I loaded the Mysticism panel.

The crowds in the main hall have been constant since the museum opened.

Richard spoke until noon, his throat dry, and the audience around him changed wave after wave.

It wasn't until after one o'clock that Pendleton came in to greet them and let the twenty trainees rest for half an hour for lunch.

The side room for resting was behind the main hall, with a narrow door blocking out the noise from outside.

The lunch prepared by the museum was laid out on the long oak table:

Cut the bread into thick slices and arrange the cold ham on a white porcelain plate;

Several large chunks of cheddar cheese still retained the coolness of the cellar, and a bucket of fresh milk, just delivered from the dairy farm, sat on the corner of the table.

The trainees came in one after another, took their food, and gathered in twos and threes.

After talking all morning, Richard was really hungry.

He took two slices of bread, sandwiched them with a thick layer of ham and cheese, and pressed in a few slices of pickled cucumber. He finished it in a few bites.

Turning my head, there was another one.

Then the third, and the fourth.

After finishing his fifth homemade sandwich, Richard picked up the milk bucket and drank one cup after another, finishing more than half of the bucket in one go before putting it down.

The voices in the side room lowered.

Sitting across from him was Wade Byrne, who was holding half a piece of cheese in his hand, but forgot to put it in his mouth.

"Williams," Byrne swallowed, "you...haven't eaten anything all morning?"

"I ate." Richard wiped his mouth. "I had three fried eggs and two slices of bacon this morning."

Catherine, standing by the window with her arms crossed, spoke.

"I've seen a defender for the football team in Cheltenham."

"A boy in his early teens can devour half a rack of pork ribs in one sitting."

"You can eat even more than them."

Richard smiled and picked up a sixth one for himself.

From some corner, someone muttered something.

"He has the face of a scholar but the appetite of a hunter."

Everyone in the room burst into laughter.

Richard swallowed what was in his mouth without getting annoyed.

"Storytelling takes more effort than you might think."

"Traveling from the Black Earth River basin to the Spice Islands, covering most of the Old World, my stomach was already empty by the end of the morning."

As they were talking, the narrow door to the side room was pushed open from the outside.

Pendleton turned to the side, held the door steady, and pressed his hand inward.

Following behind him was an old man.

He wore an old-fashioned dark gray robe that reached his feet.

He had a long, snow-white beard, about half a foot long, which he casually stroked with his hand.

As he walked, the hem of his long robe swept across the floor tiles silently.

Richard's breathing slowed down.

He was sitting close by, and the size of that neatly packed ether couldn't be hidden from him.

It's shallower than the sea that weighs on Professor Mortimer's head, but it's still far beyond what an ordinary proficiency can achieve.

A little expertise is just one step away from true mastery.

The silver ring on my chest was quiet and didn't feel cold.

This old man harbored no ill intentions whatsoever.

The trainees all stood up.

"Please be seated, everyone."

The old man waved his hand, his white beard swaying.

"Eating is the most important thing. I'm just here to take a look."

Pendleton provided the explanation from the side.

"This is Curator Cornelius Weatherby."

Curator Weatherby's gaze swept across the long table and landed on the half-empty milk bucket in front of Richard.

"Who was it that drank most of my bucket of milk?"

Richard stood up: "Director, it's me."

Curator Weatherby glanced at him and burst out laughing.

"Good, good," the white-bearded old man said twice.

"Being able to eat is a blessing. When I was young, I could devour a whole roast goose in one sitting, and I would even suck the bones clean."

"I'm too old now, I can't eat as much as I used to."

He paced back and forth, gathering his white beard to his chest.

"I could hear the commotion in the main hall this morning, even from upstairs."

Curator Weatherby looked at Richard.

"Customers keep crowding into your area, and the tour guides next to you are almost out of business."

I thought something had gone wrong, so I went downstairs to check...

"The funerals of the Black Earth River, the Greek feasts, the Persian fire worship."

