I loaded the Mysticism panel.

The morning sun shone brightly in the capital.

Beneath the row of Aegypti columns in the Albion Museum, wide stone steps lead down from the top to the street.

Even after it reached the end, it wasn't enough, as another long line of people dragged it forward along the railing.

As dawn broke, the end of the queue already stretched to the corner of the next street.

Gentlemen in top hats, ladies carrying food baskets, children being led by their parents and rubbing their eyes... all crowded together, peering towards the unopened bronze gate.

The newspapers kept this story going for a whole month.

The largest batch of antiquities from the Heilongjiang River basin in history has arrived in Beijing.

Almost every morning paper took up more than half a page.

Mummies from the Pharaoh era, priest's scepters unearthed from ancient tombs, gilded painted masks...

These words were as fresh as a gust of wind blowing through the desert for an industrial empire that was fed by coal smoke and steam whistles every day.

When Richard entered through the side door, the long line of people was being moved forward section by section by police officers maintaining order.

The side door was reserved for the museum staff and their twenty temporary guides.

The twenty trainees arrived one after another and waited in a temporary lounge.

Montagu arrived at the perfect time, and his composure remained unchanged wherever he went;

Catherine stood by the window with her arms crossed, looking at the long line of people outside;

Edith huddled in the innermost corner, still clutching her ever-present book.

Pendleton was in charge of leading them.

He cleared his throat, and next to him stood a gentleman from the museum, looking completely businesslike.

"Gentlemen," Pendleton began.

"The museum has already explained today's work to you all, but I'll just add a few more points."

"During the day, you will be temporary guides for this museum."

"The museum opens at nine o'clock and closes at five o'clock in the afternoon. During these few hours, everyone who comes in, young and old, has paid money and waited in line."

"Whether you all give the presentations with care and attentiveness, and whether you provide adequate hospitality, is all being monitored by staff at the museum, and these observations will be documented afterwards."

The moment the word "record" came out, several previously carefree aristocratic scions straightened their backs.

This file will be included in the Classics Department's archives along with their names.

The results of the training are finalized, but in the future, when supervisors select students and the college assigns tasks, these bits and pieces of information may be dug up and looked at one day.

"As for the real stuff."

Pendleton gave the gentleman from the museum a wink.

The gentleman accepted it.

"These are the tools you used for your explanations during the day."

He gestured with his chin toward the exhibition halls behind him: "They're all replicas."

A very slight commotion arose in the lounge.

"It was made to a 1:1 replica of the original," the museum staff member said casually.

"Even the rust from the soil when it was unearthed, the cracks from thousands of years of pressure, and the peeling paint... all are perfectly replicated."

When you are explaining, just focus on the original artifact; don't worry about making mistakes or going off-topic.

"Where's the real one?" someone asked.

"It's locked in a closed storage room at the bottom," the museum staff member replied.

"Only after the museum closes and all the guests have left will it be your turn to go down and see the real treasures."

"That's the real practice you're all doing today," Pendleton added. "The daytime is a warm-up, the evening is the main course."

Richard listened and felt reassured.

The museum assigned this task to a graduate student in the Department of Classics, hoping to achieve the best of both worlds.

The Black Soil River Exhibition caused such a stir that several thousand, if not tens of thousands, of visitors came over the weekend. The few old guides in the museum simply couldn't handle it all.

Using these twenty students from the most prestigious universities would be perfect, and it would also be a prestigious brand to the outside world.

These trainees worked hard for the museum during the day, and at night the museum would let them go down to the storeroom to see the real artifacts.

Take what you need.

When the sites were being assigned, Richard was placed in the main hall where the Black Soil River artifacts were kept.

The main hall is the main attraction of this exhibition and also the most crowded.

Placing oneself in the main hall implies a certain level of importance.

Before the doors opened, Richard took a walk around his section of the exhibition hall.

The main hall is enormous, with a dome so high that you need a ladder to clean it.

Right in the center of the entrance, there is a sphinx that is more than two people tall.

The gray-black stone, with half a broken nose, and its crouching posture made people afraid to speak loudly.

Along the base of the walls on both sides are rows of glass cabinets that reach chest height.

Gilded and painted masks, green-glazed figurines, stone tablets carved with birds, beasts, insects, and fish, and painted wooden coffins with their lids half-open...

At the far end of the exhibition hall, a separate high platform with railings has been set up.

