I loaded the Mysticism panel.

"Oh, right, the ring."

Richard pulled the silver ring out of his collar and bent down.

The cat stuck out its tongue and licked the ring, then raised its front paw to wipe its mouth.

"The print has been repaired, and the effect will be the same as before for the next year."

"What about a year from now?"

"A year from now, you might have another way."

The cat jumped from the chair onto the windowsill.

"If not, then treat me to fish again."

It turned to leave, but its hind legs slipped on the wet windowsill.

Its whole body sank down, and it only managed to stay steady by gripping the edge of the frame with its front paws.

"...This body is being a bit uncooperative tonight."

"I didn't see anything."

After the black cat turned the corner from the eaves, only the faint sound of the gas lamp burning softly remained inside the house.

Richard cleared everything off the table.

Ink bottle, notebook, and the half-finished catalog book were moved to the bed one by one.

The table lamp was moved to the left, and the deck of cards was his own, which he had had for over a year.

Shuffle and cut the cards.

He stopped halfway through washing.

Normally, he would first revise the problem in his mind three or four times before taking this step.

No need to change it tonight.

What do I have in my possession right now?

He repeated the sentence to himself and turned to the first page.

【Four of Coins - Upright】

The card depicts a person with a coin on their head, one coin under each foot, and another coin in their arms.

He sat very steadily, so steadily that it was impossible to tell whether he could stand up.

Behind the man was a city, its gates closed.

Richard mentally reviewed everything he had accumulated over the past six months, one by one.

The gold-plated badge for the essay contest cost fifty pounds, along with the qualification to "be publicly distributed throughout the country upon recommendation by the Imperial Publishing House";

The receipt for 5,000 books from the Duckworth factory was purchased by the Office of the Coordination of Wartime Abnormal Affairs, and the money came from the Treasury Department.

The editor-in-chief of Century Review sent a letter soliciting articles, with no restrictions on subject matter or word count, and offered generous remuneration. The letter is still lying in the drawer, unread.

All three of these can be attributed to one's reputation and influence in official circles.

Then he began to summarize the aspect of ability:

A kind of "luck" ingrained in one's blood;

A seed whose conditions are far from ideal, but which he already has some expectations for [Quantity, Boundary, Gift];

I chose the advanced breathing technique, the Mirroring Technique, which suits me better, and entered the second stage;

There's also the newly unlocked level 5 trait, [Greedy Fountain].

The Twin Serpent Staff was formed, gaining two key abilities: inviolability of messengers and extradition.

Hermes' reversed form;

The antler tip wrapped with the reins was a token, and it also represented the identity of the hunter's messenger.

Within three years, the trump card is to put someone on the hunting list simply by mentioning their name.

The remains of his great-grandfather, from his family lineage, can unleash the full power of a master hunter.

And there's this old man who survived, who's either busy moving potted plants from the garden into the house or tidying up his hunter's tools.

After counting, Richard stood the cards up to look at them.

None of the four coins were spent.

【Critical Thinking & Inner Awakening】Is now shining.

The Great Master's Remains unleashed its full power in this one and only attack.

The hunt will only happen once; once it's over, it's over.

Once the [Rebellious Mask] is activated, the original Hermes Mask becomes unusable, and the Twin Serpents Staff disintegrates.

That seed needs to wait until all four aspects of the [Body] stat reach level five.

[Yongquan] needs to be saved up, and it takes three months to save enough for my mother to use once.

Richard leaned back in his chair.

The person on the card is holding coins in both hands, stepping on coins with both feet, and has one coin on their head.

But if you lower your head, the one on top of your head will fall; if you lift your foot, the two on the bottom of your foot will roll away; and if you let go, the one in your arms will also be gone.

Richard suddenly remembered the Hunter.

That guy also kept so many treasures in the cabinet, but I've never seen him use them.

He placed the first card on his left and reshuffled the deck.

"I have nothing left."

The Six of Swords, upright.

A person stands at the stern of a flat-bottomed boat, using both hands to pole the boat.

A person with their head covered was sitting on the boat, and a child had their hands on the person's knees.

Six swords were stuck in the bow of the boat, their tips pointing downwards and embedded in the deck; none of them had been pulled out.

The water to the left of the boat is rippled, while the water to the right is flat.

The person punting did not turn around.

Richard held the card tightly for a long time without putting it down.

He pulled out another light yellow card.

There were only two sentences left on the card: I have received your letter, and I am in good health.

Richard sighed and flipped the cards over.

He read the third question slower than the first two.

"What I thought was mine, isn't actually mine."

[Judgment - Right Position].

This is a big card.

Above the card, an angel emerges from the clouds, its upper body raised, holding a trombone in both hands.

Several open coffins floated on the sea below, and the people inside the coffins stood up, raising both hands and looking up at the bugle.

They didn't look at each other, only at the bugle.

Richard understood it at a glance.

On the eve of May Day, so many mouths sang the same tune on the same night.

That night, he stood hundreds of miles away, on that network, facilitating the extradition of five thousand people.

