I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Chapter 469 A Perfect Journey (Bonus Chapter 16 for Monthly Tickets)

We arrived in Manchester on the afternoon of the second day.

While waiting for his connecting train, Richard took a trip to the northern suburbs.

The printing presses at the Duckworth printing plant were still turning. The boss peeked out from behind the pile of paper, and when he saw the person approaching, he almost dropped the paper cutter in his hand.

"Mr. Williams!"

"Sorry to bother you."

"No problem, no problem," the boss said as he wiped his hands on his apron and walked around.

"Why did you come in person? You could have just sent a note."

"Just passing by."

The owner tried to usher him in, but stopped halfway through.

"Sir, um... it's stopped."

"Which one?"

"The Alleyway Collection"

Richard stopped beside the pile of papers.

"Last month, the last batch of the seventh volume was released, and the eighth volume has been laid out but not printed."

The boss rubbed his hands together: "They don't receive mail at their address anymore."

Why?

The boss's face showed a complex expression, a mixture of relief and a strange sense of unease.

"A colleague of mine told me that there was an insurance company clerk named Wade."

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

The boss swallowed hard.

"In the end, he reported himself, and by then a crowd had already gathered at the entrance of the police station."

The printing press in the printing plant was still spinning, making a loud whirring sound.

"Last week they sold the stock in the warehouse as waste paper for three pounds for a penny."

Richard stood there without saying a word.

"Sir?" the boss asked, leaning closer.

"It's nothing." Richard switched the canvas bag to his shoulder.

"I've come today to talk to you about the next installment."

"How will the next installment be revised?"

"Editor's Note"

The boss was taken aback.

Richard said what he had prepared on the train:

"I plan to invite a few people to edit it together, and each issue will be signed with a name."

"Signing a row of names? Wouldn't that be distributing the credit?"

"It's better to separate them."

Richard looked at the still-spinning drum.

"If only one person writes a booklet, then smashing it only targets one person."

"If a row of people write together, it will be troublesome to smash them."

The boss stood there thinking for a long time, then suddenly slapped his thigh.

"Then I'll have to sign here too."

"What did you sign?"

"Printed by the Duckworth Printing Factory in the northern suburbs of Manchester." The boss puffed out his chest.

"If anyone asks about it later, I'll just say that I added that line myself."

Richard smiled.

As he was leaving, the boss chased after him and forced a package on him.

"Please take this."

Richard opened it and glanced inside. There were twenty bound sample books, with the edges of the paper neatly trimmed.

"Why would I need so much to do with this?"

"Give it away." The boss wiped his hands on his apron.

"Last month I sent two copies to my nephew who is serving in the military in the south."

"He replied that they were passing it around in their company."

At 7:40, the train pulled into Briston Central Station.

As soon as the car door opened, the smell rushed out.

Richard spent more than half a year in the capital, where he became accustomed to the scents of sycamore and lilac.

When the smell hit his face, he realized that he actually missed it a little.

After exiting the station, head north and pass Grafton Street.

Clement's Antiques Shop was closed, with a handwritten notice stating that the owner was on leave and his nephew was temporarily managing the shop, but accepting goods would continue as usual.

Richard stood at the door for a while without knocking.

Further north in the slag alley, all the windows are covered up. The district issued a new regulation last month that states that if the windows are not properly covered, a fine of two shillings will be imposed.

He walked into the alley, and at that moment the panel suddenly lit up.

[Walking level 3, progress 100%.]

[Walking level 3 → 4.]

Walking is the skill he's been practicing the slowest, because there aren't any events that can significantly improve it.

In other words, it involved jogging up stairs, taking a long detour, and finally relying on the weight of floating to get into the fast lane.

After traveling to so many places these past few days, I've finally mastered it.

The change came very quietly, and Richard carefully sensed it.

The contents of the canvas bag were much heavier than when they arrived, especially the stone bowl.

It took him more than half an hour to walk all the way from Central Street, and his backpack even made him feel a little suffocated.

But now, standing here, his calves feel comfortably warm, and his breathing is as even as if he were sitting.

On the night of the 21st, before he left, after having a big meal, he was going to have his usual divination done.

But Mrs. Mary forbade him to ask outsiders, and told him to keep the mirror reflecting only himself.

He only picked up one card to look at himself, and it turned out to be the World card, upright.

That night, he stared at the card for a long time but couldn't figure it out.

He hadn't finished anything, the seed was hanging there waiting for the right conditions, the "Ten of Swords" on the party table foreshadowed a team battle, and the Black Soil River expert across the sea was still looking for who had handed him the three syllables.

But now, standing at the entrance of the slag heap, he realizes that he left home at the end of October last year, went on a long detour, and ended up back at his own doorstep. This is probably the perfect journey of the "world".

The sound of jump ropes could be heard coming from the middle of the alley.

"She didn't answer the first time, she didn't answer the second time, and she went to knock on another door the third time."

"They won't accept wet food, they won't accept cold food, and they won't accept food brought indoors."

