I loaded the Mysticism panel.

The rain started early in the morning and didn't stop until noon. The stone slabs in front of the Iliad building were still wet, and everyone entering the building had to stomp their shoes on the threshold twice.

The benches were already full, and the eyebrows of all the past judges on the wall were drawn down, as if they were all complaining that this year's kids were talking too much.

Richard hung up his coat in the preparation area.

Montagu leaned against the doorframe, the scroll of lecture notes in his hand unopened since he came in.

"How do you plan to fight?"

"Fight as usual."

"She's your senior."

"She's on the affirmative side today."

The blond youth glanced outside the curtain and lowered his voice.

"If you give way even a little, people in this building will start talking about how she got into the top tier tomorrow."

"I know."

"That's good." Montagu switched the lecture notes to his other hand.

"I ran into her on the steps just now. She was checking the time with the host and seemed a little nervous."

The bell rang twice.

Richard lifted the curtain and went out, walked through the side corridor, and in the second row of the audience seats near the aisle, a red-haired girl raised her hand, opened her notebook and showed it to him.

"Don't hold back."

Richard nodded to her.

Catherine closed the notebook and put it back in her pocket, placing her hands neatly on her knees.

Clara was already standing behind the podium, wearing a dark maroon wool skirt with a very old brooch on the neckline.

There was no manuscript in front of her, only a palm-sized wooden box with its lid closed.

The host walked to the front of the stage.

"Fourth round of the finals. Debate topic: In wartime, is a discipline that is of no benefit to the war effort still worthy of state support?"

"For the affirmative, Clara Faffield."

The opposing side, Richard Williams.

"The affirmative side will have six minutes to present their arguments."

:

Clara placed her hands on the edge of the lectern.

Our position: It is worthwhile.

"For anything that requires a large number of people to work together, someone has to set the standards before we begin."

"I'll give two examples, both of which have verifiable dates."

"Seventy years ago in Gloucester, two railways joined together there, one with a rail seven feet wide and the other four feet eight and a half inches wide."

The railway is all built, but trains can't get through.

"Passengers have to get off the train and walk from one column to another."

Luggage had to be moved piece by piece, goods had to be unpacked and reloaded, and coal had to be shoveled from one car to another.

Livestock was the biggest problem… The pigs sent to the capital that year were running all over the platform; it was even featured in the newspapers.”

The audience burst into laughter, and the old guys on the judges' panel, including Mortimer, exchanged glances and smiled as well; they were all people who had personally experienced that era.

"The Royal Commission sent people to observe that station for a whole day, and they went back and wrote a report. The following year, Parliament passed a bill that all newly built lines must use narrow gauge."

"The second case is in Bristol, where the clock on the wall of the corn exchange has two minute hands."

She raised her hand, separating two fingers slightly.

"One train runs on Bristol time, and the other runs on Beijing time; the two trains are ten minutes apart."

"Before the railway was built, each city went its own way according to its own sun."

Exeter is 14 minutes behind the capital; thereafter, the two trains, with a 14-minute time difference, enter the same track.

"So someone sent the time from the capital to the whole country, and the clocks in each city were changed one by one."

In the years following the clock change, the newspapers were rife with criticism, saying it was like using the sun of the capital to suppress the sun of others.

Clara lowered her hand.

"Please note the coexistence of these two cases."

"The people who do these things are of no use at all while they are doing them."

The year the pigs were moved, no trains ran faster, and the person who changed the clock was scolded for years.

"Their usefulness will come later. They will only be useful when hundreds of trains need to meet on the same track."

"Our argument is complete."

The applause started, not enthusiastic but very orderly.

:

"The opposing side's argument."

Richard stood on the podium, and the silver thread immediately glowed.

"We do not deny any of the cases cited by the affirmative side."

The year is correct, and the pig really did run away.

Clara couldn't help but chuckle softly, which eased some of her tension.

"Our question concerns the key word in the debate topic: wartime."

"I'll also give two ancient examples here, which the affirmative side is probably more familiar with than I am."

Of course I'm familiar with it; this is something Sophia casually mentioned in the teaching and research office.

Thales of ancient Greece, while walking at night looking up at the stars, accidentally stepped into a well.

His Thracian maid, standing at the well's edge, laughed so hard she could barely stand, saying that this gentleman was too eager to know about things in the heavens to see what was right under his feet.

