I loaded the Mysticism panel.

In June, the outer street of Huayue Street was still having its windows replaced.

The newsboy shouted at the street corner:

"A new Quartermaster Department! Mr. Lloyd George is personally in charge!"

A lady carrying a shopping basket stopped to buy a portion, stood there and read the front page, muttering, "Finally someone's taking care of the artillery shells."

Richard slipped through the mist from the old brick wall on the other side of the street and bumped right into Donald standing at his own door, cursing.

"I said put it on the left!"

The short man's hands were wrapped in cloth, and he could only take off his chin and fingers.

"You're such a big kid, and you still can't tell left from right!"

The deliveryman was covered in sweat and moved the box to the side again.

"Alright, alright." Donald waved his hands, which were wrapped up.

"Put it down and leave. Don't linger at my doorstep."

The man felt as if he had been granted a pardon and ran away.

Donna then turned around and saw Richard, whose anger had not completely subsided.

"Perfect timing." He pointed to the box.

"Move it to the back room, to the long table against the east wall."

"Mr. Donner, how is your hand today?"

"The usual." Donald raised his two cloth-wrapped hands and waved them.

"The doctor said to rest for another two months, but I said that my profession is all about the feeling on the fingertips. If I don't touch antiques for a few months, I'll become completely rusty. He said then you should change professions."

"What was your reply?"

"I said that at my age, the only career I could change to is a coroner."

The word "coroner" evoked some unpleasant memories for Richard, and he lost interest in small talk, hurriedly carrying the box into the back room.

Donald followed in and sat down on a low stool: "It was sent over from Mrs. Mary's side, why don't you open it and take a look?"

"They've sent word that they want you to come and train."

Richard solved the first one.

It is a brass ship bell with several chips on the rim and the words "Three Sisters" cast on the body.

Donald explained where he came from, saying that the object was a cursed item.

"In the winter of 1888, at Dog Beach, this ship sank, and none of the twenty-one people were rescued."

"The ship's bell was later salvaged by a cheap shipyard owner who planned to reuse it. Not long after, the guy sat motionless behind his counter. The report said he had heart failure."

Donald pursed his lips.

"In our line of work, the worst thing is to be greedy for small gains and take things you shouldn't take."

Richard activated the Mirroring Technique and shone it over. He saw someone underwater telling the time.

"You figured it out?" Donald asked.

"I can see that." Richard put away the still water.

"A shift at sea lasts four hours, and the bell rings every half hour. If no one is on duty, someone has to be called in to take over."

Donald hissed and clicked his tongue in disapproval.

"So that greedy ship fitter was pulled into the shift; these sea monsters certainly have their own unique reasons."

Richard's assessment was so thorough that there was no need to go through the trouble of weighing it on a scale anymore; he could proceed directly.

He held the silver mirror upright in his left hand, the frost branch box open in his right hand, and the three Soul-Devouring Beast Tooth Needles lined up in a row.

"I'll force out that little bit of curse inside first."

"Break the seal?"

"No demolition."

With his right palm facing the bell mouth, ether was continuously poured into it.

Opening the seal and silencing can be combined into a technique: first, use opening the seal to squeeze out the curse inside, and then use the vacuum created by silencing for strong control.

As the high-density ether from the sealed container continued to fill the bell, frost-like white marks appeared on its surface.

With a clang of the bell, Donald's back lifted off the chair.

Richard's forehead was beaded with sweat as he added a little more ether.

The bells were pushed outwards, turning into a small cloud of grayish-white mist.

The fog would disperse as soon as it appeared, and it even tried to penetrate the living people next to it.

"Freeze!"

He timed it perfectly, exhaling a breath just as the white mist reached its peak and was about to recede.

The vacuum sealed the fog ball shut, making it airtight. The gray-white object bumped into it twice but could no longer move.

The back room quieted down, and Donald adjusted his monocle.

"What's next?"

"Just deal with it now."

Richard held the silver needle between his fingers. He had only been practicing the "Branch Breaking" technique for less than two days and was still far from proficient.

He can only make one cut after reading it; he can't make consecutive cuts after that.

Fortunately, this cursed object can be destroyed with a single cut.

This curse consists of only one stroke from beginning to end, which is the moment the time is about to be announced.

The needle stood at an angle and cut along the very shallow ridge.

The bell rang halfway through its chime.

The vacuum dissipated on its own, leaving only a layer of white foam on the table, like someone had accidentally spilled half a spoonful of flour.

Richard leaned on the edge of the table, panting.

Donner bent down to straighten the stool and sat back down: "...Little brother."

"Mr. Donald".

"That move just now didn't seem like the style of a scholar."

