vision; this feeling…

"Is it the name of the person being sacrificed to?"

"True name," Mr. Hutton corrected. "In Celtic rituals, the person being worshipped has a 'true name,' which can only be written down and cannot be passed down orally."

"Why can't it be passed down orally?"

"Any real name that is spoken aloud is released into the linguistic realm."

Mr. Hutton drew a line on the table.

"Language is an extremely active medium on the ethereal level. Once the true name is spoken, the being being worshipped is 'summoned'."

"Then write it down?"

"Writing it down is a different logic."

Mr. Hutton pointed to the set of triptychs on the parchment.

When writing the real name of the "underground" document, the strokes are from bottom to top;

When writing the true name of 'heaven', the strokes are from top to bottom.

When the two parts are combined, the being worshipped is 'locked' within its two sides.

"One name, two sides?"

"The person being sacrificed has two aspects."

Mr. Hutton closed his eyes and thought for a moment:

"You can understand it as the Celts believing that any being with divinity exists simultaneously in the material world and behind the veil."

Richard understood.

He recalled the document "On the Construction and Evolution of Ciphertexts" that he had deciphered at the Imperial University Library.

That book talks about a similar concept, calling it "double nomenclature".

However, that book only mentioned it briefly at the theoretical level and never gave any specific examples.

The pair of parchment scrolls and bronze pieces before us are living examples of this ancient naming method.

"The pair of symbols are now separated."

Richard seemed to sense something.

"What would happen if the two names were deciphered and then put together again?"

Mr. Hutton looked at him, the slight smile in his eyes disappearing.

"You wouldn't want to know."

Richard wisely refrained from asking further questions.

The old man then took out a small pair of tweezers and another wooden box.

"Seal them up today."

He used tweezers to pick up the bronze piece from one side of the seal.

The moment the tweezers touched the copper sheet, Richard heard a very faint hiss.

Mr. Hutton picked up the bronze piece and moved it from the outside of the seal ring to the wooden box on the other side of the table and put it down.

The bottom of the wooden box was covered with a layer of powder. Richard glanced at it with his spiritual vision and saw that it was refined salt mixed with silver powder.

The copper sheet landed on the salt powder, and the faint ether floating on the entire tabletop immediately stabilized.

Mr. Hutton closed the wooden box lid, completing the basic sealing of this item.

He then took out a second wooden box and did the same thing to the parchment scroll.

Two wooden boxes were placed side by side on the left and right ends of the desk.

Richard watched his series of actions.

"Sir, your technique..."

"Scholars encounter a wider variety of things than anyone else."

Mr. Hutton casually replied, "Sealing, divination, trace retracing—these kinds of 'self-defense' skills are something that most people in our line of work need to know a little bit about."

When did you learn it?

"During my college years, I had nothing better to do, so I learned a lot of odd jobs."

He handed the wooden box containing the bronze pieces back to the student.

"Did you remember today's procedure?"

Mr. Hutton glanced at Richard: "Separately sealed, never to be in direct contact in the same space again."

"I've got it."

"From now on, all samples with dual structures will be processed according to this set of rules."

"I've blocked the part about their real names." He continued, explaining the work the two of them needed to do next:

"For the parts that don't involve their real names, there are also records of their rituals, which we can study."

Mr. Hutton sat back in his chair and picked up his white porcelain teacup.

"What the Celts left behind was barbarity and bloodshed."

He took a sip of tea: "But their understanding of the 'veil' is far deeper in many ways than our academic system today."

"They used blood, bones, and hundreds or thousands of years of sacrifice to gain a detailed understanding of the veil."

"The price they paid is something we cannot afford today, but we can learn from their achievements."

"Learn, but don't copy," the old man added as a final warning in his eyes.

………………

When I came out of the office, it was already getting dark.

Richard went around the Greenwood side door and came to a public phone booth on the street corner.

He dropped the coin in and gave Clement's Antique Shop number.

The receiver rang four times before I answered.

"Clement artifact, who is it?"

"It's me, Richard."

"Hey." The voice on the other end of the line was crackling with static: "I thought you'd forgotten about this old man. Where did you go during winter break?"

"North." Richard put his other hand into his coat pocket. "Over there, I can broaden my horizons with the seniors."