Go to Must Search

Some people in the audience laughed good-naturedly.

"And then there's Euclid. A student, after learning his first proposition, asked him what he could gain from learning it."

Euclid instructed a slave to give the student three copper coins, saying, "This gentleman will surely benefit from what he has learned."

This is often cited as an example of the integrity of scholars.

However, we believe that even Euclid knew that when people asked, "What's the use of this?" he had nothing to offer and could only give them three copper coins to send them away.

Richard lifted his hand from the podium.

"Furthermore, regarding the support, how many woolen overcoats would a Classics degree be worth in a year? How many stretchers would it be worth? How many boxes of 18-pound bullets would it be worth? The conversion table published by headquarters last year states this, but we haven't compiled it."

"Wartime" means that every column on that form is being fought over."

"The affirmative side said that the standards should be set before the start, and we agreed, but this battle has already lasted for fourteen months."

"Finally, we would like to ask the affirmative side to give a direct answer..."

He paused, then pushed the sentence out.

"In these times, why should the person who provided the sound before it even began be supported?"

There was a silence in the hall for three or four seconds.

In the shadows of the side corridor, McFaye stood with his arms crossed, his white eyebrows twitching slightly.

:

Mortimer picked up the chipped teacup, looked inside, found it was empty, and put it down.

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

Richard didn't beat around the bush.

"Sister Favrell, you just mentioned railways and bells."

"Yes."

"The porters carrying pigs at the station, the railway company changing clocks—which one is related to classics?"

Some people in the hall nodded in agreement.

"Nothing at all," Clara nodded.

"The affirmative side admits it."

"I admit it, so I'll cite other examples."

She patted her hand on the podium.

"In the summer of 1799, Napoleon's troops reinforced the fortifications of an old fort at the mouth of the Black Earth River."

They dug down to the base of the wall and found a black stone.

"According to the rules, that stone should be embedded in the breastwork."

The officer in charge glanced at it, saw three different characters engraved on it, and ordered his men to stop.

"That stone lay in the box for twenty-three years. After twenty-three years, a Frenchman deciphered it."

"From that day on, we learned how to write the characters for the Black Soil River."

"Without those twenty-three years, the room full of artifacts in the museum today would just be a pile of incomprehensible stones."

She looked up.

"That rock was unearthed while digging trenches."

No one spoke in the hall. Today, dozens of miles of trenches are being dug across the strait every day, and it's reported in the newspapers every day.

"Let me continue."

Richard said, "This winter, if you had to choose between a single note and ten thousand shells, which would you choose?"

"Cannonballs."

There was a buzzing sound in the hall.

:

"The affirmative side admits to the choice," Richard immediately followed.

"Since you acknowledge the trade-offs, our argument stands: resources are limited, so we must prioritize ammunition. Please confirm this, affirmative side."

"confirm."

"Then what is there for the affirmative side to argue about?"

Clara lifted her hand from the podium.

"We have never offered to exchange a shell for a single note."

"What we want is: when casting the cannon, don't melt the measuring rod along with it."

"The abridged document our school received this August stated on the first page that it was suspended, and on the second page that the staffing quota would not be retained."

"The train that was suspended can come back, but the staffing is gone, and the people are scattered."

"Once the people have dispersed, twenty years from now, to find someone who can read those manuscripts again, we'll have to start teaching them from sixteen-year-old middle school students."

Richard stood behind the podium.

He couldn't stop those words, nor did he intend to.

"The opposing side has finished questioning."

"The affirmative side is questioning."

Clara only asked one question.

"Mr. Williams, you just said that Euclid sent someone to give the student three copper coins. Where did you read that passage?"

"It's in the records."

Which record?

Richard opened his mouth; he had been hearing this story since preparatory school.

It is indeed in textbooks, and it is also in newspaper supplements. He can count five or six people who have quoted it.

He couldn't say where it came from... Sophia, sitting in the audience, also let out an awkward "uh" at this moment.

"It first appeared in Stobius," Clara said, her pace unchanged.

"This is an anthology compiled in the fifth century, eight hundred years after Euclid."

Euclid himself left no biography; everything we know today was written down seven or eight hundred years later.

"And then there are those three copper coins."

