I loaded the Mysticism panel.

On the way back, Richard helped the old professor up.

His arms were very light; you could feel the bones through his coat.

"Professor, thank you for today."

Mortimer chuckled.

"What are you thanking me for? I told you long ago, you can't take your connections to the grave."

He took two steps, then stopped.

"But then again..."

"From now on, you'll have to add two more stacks to the stack of books you're copying."

Why?

"Because you exhausted me today."

………………

The next day, Casalis's office lights were still on at 6:30 a.m.

Richard pushed open the door and went in. The other person was putting on their coat, probably getting ready to leave work.

He became visibly nervous when he saw Richard.

"Mr. Williams?"

Richard didn't say anything, but placed the two sheets of paper side by side on the table.

The first document is a copy from Dawn Paper Industry: a charity brochure listing, 40% of the price, and the name of the payer.

The second sheet is the itemized management sheet for that wartime procurement line, and the header of one of the lines is this office.

Casalis looked down at the two pieces of paper.

"I did approve this application. The item was listed as civil defense propaganda materials, and the summary said 'Remind citizens to be aware of suspicious situations.'"

"Sir, would you believe me if I said I just wanted to leave work early when I was approving these documents?"

Richard said nothing.

Casalis stood behind the table.

"What do you want me to do here today?"

"A fire."

"What?"

"We need to gather sixteen fires on Flower Moon Street tonight," Richard said. "They're missing one 'ruler's fire.'"

"The person sitting behind the table signing, holding a fire."

The clerk stood there for about ten seconds.

Then he turned around and took out a brass candlestick lamp with the imperial oak leaf pattern engraved on the base.

"Is this okay?"

"What is this?"

"For official documents," Casalis said, holding up the lamp.

"Before stamping, heat the sealing wax with it. The first thing to do in the morning is to light it, and the last thing to do at night is to extinguish it."

He put the lamp on the table and gave a very unpleasant laugh.

"That's perfect," Richard said. "It owes that street."

On the other side, the workshops on Covent Street were still open at eight o'clock, and the lathes were still turning.

Clara's uncle looked up from behind his goggles and saw his niece, and then the boy behind her.

"No!"

"Uncle, you haven't heard what I have to say yet."

"No need to listen." The old craftsman stopped the lathe.

Richard didn't know how his senior finally convinced her uncle.

Anyway, the old craftsman's face was already sour when he came out, and it just got even worse.

"The bronze urn is on the second shelf," he said curtly.

"You two, don't touch my stove. I just replaced the parts last week."

The Blackburn family lived on the west side of town, and ivy climbed the wrought iron railings behind their house.

At 9:20, the butler led Richard to the study on the second floor, where the Earl was still awake.

Mr. Williams.

He stood up and slammed the book he was holding face down on the table.

"I'm sorry for my abrupt arrival tonight."

"It's the abrupt guests who are interesting." The count gestured with his chin toward the chair opposite him. "Sit."

Richard recounted the events.

After listening, the count didn't ask any further questions.

"The goldsmith's furnace is in the backyard. Our family has kept it for two hundred years, and it has never been turned off."

"You agreed?"

"I agree."

The count picked up the silver pot on the table and poured him a cup of tea.

"Then what should I offer in exchange?"

"Need not."

"Count..." Richard knew that what's free is often the most expensive.

"Mr. Williams," the Earl said, placing the silver pot back on the tray.

"I don't want a marriage contract, nor do I need to add your name to my list of favors."

"I know when asking for things will annoy people."

"So I don't want anything tonight."

As he poured the tea, his eyes lingered on Richard for half a second, and he frowned as if he sensed something was amiss.

Richard picked up the cup of tea, looked up, and found that the Earl had already gone behind the writing desk.

The drawer was opened, and the booklet with a dark chestnut calfskin cover was taken out.

The count turned to a page in the middle, took a pencil from the pen holder, and added a line of small print to the bottom of the page.

The words were short. After he finished writing, he closed the booklet and put it back in the drawer.

At midnight, ropes were strung up outside Huayue Street, and several policemen stopped passersby.

"Halt! This area is closed off tonight!"

Three lamps turned in from the alley on the west side.

Leading the way was Richard, who carried a lamp in each hand and a third lamp hanging on his shoulder belt.

Casalis followed half a step behind him.

Clara's uncle walked last, holding his bronze urn in his arms as if he were holding his own child.

All three people had white cloths covering their mouths and noses.

Richard handed the lamp in his left hand to Casalis.

The shadow silently donned the Hermes mask behind the curtain.

The stone-paved streets of Huayue Street were littered with broken pieces.

Half of the roof ridge had collapsed, and the crossbeams were leaning against the road.

Three lamps passed under the crossbeam.

"Lower your head."

"We shouldn't have agreed to that," Clara's uncle sighed. "I should have just let my lathe walk over by itself."

Beyond the crossbeam is number nine.

The iron gate at number nine was slightly ajar, and there was a hole in front of the threshold, the bottom of which was so dark that it could not be seen.

Richard stood on the edge of the pit, shining his lamp down but not reaching the bottom.

"There's no way around it," Richard said.

"There's a wall on the left and the shop window of number ten on the right, with shards of glass scattered all over the floor."

The lamp passed over the slag; if it stumbled even slightly, the fire would touch the ground.

"Then let's go back, from the outer street..."

There are still people on the outer street.

Richard unbuckled the leather strap of the lamp on his shoulder and held it in his hand.

The pit opening was about eight feet wide; eight feet wasn't very wide, and he could jump across it empty-handed.

But he has a fire in his hands that he cannot let touch the ground, cannot let it be blown away, and cannot let it go out halfway.

Casalis pushed his lamp forward.

"Throw the two over here first, I'll stay here..."

"No," the old craftsman said from behind.

"Fire cannot be thrown; once thrown, it will fly on its own for a short distance, and who will protect it?"

Three people stood on the edge of the pit.

The road behind was mostly blocked by the collapsed beams, and there was nothing on the road ahead.

Richard had his shadow place the caduceus in front of him from behind the curtain.

No one on this street wants to touch him now; what's blocking his way is an empty space eight feet wide.

He suddenly remembered the night before May Day.

The two golden snakes on the cloud top crawled down from the Hermes mask and twisted into a staff.

After the staffs scattered, they slid down the shadow's two legs, circled around the ankles, and then stopped.

For the first time, those two feet felt so close to the clouds.

The most important duty of an envoy has always been to deliver the goods.

Two golden snakes slithered down the calves, coiling around the ankles until they were tightly wrapped and adhered to the skin.