I loaded the Mysticism panel.

The weather cleared up again during the first week of May, and Richard was in a good mood.

The window of room 314 was slightly ajar, and the breeze carried the scent of lilacs inside.

When Richard entered, he found his aunt carrying a stack of rubbings out of a drawer, leaving no room on the table to put a teacup.

"Auntie, did you call me?"

Isabella patted the stack of rubbings.

"Routine inspection."

"It's been almost two months. I need to know if you've become stupid since I handed you over to Clara."

Clara herself sat in the chair by the window, her copy of the rubbing spread out on her lap.

She looked up at Richard, a slight smile playing on her lips, but said nothing.

My aunt randomly picked one out of the stack and pushed it out.

Medieval church rituals, in Latin, with three layers of steganography.

Richard had seen this document before; it had kept him occupied for an entire night.

"You have 10 minutes."

It only took him 6 minutes.

Isabella took it and looked at it.

"How did you solve this layer?"

"The offset is not fixed; it follows the Lent dates in the church calendar, and there is a mark on the edge of the page."

Isabella brought the paper closer and searched for a while, finally finding a spot no bigger than a fingernail.

"Who taught you this solution?"

"Senior Clara."

The office was quiet for a while.

Isabella put the paper back on the table.

"I had to work my way up from scratch back then."

Richard said, "I know, my senior told me about it."

Clara lowered her head by the window, not turning a single page of her own copy of the rubbing.

"What else did she say to you?"

"She said that you marked her proofreading in red from beginning to end that year, and wrote on the last line: Redo everything."

Isabella put down the red pen.

"That's because she's not good enough."

Clara gave her advisor a disapproving look.

"I had just started my undergraduate studies when you gave me such a difficult question."

Isabella sat in the chair for a while, then suddenly asked.

"You think Clara explained it more clearly than I did?"

Richard thought for a moment and replied tactfully, "Your senior speaks slower than you."

"Can slow be considered good?"

"Slower absorption is better."

Isabella's lips moved, but she didn't say anything more.

She turned around and went to the bookshelf by the window to start looking through the documents.

"Since you two are so energetic today, let me get down to business."

My aunt pulled out an old lecture note with a worn cover and handed it to Clara next to her.

"Last Saturday, I received an internal notification from across the strait."

The relaxed atmosphere suddenly became tense.

"What announcement?"

"On the morning of May 2nd, all four people inside a house in Durham were found dead."

"The first police officers to arrive ruled it a suicide, but the newspapers reported it as neurasthenia."

"Two trucks arrived within two hours, and the people who got out were fully equipped with protective gear and sealed off the entire area."

Richard put down the rubbing in his hand.

Who is the homeowner?

"Hohenheim".

When the name reached his ears, Richard didn't react much.

But as his aunt continued to add more details, he began to feel more familiar with it.

"He is 72 years old this year. On the surface, he is a chemist, and he holds many titles in their academic society."

But on his mystical side, he was a great scholar of the hearth tradition.

Isabella added.

"The last line of the report indicates that the homeowner's whereabouts are unknown."

"Auntie, how could something happen to someone as knowledgeable as us?"

Isabella glanced at him.

"Do you know what a person has to give up to become a master?"

"All I know is that the higher the rank, the less visible one is," Richard replied.

He thought to himself silently.

The mystical side should be mysterious, which may sound like a truism, but upon closer examination, it makes perfect sense.

Isabella opened the old lecture notes in her hand.

"Being unseen is the result; you've followed a tradition to its end and reached that boundary marker."

From the moment you touch it, you are no longer a person walking; you become a part of the road itself.

Roads have no boundaries, but people do.

So when that moment comes, a question will fall on your head.

"What's the problem?"

"who I am?"

Richard thought to himself, "This has quite a philosophical meaning."

Isabella continued:

"You can't answer this question yourself because you've already melted into the road, so someone else has to answer it for you."

On this side of the curtain, every memory of your existence is a nail.

Your wife remembers the rhythm of your snoring, your daughter remembers which hand you use to cut bread, and even your cat recognizes the sound of your footsteps going up the stairs. All of these things will keep you rooted to the spot.

Clara also looked up and blinked.

Isabella continued her story.

"The more anchor points you have, the deeper you will sink. The advantage of sinking is that even when you are deepest, you can still find your way back."

"But others can also use these anchor points to find you."

If these anchors die, change, or are forgotten, the connection will be broken.

If you break too many things, you'll lose your footing.

Isabella glanced at the documents.

"Today's person is taking a different path, leaving not a single one behind."

"After being promoted, I took the initiative to cut off all my worries and attachments, leaving nothing behind."