:

"The original text doesn't mention three copper coins, it mentions one coin with three obos on the surface."

"Three obos in Athens is the wage for a juror to sit in heaven."

The hall fell silent.

"So the gentleman wasn't sent away," Clara said.

"He asked what benefits he would gain from learning this, and Euclid paid him his daily wage according to the market price of the day. Not a penny more, not a penny less."

"Even this one stroke was measured precisely."

"This sentence has been quoted in various forms on the podium, in textbooks, and in supplements to this day."

She looked up.

"We are speaking up for those who are willing to go through the process of verification today."

Richard bowed slightly behind the podium.

"We accept the correction and request the judges to note: the opposing side's citation was incorrect."

Sir John Müller put down his pen on the judges' panel.

"Closing arguments, the opposition goes first."

Richard finished saying everything he needed to say in less than two minutes, without adding a single unnecessary word.

"The affirmative side's closing statement."

Clara opened the clasp on the wooden box.

"We admit that this winter, artillery shells are more urgent than a single tone."

"We acknowledge that there were no positions available for people in my line of work after the start."

After the band started playing, no one turned around to look at the person giving the note.

She reached into the box and took out the tuning fork.

People in the first few rows leaned forward, while those in the back could only see a palm-sized object being lifted up.

She raised the tuning fork a little higher.

"We believe that someone has to give the sound before it begins."

Then she bumped her head on the edge of the lectern.

The sound came out, and all four hundred-plus people heard it and fell silent at the same time.

:

Richard stood behind the opposing team's podium, and the water in his chest sank to the surface.

Everything in the hall that had gone awry spoke up at that moment.

Someone was counting their own heartbeats in their head, but they got confused while counting.

Someone had that tune that everyone had been humming for the past six months stuck in their throat, but halfway through, they realized they had been humming two notes wrong.

A lady in a black dress in the front row placed her hand on the black jade brooch on her chest.

Nothing was erected on that side.

Today there are no city walls, no ladders, and no troops.

The entire Iliad building was treated as a musical instrument; someone tapped a fork and pointed out every single inaccurate part of it.

The inaccurate parts all started beeping on their own.

Richard heard something even closer in that sound: his own breathing, the third cycle ending off-beat by half a beat. He had practiced that half-beat for six months without ever noticing it.

He changed it.

When the sound completely dissipated, the hall remained quiet.

The host stood at the front of the stage, raised his hand and then lowered it, glancing at the judges' panel.

Sir John Müller said, "Time."

The clerk glanced down at his watch. "...Four minutes and eleven seconds."

"Then it hasn't exceeded the time limit yet."

Clara put the tuning fork back into its case and fastened the buckle.

"Our closing statement is complete."

The judges' discussion lasted nineteen minutes, the longest of any session this year.

The host returned to the front of the stage, and the piece of paper in his hand trembled slightly.

"Game 4 of the Finals."

"The opposing side, Richard Williams: 9.1 in rhetoric, 7.9 in declaration."

"For the affirmative, Clara Falfield: 8.9 in words, 9.8 in pronouncements."

"The affirmative side wins by 1.7 points."

The hall erupted in chaos.

:

Fisher stood up from his seat, but halfway up, he realized he had nothing to shout, so he clapped loudly, knocking the hat off an old gentleman sitting next to him.

Richard stood behind the podium and collected the blank sheet of paper on the stage.

He won by 0.2 points in terms of words, which he had copied in Mortimer's room that year.

He was declared to have lost by nearly two points.

His method is to call out people's names so that others can see them;

What she did was to give a sound, allowing everything that had gone astray to reveal itself.

Putting these two together won't get anything done.

Richard stepped down from the podium and first bowed slightly to Zheng Fang.

Congratulations, senior.

Clara, holding the wooden box, stood there watching him for a while.

"You didn't use up your last two minutes."

"I've said everything."

In the side corridor, McFaye leaned against a pillar, waiting for him.

When he saw him coming, he lowered both arms.

"Kid."

"professor."

"You're deliberately misleading your senior. If you really wanted to win, the first thing you should have asked her about her parents was."

The lingering sound in the hall had long since dissipated.

Richard stood in the shadows, offering no rebuttal.

"She won and successfully advanced to Junior Proficiency, which makes me happier than if I won by luck by poking someone's sore spot."