Richard used a vivid metaphor.

"He is a scholar, but a scholar who wields a scalpel."

You can think of it as me performing surgery, first finding the tumor on the patient, and then cutting it out with one incision.

The second item was more troublesome; it was a walking stick, made of ebony, with a silver ball on top that gleamed when held.

Donner didn't disclose where it came from, only saying that it came from the home of a bankrupt gentleman.

"After he went bankrupt, his two sons died one after the other, the elder at the gambling table and the younger in the river."

"And what about him?"

"He lived to be ninety-one."

Sure enough, once the seal was opened and the liquid was poured out, the curse that was forced out climbed directly up his ether.

"Certainly!"

The vacuum sealing was more urgent than the previous two times.

The thing bumped against the wall seven or eight times before stopping. After it stopped, it circled around inside, much like a fish that had been thrown into a water tank.

Donner's expression changed: "...This one is alive."

"It's looking for the next person to hold it."

Richard began to ponder, unsure where to begin.

As time goes by, the edge of the vacuum is already seeping in.

"Little brother," Donner's throat was a little dry, "if you're unsure..."

"Wait a little longer."

Richard continued practicing his Mirror Condensation Technique and Branch Severing Technique; the more difficult the moment, the faster his proficiency would increase.

He quickly found the key: the switch on the silver ball cane.

Richard replaced the silver needles with Soul-Devouring Beast Tooth Needles.

"Take two steps back."

With a flick of the needle, the curse was split in two and scattered in the vacuum.

Donner picked up his cane and grasped the silver ball.

"It's really not hot anymore."

"...My father only had one way to deal with these cursed objects back then."

"What method?"

"Throw it into the river, then pray for three days."

Richard smiled.

"The rivers in the capital are not very clean anymore."

"So my father later changed it to throwing it into someone else's river," Donald chuckled.

"The one from Genoa, or the one from Amsterdam, costs one shilling and sixpence, cheaper than praying."

"So, are you going to give me extra money?" Richard joked.

The back room was silent for a full two seconds.

"...You want to be beautiful."

Donna slapped his knee, then winced in pain, saying, "You said you didn't want any wages."

"My shop is too small to afford a worker who can perform surgery."

He brought back a teapot from the front shelf, but since he couldn't carry it himself, he watched as Richard poured a cup for each of them.

"Once these two cursed items are cleaned, we can make our move."

"When we sell it, we'll split the price in half."

Halfway through his tea, Richard took out Mercury's business card.

Donna leaned closer for a look, and her small eyes slowly narrowed.

"...Genoa, 11 Via San Lorenzo".

"You agree?"

"I recognize this street." Donald leaned back a little.

"Young man, where did you get this seal?"

"A colleague fell behind."

"Left behind." Donald sneered, "That kind of person wouldn't leave anything behind."

Richard nodded, knowing he had come to the right person.

Donald tilted his chin to the south.

"Those moneylenders in Genoa have been doing this business for at least five hundred years. You could even see these Genoese people when Constantinople fell."

He glanced at the business card again:

"Writing your name on a business card actually lowers your value, because you can find someone just by their address."

"So, the person who gave me the business card must be a very important person." Richard raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, those who can be on that street are no ordinary people. The Mediterranean has always been the shipping hub of the entire Western Continent."

Donald nodded: "And when a war breaks out, the ones who make the most money are these middlemen."

Richard thought to himself, "No wonder Mars and Minerva have no control over that man at all; he can come and go as he pleases."

"However," Donald changed the subject, "I'll make the unpleasant point clear upfront."

"Please speak."

The man spread his two cloth-wrapped hands out on his knees.

"Think about it, how many hands would a trade route have to pass through to go from the New World to the Black Sea?"

"Docks, warehouses, transshipment ports... he can't manage all of these places, nor does he intend to."

"So the people under them are of varying quality." Richard understood.

"Yes, if you go through one of his branches, you'll be lucky if two out of ten items are genuine."

Shortchanging customers, selling inferior goods as superior ones, labeling third-rate products as first-rate—they use all sorts of tricks.

"And what about the person in question?"

Donald glanced at him.

"If you can actually sit across from him, drink tea, and discuss business, that's a different story."

"Once you reach that position, your reputation is more valuable than any goods."

"A single order he handles in a year could easily buy out my entire shop."

He wouldn't ruin his own reputation just to cheat someone like you... He wouldn't do something so unprofitable.

"So you won't get scammed if you meet them in person."

"You might even gain an advantage if you meet him in person," Donald added.

"If you speak eloquently to a prominent businessman like this, he'd rather earn less money than lose a repeat customer."

Richard took the bronze seal back.

