I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Richard entered the school gate and looked up to see the notice board in the lobby.

"Our alumni died fighting for their country."

He recognized the name at the top; it was the senior student who sat in the last row listening to his trial lecture of Catiline's speech in the East Wing lecture hall after he signed up for the Cicero Cup.

When the speech ended, the senior student applauded the loudest.

The second name is Bill Coleman, see below: April 30, 1915, in Flanders.

Richard stood there; he had actually known about this for over a month, a whole week earlier than the Imperial Telegram.

Now this name is written in gold paint in the main hall of the alma mater, so that anyone who enters and looks up will see it at first glance.

"Sir, are you an alumnus?"

An elderly clerk from the Academic Affairs Office poked his head out from inside.

Which name are you looking at?

"Bill Coleman." Richard then realized his voice was a little dry.

The old man pushed up his glasses, as if remembering something: "Oh...this gentleman's mother actually came here once."

"What are you here for?"

"I just came to take a look." The old clerk's mood was somewhat somber.

"His mother stood all morning and refused to sit down no matter who tried to persuade her. When she left, she left five pounds to buy books for the school."

Richard nodded and left without saying a word.

He recalled the business cards of doctors, lawyers, and parish deacons displayed on a plate in the entryway of Coleman's house last winter.

My grandfather said that once the war was over, he would write a letter of recommendation for Coleman.

It seems that the letter is no longer valid.

The subsequent procedures went surprisingly smoothly.

The old clerk flipped to Evelyn's column and suddenly looked up.

"Evelyn Williams?"

"Yes," Evelyn replied.

The old man wiped his reading glasses and then suddenly realized who Richard was.

After he left, the head of the teaching department personally came out to greet him.

He reached out his hand through the window, called Richard "sir," and said the documents would be ready that afternoon, and they would handle the stamping.

Evelyn opened her mouth slightly, then slowly closed it again.

As I came out of the academic affairs office, people were already starting to gather in the corridor.

The news spread very quickly throughout the school. Richard heard his name being repeatedly mentioned on the twenty-step walk from the registrar's office to the stairwell.

He bumped into Mr. Holland at the top of the stairs on the second floor.

The stack of lecture notes in the bald middle-aged man's hand almost spilled all over the steps.

The two arrived at the classroom lounge, where a glass frame was placed on the table by the window.

Inside was a clipping from a newspaper, from the supplement section of the Beijing Evening News.

The article published was an excerpt from "Island," the first-prize winning essay in the essay contest.

At the same time, there are newspaper clippings from the day Richard won his place in the debate week.

"Sir, this is too much..."

"I've been teaching Latin for over twenty years," Mr. Holland said, raising his hand to stop him from continuing.

"In all those years, you were the only one who got into the Classics Department of the Imperial University."

Not far away, Ms. Grant chuckled from behind the pile of papers: "He now tells everyone you're his student."

Walking down the corridor, Mr. Hutton's office remained unchanged.

"Come in."

The old man sat in the old chair by the window and watched as the person who pushed open the door slowly folded the newspaper in their hand.

"I thought you wouldn't be back until summer vacation."

Richard closed the door behind him.

"I came back temporarily because my sister needs to get her graduation certificate."

"sit."

Mr. Hutton looked at him for a while.

Richard was very familiar with that view.

From the day he became a newcomer, this guide would look at him like this every time he met him.

"You've changed your breathing technique."

"It's been changed for half a year now, the Mirror Freezing Method."

"Mirror-like." The old man picked up his pipe and tapped it on the edge of the table.

"The roads are narrow, there are few people, and there is a lack of information."

"That's what my aunt said too."

Mr. Hutton pressed the tobacco into the pipe.

"She's right, but she probably didn't tell you something else."

"Those who follow this path will eventually understand everything clearly, but they tend to be unclear when it comes to understanding themselves."

Richard sat up straighter in his chair.

"Has this problem already started?"

"Not yet," Richard replied.

The old man struck a famous match and lit his cigarette.

Over the next period of time, Richard recounted everything he could say in the past six months.

He evaded the question he couldn't answer, and Mr. Hutton didn't press him for details.

"I know Professor McFee too."

Mr. Hutton said.

"He sat at my mentor's house all night and drank all of my mentor's wine."

Richard couldn't help but laugh.

After the laughter subsided, the room fell silent.

"How's that seal that shouldn't have been damaged?" Richard asked.

"It was reinforced before winter last year, and I'm going to do it again this year."

"The branch office isn't sending anyone?"

The old man shook his head.

"After Wentworth left, they brought in a young man from Manchester City. He's not a bad guy, just too young."

The pipe twirled halfway between his fingers.

"The register of unidentified corpses in the North District has been taken over by a new coroner."

"……That's good."

"Not good," Mr. Hutton sighed.

"All the acquaintances have left."

Richard did not respond.

The wind blew a layer of leaves off the old trees outside the window.

Just as he was leaving, Mr. Hutton suddenly called him back.

Richard.

"gentlemen?"

"I'm still keeping that storage room on the third floor for you; the key hasn't been changed."

"gentlemen……"

"Go ahead." Mr. Hutton put his pipe back in his mouth.

Your sister is still waiting for you downstairs.

Downstairs, Evelyn was indeed getting a little impatient.

"You look really smart today," she suddenly said.

"When did I ever act arrogant?"

"When I was processing the paperwork, the director asked me my name and then started praising me."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing."

"Why should I process your paperwork because I have to hear him praise you?"

Richard chuckled but didn't reply.

After walking a dozen steps, Evelyn spoke up again.

"But his praise was quite accurate."

"Um?"

"It's nothing!"

She turned her face away and took two quick steps toward the other side of the road.

In those two steps, Richard saw it clearly.

She had a small tin safety pin on the collar of her coat.

Two hands hold a heart, the heart wears a crown, and the tip of the heart faces outward.

"Feed!" Richard called from behind.

"what?"

"Isn't that something that costs a penny?"

Evelyn glanced down at her neckline, then quickly looked up and tossed her chin up.

"What's wrong with a penny?"

………………

At noon, Richard met up with his old classmate at a pie shop not far from the school gate.

As soon as he walked in, he threw his hat on the table and started greeting Richard across half the room.

He had gained weight and was wearing an impeccable three-piece suit; the material looked expensive.

Hugh followed behind him. The boy had gotten thinner, his hair had grown longer, and there was coal dust stuck in his fingernails.

He still carried the photo album under his arm, but this one seemed new, as it was much thicker than the previous one.

Mason came in last; he had also lost weight, and a piece was missing from his left little finger.

"You've all changed a lot," Richard remarked with some emotion.

"You're the only one who hasn't changed." Warren plopped down on the floor.

"On my way here today, I was telling some old classmates that you're my brother, and they all said I was just bragging."

"Aren't you just bragging?" Mason said from the side.

Warren slammed his fist on the table: "How am I bragging? I paid for his lunch."

"The exchange is that I'll give you the Latin text."

"That was my treat."

By the time the pie arrived, Warren had been talking about his ledger for quite some time.

He learned double-entry bookkeeping from two elderly gentlemen at his own company, arriving at 7 a.m. and leaving at 7 p.m. every day.

"You do have a bit of a CEO vibe now," Richard teased.

"It's like a fart." Warren slammed his fork down on the plate, deflated.

"My dad now asks me to go on two business trips for him every month."

"Where are you going?"

"Funeral procession".

The table was quiet.

"More than 300 people left the mine this year. When they left, they were seen off in batches, and the whole town came to see them off. Now, all that's left are letters being sent back."

He took a sip of soup: "I went to the funeral so that people would see that someone from the Crowley family was there."

Hugh handed Richard his photo album, saying, "Take a look."

Richard glanced down and smiled.

The paper depicts a group of people crammed on stone steps, their faces covered in circles.

The one on the edge of the third row has a pointing arrow next to him with his name written on it.

How did you know I was standing here?

"Your sister handed out a lot of newspapers, and she said that the person with the straightest shoulders in the newspaper was you."

Richard turned to look at his sister.

Evelyn was still biting into her pie; she only refrained from interrupting when she was eating.

"I didn't say anything."

Richard turned a few pages in the photo album, then slowed down.

The first half of the book still features the same old chicken legs, charcoal stoves, sleeping classmates in the classroom, or burnt pigeons.

After turning over the blank page in the middle, the second half of the book completely changed.

It was full of hands and back views.

The drawings depicted figures in military uniforms, carrying luggage, and waiting to board the train on the platform; they filled about thirty or forty pages.

"Why did you start drawing these?"

Hugh patted the dust off his pants: "I go to Grand Central Station to draw every Sunday now, that's where the most people are."

"You draw these for people at the train station?"

"Yes, they'll send all of these home for just sixpence a piece of paper."

"Wouldn't taking a photo be more convenient?"

"The photo will cost two shillings, and it will take three days to develop." Hugh shook his head.

"They only have one afternoon. I used to be unable to draw an accurate face no matter what, but now I can draw it."

But I still couldn't quite capture the likeness of their faces.

As they were about to part ways, Mason suddenly patted Richard on the shoulder mysteriously.

"Hey, I have a question for you. Gray went to an all-girls school in the capital, right?"

"right."

Mason's eyes darted around slyly. "And you two?"

Evelyn became interested immediately upon hearing this topic.

"My brother receives a pastry box every month now. He called me to tell me, and he said that sometimes the box is heart-shaped."

Mason slapped his thigh: "I knew it!"

Hugh's eyes lit up, and his hand was already reaching for the photo album.

"Alright!" said Warren.

He put the last piece of pie crust into his mouth and slowly ate it.

"This is their own business, there's no point in us asking so many questions."

Mason was taken aback, and awkwardly leaned back: "I was just asking."

Hugh muttered to himself, "I want to know too."

"Shut up."

The three of them laughed, and after they finished laughing, they really didn't ask any more questions.