McFee laughed and slapped him on the shoulder, almost sending him crashing into a pillar.

"Alright, good lad."

In the last row, near the door, Isabella pulled a toffee out of her pocket.

The candy wrapper was stuck, and even after changing the angle, it was still stuck to her hand.

People inside the hall were walking out, and water dripping from the tips of umbrellas accumulated in a small patch on the threshold.

:

"tutor."

Sofia squatted down next to her at some point, reached out and snatched the candy, quickly unwrapped it, and stuffed it into her mouth.

"Sofia!"

"You've been peeling it for so long..."

Sofia had a candy in her mouth, her cheeks puffed out, and she spoke indistinctly.

"I was getting anxious watching from the sidelines."

"That's my candy."

"I know, that's why I peeled it for you."

"You can eat it yourself after you've peeled it."

"You got sugar on your hands while peeling it," Sofia said, holding up both hands to show her. "It would be such a waste not to eat it."

Isabella glared at her.

After glaring at him, he couldn't help but laugh himself.

She reached back into her pocket, took out a second one, and put it in Sofia's hand.

That night, the light in that room in the teachers' dormitory was still on at 11 p.m.

Sophia sat on the edge of her tutor's bed, her legs swinging off the side.

"Clara, did you bring the tuning fork back?"

"I brought it back."

"Knock once."

"I won't knock."

Just for a moment.

"I won't knock."

"Then I'll knock." Sophia reached for the bedside table.

Clara tucked the box into her bosom so quickly that Sofia missed her and fell headfirst into the blankets.

"...You protect it even more tightly than a mentor protects a sugar jar."

"Sophia".

:

"exist!"

Isabella said with disgust, "Take your feet away, they're colder than cast iron."

"My feet are always cold."

"Then don't reach in my direction."

"But your legs feel especially warm."

The three of them squeezed into one bed. The blanket wasn't wide enough, so if one of them turned over, the other two had to move along with him.

The rain started falling again outside the window, pattering on the tin eaves.

Sophia suddenly spoke up again: "Mentor, what was it like the night you advanced to the Lesser Master level?"

"It looks terrible," Isabella replied after a while.

"what?"

"I thought I had the announcement written in my head."

Isabella sighed, "But when I got up there, I read the second and third paragraphs backwards."

"What should we do then?"

"After I finished reading, I stood there waiting, thinking my tutor would come up and drag me away."

"Did he pull it?"

"After he listened downstairs and waited for me to come out of the circle, he said to me: 'Your two paragraphs should have been changed in the first place; you wrote them backwards in the original manuscript.'"

Sofia laughed so hard the whole bed was shaking.

"Don't shake."

"I'm sorry, I can't stop."

Clara, who was lying on the inside, rolled over at that moment.

"Mentor, why didn't you stop me from filling in the classics?"

Isabella did not answer immediately; the rain pattered on the metal sheet for a long time.

I don't think I can stop you.

"So, do you regret it now?"

"I'll go to the department office tomorrow and try to get you a south-facing research lab; the north-facing one gets freezing cold in winter."

:

Sofia chuckled quietly in the middle.

"Mentor, you really are..."

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

You smiled.

"I'm thinking about something."

You laughed out loud.

"That's the sound of the blanket."

After the lights were turned off, none of the three of them fell asleep; they continued talking in the darkness.

They talked about the department meeting, and how some of the windows in the south-facing room couldn't be opened. They also discussed whether Sophia should ask for that application form to fill out next year.

Sofia finally fell asleep after a long time, and then started snoring.

Isabella kicked her.

The snoring stopped for a moment, then resumed.

Meanwhile, Richard was dragged by his classmates to play games in the dormitory.

"It's just one game we lost, let's play a game."

Fisher pulled a worn-out deck of cards from the drawer.

"Lights out murder, that's what my sister plays during holidays."

The rules are simple: each person draws a card, and the one who draws the Ace of Spades is the murderer. No one is allowed to look at other people's cards.

After the lights were turned off, the killer secretly picked someone and patted them on the shoulder, causing them to lie down.

As soon as the light came on, the remaining people pointed to each other.

After identifying the one who received the most votes, they are eliminated and must also lie down.

"If the murderer is voted out, we win."

Fisher shuffled the cards loudly: "If you bet wrong, he/she will take the kill."

