I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Chapter 253 Two Professors

Monday morning, the third week of training.

All the students who hadn't left were called to the lecture hall.

Several associate professors and lecturers were present in the lecture hall.

There were also several middle-aged men, all dressed in formal attire I'd never seen before.

They all wore a badge on their chests featuring a laurel wreath encircling an owl.

This is the logo of the Classical Society.

Pendleton came in early and changed the cushions on the lectern.

Seeing this, Richard had a better understanding of the situation.

Someone from higher up is coming today.

as predicted.

After a while, the oak door at the back of the lecture hall was pushed open.

Pendleton was the first to walk in, but he didn't go in; instead, he turned sideways and opened the door to its widest position.

He didn't speak, but silently gave a look to the few people from the Classical Society next to the main speaker's seat.

Soon, the first person arrived.

It's Professor Mortimer.

The old man was still wearing that very old-fashioned black woolen suit, and the tip of his cane was worn black.

He leaned on his cane in one hand and carried his chipped teacup in the other, slowly making his way towards the podium.

Richard sat in the very center of the first row.

He had been wondering why he was sitting in that position.

Seating arrangements in large classes are always based on the order of registration.

He arrived neither early nor late, and logically he should have been in the middle row, not sitting in this position.

And now, he knows.

After Mortimer entered, another person arrived.

The moment this person appeared, the atmosphere in the entire lecture hall became noticeably heavier.

This is an elderly man with a full head of white hair.

But his white hair is not noteworthy; what is truly surprising is his physique.

The old man was two heads taller than the hunchbacked Professor Mortimer. He wore a meticulously tailored dark gray suit, beneath which was a robust physique that would amaze anyone who saw his silhouette.

Richard quietly observed the two elderly people.

The ether on their bodies was extremely clean.

Even the most perceptive person sitting in the lecture hall could only sense that these two old gentlemen were very dignified.

But that's about it.

But Richard was different.

He sat in the front row, where he could perceive those different things very clearly.

He could sense that both of these old gentlemen possessed an enormous, irrational ether.

Although they had handled it extremely well, and the surface of the water was perfectly still, the weight underneath could not be hidden from him.

If these two old gentlemen had any ill intentions, given their ethereal level, Richard's silver ring would have been absolutely ice-cold.

"Gentlemen."

Pendleton stepped to the podium and cleared his throat: "Today, we have two elders who have taken time out of their busy schedules to give you a lecture."

Professor Mortimer is someone everyone knows, so I won't go into too much detail.

He turned to the side and gestured towards the white-haired giant:

Let me introduce this elder to you.

He is Professor Hector McFee.

These words caused a very slight commotion in the lecture hall.

Richard had also heard of this name.

The author of "The Structure and Evolution of Gaelic Literature".

This book was compiled twenty years ago and still sits on the desk of every freshman in the Department of Classical Studies in Beijing.

The supplementary materials my aunt sent also included a copy of it.

In fact, before meeting him in person, Richard naturally assumed he was the author of the book.

He was an old scholar, hunched over like Professor Mortimer, buried in old books in his middle age.

But when I actually met him, he seemed more like a foreman who had come out of a highland quarry.

A thought flashed through Richard's mind.

McPhee... McPhee...

During winter break, I was in Whitcomb.

The girl from the highlands who interned with him.

Her name is Maggie McPhee.

The two surnames, when put together, differ by only one syllable.

The old families of Gaelic Heights have been expanding outwards for centuries.

There might actually be some connection between this professor and Maggie.

But now is not the time to think about that.

Richard suppressed his thoughts and continued to focus his attention on the podium.

Professor McFee had now arrived at the center of the podium.

"Thank you all."

His voice was somewhat unexpected; it was the proper pronunciation of an old aristocratic son, without a trace of a highland accent.

Richard believed that only someone who had stood on the podium for decades could completely abandon their native accent and develop this manner of speaking.

A blacksmith's physique, a poet's voice.