A priest's scepter was placed diagonally on the platform, its head shaped like a sacred scepter.

That scepter was the prized exhibit that the newspapers were praising to the skies.

Unfortunately, it's fake.

Richard strolled along, letting his inspiration flow through the glass case.

The entire main hall, from the sphinx to the sacred scepter, was devoid of any echo of ether.

Clean and tidy, all dead.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

If these are all genuine, then the entire hall would be filled with high-class rare treasures.

Just standing in this ethereal field for a whole day would probably put a lot of pressure on him, given his barely-passed entry-level skills.

Since he's currently working on a replica, he just needs to go to work diligently during the day.

It wasn't until the museum closed at five o'clock and the artifacts were taken to the storeroom that the real items were displayed.

"Ding!"

The clock in the museum struck nine times.

The bronze gate was slowly pushed open.

Immediately following was the sound of footsteps.

At first, there were only a few scattered ones, but in the blink of an eye, they gathered into a vast tide.

The first wave of guests poured into the lobby and then dispersed to the various exhibition halls following the signs.

The buzzing of voices filled the entire museum.

Richard stood beside the Sphinx in the center of the main hall, watching the hall, which had been asleep all morning, come alive in the blink of an eye.

The people who came in were roughly divided into two groups.

The first few are the ones who are dressed the most presentably.

Gentlemen in impeccably tailored suits were arm in arm with equally elegant ladies, whose crinolines were so large they almost filled the aisle.

These kinds of customers look at things slowly, with an air of importance, occasionally pointing into the glass display case and making a few comments in a low voice.

Following behind were middle-class families.

The shop owner was accompanied by his manager, while the office clerk led his entire family.

They took advantage of their Saturday off to spend a shilling to come in and have some fun.

This type of person watches most intently, their eyes wide open.

I wish I could memorize every single thing so I could brag about it to my neighbors for half a month.

As for the real working class, they simply couldn't bear to spend a shilling just to see some strange and unusual antiques.

Richard was quickly surrounded by a small group of people.

At the other end of the main hall, several trainees were also giving explanations to their guests.

One of the noblemen, Wade Byrne, was assigned to the spot closest to the main gate.

He led a group of guests, exuding an air of superiority.

But his impatience was obvious even from a distance.

A simply dressed woman timidly asked him what the jar was for.

He didn't even lift his eyelids, gave a dry name, and then turned his face away.

The woman, feeling awkward, blushed and pulled her child away from the crowd.

Edith's side.

The daughter who carried sacks at the mill was usually bullied by the aristocratic children in the training class and dared not utter a word.

But at this moment, she is squatting in front of a glass cabinet, explaining something to a family.

This family was probably stepping into such a grand place for the first time.

The man didn't know where to put his hands, and his wife kept telling the child, "Don't touch it."

Edith crouched down beside them, making herself appear shorter as well.

She looked the two children in the eye and spoke slowly and carefully, one sentence at a time.

She talked about the little green-glazed figurine, how it was placed in the tomb, and the two children's eyes widened as she spoke.

"Miss tour guide," the railway worker couldn't help but ask, "you...you're from Imperial University?"

Edith nodded.

The man clicked his tongue twice, then turned to his wife and said:

"Did you hear that? A big shot from Beijing University is willing to squat down and explain things to our kid."

He turned back and solemnly removed his hat towards Edith:

"Thank you so much. I'll have to make sure my two rascals study hard from now on."

Edith blushed instantly.

Richard witnessed this scene.

Even the most uncouth and illiterate person would have to murmur a few words of praise upon encountering these young people who have achieved the highest level of education at the prestigious university.

The crowd around Richard's side had grown even thicker.

He was talking about the holy scepter.

The sacred wreath on the staff is Thoth, the god of wisdom who governs writing and counting in the Black Earth River Valley…

A minor commotion arose from the outer edge of the crowd.

"Excuse me, excuse me, may I step aside?"

The person who squeezed in was a neatly dressed middle-aged man.

He was dressed in a navy blue woolen suit, with a top hat on his head, the brim pressed down neatly.

He was arm in arm with an equally respectable woman, and in front of her stood a boy and a girl.

The middle-aged man's feet froze when he saw Richard standing in the middle of the main hall.

"My God." He adjusted his hat brim and turned to his wife, "Matilda, look... it's him!"

"Which 'him'?" The woman followed her husband's gaze but couldn't make out who it was.