You even explained the origin of the word 'magic' to the grocery store owner and the railway clerk.

After the old man finished reciting, he added a final sentence.

"Well said."

Richard bowed slightly: "You flatter me, Curator."

"You flatter me?" Curator Weatherby flicked his white beard.

"I rarely praise anyone more than three times a year."

"Were you recommended by Lao Mo?"

"Yes," Richard replied, "Professor Mortimer is too kind."

"Old Mo has a sharp eye; his school hasn't produced any decent students in decades."

"Seeing your skill today, it seems you have a worthy successor."

Curator Weatherby's smile vanished.

"I saw everything you did today."

"The results of the study will be determined by the Department of Classics."

But you spent the whole day greeting guests at the museum, so I'll make the decision to add that entry to your student record.

"Thank you, Director."

"And one more thing," the white-bearded old man added, "The museum is closed tonight; everyone must go down to the storeroom to see the real treasures."

I will give you certain priority.

Richard's eyes lit up.

"Thank you, Director."

Tonight, he's eyeing far more than just "touching" the real stuff in the warehouse.

We put in so much effort to sell this all morning, and that's what we're after.

Curator Weatherby gave Pendleton a few more instructions, then walked out with his hands behind his back.

As he reached the door, he turned back and gestured towards the empty milk bucket.

"Young man, keep up the good work this afternoon. I'll tell the kitchen to prepare another bucket for you later."

Another burst of laughter came from the side room.

The number of guests in the afternoon was no less than that in the morning.

The long line of people outside didn't shorten after noon; instead, it turned onto the next street.

Richard was surrounded by a dense crowd of people from head to toe.

No sooner had he finished speaking than new customers came up, bombarding him with questions one after another without stopping.

The other parts of the main hall were much quieter.

Wade Byrne's side also received a few guests.

But he would turn his head to look elsewhere after saying a few words, leaving the guests feeling awkward, and they dispersed in twos and threes.

In the end, his place became deserted, with only a few people left.

Edith's side is different.

She specifically chose to talk to people who were visiting the museum for the first time and didn't know where to put their hands and feet.

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

She was surrounded mostly by the families of factory workers with their children.

As the museum was about to close, Richard saw off a group of guests and was just about to catch his breath.

He glanced at the other end of the main hall.

Beside Edith stood a very familiar figure.

The two girls were sitting head to head, chatting happily.

Edith's usually somber face broke into a rare smile.

Richard's gaze lingered on the girl.

It's Lillian.

More than two months ago, she said goodbye to herself in that abandoned house behind the main building in Greenwood.

She was pale at that time, holding a specimen of a titmouse in her arms.

The Lillian before me is completely different from the one I knew back then.

The girl dressed up specially for today to meet someone.

She wore a light-colored dress and had a light touch of makeup on her small face.

She was already pretty, and all the timidity she used to have disappeared, replaced by a radiant glow.

Richard's inspiration reached out towards her.

They found nothing.

It was perfectly calm; not a single ethereal fluctuation could be detected.

Richard's heart sank.

There are only two reasons why we couldn't find anything.

Either Lillian's current strength far surpasses his, so much so that his limited intuition cannot penetrate it;

Alternatively, she also has methods to shield herself from detection.

Now it seems she ultimately chose that path.

As for what the scenery along the way looked like, Richard had no way of knowing.

Seemingly sensing something, Lillian looked up and gazed in Richard's direction.

Eyes facing each other.

She whispered something to Edith, and Edith nodded.

Lillian turned around and waved to Richard as a greeting.

Richard was about to raise his hand when the girl disappeared into the crowd leaving the venue.

Richard stood there, motionless for a long time.

Someone patted my shoulder hard.

"Williams! What are you standing there for?"

It's Wade Byrne. He was quiet all afternoon, but now his enthusiasm has returned.

"The restaurant is treating us to a delicious meal, let's begin!"