Thank you for your suggestion.

"No need to thank me." Donald finished his tea.

"I'm just rambling. How could a preparatory student like you possibly sit across from a big businessman like that?"

Richard did not respond.

While packing, Donald suddenly spoke again.

"Little brother, haven't you been sleeping well these past few days?"

He turned around.

"You're carrying something dirty."

Richard remained silent for a moment.

"...Yes, a little."

"You don't need to tell me what it is." Donald waved his hand and walked towards the backyard.

"Come with me, I have a way."

In the backyard, the pillars of the fire god temple stood in the twilight.

Donald squatted down in the brazier next to the pillar and had Richard turn over the ashes with fire tongs, instructing him to find a white stone in the ashes.

The white stone was exposed to fire and ashes every day, but it wasn't blackened at all, and there was hardly any ether residue on it. Richard found this strange.

"These were brought by my grandfather," Donald explained.

"There is a seasonal river outside Yazd, which only flows for two months of the year."

These are the kinds of stones on the riverbed. He brought nothing with him when he left Persia except a jar full of these stones.

The stones cooled down quickly after being removed from the container.

"If you put the stone next to the window when you sleep, those spirits shouldn't come over anymore."

"Send the stone back if it turns black, and I'll replace it for you."

Donald solemnly instructed, "This stone can only be used for one or two months at a time. I don't know why you attract the dead, but you absolutely cannot skimp on this."

"Sir, is this considered...?"

"Consider it an employee benefit."

………………

Richard came out of Donald's, and a dark figure was crouching in the shadows outside the door.

"...Madam, is there anything I can help you with?"

The black cat strolled out, its golden eyes fixed on him.

"Come sit here with me."

As they walked ahead, the black cat said, "By the way, Matthew has already returned to the New World. He has his own things to do there."

The two walked to the end of Flower Moon Street, the black cat meowed, and the door opened automatically.

The room was lit tonight, and the mirrors reflected each other, pushing the dim light back and forth.

Mrs. Mary sat in a high-backed armchair, her face still impossible to see clearly.

"sit."

A faceless porcelain doll came out carrying a tea tray, and Richard took the tea and sat down opposite it.

On the coffee table was a glass jar, its mouth sealed with wax, and a tiny cat paw print pressed onto the wax.

With such an adorable cat paw print, the eyeball soaking in the jar doesn't seem so scary anymore.

The black cat jumped onto the coffee table and lay down next to the glass jar, pretending to sleep.

Mrs. Mary raised her hand and scratched the black cat's chin: "I brought you here tonight because of this eyeball."

"It's clean now. I soaked it for seven days after I snatched it from her that night."

"But I want to talk to you about something else first."

Richard put down the teacup in his hand.

"You want to move up, not just become a master, right?"

Mrs. Mary's statement was not actually a question.

"……right."

"You can't avoid the traditions of the abyss."

Richard frowned, waiting for Mrs. Mary to continue.

"I know what you've read in the book," said Mrs. Mary.

"Those files that involve the abyss are deliberately written to send chills down your spine."

"They always write about the consequences of taking that path, but they never explain why people still choose it when the outcome is already like that."

"Actually, most of those who advanced the fastest... had something to do with the traditions of the Abyss."

The only difference is that some people get more and some get less.

Those who have taken too much are no longer considered human, while those who have taken less are still climbing the ranks.

Richard sat on the low stool, resisting the urge to look at the eyeball.

"Madam, are you going to teach me about the traditions of the Abyss?"

"Yes, but I won't teach you breathing techniques," Mrs. Mary said curtly.

"Once the Abyss's traditional breathing techniques are adopted, there's no going back. I won't teach them, and you shouldn't try to learn them."

The room with mirrors fell silent.

"I dislike the abyss the most," she continued.

"I've had students for decades, and I haven't kept a single one who strayed from that path."

"Then you..."

"Just because I don't like it doesn't mean I have to close my eyes to it."

She touched the jar with her hand.

"Let's open the can."

Richard stood up.

He first took out coarse salt from his canvas bag and sprinkled it around the coffee table.

After scattering for a while, I scattered it a second time.

The black cat watched from the side without saying a word.

After the third round of sprinkling, Richard opened the frost branch box and placed it beside him, then set up the silver mirror opposite the jar.

"That's fine."

The black cat stretched out a paw and pressed it on the wax seal, and the paw print melted away.

The can was opened, and the smell rushed out all at once.

Richard had initially thought it might taste fishy or foul, or even sweet.

Neither of those were the cases; the smell... he really couldn't describe what it felt like.

Everyone probably has this scene from their childhood: you lie down in a well and look down, you can see the dark water at the bottom, and the cold air climbs up the well wall to your nose.

