I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Richard looked out the window and saw that the white tit was still waiting.

The letter said, "Do you know Professor McPhee at Imperial University?"

How would a girl in Prague know the name of a relatively unknown professor at Beijing University?

McFee never appeared in newspapers and rarely gave lectures.

Even if there are lectures, they are held on campus; he doesn't like to appear on any public roster.

Richard sat down and began to think about how he should answer.

If someone else asked her to ask this question in the letter, they probably already knew the answer, so whether she admitted it or not wouldn't matter.

But if Lillian added that line herself, then perhaps what the other party wanted was never an answer at all.

What she wanted to know was whether Richard was lying to her.

Richard found a blank sheet of paper, dipped it in the ink bottle his aunt had given him, and began to write.

He had learned too many lying techniques in that year, and he had burned his mask so many times that he couldn't even count them.

He didn't really want to lie in this letter.

"Lillian, I have received your things and letter."

I do know the professor you asked about.

He was my friend's mentor. He looked very fierce and ate more than anyone else, but he was actually a very kind and generous elder.

Regarding your question, I can only tell you that he is not someone who would hesitate in this regard.

He makes decisions in an instant, and once he's done, he never looks back or tries to explain.

As for why, I'm not lying to you, I don't know either.

"You mentioned your name and seat in your letter, and I was actually sitting at the same table as you."

Your cold hands are not a disease; you should know that better than I do.

This kind of coolness will rise upwards; this year it's in the hands, but in the future it may not just be in the hands.

I won't advise you to turn back, because I don't have that right.

"You're not the type to listen to advice, I've known that for a long time."

As he wrote this, Richard sighed softly, his pen hovering over the paper, leaving a small stain of ink.

He wrote another half-sentence:

"If one day, we..."

He picked up his pen halfway through writing and looked at it for a long time.

In the end, I crossed out that sentence before continuing to write.

"I did not prepare a return gift in advance."

I searched the whole house, and the only things I could offer were either things I couldn't give you, or things that wouldn't be useful to you even if I did.

In the end, I only found a box of pastries baked by my sister. On the morning I left, she put it in my bag for me to eat on the way.

I've been thinking about other things the whole way, and I haven't opened it yet.

Speaking of which, you asked me to make a specimen for you two years ago, and I still haven't finished it.

I messed up two of them. I overdid it in the first one, and I put the wings on backwards on the second one.

I didn't dare touch the third one; I'll wait for you to come back and teach me.

—Richard Williams

After he finished writing, he folded the letter and placed it on the windowsill along with his sister's box of pastries.

"Thank you for your help."

The white tit messenger lowered its head, its body spreading out into a ball of frost, completely enveloping the message to be sent, before regrouping back into the shape of a bird.

It had gotten several sizes bigger than when it arrived, looking rather comical. It flapped its wings a couple of times and then flew away.

The frost outside the window took a long time to melt away after it flew away.

The dissolved water seeped down the brick seams, but dried by the time it reached the second brick.

………………

In an attic room in Prague's Old Town, Lillian sat on the edge of the bed waiting.

The white tit messenger lay on the windowsill and spread out, leaving two things behind before disappearing.

The ether of the person who created it is still very shallow; one round trip is already the limit.

Lillian picked up the letter almost impatiently.

"...He's not someone who would hesitate in this regard."

The girl's lips trembled slightly upon seeing this answer.

The doubts in my heart remained unanswered, and after thinking for a long time, I could only fill in my own name.

At that time, she had no evidence at all, but she instinctively wanted to believe it.

Now the letter is in front of her, and the sender doesn't say anything: "It's because of you."

But the phrase "I'm not lying to you, I don't know either" is more sincere than anything else.

She pressed the letter to her chest and waited a long time before continuing to read it.

"I'm also sitting at a table."

Upon seeing this sentence, Lillian recalled Loki's pre-arranged team battle roster.

The first option is the Greek theology.

"If one day, we..." This sentence was crossed out.

The girl stared at that half-sentence for a long time, temporarily suppressing a certain thought.

She reached for the snack box.

The sugar rabbit drawn on the box lid is crooked, with a small corner missing from its left ear; you can tell the person who made it was quite proud of it.

Inside, almond cookies were neatly arranged. She picked one up and took a bite.

Of course, you can't taste anything; your sense of taste is the first thing to fail.

After taste comes temperature. From the moment she sat down in that chair, her blanket was cold, and the hot coffee tasted almost like iced coffee. She didn't feel the heat of Prague in June.

She always thought that nothing would ever make her feel warm again.