When this line is read, the person crawling through the rope has to squat down.

If you squat too slowly, you'll be punished by having to swing the rope in the next round.

The smallest one was a beat too slow in squatting and tripped over the rope.

The older girl next to her scolded her: "I told you not to steal the beat."

"I didn't steal it!"

"You just robbed me."

"This tune is inherently fast!"

"You weren't fast to begin with, it's just that your legs are short."

The younger one burst into tears on the spot.

Richard continued walking to the end of the alley. There was light in the seventh window, and he raised his hand and knocked three times.

As usual, Evelyn opened the door in a flurry of activity.

She was wearing a checkered apron, and as soon as the door opened, she poked her little face out.

"Who is it...?"

He stopped mid-sentence.

"……elder brother?"

"I'm back."

Why didn't you call ahead!

The younger sister forgot that her hands were covered in flour, and slapped both hands firmly onto Richard's coat, leaving two white handprints.

"...Hey, this coat was a gift from my grandfather, it was custom-made."

"Hmph, does he really think he's some rich young master?"

A mother's voice came from the kitchen: "Who is it?"

Evelyn turned her head and shouted in a voice loud enough to be heard throughout the alley, "Brother's back!"

Margaret strode out of the kitchen, carrying a bowl in her hand.

She stopped at the door and slowly placed the bowl on the cabinet next to her.

"...Why are you back?"

"I was on a long trip and just happened to be passing by."

"Just passing by? Is Briston on your way back to the capital?"

Richard thought for a moment: "Take a slightly roundabout route."

Margaret didn't ask any more questions and touched her son's face.

"You've lost weight."

"I really haven't lost weight."

"You've just lost weight, you can't see it yourself."

Evelyn had already circled behind him and was groping around the canvas bag.

Did you bring anything?

Richard pretended not to hear and switched the bag to his other shoulder.

"I asked you if you brought anything."

"...I left in a hurry this time." Richard looked troubled.

"I bought the items, but..."

"Brother," Evelyn interrupted him.

"You said the same thing when you came back from Whitcomb last time, don't take me for a fool."

Richard coughed: "...You have such a good memory."

He had no choice but to untie the canvas bag.

"Fine, fine, I give up."

"The sooner you admit defeat, the sooner you'll eat." Evelyn said smugly, stretching out both hands. "Give it to me."

The first thing they pulled out was a small square of woolen cloth.

"This is for Mom."

Margaret took it and touched it.

"This was hand-hammered."

"Yes, eight people worked on it all night."

The mother didn't speak. Briston's woolen fabrics are all machine-made, and machine-made woolen fabrics feel like a layer of paper.

She folded the piece neatly and put it into her apron pocket.

"What's it for?"

"My wife says she'll do anything."

"Then I'll keep it; it'd be a waste to do with it no matter what."

The second item was a postcard with a picture of a stone railway viaduct.

"This is for Dad."

Evelyn leaned closer for a look: "A bridge?"

"The section north of Queenstown."

Footsteps came from upstairs.

Rogers took off his glasses, wiped them on his shirt, put them back on his nose, and took another look.

"She's really back. I thought Evelyn was just making things up again."

"dad!"

Rogers ignored her, walked over, patted his son on the shoulder, and casually took the postcard.

He originally only intended to take a look.

He stood in the foyer for a full half minute, then held the postcard up to the light and turned it over to look at the back.

"This arch was built in sections," he said.

"How did you figure that out?"

The father touched it with his fingernail.

"Look at the seam between the third and fourth ones, the color is different."

The third item she pulled out was a small cloth bag, which Evelyn snatched away.

"Is this mine?"

"This is an oat cookie."

She untied it and saw six hard, burnt pieces lying in the old cloth, their edges chipped off.

She picked up a piece and tapped it on the table, making a thumping sound.

"……elder brother."

"What's wrong?"

"Is this edible?"

"Pour hot milk over the mixture and let it steep for three minutes."

"Isn't this just our family's oatmeal porridge?"

Richard teased his sister, "It's different, this is the ancestor of oatmeal porridge."

Finally, there is a very small tin brooch with two hands holding a heart, which is crowned.

Evelyn picked it up and held it up to the light to examine it.

Richard explained, "These were bought at the Queenstown docks, one penny each."

"The people there call it Cladda."

"What do you mean?"

"Two hands represent friendship, a heart represents love, and a crown represents loyalty."

Evelyn's ears turned a quiet red.

She held the safety pin in her hand and said fiercely, "You're making such a fuss over a penny."

"I haven't finished speaking yet."

"Then you tell me."

"There's a reason why you should wear it the way you want to."

"A heart pointing outwards means the person is not settled yet, while a heart pointing inwards means they are settled."

"Which side should I wear it on?"

"You're not eighteen yet."

"So what's wrong!"

"outward."

"...Brother, aren't you annoying?"

Evelyn pushed the six biscuits aside, grabbed Clarda, and ran upstairs.

"return."

"mom!"

"Let's eat first."