Richard was half-pushed and half-dragged out of the main hall.

………………

Lillian followed the flow of people, descending the wide stone steps leading down to the museum entrance.

In the evening of July in Beijing, before it was completely dark, the streetlights were already turning on one by one.

Although she couldn't fathom the depths of Richard's abilities, she could sense the changes within him.

I stopped holding the swimming ring and started supporting myself with something else.

He passed that threshold and was admitted to the Imperial University of Beijing.

They walked along the proper avenue of the college, taking one step at a time, steadily and surely moving upwards.

And there's that girl named Edith.

Their family background was even worse than mine.

He relied solely on his own efforts to gradually rise from a rural Sunday school to enter the gates of the highest institution of learning.

amazing.

Lillian looked at her with envy.

I envy the main road she walked on.

The road surface was smooth; some people were filling potholes, and others were providing assistance.

She can move slowly and steadily, inching forward year by year, without rushing.

Looking at her, Clillianne realized... she wasn't really envious.

Edith's avenue is safe.

Because it's safe, it will always stay in shallow water.

Where the sun shines, the water is clear, and you can see exactly what you're stepping on.

She could spend her whole life peacefully soaking in that shallow water.

But what I want isn't in the shallow water.

No matter how you follow Edith's smooth and steady path, you'll never get there.

Lillian sincerely hoped for it in her heart.

I hope Richard and Edith can continue walking down that avenue forever.

Go as far as you can.

………………

The museum's treat was served in a spacious dining room in the museum's annex area.

One hot dish after another was served on the long table:

Glistening roasted beef ribs, stewed lamb leg drizzled with red wine sauce, and golden Yorkshire pudding.

It was definitely more luxurious than the cold ham and cheese we had at noon.

Twenty trainees sat down around a long table.

Once the tension that had been building up for days eased, he became more talkative.

Wade Byrne landed next to Richard and poured himself a glass of ale.

"Williams, I'm impressed by you today."

Bourne swirled his glass.

Where did you learn all that knowledge?

I studied at Eton for a few years, and my professors only scratched the surface of what the Black Earth River was all about.

"I've read a lot," Richard said, picking up a piece of grilled rib as he spoke. "That's how I memorized it."

"Read a lot?" Byrne put down his cup.

"My study is piled high with books, enough to bury a person, how come I didn't remember that?"

Catherine sat diagonally across from her, cutting beef for herself.

"Maybe you were too busy dozing off while you were studying."

The table was filled with laughter.

Bourne took a swig of ale and didn't reply.

Taking advantage of the lively atmosphere, Richard turned to Edith, who was sitting not far away, and asked her a question.

"Miss Carter, do you know the girl who spoke to you inside the building just now?"

Edith hugged her ever-present book and pressed the spine of the book closer to her chest.

We just met today.

"She came to see the items from the Black Soil River and asked about the several ceramic vases painted with birds in the Greek Hall."

As we chatted, I learned that she also loved natural history and could draw anatomical diagrams of plants.

Edith smiled slightly as she said this.

"We talked for ages just about all kinds of birds; she knows so much."

Richard nodded and didn't ask any more questions.

He didn't hear what Lillian said to Edith, nor did he really want to find out.

At the other end of the long table, Montagu sat upright, eating with refined manners.

He didn't really join in the conversation at the table, occasionally glancing at Richard.

At the entrance to the dining room, Curator Weatherby made a brief appearance.

Before leaving, he didn't forget to call out to Richard's table.

"When you all go down to the storeroom tonight, I've had someone prepare a midnight snack for you outside. If you're hungry or thirsty, help yourselves."

The trainees at the table burst into laughter and chatter once again.

They all chattered around Richard.

Some asked him how he could handle so many customers, some asked him which genuine item he wanted to handle first at night, and some joked about his appetite.

One sentence after another, noisy and argumentative.

Richard was overwhelmed and had no time to think about anything else.