I loaded the Mysticism panel.

That evening, Richard took stock of everything in his desk drawer.

The Cicero Cup will be held after the family dinner, so bring your study materials for review.

In addition, with a blank notebook, he could write down any information worth recording in the capital at any time.

He zipped up his backpack, took out the old silver coin that had been sucked dry, and locked it in the drawer.

He also brought some gray stamens with him, keeping them in his inner pocket for easy access.

He had practiced the steps of the Fog Wall Technique dozens of times in his mind. He could complete the three actions of breaking, crushing, and blowing air in one second.

Although you're unlikely to need them, it's always better to have some life-saving gear on you than to go to an unfamiliar place empty-handed.

After finishing tidying up, he turned off the desk lamp, and a low, mechanical roar came from afar.

I'm going to Beijing tomorrow.

He lay down on the bed, closed his eyes, and did a set of four breaths.

The small, warm light, about the size of a copper button, shone steadily within the Sun's Throne, rising and falling gently with each breath.

The panel floated in the corner of my consciousness.

[Breathing] Lv.2 Experience: 281/500

[Knowledge] Lv.2 Experience: 83/500

After breaking through the first milestone in breathing techniques, the experience point boost from daily breathing becomes almost negligible.

Now, I can only get a noticeable increase in experience points by practicing breathing techniques every day.

My initial estimate that I could reach the maximum level of [Breathing] at lv2 within two months was indeed a bit optimistic.

[Knowledge] After reaching level 2, the experience points gained through self-study and regular tutoring will be greatly reduced.

He had a vague premonition that level 3 skill would be a hurdle.

Perhaps this is the difference between the first-tier "newcomer" and the second-tier "professional".

But now I don't have any resources related to the occult.

With daily, cost-free study and breathing exercises, you can make steady progress, so there's nothing to complain about.

………………

The whole family got busy early the next morning.

The father began to calculate the accounts:

"Bristol to the capital, third class one-way ticket, two shillings for adults, half price for children... wait, you're both over fourteen, there are no children's tickets available."

He started calculating again: "Four adult third-class seats, one way, eight shillings, round trip would be..."

Sixteen shillings, he forced himself not to sigh in front of the children.

Sixteen shillings is enough for the whole family's food expenses for a month, and can buy Evelyn several pairs of new shoes.

They spent four train tickets just to go to the capital for a family dinner where they might not even have a proper meal.

"How much is a first-class seat?" Mother came downstairs, carrying ironed clothes in her hands.

"First class?" The father looked up, his expression quite telling: "Are you serious?"

"I was just asking."

"It costs more than a pound per person."

The mother didn't say anything more.

"Third class is fine," Richard said, coming out of the kitchen with a teacup. "A seat is fine, it's not like we're on vacation."

"Third-class seats are crowded," Evelyn interjected without looking up as she squatted down by the door to change her shoes.

There were two pairs of shoes in front of her.

On the left are the loafers I wear to school every day; the toes have worn down to a light color, but they are still relatively clean.

On the right are small leather shoes for formal occasions. They've only been worn a few times, so they're still quite new, but the shoe size is noticeably too small.

She tried putting her feet in the shoe; her toes pressed against the tips, creating a bulge.

"Is it crowded?" Richard looked down.

"It's not crowded." Evelyn squeezed her feet in a bit more, stood up and took a couple of steps, but the expression on her face betrayed her.

Margaret walked over and squatted down, pinching the toes of her daughter's shoes: "They're definitely too small; her toes are sticking out to the front."

Richard took a pair of spare thin cotton socks from his room and handed them over.

"Wearing it as a lining will make it more comfortable."

"Your feet are a size smaller than mine, so they fit you perfectly."

Evelyn stared at the socks, hesitated for a moment, then took them and put on the little leather shoes again.

She stomped her foot on the floor and nudged it forward with her toes: "...It's a little better."

The family of four stood at the door putting on their shoes, and Richard took a moment to glance at their outfits.

Father's three-piece suit was respectable but cramped, Mother's dress was exquisite but old, and Sister's leather shoes were pretty but too tight.

Everyone is playing their best cards against a wall, a battle they're not really willing to fight.

………………

There were quite a few people on the platform: merchants carrying suitcases, housewives holding children, postmen in uniforms, and a few sailors carrying canvas duffel bags.

The father bought four tickets at the ticket window, carefully counted the change he received, and then put it in his pocket.

The family sat down on a bench while waiting for the train to depart.

The atmosphere was somewhat somber.

The father opened the newspaper he carried with him, but his eyes didn't really move across the pages; he was probably just looking for something to do.

The mother sat upright, her hands folded on her knees, her eyes fixed on the empty railway tracks across the platform.

Evelyn sat next to Richard, her toes touching the ground and her heels dangling in the air.

After a long silence, Richard nudged his sister's elbow.

The girl turned her head and saw him take a paper packet out of the side pocket of his backpack.

Richard handed the paper package to his mother.

"mom."

Margaret looked away from the railway tracks and stared at the object in her son's hand with some confusion.

"A birthday present," Richard said. "A few days late, but I've been keeping it for you."

Evelyn also pulled another paper packet from her small handbag, smaller and more bulging than Richard's.

Happy birthday, Mom.

The girl placed the paper package and Richard's package side by side in her mother's hands.

Margaret looked down at the two paper packets, her fingers pinching the knot of the hemp rope.

Her birthday was indeed a few days ago.

That night, her old ailment flared up again; she felt a severe tightness in her chest.

The coughing came in waves, intermittently from the first half of the night until dawn.

Evelyn got up in the middle of the night to pour her water, pat her back, and prop her up with pillows, keeping her up for most of the night.

Richard wanted to help but was pushed back to his room by his sister, and he couldn't sleep much even with the wall between them.

My father didn't come home that day; the factory had an urgent order to fulfill.

He worked three consecutive night shifts, eating and sleeping in the temporary dormitory next to the workshop.

No one in the family mentioned it on my birthday, and the day just passed by.

"Hurry up and dismantle it," Evelyn urged.

The mother patted her daughter's head and took off her head first.

The layers of kraft paper were unfolded, revealing a pair of dark brown wool gloves.

This is the one in the window of the Grafton Street department store, three shillings.

"Give it a try." Evelyn took the gloves out of the paper package and shook them.

Margaret took off her old gloves and put on the new ones, which fit perfectly.

She slowly clenched her fist, the velvet lining against her palm, warm and comforting.

"Is it appropriate?" Richard asked.

"It's suitable." The mother's voice was a little hoarse.

She took apart Richard's as well.

Inside the paper package was a light gray wool scarf, finely knitted and soft to the touch.

The scarf cost Richard one shilling and five pence; he and Hugh found it while browsing a flea market.

The female worker selling scarves said they were knitted by herself, using good yarn picked from the leftover stock of the wool textile factory.

Richard slashed the price from two shillings to one shilling and five pence, using the same student sales pitch he always used.

Margaret wiped her eyes and put her arms around her children sitting on either side of her. "Thank you."

The father, who was standing to the side, put down his newspaper and suddenly said something completely unrelated to the current situation:

"You can keep these two paper packets; you can use them to store other things later."

The mother chuckled: "The moment you said that, the atmosphere was completely ruined."

"I don't understand that."

"We all know you don't understand." Evelyn leaned against her mother. "Dad, how did you manage to win Mom's heart back then?"

"She came to me of her own accord."

"...Rogers, what are you saying?" The mother's expression was somewhat unfriendly.

But the father didn't stop talking: "When I first met your maternal grandfather, I thought I had no chance."

There used to be an old dog in front of that house, and that dog would bite strangers.

"And then?" Evelyn leaned forward.

"Then Margaret just stood there and watched me and the dog waste about ten minutes."

The mother took off the gloves, folded them neatly, and put them back in the paper bag; she was somewhat reluctant to wear them.

"Your maternal grandfather looked at your father like he was an idiot."

She continued, "But I find your dad's headstrong and impulsive nature quite amusing."

"Oh?" Evelyn's gaze swept back and forth between her parents.

The father stood up somewhat awkwardly and straightened his coat collar: "Let's go, or we'll miss the train."

The family of four stood up with their luggage and walked along the platform toward their carriage.

Upon entering the third-class carriage, the aisle was piled with all kinds of luggage, and the overhead luggage racks were crammed with snakeskin bags and old suitcases.

The car started moving quickly.

An elderly couple sat opposite them, carrying a cage of chickens.

The chicken kicked around in its cage for half an hour before finally settling down and falling into a deep sleep between Briston and the capital.

Richard pushed the window open a crack, and the wind outside let in the smell of coal smoke, but at least there was no smell of chicken manure.

The wheels rolled over the gaps in the tracks, causing the carriage to jolt slightly.

The distant cluster of chimneys grew lower and lower, and the silhouette of the industrial area was replaced by the outline of the hills.

Mines, iron smelting furnaces, and densely packed row houses gradually gave way to pasture fences, haystacks, and the occasional orchard.

The train passed a small station without stopping. The platform was empty except for a dog sitting on a bench watching the train go by.

Richard took Cicero's speech out of his bag and turned to the pages that were already worn and frayed from his frequent reading.

He didn't read aloud; his gaze slid across the sentences, his mind automatically replaying the rhythm and phrasing of each paragraph.

About half an hour later, someone got off the bus in the opposite seat, leaving a newspaper on the seat and forgetting to take it with them.

Richard's attention was drawn to the newspaper.