Montagu sat on the edge of the bed and slowly picked up a card.

When the first light came on, it was Catherine who lay down.

:

The reason was that everyone thought she had the fiercest eyes. The red-haired girl was very dissatisfied and turned her face away to sulk after lying down as required.

In the second round, Fisher stood in the middle of the room, pointed at Montague, and gave a detailed analysis, saying that his breathing had been too steady just now.

As a result, after Montagu lay down, he revealed his cards: the Seven of Hearts.

Richard was voted out in the third round. He didn't defend himself and just smiled as he turned his card over—the four of diamonds.

"...We cast out the most honest one," Montagu said.

The final culprit turned out to be Edith. No one suspected the girl. After the results came out, everyone in the room looked at each other for a long time.

Richard leaned against the doorframe and laughed out loud.

His week was just like this broken deck of cards.

A group of people sat around a table. Some held cards that they couldn't show to others, while others secretly patted each other on the shoulder. When the lights came on, everyone started pointing fingers at each other.

The accusations were all true: whose chair made the noise, who wasn't there in June, and who paid the money readily.

The truth is the most effective thing to do; it can kill at a table like this.

Now, a gentleman from Cairo is sitting in the gallery, counting his votes one by one.

"Williams," Fisher called from inside, "one more round."

"I don't want to be a murderer."

Why?

"I'm afraid I'll act too well."

Everyone in the room laughed again, and Richard laughed too.

At the same time, on the second floor of the hotel, Khalaf flipped through the thin notebook from beginning to end.

Nemesis governs retribution, and it only comes into effect when the person's name is spoken.

A girl who can't speak can't do this.

Back at the hotel, he crossed out one of the two circles next to "Blackwood" and wrote "To be determined" next to it.

A Nemesis who cannot speak—this combination is inherently flawed.

Unless the power of Nemesis was already suppressed within her.

He turned the notebook to the next page, to Thorpe's page.

Thorpe is a graduate student whose family works in the shipping industry in Beijing.

:

Hermes was in charge of communication, inter-border travel, extradition, and money bags.

That's what he inquired about in the department office this morning.

"Mr. Thorpe, where did you go during the summer vacation?"

"Him? His family's ship runs the Mediterranean route, and they go there every July or August, supposedly for an internship."

Pendleton didn't even turn his head.

"He went to Genoa in the Apennines this year, and also Trieste. He came back and bragged about the lemonade there."

Khalaf gripped the pencil tightly in that instant.

Genoa and Trieste heard that the position of "Emissary of Rome" changed hands that night, and the intelligence report said: Hermes.

The details of how it changed hands are not known, but it is definitely related to the Italian peninsula.

Moreover, a graduate student was overshadowed by a first-year undergraduate.

Logically speaking, such an incompetent person should be eliminated after losing this match.

But someone who actually sits at that table wouldn't lose so badly to a student, even with the gifts a master casually bestows.

Khalaf wasn't sure if the person was deliberately hiding it, but he figured it would be acceptable to submit it as a suspected intelligence report.

"...Unfortunately, I don't have enough time."

On the evening of October 10th, in the reception room on the second floor of the Petri Building, everyone saw Khalaf off.

Sir John Mueller, Mortimer, McFee, Harrow, and two students sitting with him, Richard and Catherine.

Clara didn't come; she and Isabella were at the department office completing the paperwork for the supplementary application form.

The group first started talking about the artifacts.

"Forty-seven symbols, nine of which are questionable."

Khalaf handed over the list.

He offered a straightforward arbitration solution: the transcription results would be shared by both parties, the physical artifacts would remain in the museum, and research rights would be divided according to the research topic.

"This will make both sides unhappy."

"A solution that pleases neither side is usually a usable solution."

Halfway through the conversation, the topic veered towards the students.

"What are the impressions of this year's professors after observing the program for seven days?"

:

Khalaf put down his cup. "There are a few good ones, especially that lady with the tuning fork. She should be getting a promotion soon, right?"

"That's my colleague's student," McFee said.

"Isabella Ashford?"

"right."

"Ashford, I've heard that last name several times recently."

The air in the room grew a little cold.

"The matter in the North?" Sir Müller took over.

"I've heard a little about it, the black dog, is that right?"

"That happened last year," Mortimer said slowly.