"That little gentleman on the train!"

The man gestured with his chin toward Richard, his voice brimming with barely concealed smugness:

"The one I mentioned to you last month, the one who went to take the entrance exam for Beijing University!"

Richard heard it too and waved to the man: "Sir, what a coincidence."

"It's more than just a coincidence!" The man rushed forward in a few steps, almost causing his wife, who was holding his arm, to stumble.

"You little rascal, you've probably forgotten about me a long time ago."

On the train, the same journey last month… Crane, Horace Crane.

“Mr. Crane,” Richard took the call, “Of course I remember you telling me about this grand exhibition.”

Mr. Crane clapped his hands and turned to his wife:

"Did you hear me, Matilda?"

This time when we met, I was sure he was already a top student at the Imperial University!

When has my judgment of people, Kran, ever been bad?

Mrs. Crane scoffed, but a hint of pride and smugness crept onto her face.

The Crane family thus smoothly arrived at the very front of Richard's group.

The group walked down the glass case.

Mr. Crane perked up again when he talked about a row of chest-high painted pottery jars.

He leaned closer to the cabinet, squinted, and examined it for a long time.

"These jars," he twirled his short beard.

"It looks like a container for pickling things or storing spices."

I run a food shop, dealing in tea, sugar, and spices. I know these jars and containers best, handling everything from buying to selling.

"It's a person's body," Richard replied.

Mr. Crane was taken aback: "Pretending...pretending to be human?"

"Contains human internal organs."

Mrs. Crane exclaimed "Oh dear!" and hurriedly reached out to cover her youngest daughter's ears.

Her son's eyes lit up, and he eagerly moved even closer.

"The people of the Black Soil River basin believe in these things..." Richard explained in detail.

"When a person dies, their body must be preserved properly so that their soul can recognize it when it returns in the future."

But if a corpse is to remain intact for thousands of years, the easily perishable parts must first be removed.

"The liver, lungs, stomach, and intestines were taken out separately, soaked in medicine, and sealed in these four jars."

Look at the lid of the jar, everyone…

He pointed to the lids of four ceramic jars in the cabinet.

"One is a human head, one is a baboon head, one is a jackal head, and one is an eagle head."

Four guardian deities, one of whom has been watching the same organ for thousands of years.

The boy's eyes widened: "Then...what about the heart?"

"The heart remains in the body," Richard explained.

"People in the Black Soil River Basin value their hearts the most."

They consider the brain useless; once a person dies, they simply pull it out of the nostril and throw it away.

But this heart must be kept for weighing.

"Weigh it?" Mr. Crane was really concerned this time.

"The person has arrived on the other side."

Richard's tone softened, and his words carried away the noise in the main hall.

"After passing through a checkpoint, the god with the head of a jackal will place the heart of the dead on one side of the scale."

At the other end rested a feather, the same feather from the head of the goddess of truth.

"The saintly god Thoth was keeping accounts nearby, pen in hand."

He gestured towards the high platform at the far end of the exhibition hall:

"That is the god on the scepter you just saw. He writes down the merits and demerits of the dead, stroke by stroke."

"If the heart is lighter than a feather, clean and pure, and has not committed any sins, the dead can be reborn in the Pure Land."

If your heart is heavier than a feather, it carries a heavy burden of sin...

Beneath the scales crouched a monster, half crocodile and half lion, which opened its massive jaws and swallowed the heart whole.

"What happens after you swallow it?" the boy asked, holding his breath.

"Swallowed..." Richard looked at him. "That person will never come back. He's completely and utterly dead."

The crowd around fell silent.

Even Mr. Crane's ever-present mouth was half-open and couldn't be closed.

After a long while, he let out a long sigh, turned to his son, and put on a stern face:

"Sidney, did you hear me?"

One must have a righteous heart!

If your heart becomes too heavy in the future and can't overcome that scale, what will you do then!

"Dad, what a heart you have," Sidney rolled his eyes. "Last week you even stole most of the sherry Mom had hidden..."

"Cough!" Mr. Crane coughed suddenly.

Mrs. Crane said "Oh" and turned her head.

Mr. Crane quickly changed the subject, smiling apologetically at Richard:

"Young sir, your knowledge is truly remarkable."

The commotion on Richard's end was truly enormous.

The continuous exclamations of amazement drew the attention of guests from other parts of the main hall.

After Richard saw the Crane family off, a large crowd had already gathered in front of him.