This net is alive; it's still singing today.

Richard held the sign up to the light. Although he hadn't blown the horn himself, his name had already been exposed.

For the past few months, the expert from Heituhe has been searching for who tore three syllables off it and then handed it to the hunter.

And on this singing website, which stretches from the capital all the way to Devonshire and features millions of voices singing together, one's surname is clearly written.

Richard was the slowest to place the fourth card.

"What I thought wasn't mine, is actually mine."

The Devil (Upright)

Another big card.

In the center of the card, a demon with long ram horns crouches on a low platform with its wings spread.

A man and a woman stood naked in front of the stage.

Horns also grew on the heads of the two people, and iron chains around their necks were attached to the iron rings on the platform legs.

The chain is wide enough that they can easily remove it from their heads if they just lower their heads.

This card is not to be turned over in the living room of a respectable family.

Many clever fortune tellers won't display this card when they go out to do a reading.

Richard didn't feel anything.

What is depicted on the card and what the card governs are two completely different things.

He stared at the two chains for a long time.

That night, when he revealed his "luck with him," he recited Ashford's name.

He was quite pleased with himself at the time, thinking that his maternal grandfather's family would enjoy good fortune with him from now on.

"What I thought wasn't mine, is actually mine."

He repeated the sentence in his mind.

Is it possible that this is a very selfish thing to do?

The injection of luck is like the chain in the [Devil] card; once you gain luck, you are naturally more deeply bound to it.

He personally put the chain on, and it was placed around the neck of everyone who would later bear this surname.

If he continues to rise to prominence, his entire family will rise to great heights.

But if...

Richard felt a tightness in his chest and didn't think about it anymore.

He felt that in the future, he would need to make decisions about matters involving other people after more careful consideration.

He can't get that luck back, and once he's done it, he shouldn't go back on his word.

After laying out the four sheets, Richard laid them out side by side and looked at them for a while.

The first two cards are low cards, and the last two cards are high cards.

Xiao Pai is in charge of his own affairs and is very clear about his finances.

The big shots control things that he can't decide.

Richard sat motionless under the lamp, wanting to turn to another page.

That gathering in mid-June, most likely a team battle, and also a mirror reflecting the experiences of the Black Earth River experts.

His hand paused on the deck of cards for two seconds.

Then he put the whole deck of cards away and locked it.

[Inner Awakening] Arrange these four cards in one place.

In the past six months, everything he's done has been pushing himself into a brighter place, turning him into a candle that burns ever brighter.

This is completely contrary to the book I saw on the first day I pushed open the door to the mystical side.

Richard pulled out a clean sheet of paper and dipped it in ink.

The first letter was written to Century Review.

He agreed to start that column.

When he got to the signature line, this time he didn't write Richard Williams.

He thought for a while and wrote down his pen name: Mr. L.

After I finished writing it, I glanced at it and it felt quite unfamiliar. That's exactly right.

The second letter was written to Manchester City.

He told the printing press and Mr. Dawn that starting with the next issue, they planned to add some extra names to the editor's column.

With the Williams Code already out, it's unrealistic to try and cover up the truth by choosing a pen name now.

Alternatively, you could invite trusted individuals to help compile this booklet.

Let's all write together and share the workload.

Hmm... thinking about it that way seems a bit selfish. I'll have to ask for other people's opinions more often.

The third letter is the shortest.

Phillips:

Two bottles of wine were sent from Catherine's hometown. I gave the better one to the professor, and the remaining one is in my cabinet.

I know there are signs hanging all over the city now.

He paused for a moment and scraped the tip of the pen against the bottle opening.

"However, the oath the king made was his own oath, and it has nothing to do with the two of us."

I'm coming to see you Saturday afternoon, don't stand me up.

The three letters were folded, put into envelopes, and stacked on the corner of the table. They will be dropped into the mailbox first thing tomorrow morning.

The rain outside the window has stopped, but the buckets under the eaves are still catching the rain.

One sound, then another after a long pause.

Richard turned the gaslight down and lay down.

He understood all four cards, and understanding them actually kept him awake at night.

[Wild Sleep] Regardless of all that, he was still pulled into a clean and tidy deep sleep.

………………

In May, the coal dust settles less heavily than in winter in Briston.

Evelyn scraped the last spoonful of honey into the bowl, and the jar was empty.

This jar of honey is half a jar that she carried herself from Briston to Beijing during Christmas and then carried back in its original condition; she has never been willing to use it.

She was frugal at the beginning of the year, frugal in February, and when sugar started to be sold by weight in March, she became even more frugal.

By May, the savings had run out.

"mom."

"What's wrong?"

"That's all."

Margaret responded from the outer room but did not come over.

This month, she set a rule for herself: if her daughter calls out from the kitchen, she shouldn't respond the second time.

I answered the call the second time, but I'll have to run errands the third time.

Evelyn wiped the flour off her hands on her apron and went out.

The beekeeper lived two streets north of the slag alley, and the straw beehives in his yard were crooked and askew.

"That's all." The beekeeper sat at the doorway, his hands resting on his knees.

"The quartermaster came by last month and took everything I could."

"Not a single bit left?"

"There are two pounds left." The old man said simply, "I'll eat them myself."

Evelyn stood at the gate of his courtyard, her hands behind her back.

The entrance exam for the Royal Culinary Academy is in June. It tests dough, sauces, cooking time, and one other thing she just can't figure out: "material substitution".

"Sir, if something is gone, what would you use to replace it?"

The old man raised his cloudy eyes and looked at her for a while.

"There was no sugar when I was young."

"Our family makes a stew with beets, and the stew is sweet, but it smells earthy."

"What should we do then?"

"Add two mint leaves, and you won't be able to smell it."

Evelyn kept those words in her mind.

As she turned to leave, the beekeeper suddenly stood up.

He stood up too quickly, and the tattered rattan chair tipped backward.

"He's gone out," he said.

"What, went out?"

The old man didn't answer her. He grabbed an old iron bucket from the door and ran into the yard, his running style completely out of character for his age.

Evelyn followed, looked up, and froze.

The sky above the courtyard was completely dark.

A whole swarm of live bees buzzed and swarmed, the sound audible throughout the entire street.

"My bees..." the old man shouted as he ran, his voice trembling violently, "My bees have escaped!"

Evelyn took off after her.

She ran much faster than the old man, crossed two streets, entered her own alley, and stopped as soon as she looked up.

The large swarm of live bees landed on the plum tree in her yard.

At that moment, only one sentence was running through the little girl's mind: This stuff can produce honey.

Without thinking twice, she turned and rushed into the kitchen, grabbed the tin mold used for making cakes and a long-handled spoon, and rushed out again.

Then she started knocking.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The tapping was very rhythmic, because that's the same rhythm used when whipping meringue.

The entire slag heap was knocked out.

Mrs. Weir was the first to pop her head out of the window, her face pale: "An air raid?! An air raid?!"

"no!"

"Then what are you knocking on!"

"I'm tapping my bees!"

"Your what?"

The two boys from the house across the street had already climbed over the low wall and rushed in.

Halfway there, after seeing what the thing was, they turned back the way they came.

Margaret came out through the back door and saw her daughter standing under the plum tree, holding a cake mold in one hand and a spoon in the other, her face turning red from banging it.

Evelyn.

"Mom, don't come any closer!"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm hitting it!"

"Why are you hitting it!"

"I don't know!" Evelyn shouted loudly, "Anyway, we have to knock!"

The beekeeper arrived just then, leaning against the doorframe and panting for a long time.

Then he sat down on the steps and laughed.

"You hit it right," he said.

Did I type it correctly?

"Same as always, once the swarm flies out, you have to keep chasing after it by knocking on the door." The old man rubbed his eyes.

"Keep chasing them, and wherever they end up, that whole flock will be yours."

"Why don't you knock?"

"If you don't knock, the ground where it lands belongs to that family."

The beekeeper looked up at the plum tree.

"One brood in May is worth a whole cartload of hay."

"A nest in June is worth a silver spoon."

"And what about July?" Evelyn pressed.

"In July, they're not even worth a fly."

The man in the alley, arms crossed, watching the commotion, laughed heartily.

May is the peak of the swarming season, with a large flow of honey in the surrounding areas.

"Cut it in two," the old man said. "I'll take the half that belongs to the king back, and the rest is yours."

"That's not fair, it's my tree that fell."

"You can't even find where the king is."

"...That's a tree in my yard too."

The beekeeper smiled again.

"Okay, I'll bring you the king, and the honey will be 40/60 split."

"Six of them belong to me?"

"The four belong to you."

"That won't do..."

"You don't even have a single box."

Evelyn opened her mouth, but couldn't say anything.

That night, she sat at the kitchen table, her nose swollen like a small plum, and one eye squinted from being stung, yet she was still writing.

"Six egg whites, four and a half tablespoons of honey, two mint leaves..."

Margaret pressed a cold towel against her nose.

"Stop writing."

"No, I'm afraid I'll forget."

"The way you look now, people will think you've been beaten up at home."

"Then I'll say I was fighting a swarm of bees," Evelyn mumbled, "and I won."

"You won?"

"They're mine now."

Margaret pressed the towel tighter.

"Forty percent is yours."

"Forty percent of it will also belong to me."

Rogers returned home later than usual that day.

"Why are you so late today?" Margaret asked.

"Meeting."

"What kind of meeting is this?"

Rogers unbuttoned his coat:

"Those railway bridges to the north all need to be reinforced."

"The supply trucks are too heavy; the original batch of bridges couldn't withstand them."

"Are you going out?"

"I don't need to go out; I'll draw all the plans here."

Margaret removed her hand from the towel and turned to refill the tea.

"That's good."

"What about your wages?"

"Twenty percent more than before."

Evelyn lifted her eyes from under her swollen face.

"Then I can buy a second box."

"You should get your nose down first," Margaret said.