I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Rogers has been coming home later and later lately.

It wasn't until 10 p.m. that he pushed his old bicycle all the way back to Kuangzha Lane from the west of the city.

Richard knew perfectly well why.

After deducting household expenses from his monthly salary, my father could only save a limited amount.

He needs to raise the money for his son's first year of school before he starts school in the fall.

Rogers came in and was somewhat surprised to see his son standing in the kitchen.

"Still not asleep?"

"I've been waiting for you." Richard placed the bowl of porridge on the table. "Mom said you haven't been eating properly these past few days."

Rogers rubbed his frozen hands and sat down at the table.

He first took the Sheffield tobacco tin out of his pocket.

Richard looked at him by the light of the fire.

My father's face is even thinner than it was a few months ago.

His eye sockets were sunken, and the stubble on his chin hadn't been shaved for three days.

Richard sat down opposite him.

"dad."

"There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

Rogers stopped scooping porridge and looked up at him.

Richard took the separately folded twenty pounds out of his pocket and placed it in the center of the table.

The banknotes were spread out between the two men.

Rogers stared at the money for a while, then looked up at his son.

"Where did the money come from?"

"I earned it myself."

"It's all the money I've saved up, from the tutoring fees at the Dawn family home, the remaining prize money from the Cicero Cup, and the stipends from my study tours with my teachers."

The kitchen was quiet for a while.

"It's a good thing you're saving money."

After a long pause, Rogers spoke:

"I'll keep it for myself. When I go to the capital in the fall, I'll need flowers everywhere."

Richard pushed the money toward his father.

"This twenty pounds is for my family."

Rogers frowned.

"I didn't expect you to start supporting a family right now."

"I know."

"Then what are you doing?" Rogers pushed the money back.

"If word gets out that a student like you is bringing money home to help support the family, what will people think of me?"

Richard didn't touch the money that had been pushed back.

He looked at his father's thin and stubborn face and spoke out the words he had prepared long ago, one by one.

"Dad, I'll be eighteen next year."

Rogers didn't respond.

"I am responsible for the expenses of this family."

You and Mom know exactly how much I eat each day. My appetite has increased in the last six months; I eat more than you do now.

"If I have a share of the expenses, I should also have a share of the contribution."

"I'm not here to support your family; I am a member of this family."

Rogers looked down at the stack of banknotes on the table and didn't say anything.

The son saved up little by little with the tutoring fee of three shillings an hour, the manuscript fee of one pound for an essay, and the subsidies he earned from running around.

Behind every banknote is a story of someone he watched grow up.

Rogers stretched out his right hand and gathered the money.

"...Anyway, it'll be for you to use in the future." He said in a muffled voice.

………………

Greenwood issued a final confirmation of his intention to pursue higher education.

Next year will be Evelyn's final year of high school, and this letter is for her.

Whether it's the preparatory course pathway or the technical college pathway, this time it needs to be decided in black and white.

At the dinner table, Evelyn placed the letter on the edge of her bowl, ate a couple of mouthfuls of rice, and finally made her point clear.

"Dad, I've made up my mind. I'm not going to apply for preparatory courses."

Rogers' soup spoon stopped in mid-air.

"I want to apply to the baking department of the Imperial Culinary Academy in Beijing."

No one spoke at the table for a moment.

The mother, Margaret, slowed her hand as she poured porridge for her son.

Richard also stared at the bowl of porridge, without saying a word.

Rogers put the spoon back in the bowl, not in a hurry to lash out.

He can spend an entire day arguing with a load-bearing beam on a blueprint.

But when it comes to his daughter, he always goes around in circles.

"I didn't say baking was impossible."

That's the truth; he chose the heart-shaped mold for Christmas himself.

When I was choosing, I specifically asked if I wanted a thicker copper layer that would allow for more even heat transfer.

His daughter loves to bake, and he doesn't stop her from doing so.

"But can't Briston learn this skill?" he continued.

"Old Lambert on North Street makes jam tarts, and half the city comes to buy them."