"That old Gerrard was loosening the soil for his holly bushes in his backyard this spring, and he had to hold onto his knees halfway through."

"Is he alright?"

"If something happens to him, his funeral will be a very grand affair."

"Old Gerrard's got a tough life," McFee added from the side.

That matter was over and done with.

The four men exchanged pleasantries at the door, and McFee said he would treat him to Highland lamb next year.

Khalaf said he had eaten it once when he was young, and the lamb's leg was thicker than his arm.

As he reached the door, he stopped, turned around, and his gaze fell on the two students sitting with him.

"Gentlemen, if you want to see the real Black Earth River in the future, come to Cairo and find me."

He nodded to each of the two men, then turned and left.

There wasn't a sound from the end of the corridor all the way to the stairwell.

After the meeting, the two stopped at the same time at the corner of the stairs.

Catherine took out her notebook and wrote a line.

Did he cross me out?

Richard looked at the line of text but couldn't answer.

"……I have no idea."

:

Catherine put down the notebook, rewrote a line, tore off a piece of paper, and gave it to him.

He wrote with such force that the pen tip poked a small hole in the paper.

"If I get caught, I'll handle it myself."

Richard stood there for a long time, holding that piece of paper.

He turned the paper over, and there was nothing on the back.

"Catherine".

Richard opened his mouth, unsure how to respond.

He folded the paper again, then suddenly changed his mind, tore the paper in half, then tore it into pieces he couldn't even hold, and stuffed them into his coat pocket.

Catherine stood there watching him tear it up; he hadn't written a single word from beginning to end.

"...Let's go."

When she got to the lobby downstairs, she reopened the notebook, wrote the last line, and held it up.

Don't be late for tomorrow afternoon's homework.

"I won't be late."

She went out through that small door.

The leaves on the plane trees outside have turned completely yellow, and the night wind is blowing them towards the base of the wall.

Richard stood in the foyer, his hands in his pockets, his fingers touching the shredded paper.

On the morning of October 11th, Khalaf boarded the ship.

In fact, if he really wanted to arrest someone, there was a very simple and quick way.

All he had to do was keep everyone on the list within his sight on a night in mid-October.

Just find any excuse; after all, he's a highly knowledgeable full professor.

Dinner parties, all-night reviews, or a mandatory meeting—these forces people to stay.

That night, any table in the Theological Salon that didn't hold its meeting on time would be highly suspicious.

Among the students caught in front of him, he might just expose himself.

But... let's not even talk about whether the capital city would allow him to do that.

Even if he could actually do that, his academic reputation in the capital over the years would be completely ruined.

:

After that, I never had the chance to visit this place again.

Besides, what good would it do me to find out?

It's fine as it is now.

As the ship pulled away from the shore, the wind lifted the hats of the people on the dock.

He glanced towards the city center; the capital was still shrouded in fog in October, with dozens of factory chimneys spewing ash into the sky.

"……pity."

Unfortunately, he himself couldn't quite explain what was wrong.

In the afternoon, on the third floor of the Petrie Building.

Richard entered the room and found that the wall near the window was leaking water again, and the enamel basin was already half full.

"professor."

"Here it comes." Mortimer placed the scissors on his lap.

Richard sat down behind the table by the window.

"What do you want to ask?"

"I want to ask him."

The old professor pushed his reading glasses up his nose.

"What you really want to ask is: Is it true that that person taught you a lot of knowledge?"

"...It's true."

Richard raised his head.

"And when he told you you could come to Cairo to find him, he really meant it."

The old professor picked up his teacup.

"The good deeds he has done over the years... well, I should say good deeds, more than many high-ranking people combined, and I can vouch for that."

Mortimer took a sip of the pale, colorless tea.

"Furthermore, you don't need to worry too much about investigating your identity; they won't dare to go too far at once."

Why?

"It's done. The person upstairs doesn't need him anymore."

:

Mortimer closed the book: "Alright, no copying today."

"The Clara matter is scheduled for the end of the month."

"It's all done. Now you're coming with me on a business trip."

Richard raised his head.

"Where to?"

Milan.

"Professor, what brings you to Milan?"

Mortimer took off his reading glasses and slowly wiped them with his sleeve.

"Come with me to visit a senior elder."

"Which one?"

The old professor glanced at him.

"A master of classical traditions."

: