I loaded the Mysticism panel.

After leaving the meeting room, Richard returned to his dormitory and locked the door.

He cleared everything off the table, leaving only a clean tablecloth.

Tarot cards, copper plates, talismans, and a small half-bottle of star sand.

Lady Mary had said not to conduct any divination activities for six months, and now six months have passed.

He first took out the Sphinx lamp, which was closely related to the Black Soil River, and placed it on the corner of the table.

The first question: "What will happen if I take it with me?"

Shuffle, cut, and turn over three cards.

Death - Upright

Black-armored knights and white horses, with no distinction between kings and farmers lying at their feet.

The Tower (Reversed)

The tower is still standing, but lightning has already struck, and the people inside are stuck in the windows and can't get out.

[The Moon - Upright]

Two dogs barked at the moon, while the insects crawling out of the water were still halfway there.

Richard laid the three cards side by side for a long time, then put them away for a second divination, and found that the Death card (upright) and the Tower card (reversed) were still there.

He removed the Sphinx lamp from the corner of the table and hid it in a secret compartment under the bed.

Third shuffle: "What will happen if I don't bring it?"

The Hermit (Upright)

A person stands on the mountain carrying a small lantern, which only illuminates a small area at their feet.

Seven of Cups Reversed

The illusions in the seven cups dissipated, leaving only one real one.

Temperance - Upright

The angel poured water back and forth between the two cups, pouring just the right amount.

He drew another card and asked the most crucial question: If something goes wrong, can I escape unscathed?

【Chariot - in its proper position】.

Richard felt relieved, which meant he could leave immediately after things really turned sour.

:

Finally, the runes were scattered into the bronze dish: the wheat ears rolled out of the dish, the double circles remained in the center, the crescent moon was next to the double circles, the hammer pressed on the edge of the dish, half inside and half outside, and the water droplets and spirals rolled out.

The meaning is very clear: this trip yielded little (ears of wheat), but the relationship (double circle) and change (crescent moon) are intertwined; the action (hammer) is stuck on the side, with one foot out.

Go, but don't bring anything with your name on it.

He also tried to avoid that road altogether, and the result was just the second worst possible outcome.

For a student who has been nominated by both Sir John Müller and his own tutor to make an excuse to decline at this crucial moment is truly writing a note on his own forehead to show that he has a problem.

Moreover, this is the capital city, where all his connections are located; it's his true base of operations.

Even in the worst-case scenario, he is confident he can get himself out of trouble.

Richard slept soundly without any dreams, and when he woke up, he breathed a sigh of relief. The fact that he hadn't triggered any precognitive dreams made him feel even more at ease.

This means that not only is he safe, but those close to him will also be safe.

So Richard was in the mood to go to the Iliad building early in the morning to watch Catherine's match.

The topic she drew was: In wartime, should the treatment of deserters be limited to military law, or should exceptions be allowed? (Opposition)

Richard was sitting in the sixth row, and he waved to her before she walked up to the podium.

The red-haired girl looked preoccupied, but his interruption made her feel relieved, and she glared at him irritably.

"Our position."

When she took the podium, her voice was hoarse and low, each syllable forced out.

In the first minute, she cited a military court ruling from 1815, dismantling the "exceptions equal collapse" layer in the opponent's argument.

She started to accelerate in the second minute.

Richard frowned, determined to finish what he needed to say before his throat gave way.

By the third minute...

"...Therefore, those who refuse to examine individual cases on the grounds of 'no exceptions' are not truly upholding military law, but rather..."

Her mouth was still moving, but nothing came out.

Catherine reached out and steadied herself on the lectern, then coughed forcefully.

She tried again, but all she could hear was a hissing sound.

The host walked over from the side.

"Sister Blake Wood?"

:

The red-haired girl took out a small notebook from the inside pocket of her coat, opened it, and wrote a line.

"I'm withdrawing from the competition."

One of the associate professors on the judging panel put down his pen.

McFaye crossed his arms and didn't say a word from beginning to end, seemingly having already guessed the outcome.

The host announced: "In the second match of the third round, the opposing side has forfeited, and the affirmative side wins."

Catherine closed the notebook and stepped down from the podium.

On his way back to the hotel, Khalaf took the list out of his inner pocket and added a question mark around the circle next to "Catherine Blackwood".

It was four o'clock in the afternoon, in a small private room of the tea house in the college area.

Richard pushed open the door and went inside; there were already three people sitting there.

Mr. Williams.

This novel was first published on [website name].

The person stood up first and extended their hand.

"Hello, Professor Khalaf."

The hand it touched was dry, the temperature was normal, the pressure was normal, and there was nothing else there.

Richard sat down in the remaining chair.

The four people in the room, except for himself, were all from the Abyss tradition.

Richard was internally ranting, but on the surface he still wore a polite smile.

Khalaf started by chatting casually.

"Mr. Williams, have you ever been to the Black Earth River area?"

"No, the furthest I've ever been is the northern highlands."

"The highlands are good," Khalaf said cooperatively.

"I went there once twenty years ago, and there were words carved on the edges of the stones there."

"Oganwen".

"Yes, you understand too?" He smiled, and the wrinkles around his eyes smoothed out.

"I've only learned the basics."

:

"You're probably not familiar with the mud from our Black Soil River."

Khalaf then steered the conversation back to himself.

"We have a particular method for mixing mud in our area. After the river floods and recedes, the craftsmen only use the first layer of mud."

"There is sand in the second layer, which will cause the pottery to crack when fired."

Richard suddenly remembered the gathering in mid-August, and what he and a few others from the Theological Salon had talked about.

It is said that the pottery shard made by Apophis was not a spur-of-the-moment decision, but rather due to various marks and traces on the clay.

In such a short time, the person making the clay sat opposite him and explained the process to him.

Phillips picked up the teapot from the side.

"Professor, do the cups made from your clay taste good for tea?"

"Ceramic cups are not suitable for drinking tea."

Why?

"Because Tao will drink half of it."

For the next half hour, Phillips was the most talkative person at the table.

He talked about the room on the fourth floor of their house, which was filled with his collection, and about the Hervé clock.

He talked about how his mother forced him to get married, and how Constance sat in the last row by the side every Thursday and handed him an umbrella at the door after the show.

He said his father passed away this summer. A month before he passed away, his father suddenly returned the teapot that had been confiscated to him and even took him out for a meal.

He even laughed when he got to the last part.

The usual way of changing the subject was too obvious, so he used a more sophisticated method—opening up.

How do you interrupt someone who is talking about their family affairs or even their deceased family members?

Khalaf listened from the side without offering much comment.

Phillips continued talking to himself, "I overslept on the morning of June 19th."

"When I went downstairs, there were already many people standing inside. The doctor was upstairs, and my mother was sitting on the chair in the foyer."

"I walked over, and my mother looked up at me. The first thing she said was: You overslept again."

"...Mr. Phillips," Khalaf asked politely.

How did your father die?

:

"The report says it's a heart problem," Phillips said.

There was a two-second silence in the room, and Barnaby naturally took the teapot and poured tea for everyone.

"This year, the young man is playing a minor role at the theater; the play he's directing has no lines."

Richard picked up his cup of tea and took a sip. The temperature was just right, neither too hot nor too cold, just like the person sitting next to him.

He suddenly wanted to say something to Phillips, but knew he couldn't say a word now.

"Mr. Williams," Khalaf suddenly turned around.

Richard raised his eyes.

"Did you compile that penny booklet?"

Richard asked, somewhat puzzled, "Which one are you referring to?"

"I read 'The Collection of Strange Tales' on the ship."

"...It's me."

Khalaf picked up his cup: "I bought a whole set from a bookstore in your country; it's very interesting to read."

"We have a similar one over there that doesn't respond to three calls."

"What did you mean?"

"If someone calls your name at night, don't answer. If you do, your name will follow the sound."

"If it doesn't respond after three calls, it will go to the next house," Richard said.

"Yes." Khalaf smiled.

"This rule is pretty much the same all over the world."

That afternoon, Richard spoke fewer than twenty sentences.

Ask technical questions where technical questions are appropriate, nod where nods are appropriate, and bow slightly when praised.

This is how a first-year student who has just graduated early and is sitting across from a foreign expert for the first time should be.

At 4:57, Khalaf glanced at his watch.

He put the cup down and stood up.

"Excuse me, everyone, I must take my leave now."

"So early?" Barnaby looked up.

:

"There's one thing to do every day before sunset," Khalaf said, picking up his briefcase.

"Can't you take a day off?"

The middle-aged man with brown skin took his coat off the back of the chair and draped it over his arm.

"If you rest for a day, the sun won't rise."

Back on the second floor of the hotel, Khalaf immediately drew the curtains and began preparing for the ceremony.

Draw a snake, write its name on it, and then make cuts, one by one.

After stomping on the ground, burn it. After burning it, pour the ashes into a basin of water and then splash the water away.

For thirty years, not a single day has passed without a break.

In Cairo, he only needs to sit for half a minute to complete this process.

For three thousand years, people have been doing the same thing on the same piece of land, using the same set of movements before sunset, and the land has formed its imprint.

Even the capital city doesn't have these.

What day is it tonight...? The fourth day. After Khalaf finished the ceremony, it took him almost fifteen minutes to regain his rational thinking ability.

Once he had caught his breath, he took the thin notebook out of his briefcase.

He looked down at the names on the first page, one by one.

When I saw "Richard Williams," the pencil stopped on the paper.

This afternoon, he put the inquiry sticker on the student three times.

The first time was a handshake, the second time was talking about mud, and the third time was talking about the line "someone calls your name at night".

The content returned exactly the same three times.

Too clean?

No, Khalaf tapped the paper with his pencil.

It would be suspicious if an 18-year-old student had no thorns on his body.

The person reads it with some jagged edges, which is why it matches.

People who use different breathing techniques will have their microcirculation disrupted for about half a year, and people who stay up late writing columns will have trouble sleeping.

Everything is in sync.

He put down the pencil and mentally laid out the weighing method.

:

He took a terracotta figurine, carved the student's name on it, and placed it on the right plate.

The scale remained motionless.

Khalaf sat in the dark for a long time, then suddenly wrote a line after "Richard Williams":

"Exceptional comprehension, strong interdisciplinary analogy ability, a valuable asset."

After finishing writing, he closed the notebook and stopped thinking about it further.

………………

The transcription room was located on the basement floor on the west side of the museum, and at this point, Richard was no longer worried.

Professor Mortimer was sitting on the upper floor, having tea and chatting with Curator Weatherby.

During work, Khalaf would sit at a distance that was neither too close nor too far, occasionally offering some pointers.

He got up to pour water and also poured a glass for Richard.

"Take a 15-minute break."

"No need, Professor."

"If you copy this for too long, you'll make mistakes."

At this moment, Khalaf behaved no differently than a kind and approachable ordinary professor, and he himself felt the same way.

"I made that mistake when I was young; forcing myself to stay up late actually reduced my efficiency."

Having said all that, Richard put down his pen.

"Professor, how do you handle the parts that are still questionable?"

Leave a blank space, draw a circle next to it, and don't guess.

"Never guessing even once?"

"I won't guess even once." Khalaf twirled the cup halfway in his palm.

There's an old saying in our area: "The person who makes a mistake in copying will be recognized by that one stroke later on."

Richard's hand, holding the pen, paused for half a second on this sentence.

The figure with the mirrored saint's head said almost the same thing to him back then.

"The name you give must be 'true'. If it's written incorrectly, the name will backfire. If it's written off-target, the name will be distorted."

You wrote down a name you yourself didn't believe: ft.

:

The side of order and the side of chaos actually share the same rule.

"I've noted that down," Richard said.

"It's not enough to write it down," Khalaf shook his head.

"You need to develop a habit with your hands. When you are woken up in the middle of the night and have to fumble in the dark to copy a line of text, your hand will stop on its own when you reach an uncertain spot. That's when you've developed that habit."

He actually went on to give a serious lesson on this topic:

"When your students study Black Soil River, they always end up asking the same question: Why are they so afraid of their names?"

How do professors usually answer?

"I'll talk about Isis."

Richard responded with an "oh," indicating that he knew that too.

"Ancient myths rarely depicted omnipotent gods. The sun god was old, and his mouth started to drool."

Khalaf smiled: "Isis mixed the saliva with mud, shaped it into a snake, and placed it on the path He walked every day."

"The snake bit him."

"All the gods have come to see, but none of them can cure the poison."

Finally, Isis said: "I can solve it, but tell me your real name."

Did He give it to you?

"He gave us a bunch of fakes first."

"He announced dozens of titles: I am Kebli of the morning, I am Ra of noon, I am Atum of dusk."

Isis said: These are not your names.

"In the end, He gave it to me."

The flame of the lamp in the room flickered upwards by a sliver.

"And then what?" Richard asked.

"Once it was given, He was no longer the strongest one."

Khalaf placed the cup on the windowsill.

"Mr. Williams, the most serious crime where we live is stealing a name."

"Murder is a one-time event, but stealing fame is forever."

:

He paused for a moment.

"It seems someone has done this recently."

That morning, when Richard finished copying the last symbol and put down his pen, his expression was as usual.

Khalaf watched from the window as he folded the manuscript, numbered it, and sealed it into a brown paper bag.

Back at school with Professor Mortimer, Richard had no matches to watch in the afternoon, so he and Catherine did their homework across a table from each other.

Two rubbings were spread out on the table; they were copies that Richard had brought back from the transcription room.

Silas's big class is due next month and the two of them are reviewing their work.

Catherine sat opposite her with the little notebook spread out on her lap.

She wrote a line on the paper.

After she finished writing, she turned the notebook around and held it up.

"Was the transcription successful?"

Richard nodded.

She tore that page out, cut it in half, and stuffed it into her skirt pocket.

Then she rewrote it.

"My uncle was able to go downstairs by himself today."

Richard raised his head.

"What did the doctor say?"

She turned the page of the notebook.

They said to let him rest for another three months.

After writing, she tore up the paper, and a small handful of scraps had already accumulated in her pocket.

Richard lowered his head to look at the rubbing.

He had so much to say.

You want to tell the other person: Someone might be investigating you.

The person investigating you sat across from him yesterday afternoon, drinking tea and talking about how to mix Cairo clay and the story of the name thief.

But what happens when someone knows they're being targeted?

:

She will be more careful.

Being more careful is the biggest weakness.

The girl, who never missed a rent payment and always placed her six shillings on the stove on time, suddenly arrived half a day late.

They used to issue receipts for borrowing even half a set of materials, but suddenly they stopped issuing receipts.

I used to go to the sanatorium at 3 p.m. every day, but suddenly the time was changed.

Any one of them is enough.

Across from her, Catherine turned a page in her notebook.

She wrote a line, but didn't immediately raise it after finishing.

I stared at the line I had written for a while, then tore it up.

Richard raised his head.

The red-haired girl was stuffing the scraps of paper into her pocket when she looked up and met his gaze.

There was nothing in those green eyes.

There were no questions or hints, and no probing like "Do you have something to say?"

He was clean and tidy, exactly the same as every time I've seen him in the past two weeks.

She was doing the same thing.

Outside the window, light slanted in and fell between the two rubbings on the table.

Catherine picked up the pen again.

She wrote the last line in the notebook, and then held it up to show him.

"You said you wanted to reread the turning point in the seventh group last time."

Richard lowered his head.

"...Yes, I read it again."

"How is it?"

"It's different from what I read last year."

He pointed it out to Catherine.

The two of them lowered their heads together, their shoulders almost touching.

:

………………

Richard's advancement from the undergraduate group to the finals was no surprise to anyone, including himself.

After all, he made it to the finals just by signing his name last year, let alone today, a year later. It's just that no one knows how far he can go this year.

The top column only has one name: Clara Fafield.

She occupies an entire space by herself, with half a page empty below her.

"Why is she taking up a space by herself?"

"Because she scored two and a half points more than the second-place finisher."

Pendleton put the paste brush back into the bucket.

"In the seven group stage matches, her score was never below nine points."

"There was no one else on the judging panel who could sit next to her, so we had to give her a separate spot."

The second column was crowded with eleven people, and the total score of all eleven people was within 0.7 points.

"The second game of the finals."

Graduate group: Reginald Thorpe.

Undergraduate Group: Richard Williams.

"Debate topic: Should a soldier be exempted from responsibility for following orders?"

Fisher immediately shouted.

"It's him again! It was him last year too!"

"What's so great about that?" Montagu said, standing behind him.

Thorpe ranked third in the second tier during the group stage, while Richard ranked fifth.

There were two people in between; those two were moved to the other side, leaving only the two of them.

He raised his hand and tapped the top cell of the formation chart.

"Besides, look at this line of small print."

Fisher leaned over and read: "The last winner of the second group plays against the first group."

He was stunned after reading it aloud.

"...Wouldn't that mean Richard would be facing off against his own senior?"

:

"right."

Thorpe lifted the curtain and walked in from the preparation area.

Thorpe draped his jacket over his arm: "This year I drew the affirmative side, advocating for immunity."

"Congratulations."

"You really think this is congratulations?" Thorpe smiled.

"Everyone knows the affirmative side has the upper hand in this match."

"There are 300 people sitting below, and more than half of them have family members on the front lines."

You're asking me to speak up for a soldier; if they don't side with me, whose side will they side with?

He turned around, took two steps, and then stopped.

"Mr. Williams, I won't be using the wall to weigh you down this year."

Why?

"Because it's not necessary."

Thorp began by stating his argument.

"Gentlemen."

His first words were accompanied by pushing the manuscript aside.

"Let me tell you a true story first."

Thirty years ago, there was a corporal on the Boer battlefield.

His company received orders to burn down a village.

"If he didn't want to burn it, he went back and asked his lieutenant, who said there were women and children inside."

The lieutenant told him: "This is an order from above."

He went to ask his superiors, who said: "This is an order from the brigade headquarters."

"He had no right to ask any further questions, so he burned down the village."

"After returning to China, he was taken to court."

Thorpe placed his hands on the edge of the lectern.

In court, they asked him: "Why did you burn it?"

:

He said: "Because I received orders."

The court asked: "Then why didn't you refuse?"

"Gentlemen, this is the only sentence we want to say today."

What will happen if he refuses?

"He will be shot on the spot, and the village will still be burned down, but the one burned will be another corporal."

"He died, the village wasn't saved, not a single person was saved."

"Therefore, we maintain that the responsibility for an order lies with the person who gave it."

"Not the one who pulls the trigger."

"Because he had no other choice, you have no right to judge a person who has no choice."

"Our argument is complete."

Applause erupted in the hall.

The applause wasn't particularly loud, but it was remarkably synchronized.

When the applause started, the silver thread buried under the podium for hundreds of years buzzed.

Thorpe was indeed very well prepared this year, and he worked especially hard.

Behind the curtain, a ladder stood up.

The ladder was extremely tall, rising from the ground to a point where it could not be seen.

One person stands on each step.

At the very bottom level stood a young man in military uniform, holding a torch in his hand.

He looked up, and the level above him was also looking up.

The level above that, you keep looking upwards.

Each level pressed down on the next, all with their heads held high, none bowing their heads.

No one on the ladder had their head down.

The thing was thick and heavy, causing the ether in the entire hall to collapse.

From the audience, all they saw was a respectable young man finish speaking, put away his notes, and bow slightly.