But sitting on the bed, holding the pastry box, and eating the almond shortbread that she couldn't taste, Lillian felt a warmth gradually rising within her.

That warmth started from the already spoiled part, spreading through taste and temperature, all the way to the fingertips.

She reached up and wiped her eyes; they were warm, and some tears fell onto the letter, blurring the sentence "Waiting for you to come back and teach me."

She quickly held the paper up and blew on it.

After blowing on it, she thought about burning the letter, but as soon as she picked it up, she felt a little reluctant. In the end, she put it next to the dried four-leaf clover in the notebook.

The girl had just put away the snack box when the door was knocked on again.

"Lillian." Mrs. Holloway stood in the doorway, holding a cup of hot coffee.

What does your room smell like?

"dessert."

"Where did it come from?"

Lillian clutched the pastry box tightly to her chest: "A friend sent it."

"...Lillian." Mrs. Holloway stood in the doorway, scrutinizing her.

"Since we've embarked on this path, there's no point in keeping these things."

"I know."

"You knew you should stay?"

Lillian raised her head, her eyes stubborn: "I just want to keep it."

Ms. Holloway frowned but said nothing more.

She finished her coffee in one gulp, then turned and left.

The lights in the corridor went out and then came back on after a while.

After the door closed, Lillian rolled around on the bed, clutching the snack box.

Outside the window, the bells along the Vltava River were still ringing, having struck twelfth.

The girl placed the snack box next to her pillow and lay down.

That night, she was warm when she fell asleep.

………………

On the night of June 13, in an unnamed country house.

Demeter returned from the field with her shoes covered in mud.

The water on the stove was still warm. She put her feet in and started washing them, and mud and ash immediately floated to the surface.

She looked down for a moment, then poured out the water without thinking.

On the same night, in a city in southern France, Hecate sat at her loom.

The warp threads were taut, and the forty-one ceramic hammers were each in their proper positions.

All six intelligence reports were sent out several days ago.

After submitting the application, she began to reconnect with her inspiration thread.

Her task tonight was simple: eliminate these clues one by one and find the mole.

Hecate starts from the outermost ring, which is the guy with the wine glass.

What the other party has always wanted at this table has been very simple: a path that can lead him to continue moving forward.

Hecate loosened the other person's line for a while, then tightened it again.

The line was clean, so she wasn't particularly surprised.

Dionysus was actually the one at the table most likely to be the mole. He talked the most, laughed the most relaxed, and always held his wine glass.

But precisely because of this, it's best to rule him out.

A person who lays their desires bare is the hardest to bribe.

Next up is Hercules.

This person arrived the latest, having only taken this chair last year, and didn't know anyone at this table before.

Hecate wrapped the thread around her finger a few times, then let it go.

He was also clean.

Hecate laughed at the thought of that big, dumb guy.

Hercules was charmingly straightforward and had very simple interpersonal relationships.

This kind of person is not suitable to be an inside agent; being an inside agent requires hiding.

Wearing the Hercules mask unleashes a bloodthirsty rage that makes it impossible for anyone to keep quiet.

The third thread led to Prometheus, and Hecate began to hesitate.

For the past six months, I've been saying very harsh things.

Behind the other party stood a highly skilled craftsman, who was the one at the table who had the most access to external resources.

Hecate breathed a sigh of relief when she touched the thread and found it to be clean.

She recalled that Prometheus hesitated for a good ten seconds when he held the mask up to his face that night.

A person who hesitates for so long before finally putting on the mask is unlikely to become a mole.

The fourth one is Nemesis.

When Hecate touched the thread, her movements were more casual than before.

Behind the other person stood a scholar who was well-versed in the tradition of hunting the moon, who, just six months ago, had the lowest level of resonance among all the people at the table.

But with the arrival of the divine weaponry last month, it has already caught up.

The line was clean, and she didn't actually suspect the other party much at first.

Nemesis's scales must be balanced; such a person cannot be two-faced.

Then comes Hermes, where Hecate's finger lingers the longest on this line.

The other party is the most outstanding one this year. Decoding, identification, channels, intelligence... The resonance of a practitioner ranks fourth. The divine weapon is implemented faster than the minor proficiency.

Moreover, the other party also has a highly knowledgeable scholar standing behind them; that professor is a very important figure in the imperial academic circle.

As Hecate touched the thread, she truly hesitated; the thread blocked her detection.

It's neither a shield nor a cover-up; it's just a body of water that can't reflect anything.

Hecate stopped in front of the water and withdrew her hand.

"...It seems he is indeed not simple." She did not go any further inside.

With only one left, even by process of elimination, we can tell there's a problem.