I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Isabella stood under the lamp and suddenly began to tell her story.

"Your advisor and I also entered the undergraduate program at the age of nineteen. There were eleven of us who entered the Classics Department in the same batch. The first person to be promoted to associate professor was four years earlier than me."

Richard opened his mouth, and somehow they ended up sharing their past experiences with each other.

"During those years, besides teaching as a teaching assistant, I spent the rest of my time revising my thesis, specifically the one about the later variants of the Alexandrian school, up to the ninth draft."

"The ninth draft?"

"Yes, the ninth draft."

Isabelle pulled her hand back to tuck the hair that had fallen across her forehead.

"In the end, none of the revised content was used."

What truly got me promoted was a very short paper I wrote when I was thirty, which I finished in a week.

Sofia stood there, unable to utter a single word.

"So I'm telling you... don't rush, the more you rush, the more chaotic things will become."

After Isabella finished speaking, she turned around and nodded in the direction where Clara was waiting.

"...But I know you won't listen."

"That's what my advisor told me back then, but I didn't listen to a word he said."

Richard stood next to Sofia and began his storytelling segment.

"Senior, let me tell you something about my family."

"...Why are you suddenly talking about family matters?" Sophia looked completely bewildered.

"Because it's somewhat similar to your current situation." Richard was a little embarrassed, but he quickly got into character.

"My mother was twenty-six when she began to grasp the basics of her craft. At that time, the Ashford family had invested resources in her for ten years."

There weren't many people in that generation who could hold their own. My uncle was stuck at the threshold of becoming a junior proficient student, and my aunt was still in school, so the whole family was watching her.

She hurriedly performed the breakthrough ritual, and then the circuit exploded.

Sofia's eyes widened in surprise.

"She was the most favored one in the family at the time, so she was under the most pressure, and as a result, the aftereffects haven't healed to this day."

"...I didn't know these existed." Sophia's voice was very soft.

"Nobody outside knows." Richard put his hands in his pockets.

:

"I've been thinking about exactly where she fell short."

Was the foundation insufficient? Later, my aunt personally examined it for my mother, and it was a very clean etheric main path.

Was the venue bad? Not really, the Ashford family picked out the best one for her.

I think the problem lies in the fact that when she stood there, she wasn't thinking, "What am I supposed to protect?" but rather, "I can't let them wait too long."

Sophia understood: "...Richard, are you referring to me indirectly?"

"right."

Sophia answered so decisively that she choked on her own breath and coughed for a long time.

"...Why didn't you just say so!"

"You won't listen to me even if I tell you directly."

"Why won't I listen?"

"You heard your aunt talking just now, and the expression on her face was exactly the same as when my mom scolded her... She was responding verbally, but her eyes were looking elsewhere."

Isabella couldn't hold back and slapped her nephew on the forehead.

………………

The next morning, fog rolled in from the river.

Richard, carrying breakfast, pushed open the door to room 314 and found the room so cold he could see the humming in the air.

Sofia huddled next to the writing desk, rubbing her hands, while Thomson wrapped his scarf around his chin.

Clara sat in the chair closest to the window, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, grading first-grade homework.

"Senior, the window is open."

Clara looked up at the window, then at her own arm.

"...I don't feel cold."

She got up, closed the window, sat back down, and continued making changes.

Richard laid out breakfast and inexplicably felt that something was wrong.

Clara's ethereal aura hasn't been dissipating since yesterday.

The thin ether in the room actually flowed towards her, seeping into her sleeves through the cracks in the doors and windows, just like water flowing downhill.

He pressed the still water further in and saw that a small piece was missing from the seat of the sun behind his senior's sternum, and the ether outside was being filled in.

:

A wisp of spirit remained in the brass tuning fork, and the empty space was filled by the environmental ether.

"Clara." Sophia leaned closer.

"Play one tonight, I haven't listened to one in ages."

"The zither is not permitted."

"what?"

"Since yesterday, every note I hear has been slightly lower than it should be."

Clara frowned.

"It's not just the piano; the clock in the hallway is slow, and the building manager downstairs speaks inaccurately at the end of his sentences."

Upon hearing this, everyone sitting in the teaching and research office began to feel that something was wrong.

After her promotion, Clara answered every question with extreme precision, and looked at people with the same eye you would a rubbing of a painting.

When Sofia tells a joke, she takes a half-beat to laugh, and the corners of her mouth also rise to the same height.

Richard sat across from her grading papers, and for a moment he felt as if he were facing a perfectly tuned musical instrument.

The tuning fork set the pitch of the entire world in perfect order for her, and she herself became immersed in this perfect pitch.

Isabella looked up from behind the writing desk.

"Clara, you don't need to make any changes this morning."

"Teacher, there's another stack..."

"That stack will stay there; it'll still be there tomorrow."

Isabella put the red pen back in the pen slot.

"In the first month after your promotion, you'll feel like you see things more clearly than ever before, but that's precisely the biggest problem."

"The clearer you see, the less human you become."

That was a very harsh statement, and Sophia quickly asked, "Professor, what should we do?"

"Go do something useless." Isabella pointed to the windowsill.

"First, change the water for the mint, then go shopping with Sofia."

Clara stood there watching her for a while, then put down the red pen.