Richard, also arguing against the position, did not use a prepared statement.

:

"We do not deny that the corporal they mentioned was pitiful."

"We also do not advocate hanging him."

"We only have one question..."

"If he's not responsible, then who burned down that village?"

The hall fell silent for a moment.

"Gentlemen, I'll continue climbing up that ladder they're using."

The corporal said, "I received orders."

The lieutenant said, "I also received orders."

"The colonel said: This was decided by the brigade headquarters."

"The brigade headquarters said: This is the theater command's policy."

The war zone said: This is a cabinet decision.

The cabinet said: This was approved by a unanimous vote.

"The vote passed because seventeen people raised their hands."

"None of the seventeen people burned down a single house."

"Gentlemen, we now have a village that has been burned down."

"We have a whole line of people from corporals all the way up to the cabinet."

"Everyone in the team is innocent."

"I'd like to ask the judges to calculate for me: who exactly burned down that village?"

The hall was quiet for about four seconds, then a short clapping sounded from the third row.

Phillips held the repaired spout of the pot in his arms, patting his knee with his other hand.

On the other side of the curtain, the ladder is still there.

But the people on each step started pointing upwards.

The top level is empty, pointing to the empty space.

Then the entire ladder collapsed from the top down.

"Our argument is complete."

:

"Cross-examination, the opposing side goes first."

Richard continued working on the draft he had prepared in such a short time:

"Mr. Thorpe, your family is in the shipping business in Beijing."

Someone on the judges' panel moved slightly, and the host's hand was already halfway raised.

"...I know that this point is irrelevant to today's debate topic." Richard cut his tongue before the host could speak.

"I only ask questions that are within the scope of the debate topic."

"If that order were to be issued to you today..."

"After you carried it out, someone asked about it."

"Are you going to point upwards, or are you going to stand there yourself?"

The host's hand froze in mid-air; not a single word of his statement was beyond the scope of the syllabus.

Thorpe stood behind the podium, remaining silent for a long time.

"...I can stand up by myself."

"We accept this answer and ask the judges to take note," Richard said.

"The affirmative side, Reginald Thorpe: 8.1 in words, 7.3 in pronouncements."

Richard Williams, representing the opposing side: "Verbal 9.2, Announcement 7.8."

"The opposing side wins by 1.6 points."

Fisher stood up: "I knew it! I told you he was holding back in those two rounds!"

You said he wasn't feeling well last week.

"...I must have misread it!"

Outside the west wall, Khalaf wrote two lines in his notebook.

"The opposing side, a first-year undergraduate, announced the erection of a 'ladder and sign,' which was extremely small, and not a single extra ether was spent. It was never seen to be used up throughout the entire event."

"...This person has the ability but has not yet used it."

A horizontal line at the bottom.

"For the affirmative, Thorpe, third-year graduate student."

The ether was poured out in one go, leaving no room for retreat, and was thus defeated by a first-year undergraduate student by 1.6 points.

:

Next up is Game 4 of the Finals:

"For: Clara Faffield"

"Opposition: Richard Williams."

After the match schedule was posted, Sofia called out for a long time in room 314.

"One of you is the professor's student, and the other is the professor's nephew!"

"No need for a draw this time." Isabella twirled her red pen in her hand.

"The team formation chart was written on the wall on the first day, and the winners of the second team were to fight the first team."

"Clara is the only one in the top tier."

"Then, mentor, whose side will you be on?"

"I'm not helping anyone."

"So what do you think?"

"I'll sit and watch."

On this day, the Iliad stadium was more packed than at any other game of the tournament.

Clara stood waiting for him, the brass tuning fork bulging out a small shape in the inner pocket.

"Senior."

"Don't let me pass," she said.

"I was originally planning to give it up, but now I don't dare."

"real?"

"If I give in, senior, when you hit the tuning fork, everyone will see my little scheme. I wouldn't dare."

Richard made a little joke.

Clara's deep brown eyes curved slightly, and she turned and walked away.

: