I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Isabella continued.

"I followed this line and investigated further."

"There's someone in the publicity department who's pursuing a scholarly career."

"He used the case of Meiqin to observe from beginning to end how 'speech is solidified into a substance'."

"He completed his own share of the achievement."

A few days later, as the matter continued to unfold, news from Mons reached back to the capital.

Those soldiers survived, but none of them seemed right.

Someone stared at the top of the tent all night long;

Some say that the row of archers is still watching them.

Sofia attached a report from a military doctor.

The military doctor was also at a loss.

These soldiers were neither injured nor poisoned, but it was as if a part of them had been removed from their bodies.

Besides the records, Sofia sent back something else.

The belongings of a soldier who retreated from the front lines but did not survive.

It is an identification tag.

This soldier was one of those "saved by angels".

Richard took out the two strange weighing objects.

Saintly bronze paperweight, bronze balance scale.

Saint Ape's long beak veered towards the identification tag.

The weighing results appeared in the form of an account book the next moment.

This person has been "protected".

After noting the details, begin weighing the scales.

One side of the scale sinks to "being protected".

On the other side, the void lies... on the soldiers themselves.

Richard stared at the result.

"It saved them because they believed in it."

"The more it is believed in, the bigger it grows."

My aunt sat across from me at the writing desk, listening.

"...And the price is that it gradually drains away those who believe in it."

"This is a new thing that was created by humans and is out of control."

The angels of Mons were "defined" by tens of thousands of people.

Tens of thousands of people defined it as an archer, and so it became an archer;

Tens of thousands of people believed it could save lives, and it truly did.

Richard and his aunt reported their findings.

The scholars from the rear also gathered together what they had in their hands.

Once the pieces are put together, the conclusion becomes clear.

This thing is real; it saved people, but it also eats them.

As soon as the conclusion was reached, the academic community started arguing.

The two sides are at loggerheads.

The first one was advocated by an old scholar.

"It's eating people; it must be destroyed."

"Leaving someone eating the food of their own soldiers on the front lines will inevitably lead to major trouble sooner or later."

The second view is held by another party.

"It can stop bullets."

"This is the only 'weapon of faith' that works during wartime."

"Destroying it means one less talisman for the front lines."

"We should use it sparingly."

The person who advocated the second option went on to say more.

"We can guide it so that it 'only eats the enemy's letters and protects our army.'"

Those who advocated the first option immediately rejected it.

"How did you manage to convince tens of thousands of people to believe in something?"

"It is completely unresponsive; it is an unconscious product."

The two factions were arguing fiercely.

However, this debate ultimately did not reach a conclusion in academia.

The telegram was sent back from the front lines first.

That thing is gone; to be precise, it was "taken away."

Isabella held the telegram, her expression somewhat complicated.

"A few days ago, a 'big shot' passed through the Mons area."

She handed the telegram to Richard.

"Which one?"

"The telegram didn't have a name on it," Isabella shook her head.

"It only says 'a purplish-red color swept across that area from south to north'."

None of the graduate students in the team dared to look up and take a closer look.

"An expert?"

"Yes." Isabella nodded.

"After that one passed away, the echo of the angel Mons on the other side of the veil was completely taken away."

She sighed softly.

"So everyone, there's no need to argue."

"Everything is gone, so whether we destroy it or not, whether we use it or not, is all meaningless now."

"The Ministry of the Interior took the opportunity to close the case."

She gathered the stack of Mons' reports from the writing desk.

"No naming or legends are allowed; it's suppressed in newspapers and within the military."

The official explanation given was that it was merely a collective "battlefield illusion" during the retreat.

………………

Autumn comes early to the capital.

The sycamore leaves were half yellow, falling onto the stone path in front of the Petrie Building, and there was no way to sweep them all away.

Room 314 on the third floor has been frequently lit up until late at night lately.

Isabella said she was rushing to finish a paper that had been delayed for half a year, and that the editing team was pressing her hard because she couldn't finish processing the sealing diagrams needed from the front lines.

When Clara brought in the tea, she saw what was spread out on the writing table.

It was those reports that Sofia sent back from across the strait.

"Mentor." Clara placed the tea on the corner of the table.

Isabella didn't even look up, just flipped over a report.

Richard first sensed something was wrong from the editorial team.

In that windowless classroom, a roll of frontline battle reports would flow in every few days.

But in the past week, both telegrams and telephone calls suddenly stopped.

Not just one circuit was broken, but the entire circuit along the entire front was cut off in one fell swoop.

By the end of September, the telegram finally arrived from the college's dedicated line.

Isabella barely held the telegram when she opened it.

The telegram was very short, stingily short:

"The circuit is back on, and the person is unharmed."

I'll transfer trains at Lukang tomorrow and return the day after. —s.

Isabella read the telegram several times before putting it on the table.

The day after tomorrow morning, the three of them went to Central Station together.

The station was packed with people.

On the platform, there were still rows of new recruits in khaki uniforms, being called to board the train by the soldiers.

The women seeing him off crowded outside the railing; some were crying, others were forcing smiles.

Joy and sorrow are mixed together, and it's hard to tell which is pressing down on the other.

The train that came from the coast arrived at the station half an hour late.

As soon as the car door opened, a huge crowd of people poured out.

Isabella stood on the platform, searching through the crowd of people one by one.

"There," Clara spoke first.

Sofia squeezed out of the car door.

She had lost weight, her face was sunburned, and her hair was haphazardly tied back with a strip of cloth.

His clothes were wrinkled and covered in dust from who-knows-where.

She was dragging a huge leather suitcase behind her, so bulging it looked like it was about to burst.

"Mentor! Clara! Richard!"

Sofia spotted them immediately and rushed over, dragging her suitcase.

His fatigue vanished considerably upon seeing the three people.

She was panting, and her eyes were a little red.

Isabella stood still and looked the student up and down.

"...It's good that you're back."

She wanted to say something else.

But when the words came out, only this simple sentence remained.

"The telegrams went down those few days," Isabella said softly. "What happened?"

Sofia's smile froze.

"...My advisor's information is really accurate. I'll tell you more when we get back."

She intended to gloss over it.

But Isabella just looked at her and waited quietly.

Sofia's shoulders slowly slumped.

"...There's a problem with the electrical circuit in our area."

She whispered:

"The radio operator got into trouble first, and then we couldn't escape it either... that thing crawled up the wires onto people."

"It climbed on you?" Clara asked.

"It brushed against me." Sophia said, her head down.

"Just for a second." She held up her little finger.

"It slithered up my wrist, so I quickly let go."

"And then?"

"Later, the authorities cut off all the power to the entire war zone."

"Telegrams, telephones, and searchlights were all switched off."

Several of us graduate students spent three days in complete darkness, managing to re-suppress the seal.

"What did the army doctor say?" Isabella's expression darkened.

"You said it'll be fine after a while," Sophia quickly said. "Mine is the lightest kind."

She waved her hand, seemingly unconcerned.

"Let's go back first," my aunt said.

"Go back and let someone take a good look at your hand."

"No need for that trouble..."

"Don't force me!" Isabella interrupted her.

Sofia lowered her hand and stopped arguing.

Richard walked over and bent down to help her carry the suitcase.

He almost couldn't lift the box when he first got his hands on it.

"What's in here?" Richard weighed it in his hand. "A stone?"

"Gifts!" Sofia exclaimed proudly. "They're all good things."

"A box of gifts?" Clara also came over to take a look.

"I ended up buying too much." Sophia blinked.

………………

To celebrate the students' safe return, Isabella called all the other students under her command to have a meal together.

Sofia, Clara, and two other graduate students.

Richard arrived 15 minutes early.

Upon entering the private room, two unfamiliar faces were already seated inside.

A tall, thin young man had a book open on his desk.

Upon seeing Richard enter, he hurriedly stood up.

"Hello, I'm Thomson."

"Senior Thomson," Richard shook hands with him.

Thomson was serious.

"The empirical data in that paper on boundary stones, specifically the sets of empirical data on pages sixteen to nineteen, are very well organized."

Richard was a little surprised.

"You even remember the page numbers?"

"I work in epigraphy," Thomson said matter-of-factly. "Knowing page numbers is a basic skill."

Another young man sitting next to him laughed out loud.

"Thompson can't change this habit."

He held up a glass of water and waved it at Richard.

"Price, just like you, is doing manual labor for Associate Professor Isabella."

After chatting for a while, the curtain was lifted, and Sofia and Clara came in.

Richard noticed that Sophia had a silver thread wrapped around her right wrist.

Clara followed behind, remaining mostly silent, and nodded to everyone.

"Is everyone here?" Sophia placed the box against the wall. "Where's the mentor?"

"My aunt said she'll be there shortly," Richard replied.

"She's busy again." Sophia pursed her lips and turned to see Thomson.

"Hey, Thomson, what brings you a book today?"

Thomson hid the book.

"...I arrived early, so I took a look since I had nothing else to do."

"You did the same thing at your last Christmas light show," Sofia chuckled.

"The professor took us to the lantern festival, and you squatted alone under the street lamp reading a book."

Your advisor asks if the lamp looks good, and you say, "The lamp's spectrum is very interesting."

Price made a "poof" sound.

"Did he really say that?"

"The spectrum of light is interesting in itself." Thomson's face turned red.

"Different lights produce different results; gas lamps have a yellowish tint, while electric lights have a whiter tint..."

"Alright, alright," Sophia waved her hand. "I know you're very knowledgeable."

She squatted down in front of the box by the wall and flicked the button.

"Let's see the gift first!"

Once the box was opened, small bags and boxes were haphazardly stuffed into one place.

"Your box looks like a trench," Price said, peering inside.

"Never mind the mess, the stuff is good stuff."

Sofia took things out one by one, muttering to herself.

"This is soft; I'll use it to warm my mentor's hands."

"This is for Clara; it goes perfectly with your coat."

"Richard, you have a big appetite, this bag will keep you full... don't eat it all at once."

As the box gradually emptied, the contents matched one by one with the faces in the room.

Sofia breathed a sigh of relief, having finished the most important task.

As soon as Isabella entered the private room, Sofia slipped her a lace handkerchief.

"Mentor, this is for you."

Isabella took the handkerchief and glanced at the gifts laid out on the table.

"Did you empty out all the shops in Lukang?"

"No, no," Sofia waved her hand, "I only bought a little bit."

Isabella said nothing more and sat down in the main seat.

Despite the wartime situation, the Royal Hotel's chefs' skills remained undiminished.

The roasted beef short ribs were glistening with oil, the stewed lamb leg was drizzled with red wine sauce, and the Yorkshire pudding was baked to a golden brown.

The conversation at the dinner table circled back and forth, all revolving around Sofia.

"Tell me quickly," Price couldn't contain himself.

"We know perfectly well what the front lines are really like, and how much of what's in the newspapers is exaggerated."

Sofia swallowed the ribs in her mouth and perked up.

"When I got there, France in the south had just finished a big game."

How big?

"The two sides together numbered several hundred thousand, making it the largest battle since the start of the war."

The private room fell silent for a moment.

"Hundreds of thousands." Thomson couldn't imagine that number.

Sofia continued:

"After that battle, the wounded and disabled soldiers were hauled back to the rear in truckloads."

"Aren't you supposed to be sealing things?" Price asked. "Why are you taking care of wounded soldiers?"

"We don't have enough manpower," Sofia said, shrugging.

"There are too many wounded, and the military doctors can't keep up."

Those of us in the rear who could lend a hand all went to help.

Carrying stretchers, writing down names, changing dressings for the wounded... I did everything.

"We've gone off on a tangent." Sophia shook her head.

"Let me tell you something funny, something a veteran told me himself."

"Guess how France managed to transport an entire division's reserves to the front lines?"

"Train?" Thomson replied.

"There aren't enough trains," Sofia shook her head.

"All the military trucks have been moved to the front, and it looks like we can't hold out any longer. The reserve teams are just waiting around with no trucks to transport them."

"What should we do then?"

"Taxi!" Sofia slammed her hand on the table. "Requisition every single taxi in the city!"

This was the first time anyone, including my aunt, had ever heard of such a thing.

"Taxi transporting troops?"

"That's what the old soldier told me," Sofia said proudly.

"They said that at the time, the city requisitioned all the taxis one by one."

Hundreds or even thousands of vehicles were used to transport soldiers to the front lines overnight.

He said the scene was spectacular, with car headlights stretching all the way to the horizon; he'd never seen anything like it in his life.

"That sounds spectacular," Price said.

"It's spectacular, indeed," Sofia chuckled. "There's even more fun to come."

"What?"

"Those taxi drivers," Sofia said, her eyes crinkling into a smile.

"While they were mobilizing troops for the battlefield, they were also... opening up the pricing schedule."

"The veteran said that one of the drivers even argued with the officer in charge."

They said this trip was long and involved leaving in the middle of the night, so they'd have to pay extra.

"The army owes a ton of money for vehicles?" Price laughed out loud.

Sofia laughed too: "The old soldier said that when the quartermaster in charge of the accounts got the bill for that trip, his face turned green."

"This..." Even Thomson was amused: "This is too..."

"Rules are rules," Clara suddenly interjected.

"Drivers should pay for their fares; you can't renege on someone's fare just because there's a war."