I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Richard stood there for a while.

His inner awakening helped him quickly understand.

As I said before, there may be crazy people who can become experts, but there is absolutely no such thing as a fool.

The other party acted indifferent, but his next actions would likely determine Matthew's future attitude towards him.

"Sir, I have two more questions."

"ask."

"Wouldn't this be considered using supernatural means in public?"

Matthew paused for a moment, then burst into laughter so hard he couldn't stand up straight.

"Kid, I've been walking this path for twenty years, and this is the first time someone has asked me this."

"I am not a means to an end." He stepped on the stone slab beneath his feet.

"I am the road."

"If the road makes people dizzy, that's the road's problem."

"If the branch office comes, tell them to come find me."

"I left them an address: thirty days west of the central mountains of the New World."

Matthew burst into laughter as he recounted this, but Richard didn't laugh at all.

"Another question is, will they remember who did it afterwards?"

Matthew looked at him for a while.

"Won't."

After saying that, Richard straightened the collar of his coat.

"Thank you for your help."

"I'll count to three, don't blink."

"one."

Richard didn't blink.

"three!"

...Although he had roughly anticipated it, Richard still harbored some resentment in his heart.

The first person to appear before him was a man carrying half a church railing, walking at the very front.

He contributed the most effort and smashed the most things throughout; the blows Donald took were inflicted by him.

The man was in a bar in the East End, with a beer on the table that someone had bought for him.

A group of people were listening to him speak.

"...I slammed the iron bar down, and the shop window shattered with a crash!"

Richard stood against the wall across the street and suppressed the Mirror Technique.

As the water spread out, the person was reflected layer by layer.

This man is thirty-nine years old. He was fired from the dock last winter for stuffing two handfuls of coffee beans into his trousers.

He didn't tell his family on the day he was fired, and afterwards he went out at seven o'clock every day as usual and sat on the street until dark.

Yesterday afternoon, for the first time in his life, he walked at the front of hundreds of people.

For half an hour, whatever he shouted, the hundreds of people behind him would shout the same thing.

Richard finished reading them and pursed his lips.

This person was not deceived by anyone and knew that he had no grudge against the other party.

He simply couldn't bear to part with those half hours, after all, it was the most glorious moment of his life.

The recorder's pen lit up and fell on that person.

Richard wrote his name as "Big Mouth".

The man was speaking in the tavern when suddenly his voice became as loud as a megaphone.

"I'll smash it down with an iron bar..."

His loud shout immediately made everyone in the tavern turn around to look at him.

He paused for a moment, then lowered his voice before continuing.

But the next sentence came out even louder than before, transforming from a megaphone into a bomber.

"I was fired from the docks!"

The tavern fell silent.

The man's face slowly turned red, and he quickly reached out with both hands to cover his mouth.

He managed to cover it up, but the sound was forced out through his fingers, not a single word was slurred.

"I was fucking shaking the whole day!"

"My hand went limp when I hit it for the first time!!"

"I owe seven weeks' rent!!!"

"My son isn't my own child!!!"

The person who had offered him a drink slowly removed his hand from his shoulder.

Matthew chuckled but made no comment, and escorted Richard to the vicinity of the second person.

The second one is the one who was handing out booklets while walking around yesterday. He was the one leading the group of people handing out booklets.

This person is 31 years old and works as a clerk in an insurance company. He has beautiful handwriting.

He was sitting at his desk in his living room, copying an address onto a card.

The card has a line of small print: This magazine is collecting submissions. Do you have a neighbor like this in your neighborhood?

Richard laid the mirror over there.

This one was much cleaner and uglier than the man in the tavern.

He had never been in a fight in his entire life, and yesterday he didn't even have a stick in his hand.

In those three weeks, he sent out a total of eleven letters.

The first letter was addressed to the woman downstairs who did laundry for others, because he couldn't understand the tune she was humming;

The seventh letter was addressed to his wife's brother, the reason being that he had said last month that the war shouldn't have been fought;

The tenth letter was addressed to the manager of his own insurance company.

The reason given was that the manager promoted someone else last year but not him.

Richard wrote: "The informant."

When the word landed, Wade wrote down the card and then drew another one, wrote down the same word and then drew another one.

By 11 p.m., there were more than forty sheets of paper piled up on the writing desk.

His wife brought in tea and saw that the top card had her name on it.

Matthew didn't laugh this time; he simply said, "Kid, you're smart."

The next morning, Wade, who had been kicked out of his home, went to work carrying the stack of cards.

He went to the insurance company and read the manager's card aloud to everyone in the office.

Then he went to the police station on the street corner and reported the names of all seventeen households in the alley, one by one.

When the report reached the ninth household, the older police officer put down his pen.

"gentlemen."

"The tenth household, the shoemaker, his son last month..."

"Sir, you have already registered seventeen people, six of whom are your own relatives."

Wade wanted to shut up, but he couldn't stop.

He reported his father-in-law, the milkman, and the old teacher who taught him.

Finally, he reported his own name, and by then a crowd had already gathered at the entrance of the police station.

Later, Richard heard that the "Neighborhood Collection" had been discontinued.

No one bothered to seal it up, but no one was willing to send letters to that address anymore.

The third target was a woman who yesterday shouted in a shrill voice in the crowd, "I've been cursed!"

Richard laid the mirror out and stopped after looking at the mirror for less than ten seconds.

"What's wrong?" Matthew asked from the side.

"She was hired."

This woman washes clothes for others while her two sons are on the front lines.

Last week, someone gave her two pounds at her doorstep.

That person gave her three sentences and told her to memorize them.

When you're carrying someone on your back, you should cry; when you shout, your voice should be shrill.

Richard wrote down the name: "Echo".

After her name was written down, all she could say were the three sentences that others had taught her.

Not a single word was different, even the tone was exactly the same.

Including the gentleman's instructions to her, such as, "Remember, after you shout, go into the crowd, don't stand still."

The next morning, she stood at her doorstep and repeated those three sentences to the neighbor who came to ask her more than twenty times.

Some neighbors noticed something was wrong and immediately called the police.

That afternoon, the staff from the branch office invited the gentleman who had paid the bill out of a hotel in the south of the city.

Richard only learned about these developments later; after completing his mission, he had Matthew take him back to his dormitory.

The next day, after class, Richard was walking down the street when he saw Matthew jump down from the beam without making a sound when he landed.

"Not bad, this line is enough for the teacher to trace upwards for a while."

"You little rascal." It circled Richard halfway around, looking him up and down again.

"When my teacher mentioned you to me, I just thought of you as an honest child."

"And what about you now?"

"Now..." It put its hands back into its pockets.

"I think you're really sharp right now, so sharp that I'm tempted to take you to a new continent right away."

Richard took a half step back.

Matthew laughed heartily.

"Just kidding, someone of your current rank might not be able to come back from there."

It stretched out its hand.

"Is that leaf still there?"

Richard took the leaf out of the inner bag.

"I told you last time that this thing is for bragging."

Matthew's playful smile faded as he finished speaking.

"That's not the case anymore."

Richard suddenly felt that a very long road had grown out from under the withered leaves, and he couldn't even see the end of it in his own mirror.

Matthew tapped the leaf.

"If someone goes into a place they can't return from, tell them their name and the place."

"He/She can get through it on his/her own."

The streets were quiet.

"You don't need me to pick it up?"

"I can't take it," Matthew shook his head.

"I'm providing the road, but the person walking on it still has to do it themselves."

"Listen carefully to the restrictions."

It extends one finger.

"First of all, that person has to want to come back."

"If I don't even want to go back, there's no point in taking a ride."

"Furthermore, you have to be able to name the place; otherwise, you won't be able to find it."

"You need to know where that place is, what it's called, and what it is."

"Finally... we don't save the dead."

"The dead have a different path; that path is under the jurisdiction of others."

"If you force a dead person to come back, even you yourself would be terrified if you saw the person you dragged back."

Richard held the leaf in his hand.

"……I see."

"It's okay if you don't understand." Matthew put his hand down.

"It would be best if we never used it. It would be a great thing if this thing stayed at the bottom of a box for the rest of its life."

"I've made quite a few of these leaves and stored them, but I've only used them twice so far."

"Who will it be used on?"

"I'll use one on myself."

It took two steps forward.

"The other piece is for someone who doesn't want to come back."

The sound of footsteps faded into the distance on the stone slabs.

Richard lowered his head and looked at the withered leaf in his palm.

The veins of the leaf branch outwards from the center, one by one, and then branch again at the edges.

In the end, each one broke off at the edge of the leaf.

………………

The rest of the work was handled by Matthew alone.

A total of 417 people squeezed into the interior of Huayue Street that day.

At 9:40 p.m., people in the eastern part of the capital city began to lose their way home.

As they walked, they returned to the intersection they had just been at.

A person walked south from the bridgehead for forty minutes, then looked up and found himself standing at the bridgehead;

A family of five went out to see a play, and afterwards they wandered around the theater entrance for three hours.

Finally, they sat on the steps, and the father took off his coat and covered the youngest child with it.

Two people met eleven times in the same alley.

On the seventh time, they nodded to each other, and on the eleventh time, one of them sat down and cried.

By daybreak the next day, all 417 people had found their way home.

Since then, most of them have stopped taking shortcuts when walking at night.

The Beijing Morning Post published a report titled "Mass Getting Lost in the Eastern District".

The report said that on the night of May 19, hundreds of citizens were disoriented due to a lighting outage caused by dense fog and gas pipeline maintenance in the city's eastern district.

An investigation revealed no casualties.

The report included an expert interview discussing the importance of keeping to the right when walking in foggy weather.

Later, someone on the street started selling a new penny booklet called "One Hundred Great Jokes About Getting Lost".