With more people involved, the problems become more complex.

The things the guests had just seen in other exhibition halls were now stuck in their minds.

Once they found a young teacher who was willing to speak well and who spoke interestingly, they poured out everything in one go.

"Sir, what are those red clay vases with little figures painted on them in the next room for?"

The person asking the question was a young clerk wearing glasses.

He was referring to the row of ancient vases in the Greek Hall.

"That's what the ancient Greeks used for drinking."

Richard answered without hesitation.

"The people over there are very particular about drinking and feasting."

Three or five close friends would gather together, drinking diluted wine while chatting and debating various topics... They called that a "#039 Symposium#039."

"And what about the Persian room?" another guest then asked.

"What kind of gods are those stone carvings on the wall, all with wings?"

"The Persians worshipped fire."

What others didn't know was that Richard himself had actually seen the pillars of the Zoroastrian Temple.

"Persians believe that there is a bright and benevolent god in the world who governs order and truth;

And there is another dark and evil god, who controls lies and chaos.

The two gods fought for eternity.

"And fire is the shadow left by the benevolent god of light on earth."

"Therefore, in the temples of the Persians, there was a sacred fire that never went out."

The priests have kept watch for hundreds, even thousands of years... Once that fire goes out, it will bring a great calamity.

"Those winged things on the wall are the marks of the benevolent gods."

And then there are the priests who guard the sacred fire, called #039magi#039 in Persian.

He smiled at the guest and added an interesting anecdote related to the mystical side.

"The word 'magic' or 'trick' that you all usually talk about comes from 'magi'."

When the Greeks first saw these Persian priests tending the sacred fire and chanting incantations, they found them incredibly powerful and created the word "magic" after them.

A low gasp of surprise rippled through the crowd.

One question after another was thrown at him, and Richard answered them all with ease.

Aegeus, Persia, the Mediterranean coast, the Spice Islands...

"If you wish to take a closer look, the items in these exhibition halls could keep you entertained for a whole day."

There were one or two shouts from the crowd, which were then followed by a round of applause.

Sometime during the night, a person was standing under the archway between the main hall and the Greek hall.

Montagu.

The blond boy stood with his arms crossed in the shadows of the doorway, having been listening for quite some time.

On his side, there was originally a circle of guests.

His explanation was excellent; he was accurate in every detail, including the era, origins, and historical allusions.

That innate composure made it impossible for those respectable guests to look away.

But for some reason, more and more people gathered on this side of the main hall.

The guests on his other side gradually drifted towards this side.

Montagu then strolled over.

At first, he thought Richard was just a storyteller who knew how to charm people.

Storytelling is not a skill fit for high art.

But the more he listened, the more serious his expression became.

Funerals in the Black Earth River Basin, Greek pilgrimages and pottery paintings, Persian fire worship, the serpent god of the Spice Islands, the evil eye of the Mediterranean... one after another, without the slightest mishap.

Montagu's brow remained furrowed.

These things are scattered throughout dozens or even hundreds of books.

Even so, he only knows the basics.

But what Richard said was clearly not something that could be memorized by rote.

The applause gradually subsided, and the guests strolled back into the various exhibition halls in twos and threes.

Richard turned around and met Montagu's gaze from under the archway.

The two exchanged a glance.

Montagu emerged from the shadows and walked up to Richard.

"Williams".

"Montagu".

The blond youth looked at him and spoke after a while.

"At the Classical Society's tea party, I said we'd talk about it again during the training."

"Um."

"I used to think that all your skills were in your mouth."

Eloquence, wit... I admit I can't match you in those areas.

"But just now..." He glanced at the exhibition halls behind him.

"The Black Earth River, Greece, Persia, the Spice Islands... it seems there's nothing you don't know."

Montagu looked at the young man before him, his composure now tinged with undisguised surprise for the first time:

"Where did you learn all this?"

Richard smiled.

"I read a lot," he replied casually, "and I memorized it."

Montagu stared at him for a long time, then didn't ask any more questions.

"...There are only two days left in the training." Montagu withdrew his gaze and nodded to him.

"See you in the storeroom downstairs after the museum closes."

He turned around and walked back to the exhibition hall on his side.

Richard stood in the center of the main hall, watching the blond boy's back disappear into the crowd.

The clock in the museum had struck past noon sometime ago.

The long line of people outside was still being let in section by section.

A second wave of guests poured in.