I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Clara put the pen aside, and seeing Richard's serious expression, she suddenly laughed.

"Actually, it's not as scary as I made it out to be."

"Think about those traditional businesses that make a living by treating illnesses. They've been doing this for so many years that they've built up a large business, and their customers are all rich and powerful."

"You're all alone, and you're a professional in this field."

The small business they were robbing was, in their eyes, no different from a small stall selling hot soup by the docks.

"They might not care about your petty gains, and they're even less likely to cause you trouble specifically because of this."

Clara took a sip of tea.

"I'll show you the worst side first, so you can sit down and listen to what I have to say."

Richard was somewhat at a loss for words, both amused and exasperated.

This senior, who is usually very sparing with words, rarely took the initiative to talk to him so much; it turned out she was doing it specifically to scare him.

Clara added:

"But the idea I just gave you was correct: scarcity increases value, and you don't have that much energy to take care of everyone else, do you?"

………………

In the last week of March, Clara prepared to move back to her own dormitory from the sanatorium.

Sofia and her aunt, of course, came that day.

Isabella was visibly pleased to see that Clara could tidy up her things and hear people clearly.

"Have you packed everything?" she asked.

"I've kept it safe," Clara replied.

Sophia busied herself carrying stacks of books out, complaining as she did so.

"Clara, you have so many books, more than in the professor's office."

That's clearly an exaggeration; Clara's book collection is certainly not as extensive as that of Associate Professor Isabella.

Clara was too lazy to argue with her and took the stack of things from her hands.

"Say less, or you'll hurt your back."

After she had almost finished packing, Clara took out the violin again.

The old lacquer on the body of the instrument still gleamed with that warm color.

Richard stood to the side, watching her rest the violin on her chin and grasp the bow.

My senior isn't exactly a striking beauty.

But it is the kind of beauty that grows more pleasing to the eye the more you look at it, and it also possesses a calm temperament honed by years of learning.

Now, that face has shed the emaciated look of illness.

My aunt stopped reviewing the endless stream of documents she was working on.

Sophia stopped moving the books, stood there holding them, and looked at Clara.

The room fell silent, then Clara began to play a note, and the bow began to move across the strings.

That was the piece her parents played together.

The first three notes were so soft, like someone humming a song from afar.

By the fourth note, Richard's heart was in his throat.

This is the note that my senior has been struggling to pronounce accurately lately.

The bow was drawn back, and this time the pitch was accurate.

Clara's hands didn't stop; she regained the sound in her left ear and could hear every note she played.

He went down one note at a time, quickly and accurately.

The piece begins with her father's part and then transitions to her mother's part.

She combined the parts of the two characters into one, creating a seamless flow and structure.

She played the entire piece without pausing for a single note.

The room was quiet for a moment. Clara took the violin off her shoulder and looked down at it.

She just watched quietly, and as she watched, her eyes slowly reddened.

"I'm done," she said softly.

"Clara!" Sofia put the stack of books on the table and rushed over to hug her.

"You're done! You've really finished!"

"Don't shake it." Clara protectively held the precious violin in her arms.

What should I do if I accidentally knock over the piano?

"I don't care!" Sofia's eyes were red.

"You finished a whole tube!"

Isabella sat in her chair, watching as her student was finally able to put the violin back on her shoulder.

She walked over, reached out, and gently pressed Clara's head.

"Teacher..." Clara was a little embarrassed by this.

"I actually learned to play the piano when I was a child," Isabella suddenly said.

Richard was somewhat surprised and turned to look at his aunt.

"Really?" Sophia also became interested.

"Teacher, have you studied any musical instruments?"

"I studied it," my aunt said nostalgically.

When I was little, I was very envious of my older sister who could play the piano.

"My sister played so well that I would sit by the piano and listen to her play with great fascination. I even begged my father to let me learn too."

"And then?" Sofia pressed.

My aunt's expression turned strange.

"Later, that piano teacher said I played too rigidly."

What does "rigid" mean?

"They said I play the piano so precisely, one note at a time, like a ticker timer."

"But..."

My aunt snorted unhappily.

He said I have no artistic talent and that my brain is only suitable for academic research, not for art.

Sofia burst out laughing.

"Sophia!" Auntie's face darkened.

Sofia was still smiling.

"Playing the piano, one note at a time, is very precise; isn't that good?"

"What a load of crap!" My aunt swore, a rare occurrence for her.

"Music is all about that indescribable feeling, and I didn't have that feeling, so it just faded away."

As she said this, there was a hint of regret in her eyes that she hadn't been able to make up for long ago.

Isabella looked at the violin in her student's hand.

"So I'm genuinely happy that you can pick up your instrument again."

That afternoon, the four of them sat in the small hut of the sanatorium and drank tea for the entire afternoon.

Richard took out the new pastries that Grey had sent from the tin box.

Isabella picked out two pieces, complaining all the while, but her hands never stopped working.

Clara played another song, this time a short Irish folk song with a simple melody.

The low, warm notes of the G string filled the air. Sophia leaned back in her chair and listened, then closed her eyes and began to doze off.

Isabella held her teacup and looked out the window. The sunlight slanted across the elm tree, and the tender green leaves trembled in the wind.

………………

In the last few days of March, the rain in Beijing finally stopped.

When Richard reached the entrance of the dormitory building, the old man in the gatehouse waved to him.

"Williams, there's a package for you."

He took over a tightly bound cloth bag, which was wrapped in two layers of oil paper.

The tying method is a specific method used for shipping rope knots.

Richard took it and weighed it in his hand; it was surprisingly heavy.

The sender field only had a military mail number; there was no name.

But he remembered the number; it belonged to Baldwin's company.

Some time ago, when Richard was at the mansion handing over "final arrangements" to his maternal grandfather, he was deeply impressed by this number.

He carried the somewhat heavy package back to his room.

Use a paper cutter to cut open the outer layer of oil paper; there was also a layer of old newspaper stuffed inside as cushioning.

The newspaper is from France, dated mid-last month.

Beneath the newspaper was a metal box converted from a military ammunition box.

A narrow strip of paper with crooked pencil writing was pasted on the box.

"Williams, I don't need these things, you can have them all."

The signature at the end was surprisingly Coleman.

Richard was genuinely surprised this time.

He opened the iron box, which was divided into three compartments.

The left compartment contains four bronze badges, each with a different design.

Two of them are similar to the metal badges on military caps.

One was a brass ring unscrewed from the flagpole of the signal flag, and the last was a broken bugle mouthpiece.

Richard checked the list and found that there was basically no ether on it, and it couldn't be converted into points.

But since someone sent it from so far away, he couldn't just throw it away, could he?

The middle section was clearly the main attraction, and it was wrapped tightly with scraps of cloth.

Richard cut the cloth layer by layer and found a black stone the size of a thumb inside.

The surface is polished to a shine, and there is a small hole drilled manually at the bottom.

Richard was quite excited as soon as he applied the spiritual vision.

This stuff was similar to the Flemish mud congeal he had gotten from his grandfather, but it was purer and had far fewer impurities.

The rightmost compartment contained a piece of letter paper that had been folded several times.

The strokes are of varying thickness, suggesting that it was written while the person was kneeling on their knees and holding a pencil stub.

Richard:

I have mastered the technique you gave me.

I was hit by a shell in the trench a while ago.

The shrapnel went through under my left rib, but thankfully it didn't hit any vital areas.

The military doctor stitched me up with seven stitches, and I secretly used your technique to give myself acupuncture for three more days.

When the stitches were removed on the fourth day, the military doctor was shocked. He said he had never seen anyone recover so quickly.

I told him I was born with a good constitution, and he believed me.

You no longer need to worry about the loop.

