I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Chapter 243 Social Circles (Bonus Chapter 27 for Monthly Tickets)

The Classical Society's tea party is scheduled for the afternoon of the first Sunday in June.

Isabella attended with Richard.

Before going, his aunt explained the whole story to Richard in her office.

"Don't treat today's tea party as a routine social gathering."

Isabella explained as she straightened her clothes.

"It serves as a prelude to summer training programs."

"The training program will officially begin next Friday."

There is a little over a week between today and the start of classes.

A long-standing tradition of the Classical Studies Society is to hold a tea party on the Sunday before classes begin, bringing together the most important participants for the year's training.

"Let's meet him beforehand." Richard nodded.

"Yes, so you can meet them in advance."

Richard thought of those familiar faces from before.

"Those guys from the Cicero Cup will all be here today."

Isabella saw through his thoughts.

"Montagu, Blackwood, and Phillips from Harrow School, all three of them enrolled in the program this year."

You'll most likely run into them on this occasion.

Richard felt more confident.

Those people who had competed against each other in the Chapel of St. Augustine were about to meet again in the same place after half a year.

Then, his aunt established the "unspoken rules" for the tea party for him.

"By the way, there's something I need to explain to you first."

"First is Professor Mortimer's letter of recommendation."

Richard felt a chill run down his spine.

"That letter is your biggest card."

Isabella's voice was slow.

"If someone brings it up in this setting, you can admit it, but you absolutely cannot bring it up on your own initiative."

Richard roughly understood what the other party meant:

"It means that the more you bring this card out, the less significant it becomes. The more proactively you bring it out, the more it makes you seem insecure and like you're showing off."

Isabella smiled, quite satisfied: "Not bad, your comprehension is still so high."

She added one last thing.

You might meet some unfriendly people today.

Remember, no matter who the other person is, you have the Ashford family behind you, you have me, you have Professor Mortimer. You are no less than anyone else.

"……yes."

………………

The tea party was held in a garden villa at the Imperial headquarters of the Classical Society.

When Richard followed his aunt inside, there were already quite a few people there.

The concentration of ether varied among the people in this room.

There were several people Richard could sense danger even before he extended his inspiration thread; these were beings of a much higher rank than him.

Isabella led him through the crowd.

People would nod to her from time to time.

"Associate Professor Ashford."

"Ms. Isabella."

After walking a few steps, a middle-aged man wearing gold-rimmed glasses came up to greet me.

"Ms. Isabella, it's been a long time. And this is...?"

"My nephew, Richard Williams, is in the capital for a summer training program."

"Oh..." The middle-aged man glanced at Richard. "You mean the one who came in second place in the Cicero Cup?"

"Exactly."

"Incredible, incredible, so young and promising."

After exchanging a few pleasantries, the middle-aged man left.

Richard followed behind his aunt, looking at the people in the room.

Scholars, professors, aristocratic children, and official representatives were all in the same room, chatting and laughing, exchanging toasts.

Beneath the smiling faces in this room lies an invisible web of relationships.

The academy and the nobility are intertwined.

Halfway through the tea party, more noise started to occur around Richard.

At first, an old scholar strolled over, carrying a teacup.

"Young man, I heard Old Mo wrote you a letter of recommendation?"

Richard's heart skipped a beat, and he arrived.

He remembered his aunt's instructions: he could admit it, but he couldn't bring it up himself.

"Professor Mortimer's kindness is too much for me, and I am unworthy of it."

"Heh." The old man became interested.

"Old Mo has very high standards; ordinary people don't even catch his eye."

I've known him for decades, and the line of people asking him for recommendation letters could stretch from here to the city gate, but he's never agreed to one.

You're an exception, though. How did you catch his eye?

"I don't know either; the guide asked for it for me."

"A guide?"

"Mr. Hutton, history teacher at Briston Greenwood."

Upon hearing Mr. Hutton's name, the old man immediately lost interest, exchanged a few words, and then took his leave.

As soon as he left, several more people looked in Richard's direction.

Some people took the initiative to come over and chat with him, their words revealing an attempt to win him over.

"Mr. Williams, if you ever go to Imperial University, please come visit us often."

"A young man with such opportunities has a bright future ahead of him."

Some people glanced at him from afar, their eyes filled with indifference.

Richard glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw two young men in dark suits whispering to each other in the corner.

The two people's eyes weren't friendly.

He roughly divided the reactions of the people in the room into two categories.

Those who proactively came forward believed he was a "rare commodity";

Those who viewed him with detachment felt that he was "unworthy of his position."

Richard knew perfectly well that Professor Mortimer's letter of recommendation was indeed a valuable asset.

When this card is put out, some people praise it, while others criticize it.

Those who praise him want to benefit from him, while those who criticize him are jealous of his success.

Whether it's praised or criticized, it shows that this card does indeed carry weight.

As the two were talking, someone in the crowd suddenly waved to him.

"Richard!"

Richard looked in the direction of the sound.

A young man, carrying a teapot in one hand and a book tucked under his arm, was smiling and squeezing towards him.

Phillips, from Harrow School, the guy who "always gets tea".

"It really is you."

Phillips walked over and filled the teacup Richard had placed on the table.

"Try it."

Richard, unaware of the inspiration warning, glanced at his aunt not far away, then took a sip.

The tea soup is mellow and has a long-lasting sweet aftertaste; it's not even in the same league as the kind that waiters carry around the room.

"It's definitely good tea. Where did it come from?"

"The inner room." Phillips gestured toward the depths of the hall.

"The drinks served outside to the guests are the second-rate ones; the good ones are locked in the inner room, reserved for those old guys."

I haggled with the waiter for fifteen minutes and even told him a joke before he finally agreed to give me a pot of tea.

Richard smiled.

Phillips had this skill back in the Cicero Cup.

Wherever you go, you can always find good tea.

"I heard you're also participating in the summer training program?"

"Um."

"What a coincidence, I'm here too."

Phillips put the book under his arm on the windowsill and freed his hand to drink tea.

"We didn't have a proper chat last time at the Cicero Cup."

Richard glanced at the book's cover.

Surprisingly, it wasn't a collection of past exam questions or Greek grammar.

"The Metamorphosis?" (Not Kafka's, the ancient Greek one.)

"Hmm." Phillips said with a hint of smugness, "Good stuff."

"You're using this to prepare for the exam?" Richard asked.

"Of course not," Phillips replied matter-of-factly. "There's no way an Ovid question will pop up on the exam."

"Then why are you reading it?"

"It looks good."

Phillips's statement is perfectly reasonable.

"Look at all these people in the room, they're all as tense as bowstrings."

Reading Tacitus was because I was thinking about that translation question in my exam;

The reason for the back-facing transposition is to avoid making a mistake in front of the examiner.

The book was a stepping stone in their hands; once the door opened, they discarded it.

"I'm different from them." He patted the copy of "The Metamorphosis".

"If you don't study for exams, then what's the point of studying?" Richard teased him deliberately.

"Reading for nothing?" Phillips thought he had heard the biggest joke in the world.

"If you eat a table full of delicious food, and it's all digested in a couple of days, then you've wasted your time eating it all."

If you watch a great show and then forget everything in two weeks, wasn't it a waste of your time?

"That definitely doesn't count."

"It's the same with reading." Phillips took a sip of tea.

"It's very enjoyable to read it for a while, and that's the whole point of reading it."

"Looking at what it will buy in the future, that's not called studying, that's called saving money."

Richard listened to this guy's outrageous remarks with a mixture of surprise and admiration.

The two were drinking tea and chatting when they suddenly sensed that the atmosphere around them had changed.

A small commotion arose in the crowd.

All the guests turned their gaze toward the entrance.

Richard also looked towards the doorway.

A blond young man walked in through the door; it was Alexander Montagu.

He also saw Richard on the other side, and the two nodded politely to each other.

As soon as Montagu looked away, a group of people surrounded him.

"Young Master Montagu."

"Alexander".

Montagu dealt with each person with a respectful yet humble attitude and impeccable manners.

Richard stood at a distance, watching Montagu being surrounded by the crowd.

He previously only had a vague concept of "the people that experts follow at all times".

But at that moment, Richard suddenly understood.

Montagu's aura was different from that of the other scions of prominent families in the room.

No matter how composed others may appear, there's always an underlying caution in them, a fear of making a mistake.

Montagu was different.

His composure comes from the inside out.

It's a kind of composure that comes from "having something behind me that makes me not have to be careful."

"I almost forgot the important thing." Phillips gestured with his chin towards the other end of the hall. "You should know someone."

Following his gaze, a man in a slightly worn suit stood under a pillar, holding a small plate.

He looked to be in his thirties, and there were two untouched pastries on his plate.

He doesn't talk to people, he just watches.

Phillips called the men over.

"Penderlton," he introduced.

"This gentleman is an elder from the Classical Society; everyone in the hall recognizes him."

He's also the miscellaneous affairs supervisor for this year's training program; you'll be asking him for favors a lot in the future.

"He said he's the head of miscellaneous tasks..." Pendleton switched the plate to his left hand and shook hands with Richard.

"Actually, he's the one who arranges beds for a group of young masters and ladies, registers them, and helps them find lost items."

"Richard Williams," Richard introduced himself. "I'm from Briston, here for training."

"I know you." Pendleton picked up a pastry. "You got a letter of recommendation from Old Mo."

"Since we've bumped into each other, I'll show you the way. In the capital, knowing people is more important than knowing how to read."

He raised his hand and very lightly gestured towards the center of the hall.

"The group in the middle, mostly women, consisted of several young ladies from the Earl of Blackburn, accompanied by their respective cousins."

"I've come ostensibly to listen to a lecture, but really to find a suitable match for my daughter."

Richard looked over.

A group of elegantly dressed young people were laughing and chatting.

"The one standing alone against the east wall is a representative sent by the Ministry of the Interior."

Pendleton gestured eastward.

Officially, they were there to observe the ceremony, but in reality, they were there to register names.

The rumors of war grew increasingly intense each day, and the Ministry of the Interior kept particularly careful records this year.

Richard noted it down.

The Ministry of the Interior sent out a roster; this was the government taking stock of how many capable people they had left.

"Go further in." Pendleton tilted his chin toward the depths of the hall.

"Those guys in long black robes, buttoned all the way up to their chins, are from the seminary."

Three or four young people dressed in dark robes gathered in a corner, standing out starkly from the elegantly dressed people in the hall.

Pendleton's hand moved towards the window again.

"You still recognize the one with the red hair, right?"

A red-haired girl stood by the window; it was Catherine.

She held her tea but didn't drink much, and didn't socialize much either, probably because she knew that even if she put her face up, not many people would pay attention to her.

"I recognize him," Richard replied. "We chatted briefly after the Cicero Cup."

Catherine noticed the gaze and turned to give Richard a slight nod.

Richard nodded in return, not letting his thoughts linger on Catherine.

The more you think about something, the more trouble it will cause.

The rest are mostly the same.

Pendleton lowered his hand, about to stop, but then stopped in mid-air and changed direction.

"Oh, there's one more, someone you might get along with."

He was referring to the person in the far corner of the window.

It was a girl, wearing a simple dark dress, without any jewelry.

She was also observing the people in the hall, but her method of observation differed from Pendleton's.

Pendleton was watching the spectacle, while she was watching the rules.

She observed, remembered, and learned which gestures to use for small talk, and which positions to place for which types of people.

What she learned was a set of things that no one had ever taught her since she was born.

Edith Carter.

Pendleton announced his name.

"He's the only one in this year's training program who got in through a recommendation."

Richard's gaze froze when he saw the girl.

He saw a resemblance between the other person and someone else.

"What does 'recommendation quota' mean?" he asked, turning around.

"It's an old rule of the Classical Society," Pendleton explained.

"Each year, one or two additional spots are reserved outside the recommended list for students from underprivileged backgrounds who have a solid foundation."

The money came from the estate of a former chairman.

He himself had been poor when he was young, and on his deathbed he set up a foundation specifically for poor children who couldn't afford to go to school.

"Only one or two a year, and over decades, the number of those who truly rise to the top can be counted on one hand."

Richard looked at the girl in the corner: "What's her background?"

Pendleton continued his introduction, as if he had a thick list of information about the people stored in his mind.

"In a small town in the north, my father carried sacks in the mill."

"When she was fourteen, the Classical Society sent people to the countryside to select promising talents. They found a piece of her copying in a pile of waste paper at a Sunday school."

She painstakingly deciphered the inscription on an old monument in the town's old church, a monument that no one else could understand, word by word, until she had deciphered most of it.

Without a reference chart, without a guide, relying solely on one's eyes and sheer grit.

Richard's heart was gently bumped by something.

It's so similar, it's really so similar.

"How far do you think she can go in the future?" Richard asked.

Pendleton picked up the pastry that had been sitting there for half a day, put it in his mouth this time, and chewed it slowly.

"truth?"

"truth."

"At best, you can only touch the threshold of minor proficiency, but you can't cross it." He swallowed his snack.

"There's no one to support her from above; the door is welded shut. She definitely can't raise the resources for the first oath-taking ceremony on her own."

"Then why does the Classical Society still need to reserve this recommendation quota?"

"Because it's useful." Pendleton put the plate back on the windowsill.

"Running field missions that nobody wants to do, guarding old seals that nobody wants to guard... it's all done by people from privileged backgrounds. The young masters and ladies of wealthy families are too precious to even touch."

Richard thought of the "gear system" his mother had mentioned.

The official system is not full of hunters; those who come from the recommended ranks are probably the civil officials accompanying the army.

"There are exceptions, though." Pendleton brushed the crumbs off his hands. "Holdan, you've heard of him, haven't you?"

"The author of 'Introduction to Curtain Dynamics'." This is a name that resonates far and wide.

"Yes." Pendleton nodded.

"Holdan was born into a family with a special privilege. He was the son of a country blacksmith, and he worked his way up from a privileged position to a lectureship at the Imperial University, where he wrote the book that still holds sway over everyone today."

Richard looked at the girl named Edith in the corner.

She's still watching and learning.

Lillian could have taken this very path.

But she looked down to the other side.

She saw a faster road, a road that could get her mother out of the nursing home.

Edith noticed the gaze, and their eyes met briefly across the hall filled with elegantly dressed noblemen.

She smiled shyly and nodded to Richard.

Richard nodded in return.

End-of-month summary

It's the end of the month, and everyone has witnessed how hard the author has worked this month.

Except for the first few days after the book was published, when I used some saved-up drafts, I wrote almost everything on the spot afterwards.

Regarding word choice and sentence structure, although there are many updates, I try my best to make the text read as well as possible.

Because typing on a keyboard is too tiring, I often lie down and use voice input.

Therefore, there are occasionally some colloquial words (such as "上头", "里头", "外头", etc.), and there are also quite a few retroflex endings.

Sometimes there are some mistakes or omissions, and I am grateful to my fellow readers for helping me find them.

I only slept five or six hours a day for the past twenty-odd days (I went to bed at two or three in the morning and woke up at seven or eight in the morning).

The author of the code was dizzy and lightheaded, his heart was pounding, and he really couldn't hold on any longer...

In the future, I may have to change to updating twice a day, plus bonus chapters for monthly votes.

But then again, it seems like there haven't been any basic updates since it was released.

As long as everyone casts enough votes, I will add extra chapters every day based on monthly votes.

The author will grit his teeth and finish writing the two extra chapters for the alliance leader, as well as the extra chapters owed for the monthly tickets in May.

Actually, when you calculate it this way, the total word count won't be much less.

Normally, I would write 12,000 words a day (about three chapters), and if I was in a good mood, I would write 15,000 words a day (four chapters).

If there are battles or climactic scenes, I will try to update more frequently so that my daily update count can cover that part of the story. I will absolutely not do anything disgusting like stopping short of it.

The bonus chapter for June's monthly votes will only be one chapter for every 2000 votes.

I'm really sorry, but if I get another 1000 votes per chapter, I really won't be able to finish it even if I squeeze myself dry (today's voting will still be calculated as one extra chapter for every 1000 votes).

I still owe so many chapters from May. I can't keep putting them off until the next month, or what would that look like?

To be honest, the author initially thought that he would get a maximum of 20,000 monthly votes this month, but he didn't expect the results to get better and better as he wrote, and now he has 40,000 votes.

Assuming there are 30,000 monthly votes in June, and one or two extra chapters are added every day, the backlog of a dozen or so extra chapters plus the extra chapters already added this month will be made up for.

In addition, there is also a monthly pass extra chapter at midnight on the 1st, which is also a long chapter of about 5,000 words.

I'll push myself one last time. With five chapters plus bonus chapters for monthly tickets, I can update about 25,000 words a day on June 1st.

Considering how hard the author has worked, I'm just asking everyone to give me a few more votes at the beginning of next month QAQ