"If you want to learn, I'll talk to him and let you be his apprentice. He'll teach you step by step; it's no worse than going to some academy."

"Lambert sells breakfast."

Evelyn's neck stiffened instantly.

"The Royal Culinary Academy is the best baking school in all of Albion. Graduates receive a diploma that allows them to work in the kitchen of the Royal Hotel or open their own workshops..."

"The Royal Grand Hotel is in the capital," Rogers interrupted her. "The academy you mentioned is also in the capital."

He emphasized the word "capital" with extra force.

"Hundreds of miles away, a girl lives at the school and you don't see her all year round."

He scooped up another spoonful of soup, brought it to his lips, then put it down again: "You're only sixteen."

Evelyn's temper flared up instantly.

"Brother is only seventeen." Her voice suddenly rose eight octaves.

"Your brother went to study in the capital, and you worked overtime every day to save up for his tuition, and you didn't even come home to sleep."

"When it's my turn to say I'm going to the capital, I'm suddenly considered a girl who can't be seen anywhere?"

This sentence left Rogers speechless.

Richard secretly kicked his sister under the table.

This girl, when she gets anxious, she can even drag herself into it.

Evelyn was kicked, glared back at her brother, but ultimately didn't dare to push him any further.

Rogers remained silent, his face grim.

He picked up the bowl of soup and drank it sip by sip.

Richard understood this clearly.

What the father was stuck on was never "baking" from beginning to end.

The heart-shaped mold from Christmas has already passed this hurdle.

What was truly nagging at him was that Evelyn was also going to the capital.

………………

After dinner, Evelyn stayed in Richard's room and refused to leave.

She sat on her brother's bed, hugging her knees, looking aggrieved.

"Brother, say something fair."

She showed the notebook to Richard: "I've been saving this up for two years."

Richard took the notebook and flipped through it.

The colored pencil drawing of the cake on the cover has faded.

Inside, page after page, were densely packed with recipes, oven temperature charts, and records of reasons for failure.

The latest pages are the iterative notes of the "Jazz Rabbit" series.

From the moment Mr. Rabbit collapsed, to reducing the sugar by half a spoonful and the amount of cinnamon, I remembered every single detail clearly.

On the very last page, Evelyn drew a rabbit wearing a graduation cap.

Next to it was written a line of text: "This is Professor Rabbit, majoring in baking and minoring in stealing food."

Richard was amused by this line of text.

"Brother, don't laugh." Evelyn snatched back the notebook. "I'm serious."

"I know you're serious." Richard's smile faded. "I have a question for you."

"What?"

"You want to study baking in Beijing, is it because you genuinely love baking, or...?"

Richard looked at his sister: "Want to come with me?"

Evelyn's face flushed red instantly.

She buried her face in her knees and remained silent for a while before lifting it up.

"Both." Her voice trailed off. "I really love baking, you know that."

"But...but you're leaving. Mom said you'll be studying and taking exams in the capital."

"I might end up teaching there like my aunt, only able to come back a few times a year."

"If I stay in Bristol to work... you're in Beijing, I'm in Bristol, and we'll only see each other around Christmas."

Evelyn held the notebook in her arms.

"I'm going to study baking in Beijing, firstly so I can do what I really love, and secondly..."

She envisioned her brother going to a university in the capital, while she herself would attend a culinary academy in the capital.

The two people live in the same city and can meet up on their days off.

When her brother gets tired of writing his thesis, she, as his younger sister, can take care of him anytime.

This was Evelyn's plan.

Richard's heart softened.

My younger sister is usually stubborn and argumentative, but her simple-mindedness is so touching that it brings tears to my eyes.

"Okay, I'll help you with this."

"Really?" Evelyn's eyes lit up.

"Really," Richard replied.

"But you'll have to face Dad's hurdle yourself first. I'll be there to help you pass on the message."

"Dad..." Evelyn sighed, "He definitely won't agree."

He was reluctant to let you go with him, Richard sighed, without making it clear.

………………

On Saturday, Rogers had a rare full day off.

In the afternoon, he sat on the living room sofa and read an outdated copy of "Engineer's Weekly".

Richard placed his sister's cake notebook on his father's lap.

Rogers put down the newspaper and looked down at the notebook with its faded cover.

"What is this?"

"It's Evelyn's." Richard sat down opposite him. "Dad, take a look."

Rogers opened the notebook.

He translated very slowly.

I turned the pages one by one, from the earliest crooked recipes to the increasingly neat temperature comparison tables later on.

Rogers stopped on the last page, at the image of the rabbit professor wearing a graduation cap.

"Major in baking, minor in sneaking snacks."

He let out a hum, it was impossible to tell whether it was a laugh or a sigh.

"Dad," Richard began to persuade him.

"I've asked around about the Royal Culinary Academy."

That's the truth; he did ask Sophia, his senior, for help.

"It's a proper school, and graduates get diplomas. Being a pastry chef is a respectable profession in the capital."

"If Evelyn really learns this trade in the capital, she can open her own workshop and earn much more money than she would as a clerk."

The living room was quiet for a while.

Rogers put the notebook aside.

He stopped looking at his son and instead focused his gaze on the living room window that faced the alley.

Outside the window, several neighborhood children were playing wildly.

"You're leaving this autumn."

Rogers suddenly said.

"Um."

"God's University, get into your grandfather's circle."

Rogers' voice was low: "That... the world your mom told me not to ask too many questions about."

Richard's heart leaped into his throat.

In the end, the father managed to break through that thin layer of paper.

Rogers, an ordinary engineer, has upheld the belief of "we rely on ourselves" for more than a decade.

He didn't ask about his wife's past, nor did he delve into that unseen world.

He only draws pictures on his own little plot of land, supports his family, and lives a down-to-earth life.

But he's not stupid.

He watched his son change over the past six months.

Those midnight outings, the incomprehensible and dubious "study abroad subsidies," and the Ashford family's sudden change in attitude...

He didn't ask anything, but he saw it all.

Rogers stared at the playing children for a long time.

A light rain started to fall outside, and the children scattered in a flurry.

He turned his gaze back to the cake notebook on his lap.

"If you want to leave, I can't stop you."

"Now your sister is leaving too."

"One went to university, and the other went to a culinary school; they both went to the capital one after the other."

"This house... next year it will just be your mother and me left."

………………

At the dinner table, the confirmation form for further education had been filled out.

Rogers filled it out by hand.

In the "Intended Purpose" section, he wrote "Technical Specialty, Imperial Culinary Academy of Beijing, Baking Department".

After finishing writing, he put down his pen and pushed the confirmation form in front of his daughter.

"I'll take the exam next year. If I don't pass, I'll go back to Briston. That's my bottom line."

"You'll pass!" Evelyn grabbed the confirmation letter.

"I'll show you I got first place in the exam!"

"Having ambition alone is useless." Rogers scooped up a spoonful of soup. "You still put in too much cinnamon."

"I'll use half a spoonful less next time!"

"You also said to add half a spoonful less last time."

"This time they'll really release less!"

Margaret, the mother, was picking out vegetables for the next day and didn't get involved in the father and daughter's bickering.

Her hands were picking vegetables a little slower than usual.

Richard held his bowl of porridge and looked at the people at the table.

The father was scolding his daughter for her cinnamon, but he was scooping soup with an unusually slow hand.

The mother picked vegetables, glancing every now and then at her daughter's face, which was a mix of crying and laughing.

The younger sister held the confirmation letter in her arms, protecting it as if it were her cake notebook.

By this time next year, two seats at this table will be empty.

But right now, it's still packed full.

"elder brother."

Suddenly, his sister pushed the freshly baked gingerbread rabbit in front of Richard.

Richard picked up the rabbit.

"What is this?"

"Of course, it's still Professor Rabbit," Evelyn said smugly. "He's going to God's Capital with both of us."