"Senior?" Clement pondered the word for a moment. "You're back fully recovered?"

"complete."

"That's good." The old man chuckled, a cough mixed in with his laughter. "It's good for young people to go out and see the world, but while it's good to see the world, don't let yourself get too caught up in it."

Richard steered the conversation back to the main topic, asking if there had been any new items that failed to sell at auction recently.

Clement took a sip of something, and the glass was placed back on the table with a very soft sound.

"No," the old man said truthfully. "Nothing marked 'Category II' will be flowing out of Stuart before next quarter."

"What about the line for retired colleagues?"

"We've taken a break too." Clement's voice was a little hoarse. "The wind direction in the capital isn't quite right."

Several major banks have been stockpiling goods lately, holding onto what they have and refusing to release it, while the smaller distribution channels have completely dried up, with not even a ripple remaining.

"What does it mean that the wind direction is wrong?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.

"They're settling accounts up up there." That was all the old man said at the end.

"I, a secondhand seller, don't know the specifics of what the accounts were calculated."

I only know one rule: every time they start calculating the accounts, the common people below have to tighten their belts.

Richard held the receiver, his mind filled with a multitude of thoughts.

"There's no stock available in the short term, but what I have on hand is enough to last for a while."

He put it more lightly: "You don't need to rush around making arrangements; take this opportunity to rest."

"Hey, I love hearing that."

Clement was also very cooperative:

"These old bones of mine really can't run anymore."

"That's all for now. I'll hang up if there's nothing else."

"Okay, I'll call you again if I hear anything."

The phone rang with a dull thud as the receiver was put back on the copper hook after the call was disconnected.

Richard's gaze fell on the window of the pharmacy diagonally across the street.

The glass medicine bottles that were originally stacked in the shop window were moved aside, and a white paper notice was posted in the space that made room for them:

"Iodine and hemostatic gauze are temporarily out of stock, and the restocking date is undetermined."

Out-of-stock iodine and hemostatic gauze are not uncommon in Bristol.

This city is built on factories, where machines frequently crush people's hands and molten steel burns their arms. The rate at which these things are consumed is naturally much faster than elsewhere.

His gaze shifted slightly towards the pharmacy.

Next to the pharmacy was a funeral parlor with a narrow storefront and an old sign.

In previous years at this time of year, there would be at most two or three unpainted pine coffins leaning against the shop entrance, covered with an oilcloth.

Today, the outline under the tarpaulin was noticeably piled up higher, and the outermost cover wasn't closed properly, revealing a narrow black slit inside.

On one hand, there is a shortage of wound dressing supplies, while on the other hand, there is a stockpiling of items for burying the dead.

The two things were separated by a wall, and the snow at the doorway was the same thickness.

Richard stood in the pavilion, arranging them in his mind.

Briston is changing.

It changes very slowly, hidden in out-of-stock notices and extra coffins, hidden in places that ordinary people can't see or even imagine.

By the time most people can see it, things will likely be beyond what a single notice can explain.

He pushed open the door of the phone booth, and a cold wind carrying snowflakes rushed into his collar.

By the time we got back to the slag heap, it was completely dark.

Evelyn heard the door open and poked half her head out of the kitchen, clutching a wooden spoon covered in flour.

"Brother, why are you so late today?"

"I took a detour to make a phone call."

"to whom?"

"Mr. Clement."

Evelyn came out of the kitchen doorway and wiped the wooden spoon on her apron.

"Is that the old man who sells secondhand goods?"

"Um."

"Why do you always covet other people's secondhand goods?" The little girl wrinkled her nose. "We don't need anything at home."

"I'm not interested in the goods," Richard said, unbuttoning his coat. "I'm interested in chatting with the old man."

"...What's there to talk about with an old man who sells secondhand goods?"

"Let's talk about the market."

The mother's voice came from the kitchen:

"Evelyn, stop blocking the doorway and arguing with your brother. The dough in the mixing bowl is going to over-ferment if we don't do something about it soon."

"Here it comes..."

Evelyn dashed back to the kitchen, dropping a few bits of batter on the floor as she ran.

The snow was still falling outside, but it was warm inside.