In that instant, you'll feel like something is watching you from the bottom of the well.

When you grow up, you realize that it's just your reflection.

Now this smell tells you: that's not a reflection.

Richard immediately broke out in a cold sweat on the back of his neck.

"Don't back down," said Mrs. Mary.

"...I didn't withdraw."

"Your foot moved."

Richard glanced down and quickly moved his foot back.

The eyeball in the jar still had its eyelids closed.

"Pave the still water over there."

Richard did as instructed.

In that instant, he understood what the "abyss" meant.

The still water, when it was spread out, should have reflected an eyeball soaking in a jar, but instead, it only reflected a well.

Moreover, the wellhead was inside his own chest cavity.

He kept going uphill, and with each step he took, the well beneath his feet became a little deeper... They were waiting for him.

Richard's breathing became erratic, and he could barely maintain his focus.

Even though the water surface was about to break, the scene before my eyes remained completely intact.

"Make a vacuum first," Mrs. Mary reminded her.

Upon hearing this, Richard, whose movements were almost muscle memory, quickly exhaled the vacuum.

A pool of stagnant water, without any medium, fell around the glass vessel, completely draining the ether from its surface.

"Not bad," Mrs. Mary commented. "You've learned about 70% of Mr. Reeve's skill."

Richard didn't reply; he simply raised his right hand.

The index and middle fingers are held together, with the thumb loosely tucked underneath—that's the gesture for holding a pen.

His hand was suspended in mid-air, waiting to fall.

At the same moment, the tip of his tongue was already pressed against the roof of his mouth.

The syllable had already taken shape in his throat; it was the first letter of his own name.

Suddenly, a handful of coarse salt was thrown from behind him, onto his shoulders and neck, and even down to his collar.

At the same time, Mrs. Mary placed her hand on the back of his neck.

"Don't answer!"

These words struck Richard like a thunderbolt, sending a shiver down his spine.

The still water shattered completely, and all the mirrors in the mirror room simultaneously buzzed.

Richard sat on the stool, panting, and it took him seven or eight breaths to catch his breath.

He smelled blood in his nose and touched his hand, which was covered in blood.

"...Just now."

"You were about to sign your autograph," Mrs. Mary said.

The room with mirrors remained quiet for a long time.

Richard sat on the floor, the coarse salt in his collar irritating the back of his neck.

"That's why it's said that the most dangerous path for scholars is to tread the deep abyss of tradition," Mrs. Mary said.

"When the hunter approaches, it first bites through a layer of skin."

The hidden one passed by, first avoiding the nets.

"You don't need to, the scholars will raise their hands themselves."

"Scholars sign their names and write; look down, these are all instincts that run deep in their souls."

Without these instincts, you cannot become a scholar.

The black cat stood up, walked up to Richard, and brushed the tip of its tail against his face.

"You can remember the names of the dead, the years of weaknesses, and the origins of things."

Mrs. Mary asked, "What were you thinking when you raised your hand?"

Richard opened his mouth, thinking that no one had written that line yet.

"...I want to add it."

"Alright."

The black cat pressed its paw against the mouth of the jar, and the well was closed.

Richard reached for the teacup and took a big gulp.

Mrs. Mary said.

"You have risen quickly since you embarked on this path, but the higher you climb, the deeper the abyss below becomes."

No one can escape this... the solar tradition cannot be avoided, the lunar hunting tradition cannot be avoided, and the mirror tradition is even more unavoidable.

Why can't you avoid a mirror?

"Because the mirror is the deepest." The black cat raised its head.

"Other traditions move forward, upward, and outward, while the mirror seeks within."

The more accurately you photograph others, the deeper your reflection will be when you examine yourself.

"Look at the bottom, that's the one we just saw."

Richard sat in a chair, his hands supporting his knees.

"What should I do then?"

"Not really."

"...What?"

"You don't need to do anything right now, you just need to know that it's there."

"Is knowing enough?"

"That's enough," Mrs. Mary said softly.

"Those who go through life unaware that they have a well within them are the most dangerous."

"One day they suddenly looked down and never came back."

Richard inexplicably thought of Lillian.

The last paragraph of that letter from Prague read: "My hands have been cold all year. Wearing gloves doesn't help, and soaking them in hot water only makes them feel better for a short while."

"Madam, do people who go downhill not even realize they're going downhill at first?"

"Mostly," Mrs. Mary said.

"A small number of people know, but even if they know, they still want to leave."

Why?

"Because what they want is at the bottom of the well."

She withdrew her hand from the armrest.

"It's not a lie, you really can get anything down there."

The silent faction is slow and deliberate; they know that drinking slowly means they can drink for many more years.

The burnt offerings were paid in full upfront; they calculated the costs and found it to be a good deal.

"They're not fools; in fact, they understand things better than anyone else."

Richard finished his tea.

"Now I'll teach you how to use it," said Mrs. Mary.

The black cat jumped back onto the coffee table and pushed the glass jar forward with its paw.

"It has lost its intelligence."

"Have you washed away your intellect?" Richard asked, still worried.

"It can't be washed off," said Mrs. Mary. "I cut the thread between it and that person, and now it's a lump that no one claims."

"This eyeball currently has only two uses."

"The simplest way to use it is to pour ether in and then throw it out."

"and then?"

"Then it will unfold on the other side of the curtain."

The black cat drew a circle on the coffee table with its paw.

"Spread out like a pile of stuff that nobody wants to touch."

Richard awaits the next installment.

"Little Richard, have you ever seen pollution behind the curtain?"

"I've seen it. Among the evil materials are curses from cursed objects and mud from Flanders."

"Those are all stains," said Mrs. Mary. "Stains can be washed; you washed two pieces yourself this afternoon."

"After I dealt with this..." she paused, as if searching for the right words, "it was something hundreds of times more disgusting than those."

"So once you throw it out, it will make people instinctively not want to get close to you."

"How much do you not want to?"

The black cat tapped its tail twice on the coffee table.

"The higher the rank, the less they want to."

"If you're a worker, you can just take a shower and it'll be fine; if you're an expert, you can have someone scrape the entire loop for you."

"The master stepped on it..."

"How is it?"

"It took several months to clear it up."

Richard sat up straight.

"Where's the expert?"

"Experts won't step on them; they find even going around them too much trouble."

Richard memorized this.

On the night of April 30th, he was on the top of the cloud, watching helplessly as the man from the Black Soil River turned up a thousand mirrors to reflect his image.

He had nothing at the time and could only rely on his own strength to endure it.

If only he had one of those stink bombs in his hand back then...

"Don't be too happy yet," said the black cat.

"……lady?"

"Disposable."

Richard's expression froze for a moment.

"Once you throw it out, it's gone. And you'd better time it right, throw it out and run away quickly, otherwise you'll get covered in the stench yourself."

"And another use?" Richard asked.

Mrs. Mary actually laughed.

"Since that guy made this thing, it can naturally be used to contact its original owner."

Richard tightened his grip on his knees.

"That one..."

"Elena Savolova," Madame Marie announced the name.

"A highly skilled medium from the abyssal tradition, born from the frozen soil north of the Ross Empire."

"She has been in this world for over three hundred years."

Richard thought about the ages of Professor Mortimer and Professor McFee; it was already incredible that they had lived for over a hundred years.

This... three hundred years, that's a long period of time that can witness the rise and fall of dynasties.

"She's not burning her own oil," Mrs. Mary said.

"Whose is that?"

"Other people's."

The mirrors in the room of mirrors swayed as they reflected each other.

"When Elena dropped her eyeball on the field, she wanted someone to pick it up," Mrs. Mary said.

"Whoever picks it up, it belongs to them from now on."

"...Who was she originally planning to take on?"

She accepts whatever money asks of her; she's not picky.

Richard reviewed the scene from that night again.

The Prometheus puppet knelt down on one knee, using its remaining arm to shield him.

"So, she was supposed to receive more than one message that night."

Richard was somewhat conflicted.

"Madam, what about her...?"

"She won't do it anymore. Matthew and I each said a sentence to her."

"What did you say?"

The black cat narrowed its golden eyes.

What I said was: I'll remember this child.

Matthew said he'd like to stop by her place next time he passes through St. Petersburg.

Richard recalled Matthew's sunburnt face.

When that guy said he wanted to come over for a visit, it was the same as saying he was going to teach him a lesson.

"So she's stopped for now," Mrs. Mary sighed.

"She has lived for three hundred years, she has no shortage of patience."

"And this eye..."

"This eye is yours now."

The black cat pushed the jar in front of him with its paw.

"If you crush it, she'll know."

"She'll use something to talk, like I'm using this cat."

"Once you arrive, you can make a deal with her."

"These transactions are the kind that only the Abyss tradition can make."

The lights in the mirror room dimmed a little more.

"For example what?" Richard asked.

The black cat squatted down on the coffee table.

"For example, retrieving something from time."

"And the price?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Mrs. Mary, "but I know her pricing rules."

"What are the rules?"

"She doesn't want what you have now."

Richard raised his head.

"She wants you to have it in the future."

As soon as he finished speaking, all the mirrors reflecting each other shook.