I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Phillips was still sitting at the long table, talking incessantly to the empty chair.

The Hervédi clock ticked away, and the cup of tea poured for her father emitted only a faint steam.

Richard stood at the door for a while.

He had prepared words of comfort, but once inside the room, every word seemed superfluous.

What Phillips needed at that moment wasn't comfort, but someone who should have sat in that empty chair.

Richard can't give that.

"I'm going down now." That was all he said at the end.

Phillips didn't turn around, he just raised the hand holding the teapot.

Richard stepped out and gently closed the door behind him.

The fourth-floor corridor was cooler than the room, and only after the heat dissipated did he feel sweat on his back.

Constance was still standing at the top of the stairs.

"How is he?"

"I'm having tea," Richard said.

Constance looked up at him.

"He won't listen to anyone today. Let's try again tomorrow. By then, that pot of tea will be completely cold."

The girl lowered her head and hummed in agreement.

When Richard came downstairs, he smelled the fragrance of lilies throughout the room.

There were too many wreaths, and the fragrance was so strong that it became suffocating, masking the smells of coal smoke and wax.

The servants are taking down the black veils on both sides of the mourning hall one by one. With each veil removed, the room becomes a little brighter.

My maternal grandfather was standing on the right side of the foyer, talking to a gentleman.

The gentleman was very tall, with far less gray hair at his temples than Gerald, and wore black gloves that reached above his wrists, with mourning bandages wrapped around his arms.

He stood with a relaxed posture, and when he spoke, he turned halfway to the side, leaving the other person to listen.

Richard's still water receded as soon as it touched the surface using the stilling mirror technique.

It is a great mastery.

Constance followed him downstairs, took a half-step to the gentleman's side, and kept her eyes downcast without saying a word.

"Earl, this is my grandson," Gerald introduced, "Richard Williams."

Richard then understood the situation.

My maternal grandfather addressed that man as "Earl".

The Earl who could make Constance stand like that, especially at the Phillips family's funeral, must most likely be the Earl of Blackburn.

"Hello." Richard bowed slightly.

The count nodded to him, but it wasn't appropriate to smile at the funeral, so he didn't extend his hand.

"I have a good-for-nothing niece studying in Cheltenham. She went to the last debate week and has mentioned you several times since she came back."

Richard stood still.

This praise is both high and subtle.

As they lifted him up, they also took the Blackburn girl with them.

"You flatter me, Earl." He bowed slightly.

"No need for such modesty," Earl Blackburn shook his head.

"Second place in the Cicero Cup, first place in the preparatory course for the Debate Week, and second place in the summer training program."

Gerrard, you've channeled all your luck into this kid.

Gerrard didn't reply, but simply pulled his hat brim down further.

"Earl, young people can't resist praise."

"It's not a compliment, I just have a habit of finishing what I'm saying first."

The Earl of Blackburn changed the subject: "What do you plan to do about your grandson's matter?"

Grandfather held a barely touched cup of tea and glanced at Richard.

"He takes after his mother; he's very opinionated, and even I, as his grandfather, can't control him."

"Let the children make their own decisions."

The Earl of Blackburn turned to the side and extended his hand to his daughter.

"I personally arranged this marriage with Constance."

I think this child is good, so I just said one more thing.

Constance took the booklet out of her small handbag and handed it over with both hands.

The booklet was small, with a dark chestnut calfskin cover and the Blackburn family crest pressed in the lower right corner.

The Earl opened it and handed it to Richard.

"See? At your age, it's time to start thinking about some things."

Richard took it and opened it.

The first page features a half-length portrait of a young woman with light brown hair pulled back and a string of pearls around her neck.

A very small line of text was printed at the bottom of the portrait.

Cordelia Blackburn, 20 years old, academic practitioner specializing in rubbings and ritual documentation.

The second picture on the next page shows a red-haired girl with her face turned to the side; the artist has meticulously depicted the hint of a smile at the corner of her eyes.

"Viola Blackburn, 19 years old, a hunter, has passed the fieldwork qualification review of the branch office."

Turning the page, it's the third page, the fourth page... page after page, all filled with young women.

Blonde hair, chestnut hair, holding a violin, leading a hunting dog.

Each painting has its age, lineage, and direction of study noted in meticulously written small characters at the bottom.

They are all beautiful and charming, of marriageable age, and also practitioners of the occult.

Richard's finger paused on the edge of the paper.

Clement's unsold auction list, the Donner harem collection, the defective items in Tobin's Narrow Alley...

Each item delivered to him was accompanied by a slip of paper with the following information: year, place of origin, material, ether condition, and remarks.

He almost reached out to touch the corner of the portrait of Miss Viola on the second page to see if there was a code pressed on the back of the paper.

Realizing what he was doing, he withdrew his hand.

"This is……"

"They are all my children, and all of marriageable age are on the list."

You don't need to make a decision now; just look at the future and you'll have a better idea of ​​what to expect.

Gerrard turned his face toward the two pots of lilies by the door, acting as if it were none of his business.

Richard glanced over out of the corner of his eye and met his grandfather's gaze.

The meaning was crystal clear: You make the decision yourself, and I'll cover for you if things go wrong.

Richard closed the booklet and handed it back with both hands.

"Count, thank you for your high regard," he said.

"I'm not even 18 yet, and I've only been using this pseudonym for about six months."

If I agree at this point, all I can offer is empty words.

"The young ladies of this household deserve a more substantial promise."

The count took the book back, his expression remaining unchanged.

"Our family is very patient with this matter; you can take your time to consider it."

These words were spoken gently, but something about them felt off.

"When you reach the threshold of minor proficiency," the Earl added.

"This booklet is still here. The people in it may change a few times, but the family crest will remain the same."

"I am deeply grateful for the Earl's kindness," Richard said.

Gerrard then slowly stepped in.

"Earl, my grandson is a bit too straightforward in his studies; he doesn't mince words."

The count nodded to the two of them: "I've seen too many things that can change direction, so I can't remember them all."

After exchanging a few polite words, the group wished each other well and went their separate ways.

Constance followed her father out of the house.

One of the two pots of lilies in the foyer was moved away.

As she passed Richard, she glanced at him quickly, her eyes holding something indescribable.

It sounded like an apology, but also like a sense of shared misfortune.

Her marriage was arranged based on a booklet like this.

The rain only started falling after the carriage left the street where Phillips lived.

The wheels rolled over the wet stone slabs, making a sticky sound all the way.

Gerrard took off his top hat.

"What are you thinking about?"

"I'm wondering who did the layout of that booklet."

Gerrard glanced at him.

"The era, the place of origin, the specialty—nothing is overlooked," Richard said.

"Adding another column for save status will allow you to directly submit it to the auction house."

The old man gave a muffled laugh.

He stopped laughing halfway through, probably remembering that he had just come from someone's funeral.

"The Blackburn family's ancestor, who was a master, followed a tradition that involved reproduction."

Gerrard twirled his top hat halfway around his knee.

"The family's inherited techniques also lean towards this direction, so what this family has loved to do most for hundreds of years is to mix their blood with that of other families."

"The wider the reach, the deeper the network of connections becomes within the empire."

Richard recalled the small print at the bottom of each page of that booklet.

Age, rank, and expertise were written as clearly as a shipping manifest, indicating that the person writing the manifest clearly knew what they were writing.

"They don't force people to do anything," Gerald continued.

"There's no need to force it. If it doesn't work this year, try again next year. If it doesn't work next year, try again in ten years."

"If one generation can't handle it, we'll wait for the next. What he just said about our family not being in a hurry is the truth."

"Has our family received one too?"

"I've received it three times," Gerald said.

"Your mother had one when she was seventeen, your aunt had one when she was nineteen, and there was another time in the past when she delivered it for your uncle."

"What did your mother say?"

She read the booklet from beginning to end, without missing a single page, and then wrote a proper reply.

She said she was unworthy of such a family background, her handwriting was beautiful, and her wording was impeccable.

The raindrops pattered on the car roof, sometimes densely, sometimes sparsely.

"Where's your aunt?" Richard asked.

Gerrard's lips twitched; he was suppressing a laugh.

"Your aunt was nineteen years old that year, and had only been an undergraduate in the Department of Classics for a few years."

She took the booklet back to her room and locked the door all night.

It was delivered to my desk the next morning, and I was asked to return it exactly as it was.

"It was returned?"

"It was returned," the old woman said. "She used a red pen to correct it from beginning to end."

Richard was somewhat puzzled.

"Isn't there a Latin inscription at the bottom of each page of that booklet, with something like 'beautiful and talented' or something like that?"

"She said that the ablution in those epigraphs was used incorrectly in three places, the subjunctive mood in two places, and one sentence quoted Cicero incorrectly."

She circled them all in red pen and wrote annotations next to them.

On the last page, in the blank space, there was a line of text left.

"What did you write?"

"We suggest that your office have someone else proofread the next print run."

Richard couldn't help but laugh out loud, but then he felt that laughing on such a day was inappropriate.

Gerrard didn't seem to mind.

"The old Earl of the Blackburn family, who is the father of today's man, wrote a letter after receiving the booklet."

"To demand an explanation?"

"It's not as stingy as you think. In fact, people should thank our Isabella."

"He said those three instances of abbreviated characters were indeed wrong, and no one had pointed them out for forty years."

The carriage turned onto Chelsea Road, where the branches gleamed from the rain.

The old man put his hat back on and straightened it.

"I've made decisions for your mother and the others on many occasions throughout my life."

"I've never done this before, and I won't do it today either."

Richard watched the shadows of the trees receding outside the window.

"Grandpa, I don't want to think about these things right now."

"If I don't want to think about it, I don't want to," Gerald said.

After a while, he suddenly spoke again.

"However, there are a few girls in that booklet who are really good-looking."

Richard: "..."

"If you really like someone, don't hold back," Grandfather added slowly.

"The Blackburn family is of a certain social standing, but our family isn't exactly bad either."

"Even with my old face, I can still speak up for you."

Richard didn't respond to that, and turned to look out the window again.

Grandfather chuckled softly and stopped teasing him.

The carriage was quiet for a while.

The rain intensified, pattering against the car roof, making my eyelids feel heavy.