McFaye: "I shouldn't have come today."

"You're all here to study, so it's really disappointing to have an old man who studies antique inscriptions come here to talk about those long-dead characters."

He gestured with his chin toward Mortimer beside him: "But this old guy insists I do it."

Mortimer, who was drinking tea at the time, put down his cup upon hearing this and slowly spoke:

"McFee, your tea's gone cold."

McFee glanced at him: "...That's your tea."

"Oh?"

Old Mo looked down and examined the cup in his hand carefully: "...Then I misremembered."

Several students in the audience wanted to laugh, but dared not, so they had to hold it in.

Instead of taking out the prepared script, McFee pulled out a piece of chalk, turned around, and drew several rows of vertical lines on the blackboard.

Then, he added some short, slanted lines on both sides of the vertical line.

Long and short, arranged in a neat pattern.

"Does anyone recognize this?"

No one in the audience answered.

Montagu frowned slightly, as if he recognized him, but was not sure.

"This is a carved inscription."

McFee asked and answered himself: "This is the oldest form of writing in Gale Heights, usually inscribed on boundary stones, tombstones, and standing stones next to sacred wells."

A main line with short bars on both sides, labeled with different letters according to number and direction.

Thousands of years ago, the Druids of the Highlands used it to record events, make covenants, and inscribe their names.

Later the Romans arrived, bringing their Latin alphabet.

Later, the monastery came again, bringing their saints.

After layering them on top, the underlying inscriptions were buried.

McFaye put down the chalk and dusted off his hands:

"The first three chapters of the book 'Structure and Rheology' that you all have in your hands are about how to peel back the layers that are covered up."

After hearing this, Richard thought of Whitcomb's twelve boundary stones.

Pre-Roman Celtic foundations, Romanized angular script, medieval ecclesiastical Latin.

They are all stacked up one layer at a time.

McFee: "I'm not going to talk about how to reveal it today."

The methods for uncovering it are already written in the book; you can go and see for yourselves.

I want to tell you something that wasn't written in the book.

He paused for a moment: "Have you ever wondered why the ancients would carve the same name twice?"

They even insisted on carving one copy from bottom to top and the other from top to bottom.

McFaye raised his large hand, gesturing two opposite directions in the air:

"The two portions are placed together, facing opposite directions, but their meanings are complementary."

These ancient true names can only be written, not pronounced.

The students knew that the important part was about to be discussed, and everyone listened intently.

McFaye: "The ancients couldn't destroy those things, so they could only put them in a prison with words."

This prison has only two doors facing each other, but they can never be closed.

Professor Mortimer, who had been drinking tea in silence, coughed lightly at this moment.

He spoke up: "McFee, you've only told half the story."

McFee looked at him: "What do you mean?"

Mortimer: "You only talked about how the ancients locked things, but you didn't talk about how later generations opened them."

In our line of work, what we do is all about "reading".

The ancients locked things into writing. After hundreds or thousands of years, the locks would loosen, the words would corrode, and the ink would fade.

So, it was our turn to sit down and read it aloud, word by word.

He swept his gaze across the students below: "Have you ever considered what would happen if you were to unearth something that has been locked away for thousands of years?"

No one answered in the lecture hall.

Professor Mortimer's gaze swept around the room and landed on the first row.

He was referring to the young gentleman in the very middle of the first row.

Richard stood up.

Professor Mortimer pretended not to know Richard: "What's your name?"

Richard: "Professor, my name is Richard Williams."

Mortimer smiled. "Hey Richard, what do you think would happen if you could read something that's been locked away for a thousand years again?"

Richard's thoughts were racing: "The act itself carries weight."

The reader thinks they are "looking," but what's inside the door is also "looking back" through that gaze.

He paused, carefully considering the words he was about to say:

"So the first thing we students need to do is know which door we can't push open and which eye we can't look into."

Mortimer took a sip of tea but did not reply.

It was McFee who spoke up: "You've read Boundary Stone."

