I loaded the Mysticism panel.

The long hand of the clock climbed over that mark.

The butler stood under the porch, holding the envelope in his hand, for a long time.

He waited and waited, until the house was so quiet that he could hear the geese moving by the pond in the backyard.

He handed the top envelope to the young doorman on night watch.

"Send it to Imperial University, Room 314, Petrie Building."

"Hand it to Miss Isabella personally."

The second envelope was sent through the telegraph office.

The third one, which he put in his pocket, had "Margaret" written on it.

After the butler finished doing all that, he returned to the gatepost and stood there.

The tooth-shaped engraving on the left stone pillar faded after dawn.

At this moment, rainwater flowed down the groove, and the groove was so shallow that it was almost unrecognizable.

He didn't understand this; he just felt empty inside.

"Master," he said softly to the empty doorway. "Why won't you let me stay with you?"

Isabella didn't sleep a wink all night.

On the night of the day of mourning, the college opened all the sealing arrays on the entire campus. She stayed at the node in her department and didn't return to her office until dawn.

She had just sat down behind her writing desk, and before she had even dipped her red pen in ink, there was a knock on the door.

A familiar-looking young man, soaked to the bone, handed in an envelope.

"Miss, the butler asked me to bring this."

Isabella recognized the handwriting.

She knew her father's handwriting so well; every stroke was neat and precise, just like him.

The letter was short, which was typical of her father's style.

Isabella read less than half of the letter before standing up, grabbing her coat hanging on the back of the chair, and rushing out the door.

The red pen rolled off the writing desk and fell to the ground.

Richard was intercepted by his aunt on the way.

He had just returned from Huayue Street and hadn't slept all night; he was so tired that he didn't even want to talk.

"Richard!"

Isabella leaned half her body out of the car window, her face deathly pale.

"Your maternal grandfather..."

She slipped the letter into Richard's hand.

Richard read two paragraphs, then turned and climbed into his aunt's carriage.

The carriage sped all the way to number 13 Chelsea Road.

The butler was waiting under the porch. When he saw the two jump out of the car, he was stunned at first, and then he almost couldn't hold back his tears.

"Where is my father?" Isabella rushed up the steps.

"Master left last night," the butler said, his voice trembling.

"He didn't come back all night. After dawn... I delivered the letter as the master instructed."

"Where did he go?" Richard grasped the key point.

The butler shook his head, then seemed to remember something.

"Before the master left, he circled the area around Bone Hill Garden on the map in his study."

Bone Hill Garden, Richard's mind raced.

"Let's go." His aunt pulled him into the car again.

The carriage headed east of the city.

Isabella sat in the carriage, twisting her skirt with both hands, without saying a word.

Richard had never seen his aunt like this before.

His usually perpetually cold face was now taut and his lips were trembling.

"Auntie," Richard wanted to say something.

Things aren't as bad as everyone thinks; at least the biggest hurdle has been overcome.

"Don't speak," Isabella interrupted him. "Let me...let me catch my breath."

Her voice was very soft, almost drowned out by the sound of the wheels.

Richard shut his mouth.

The two rushed into the garden and immediately saw the mess all over the place.

Richard spread out the still water of the Mirroring Technique and shone it in all directions.

The ether here is in complete disarray; a fierce battle clearly took place here last night.

"She's not here." Richard retrieved the still water. "Auntie, she's not here."

"Don't rush, let's split up and search."

Isabella took a deep breath and tried to regain her composure.

"Go ask the branch office. With something this serious happening, the branch office should have a record of it."

When Richard and Isabella pushed open the door to the East City Police Department after receiving the news from the branch office, the on-duty patrol officer was dozing off at his desk.

"Excuse me, did you see an elderly gentleman this morning? He was wearing a dark gray hunting suit, tall, and had gray hair."

The patrolman looked up, still dazed.

"The old man in the hunting attire?" He rubbed his eyes. "He's in the inner room."

Isabella swayed slightly.

"Is...is the person alright?"

"What could possibly be wrong?" The patrolman yawned.

"My colleague ran into him near Bone Hill Garden this morning; he must have gotten lost while taking a walk."

"When asked where he lived, he wouldn't tell, he just said he wanted to have some tea."

"We brewed him a pot of tea, and he's been sitting in the inner room all morning."

Richard and Isabella exchanged a glance, and almost simultaneously rushed into the inner room.

The inner room was a simple reception room with an old wooden table and two chairs.

Gerrard sat there with a rough porcelain teacup in front of him, steam rising from it.

He held his cup and was slowly taking a sip.

His relaxed demeanor was a stark contrast to the two people outside who were frantically searching for him.

"dad!"

Gerald looked up and saw his daughter, then paused in surprise.

"What brings you here?" He put down his teacup. "Weren't I busy at school?"

"How did I get here?" Isabella's face, which had been tense the whole way, suddenly broke down.

"Your farewell letter arrived in my office! I thought you... I thought you..."

She couldn't continue, and tears finally streamed down her face.

Gerald then remembered the three letters.

His expression froze for a moment.

"...That letter." He coughed and turned his face away. "The butler delivered it too early."

"Sent it too early?" Isabella wiped away her tears, her voice cracking. "What do you mean, sent it too early!"

"It's just..." Gerald was uncharacteristically speechless for a moment. "What should have happened didn't happen."

Richard stood at the door watching this scene, and the heart that had been in his throat finally settled back into his stomach.

"You've been here all morning drinking tea all by yourself."

Isabella's tears hadn't stopped, but her tone had already become aggressive.

"The tea here is quite good," Gerald changed the subject, picking up his cup and taking another sip. "Would you like to try some?"

"Why should I taste it!"

Isabella snatched the cup of tea from his hand and slammed it down on the table, splashing tea everywhere.

Gerald's usually stern face softened as he looked at his daughter, who was both crying and angry.

He didn't know how to explain it.

The bugle call came, then it went.

He followed the patrol officer here, sat down, and had a cup of tea.

He'd been drinking this cup of tea since morning, and all he could think about was that he hadn't died.

"Richard." Gerald's gaze passed over his daughter and landed on his grandson.

Richard met his gaze, and neither the grandfather nor the grandson spoke.

It was already noon when Gerrard was brought back to Chelsea Road number 13.

When the butler saw the master step across the threshold alive, his legs went weak, and he had to hold onto the door frame to keep from kneeling.

"Master..." he stammered, wiping his eyes. "You're back...you're finally back..."

"Why are you crying?" Gerald handed him the purse. "I'm perfectly fine."

"The letters... those three letters..." The butler was still wiping away tears.

"It's ruined." Gerald took off his rain-soaked hunting clothes. "Go and get them back."

No sooner had he finished speaking than the phone in the living room started ringing like crazy.

The housekeeper went to pick him up.

His expression changed after just one sentence; he quickly covered the microphone and turned to look at the master.

"...It's Miss Margaret."

Gerrard's expression froze for a moment.

Isabella snatched the microphone away.

"Sis! It's me!" she called out first. "Dad's alright, it was a false alarm!"

There was a deathly silence on the other end of the phone.

Then, Margaret's voice boomed out, and Richard could hear it clearly even through the phone line.

"What do you mean by 'false alarm'!"

"When I received that letter, I went limp on the spot! Your brother-in-law caught me so I wouldn't fall to the ground! Evelyn was so scared she didn't even eat!"

"I was just about to pack my things and catch the train to Beijing, and now you're telling me it was a false alarm?!"

Isabella moved the microphone a little further away.

"Sister, listen to me..."

"Let him tell me himself!"

Gerald took the microphone.

"Margaret." He cleared his throat, adopting the air of the head of the household. "I'm fine."

"Are you alright?" The voice on the other end of the phone suddenly rose in volume.

"Why did you write that letter if you had nothing to do!"

"That's... just in case."

"Just in case?" Margaret's voice trembled.

"Dad, I haven't heard you say a single kind word in over thirty years, and yet you come right off with a farewell letter!"

Gerald pressed the microphone to his ear, momentarily unable to find the words.

This daughter, when she gets angry, is just like her mother.

"I..." He hesitated, which was unusual for him. "I'm fine, aren't I?"

"Dad..." Margaret's voice softened. "It's good that you're alright."

"You're alright... that's all that matters."

Gerald held the microphone.

"You don't need to rush to catch the train. You can come back when it's warmer in the spring."

"I didn't stay long enough last Christmas, so I'll stay longer this time."

After hanging up the phone, the living room was quiet for a while.

Then Isabella couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"...Go and finish grading all your papers," Gerald said sternly.

"All you do all day is laugh at your father."

Isabella laughed even harder.

Her eyes, red from crying, curved into crescents, tears still clinging to her eyelashes, yet she was already smiling.

Richard stood aside, watching the lively scene of everything that had been lost and then recovered, and the weight on his heart finally lifted.

The butler came in to report.

"Sir... the things from Whitby have been delivered."

What Whitby sent was an enormous black lacquered wooden box.

"What is this?" Isabella leaned closer to take a look.

Gerrard remained silent, but his expression visibly darkened.

He hesitated, but still opened the box. Inside was a whole box of black jade mourning brooches.

Each of those brooches was exquisitely crafted, shiny black, and had a small braided strand of hair inlaid in the center.

Isabella picked one up and turned it over to look at it. The back of the brooch was engraved with "In memory of my father".

"Dad...this is you..."

"I ordered it myself," Gerald said, his voice hoarse. "For you... for the people who came to pay their respects."

Isabella stared at Gerrard for a long time.

"You order so many brooches, do you really think there will be that many people coming to put them on you?"

"There are still a few old friends of the Ashford family," Gerrard said, his voice lowering.

"Put them all away," Gerald finally said. "Keep the brooch...."

"What are you going to do with it?" Isabella asked.

"There will come a day when it comes in handy."

The old man's voice was calm.

"Just because I couldn't leave today doesn't mean I won't be able to leave next time."

"Don't say things like that!"

"Alright, alright," Gerald waved his hand, unusually yielding. "I won't say anything more."

After the false alarm, everyone relaxed.

The butler busied himself serving hot soup and bread, but Isabella had little appetite and began to peruse the farewell letter she hadn't finished reading earlier.

"...When you were seven, you made a wreath of daisies and put it on the head of the old hunting dog in the house, and even named it the Flower Fairy."

Isabella's expression grew increasingly strange.

"...When you were eleven years old, you secretly wore the high heels your mother left behind and went downstairs."

She slipped and tumbled down from the fifth step to the first, crying and saying the stairs were deliberately making things difficult for her...

Isabella's ears slowly turned red.

Richard, who had been drinking his soup with his head down, became curious when he saw his aunt's expression and quietly moved closer to her.

"...After your mother left, you were afraid of the dark at night, but you insisted that a thief had broken into the house and that you wanted to sleep in the same bed with your sister."

Richard couldn't help but read it aloud.

"Later, your sister secretly told me that the thief was just you kicking off the blanket... Auntie, so you were like this when you were little..."

"Richard!"

Isabella snatched the page from her hand, her ears turning bright red.

Without even glancing at it again, she tore the paper into pieces and crumpled it into a ball in front of everyone at the table.

Gerrard lowered his head and drank his soup, not even lifting his eyelids.

"Tear it up, I've got it all in my head."

Isabella was so angry she couldn't speak. She clutched the crumpled paper in her hand, but was too embarrassed to actually throw it away.