Since you left, I've struggled to squeeze out a little bit of remaining ether and barely managed to get through the biggest hurdle.

The circuits have now reached a point where they can heal themselves, and with my continued self-administered acupuncture, my ether output has more than doubled since when I enlisted.

Major Baldwin of our company found out, but didn't say anything.

They only let me take an additional shooting test. I came in second in the whole company. The first place was taken by a veteran who had been training for eight years.

These spoils of war were all picked up from the battlefield. Most of them are not very useful, but you can keep them as souvenirs.

But take a good look at that black rock in the middle.

Major Baldwin also said it was a bit different. I don't understand your scholars' methods of identification. You can judge for yourself.

If it's useless, just throw it away; there are plenty of them everywhere in the trenches anyway.

Let's leave it at that for now and talk about it again after the war is over.

See you in the capital.

There was a dark mark on the edge of the paper, which must have been stained with mud from the trench.

He folded the letter back and put it back in the iron box, and took out the black stone separately.

The ether and death energy mixed together, forming a stable complementary structure.

Richard's knowledge brought up the relevant information, revealing that the conditions for this thing to form were extremely demanding.

The same clod of soil is repeatedly turned over and covered, the ether is compacted and loosened repeatedly, much like kneading dough.

He turned the stone around under the lamp.

Coleman wrote in his letter that they were everywhere in the trenches.

But something of this quality couldn't possibly be found by chance; this kid must have saved the best one he found for himself.

Richard carefully put away the black stone, took out a letter, and began to reply to Coleman.

He wrote a few lines and then stopped.

Most of what he wanted to say couldn't be written on ordinary letter paper; military mail had to pass inspection.

Some things can only be discussed after we meet.

Richard ultimately only wrote a few lines.

Coleman:

I have received the items.

The black stone is excellent and very useful to me.

Now that your circuit is stable, practice it properly.

Major Baldwin is a relative of mine, and he is trustworthy.

When you come back, don't forget, we're going to have dinner together at the Royal Hotel.

—Richard

He sealed the letter and went downstairs to the reception room.

That evening, Richard returned to Ashford Manor. The study light was on, and Gerald was sitting in the old chair by the window, flipping through something.

Richard stood at the door for a while and noticed that his grandfather's spirits had indeed improved a lot.

Once a person is no longer waiting to die, even their sitting posture changes.

"Come in."

Richard sat down across the desk and handed Coleman the letter.

Gerrard took it, glanced at it casually, and placed it on the corner of the table.

"You're right, I had someone specifically investigate this child."

Richard raised an eyebrow and asked.

"So when did he enlist?"

Gerald recalled.

"It's probably around January."

"When he first enlisted, his inspection of the circuit caused quite a stir, since it's rare to see someone repair a broken circuit."

"Most circuits are broken once they're broken; no amount of maintenance can keep them barely functioning."

"It's extremely rare to find a path that breaks off and then grows a new one on its own."

Richard nodded.

Gerrard continued.

"So I had Baldwin suppress this matter and then put it in the company at hand."

"The front lines are like meat grinders; out of ten new recruits thrown in, only three will survive."

"Let him go with Baldwin; at least it won't be as dangerous."

"After the war ends, the military can keep him if they want."

"If you don't want to stay, you can register at the Hunter's Guild; I can give him a letter of recommendation."

Richard was somewhat surprised; his maternal grandfather's letter of recommendation was not given casually.

Gerald smiled and looked at him.

"Since you are willing to teach him the Moon Nail Reflection technique."

"At least you've shown that you trust him, and given his path of breaking down and rebuilding, his potential is much higher than that of the average person."

He might be even slightly better than Vincent, and there's a good chance he'll achieve a significant breakthrough in mastering a minor skill in the future.

"A child with potential, and one you trust, writing an invitation letter is nothing to me."

"Thank you, Grandpa," Richard said.

Gerrard took a sip of tea.

"Don't thank me. I can only give him a push from behind. How he walks his own path is up to him."