His tone was very confident: "Only someone who has personally broken the seal could say something like that."

"I followed my mentor and did an internship once," Richard said, neither denying nor admitting it.

McFee: "Where?"

Richard: "Whitcom"

McFaye nodded slightly, seemingly understanding, and stopped asking further questions.

He turned around and continued lecturing.

In the engraved text, how were those worn letters pushed back into a circle from the broken strokes?

How did the scribes in the monastery rewrite "the woman of the underworld" as "the devil in the crypt"?

On a standing stone near the Bible on a high ground, the same line of text was changed three times by people from three different eras.

Even now, half of it remains unread.

As McFaye spoke, his intimidating aura subsided.

On the podium, only a gentle and refined old scholar remained.

He revived the writing system, which had been dead for thousands of years, word by word.

Richard was sitting in the first row, closest to the podium, and therefore felt it most clearly.

For a moment or two, he read something else.

When scholars talk about those dead texts, they often express some regret.

But what seeped out had absolutely nothing to do with regret.

As he neared the end of his presentation, McFaye put down the chalk:

"You will read a lot of things later."

Some people can understand it, while others will never understand it in their entire lives.

I'd like to offer you all a piece of advice.

Don't force yourself to read parts you don't understand.

Put it aside for now. When you reach a higher rank, look back, and things might not be the same as before.

Professor Mortimer interjected, "Reading is something that can't be rushed."

"My old friend is right."

McFee: "If you don't understand something, just put it down and don't read it for now. I've lived this long, and the things I haven't read are taller than my bones."

But I'm not in a hurry.

Read it slowly, and in the end, all the monsters and demons will just be an article that can be revised and erased.

He paused, glancing at the students: "Does anyone have any further questions?"

Still no one replied.

But this is perfectly normal.

With two experts standing on the platform, even those scions of noble families who considered themselves born into privilege dared not easily raise their heads to look directly at them.

After a long silence, someone in the back row raised their hand.

Richard turned his head to look.

It's Phillips.

After this guy stood up, he had a bad feeling.

"Professor McFaye."

Phillips remained languid, even in the presence of two great experts:

"The student has a question that's unrelated to inscriptions, but it's something that's been bothering him for a long time and he'd like to ask."

McFee: "Speak."

"I've heard that there's a type of whisky in the Highlands that's smoked with peaty and aged in sherry casks, and the taste is absolutely unparalleled."

Phillips even gave a thumbs up: "Professor, you're from the Highlands, could you perhaps tell me which brewery makes the most authentic brewery?"

Upon hearing this, the lecture hall fell into a deathly silence.

Montagu sighed.

Richard sighed and rubbed his forehead in exasperation.

Several members of prominent families turned their heads and glared at this reckless fellow.

On the podium, Professor McFee's rugged, chiseled face tensed for two seconds.

Then, he couldn't help but laugh.

"Good lad!"

He pointed at Phillips and said, "I've been reciting dead words all morning, and finally you've come along and asked a living question."

He wasn't laughing out of anger; he genuinely began to introduce Phillips:

There is one on Islay, west of the Highlands.

His family's pebbles were thoroughly smoked, and the sea breeze had also cured them thoroughly; each barrel had been aged for a full twenty years.

However, don't go now. You can buy a bottle and try it after the exam.

McFee joked, "If you go now, you won't have to do this training anymore."

Phillips bowed and sat down with a grin.

"McFee, you're abusing your power," Mortimer suddenly said.

McFee: "When did I ever use public resources for private purposes?"

Mortimer: "You used this kid's question to give your own brewery free publicity."

The audience was taken aback for a moment upon hearing this, then burst into laughter.

After the laughter subsided, the lecture came to an end.

Pendleton stepped forward and announced that today's class was over.

"Before get out of class ends, the two professors will keep a few students behind for individual Q&A sessions."

He called out names: "Mr. Williams, Mr. Montagu, Miss Blackwood."