I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Richard turned around.

Grey stood at the other end of the sycamore-lined avenue.

She stood alone under the streetlight, her hands clasped in front of her, taking a step forward but then stopping, frozen in place.

She slowly walked over when she saw Richard turn around.

"...What a coincidence."

Richard looked at her: "Your school's over?"

"It's over." Grey shifted her gaze elsewhere.

"We're here today to 'learn something new'."

The teacher said, "Let's see how the students from Imperial University debate; it'll broaden our horizons when we get back."

Phillips stood to the side, his gaze sweeping between the two men.

This guy may not have many other skills, but he's very good at emotional intelligence.

"Ahem!" He cleared his throat and shoved the teacup into his fiancée's hand.

"Constance, my mom told us to go back sooner."

Constance also came from a large family, and she understood things very quickly.

"It's time to go back." She took the teacup and nodded to Richard and Grey.

"Mr. Williams, and this lady, we'll take our leave now."

They left decisively, and soon only Richard and Grey were left under the sycamore tree.

Grey lowered her head and shuffled her toes on the stone slab.

"Your friend..." she whispered, "is quite interesting."

"His fiancée is even more interesting," Richard said. "She looks delicate and frail, but she can carry her fiancé on her back."

Grey chuckled and relaxed her shoulders.

"Oh, by the way," she looked up, "Have you had dinner?"

"not yet."

"Well..." Gray's tone revealed a rare hint of excitement: "I'll take you somewhere."

"You recognize this area around Imperial University?" Richard asked, somewhat surprised.

"I checked before I came." Grey raised her head, her little bit of smugness impossible to hide.

"There's a famous restaurant in the college district called 'Old Oak,' which specializes in traditional Beijing dishes."

"He knows it better than I do."

"Of course." Grey gestured with her chin at him. "You're buried in books all day, you don't have time for these things."

Dusk gradually spread across the sycamore leaves.

The two walked slowly along the stone-paved path in the college area.

The Imperial University has a unique charm at night.

In autumn, the ivy is half red and half green, and when illuminated by the streetlights, it looks like an old blanket draped over the old wall.

Occasionally, a window with a light on can be seen, through which one can vaguely see the shadowy figure of someone hunched over a desk.

"Is this where you studied?" Grey looked around.

"Um."

"Unlike St. Bridget."

"The walls over there are all freshly painted white, so clean it's a bit deserted."

"I heard you're also learning how to host a tea party?"

Grey pouted:

"Yes, how should the table be set up? Who should be served tea first and who should be served tea last? Where should the teaspoon be placed?"

She listed them one by one: "An entire course dedicated to this."

"There are so many rules about pouring tea."

"There are so many rules," Grey sighed.

"Sometimes I think that instead of learning these things, I'd rather read a few more cookbooks."

Richard smiled.

"Your skills are already very good."

"What's so great about it?" Gray said modestly, but her steps quickened. "I'm still far from good enough."

After walking through a corridor, the girl suddenly stopped by a fountain.

"I found this too." She pointed to a line of Latin text engraved on the base of the fountain.

"Read this to me, what does it say here?"

Richard leaned over and took a look.

“‘aqua haurit qui sitit.’” he read aloud. “Only those who are thirsty will come to fetch water.”

"What do you mean?"

"It probably means..." Richard thought for a moment, "that only people who truly want to pursue scholarship come here."

Grey stared at the line of text for a while.

"And you?" she suddenly asked. "Are you thirsty?"

Richard hesitated for a moment.

When a girl asks this question, it probably means she's asking about more than just academics.

"Thirsty, so very thirsty."

Grey gave a satisfied "hmm" and didn't ask any further questions.

She turned around and continued walking forward.

The streetlights cast long shadows of the two people side by side on the stone slabs.

Richard glanced down at his own shadow.

It looked quite ordinary, standing side by side with the girl's shadow.

We arrived at the restaurant quickly.

Pushing open the door, you'll find dark oak wainscoting inside.

Several oil paintings hang on the wall, depicting street scenes from hundreds of years ago.

"This shop has been open for over a hundred years," Grey said softly, careful not to disturb the tranquility.

"It is said that several senior professors from the Imperial University of Beijing used to come here often."

The waiter led them to a table by the window.

Grey ordered quickly.

"One serving of roasted beef tenderloin, one serving of beef short ribs, two servings of mushroom soup, and two servings of Yorkshire pudding and creamy pasta."

Knowing Richard could eat a lot, she ordered extra.

"You've done all the research," Richard said, looking at her.

"I'm always serious about these things," Grey said, closing the menu. "Just as serious as you are about your studies."

The food was served very quickly.

The beef was cut very thick, with a crispy exterior and a tender, pink interior.

Yorkshire pudding was baked until fluffy and golden brown, then drizzled with meat juices.

Richard was indeed hungry; he had been so engrossed in watching that day that he only ate a few sandwiches for lunch.

He cut a piece of beef and put it in his mouth; his "eating" skill made the meat taste exceptionally delicious.

Grey rested her chin on her hand and watched him eat.

"Is it tasty?"

"tasty."

Everything tastes good in your mouth.

"By the way," Richard changed the subject, "have those frosted beans you mentioned last time all been sold?"

"They're already sold out," Grey whispered. "The regulars are scrambling to buy them."

"Did you find the box I gave you last time useful?"

"I had someone I know help with the planting," Richard answered selectively. "I don't know when it will bear fruit."

"Take your time." The girl cut a piece of meat.

"My supply chain is always there. Just let me know whenever you need anything from the Eastern Continent."

"Thank you, Grey."

"No need to thank me." The girl tucked her side hair behind her ear. "It was nothing."

It was almost eight o'clock when we came out of "Old Oak".

Richard escorted her to the entrance of the college campus.

"That's enough, I have a car to pick you up." Grey stopped.

She waved to Richard: "You should argue well and try to get a ranking."

"Um."

"I will continue to go see it."

She took a few steps, then turned back.

Richard.

"Um?"

"I'm very happy today."

After saying that, she turned around quickly and jogged into the night.

Richard stood there, watching the girl's figure disappear around the street corner.

When you're on a date with Grey, you don't have to think about all the heavy stuff behind the curtain.

It's just about having a meal and walking a short distance.

Such days are rare.

………………

On the second day of the finals, Catherine reappeared.

Richard has a game today, so he arrived at the Iliad Tower early.

While he was waiting in the west wing, he caught a glimpse of a red-haired girl entering through the door.

Richard was about to greet him, but the words caught in his throat.

Catherine was wearing a mask that covered most of her face.

Only a pair of gray-green eyes were visible, with a particularly dark bluish-black patch under them.

She walked slowly, her hands hanging at her sides, her fingers slightly clenched.

Fisher saw her too and quickly went to meet her.

"Catherine! You're finally back! Everyone was so worried about you..."

Catherine stopped and glanced at Fisher.

She took out a small notebook and a pencil from her handbag.

He quickly wrote a line and turned the notebook over to show Fisher.

Fisher leaned closer to take a look.

The notebook reads:

"My voice is hoarse, I can't speak. Don't worry, it's okay."

"Your voice is hoarse?" Fisher frowned. "Are you alright? I'll go with you to the infirmary..."

Catherine shook her head and wrote another line.

"I've checked, it'll be fine after a while."

She put the notebook away, nodded to Richard, and turned to walk into the lecture hall.

Richard activated his spiritual vision and scanned the other person.

The mask's power was temporarily sealed by some kind of technique he couldn't understand.

Richard understood that Catherine simply didn't want to talk.

Speaking is an opening, so it's better to remain silent and reduce contact with others.

Richard thought of his mask.

Hermes.

The guardian deity of orators and scholars, the god of words and trickery.

He had the idea more than once during the past few days on the field.

Debate was Hermes's domain.

What would he look like on stage if he wore that mask?

Hermes' power enhances the persuasiveness of words: words spoken and written down become coherent agreements.

Every word he says on stage becomes the truth hidden behind a curtain.

Richard could picture that scene:

The moment he opened his mouth, his opponent's composure crumbled;

Once he finished speaking, everyone in the room agreed that he was right.

But what will be the cost?

Hermes is the ferryman who guides souls across the river.

Wearing a mask will cause him to attract the dead.

Richard glanced at the lecture hall.

Sitting in the audience were a group of relatives whose sons were on the front lines or had just been killed in action;

The debate on stage was about how to address those who died in the trenches.

If he were to put on Hermes here, summoning the dead...

Richard dared not think any further.

The cries of tens of thousands of unrested souls will surge through his "more transparent" spiritual passage.

At that point, he would be in deep trouble.

And then there's the price of being the "god of deception," the urge to deceive and cross the line.

It will render the amulet, which is supposed to "not reflect a person's image in still water," ineffective.

Richard's gaze fell once again on the girl wearing a mask.

Catherine was slowly writing something in her notebook.

She wrote with great concentration, as if she were transferring all the words she wanted to say from her mouth to the tip of her pen.