Names, families, students, even the potted plant that had been growing on the windowsill for years—not a single thing was left.

Richard glanced at the windowsill subconsciously; the withered mint plant had sprouted new leaves this year, their green leaves glistening.

"That way, no one can reach it, and no one will recognize it."

The most fatal flaw is being caught in the middle, unable to sever all ties, yet lacking a solid anchor for support.

Clara spoke up at this moment; she had been studying the report next to her tutor.

"The report said that four people died: the wife, the daughter, an elderly servant who had served the family since they were young, and a cook."

Isabella frowned:

"Yes, it is said that the cutlery in the restaurant was neatly arranged and the soup was kept warm at the bottom of the pot. The family was waiting for the host to come home for dinner."

The cook wasn't supposed to be on duty that day; she just came back to retrieve a pair of old gloves she'd left behind. Even that was all planned out.

Richard sat in the chair for a while.

He thought about that cloud of yellow-green poisonous gas that night, and the old scholar next to him said that this newly minted expert was waiting for his moment.

Richard thought he was waiting for a great achievement, but now it seems...

The faint scent of cloves was still seeping into the office through the window cracks, and he suddenly felt that the smell was a bit cloying.

Isabella concluded by giving a summary.

"This probably can't be called suicide; perhaps it could be called recycling?"

Richard asked himself the question he truly wanted to ask today: "So, having severed all that, does it still remember what it was like when it was human?"

Isabella glanced at him.

"In the first year, it may even have to learn its own name again."

Throughout the year, it couldn't care about anyone.

"One year," Richard thought to himself.

"What about a year from now?"

"A year from now, the master above will be in charge of it."

As Isabella finished speaking, she reached into the sugar jar and felt around, only to find nothing inside.

She turned it over and tapped it twice in her palm, but not a single grain of sand came out.

Clara chimed in, "Sophia came by yesterday afternoon to ask me about the scope of the final exam questions."

"Why are you eating my candy when you're asking about the scope?"

Isabella sighed, put the empty can back in its place, and picked up the red pen again.

"Alright, I've finished checking your homework. You haven't gotten dumber, so get out of here."

Richard packed his things and walked to the door, just as he put his hand on the doorknob.

"Mentor," Clara spoke again.

"There's one more thing I think you should know: Richard healed all my injuries."

A hole was poked in the test paper with a red pen.

"When did this happen?"

"During my last two weeks at the sanatorium."

"Why didn't any of you mention this to me?"

Clara said, "I thought you would hear it on the piano."

"Of course I recognized it. I thought you raised it yourself."

Isabella turned to Richard: "Come back and sit down."

Richard sat back down.

When did you acquire this ability?

"After the transformation of the signed wonder."

"And the price?"

"It's rather slow."

"Being slow is not a big price to pay."

Richard continued to explain:

"This is the only thing I can find so far."

I tried it on several of my cousins ​​before it was applied to Clara.

The lighter the injury, the faster it heals; the deeper the injury, the longer it needs to soak. Aside from the slow healing process, I haven't found any other cost.

"After so many tests, I'm ready to use it to cure my mother."

Isabella tensed up immediately.

"If you really want treatment, why don't you try it on me first?"

Richard was somewhat surprised.

"What do you mean?"

"My sister's back has been broken for so many years, and we've consulted many people."

Every time she came, she told me I could try it first, but after each trial, she had to stay in bed for a long time to recover.

Isabella clasped her hands together.

"So, if you want to try it, try it on me first, then I can feel at ease."

Richard thought for a moment and said, "Then please sit down first, lean back in your chair and straighten your back."

The aunt opened her mouth slightly as if she wanted to say something, but in the end she chose to follow her nephew's arrangements.

She leaned her back against the chair and laid her hands flat on the table, like a primary school student whose name had been called by the teacher.

Her lips were slightly pursed, clearly showing her nervousness.

Richard watched from the side and found it somewhat amusing.

He activated his spiritual vision combined with the Mirror Concentration Technique to check if his aunt had any health problems.

The first thing that came in was my aunt sitting in this position.

The patient had poor posture that had not been corrected for a long time, had been reading small print for twenty years, and had problems with his neck and right shoulder.

My aunt's mealtimes are irregular, and she likes to eat sweets as her main meals. She also has stomach problems.

Then there are the aspects involving the mystical side.

My aunt has practiced in-depth reading of classical texts for over a decade, but she has taken many detours along the way.

The finest veins at the end of the pathway, deprived of etheric nourishment for a long time, have become somewhat darkened, segment by segment.

These minor flaws usually don't have much of an impact, but they can cause problems at crucial moments, such as when it comes to promotion.