:

When the two returned, Sofia was carrying a small jar of toffee and half a bag of roasted chestnuts. As soon as she entered the door, she started complaining:

Clara was arguing with the people at the candy shop, saying their scales were crooked.

"It was crooked to begin with."

"But they're selling candy, not tuning your instruments."

Richard said "Oh" and picked up a chestnut.

When the chestnut shells piled up to the corner of the table, Clara took out the violin case herself.

She started a note, the bow played a phrase on the string, and then stopped.

"The string has loosened."

"Then keep pulling," Sofia said.

"No."

"Even if it's not allowed, pull it."

Clara looked down at her hands, then rested the violin on her chin again.

She was playing a very short Irish folk song with a simple melody; it was the first one her mother taught her.

The notes in the lower positions were indeed not very accurate, making the whole piece a bit out of tune.

But she kept frowning and finished defecating in a very uncomfortable manner.

After Clara removed the bow from the string, she said, "...Mentor, I still don't understand."

The atmosphere on the field was a bit tense, so Richard quickly stepped in to smooth things over.

"Since everyone's here, let's take a picture."

He took out the Colton 120.

"We should leave something to remember Clara for her promotion."

The room immediately became chaotic. Price was in charge of arranging the chairs, while Thomson stood in the corner.

Sofia straightened everyone's collars one by one, but when it was her turn, she stared at herself through the window for a long time before re-braiding her hair.

"Clara, take the seat of honor," Isabella said.

"Please sit, mentor." Clara immediately stood up.

I sat by the window.

:

The two stood in the middle of the room, looking at each other, neither willing to move.

Finally, Price came up with the idea: "The two of you sit together, with the chairs side by side."

The chairs were arranged side by side, but one was still missing. Sofia ran to the next-door teaching and research office to borrow one, and Croft followed her back.

"Come back before 2 o'clock." He stood at the door holding a cup of tea.

"Old Ke, are you coming in to film too?" Isabella called out.

"Forget it, I'm not part of your research group anyway."

He stepped back and politely nodded to Clara.

"...Congratulations, Lecturer Fafield."

Finally, Isabella and Clara sat side by side in front, their expressions both extremely serious.

Sofia stood a little behind the two men, with her hands on their shoulders.

Thomson stood on the far right, unsure of what to do with his hands, much like a first-year student waiting to be called on.

Price stood on the far left, puffing out her chest, but secretly tiptoed below to make herself appear taller.

"..."

"What's wrong?" Sophia remained motionless, forcing out a question through gritted teeth.

"There's something wrong with the lens."

Richard bent down and started twisting the lens barrel, then turned the camera over to look at it in the light, and even gently patted the camera body twice.

"Is it serious?" Thomson lowered his arm.

"It's hard to say," Richard said, looking troubled.

"This machine has had its aperture modified; it was something that Senior Sophia scraped together from her research funding. And the parts weren't easy to find."

"...Yes, I worked really hard to pick at it." Sophia sighed and slid her hands off their shoulders.

Richard said with an air of seriousness, "You guys rest first, I'll fix it, it might take a few minutes."

Everyone in the room immediately relaxed.

Price gripped the back of the chair and hissed.

Sofia pulled her braids back to the front, stroking them as she complained.

"Stop shaking," Clara suddenly said.

:

Where did I sway?

"Since you stood up there, your head has moved a total of seventeen times."

Sofia was completely stunned.

"...Clara, you can't even count this?"

Clara frowned. "I can't pretend I didn't see it."

Isabella turned her head in the chair.

"Sophia, your collar is crooked again."

"Impossible! I just looked through the window!"

Sofia reached behind her neck to grab it but couldn't, and in her frustration, she spun around halfway.

Clara sighed, stood up, straightened her collar, and lightly flicked the back of her neck with her finger.

"You flicked me!" Sofia protested.

...Just then, Richard raised his camera.

The room was filled with two minor experts and three practitioners. The rate at which the ether was being drawn away was much slower than when the grandfather was filmed.

"Crack!"

"...Huh?" Sophia's hand was still on her collar as she turned around.

"When did you fix it?!"

"Just fixed." Richard leaned on the edge of the table and took a breath.

A new photo has appeared on the desktop.

Sofia rushed over and snatched it, her face instantly turning red.

"No! This one doesn't count!"

Clara stood there and suddenly burst out laughing, her laughter causing the faint scar at the corner of her eye to curve.

In that instant, Richard could see that her ethereal form had returned to its former flowing rhythm.

Isabella saw it too, and picked up the red pen, twirling it halfway between her fingers.

"...Alright, stand up straight again and take the proper picture."

"I won't stand!" Sofia covered her face.

:

"Then don't post a photo."

"...I stand here."

The second photo was taken with real film, and Price pressed the shutter.

Price finished pressing the button with a particularly smug look on his face: "This isn't difficult at all."

"You'll know how difficult it is after you wash it out in eleven days," Richard said.

As for the first one.

Sofia tried for a long time but couldn't win against Clara, and in the end, the photo ended up in Richard's hands.

He turned over and found a person standing behind Isabella's chair.

Thin and drab, one hand resting on the back of the chair, looking at the tuning fork at Clara's waist.

Richard handed over the photo. Isabella looked at it for a long time.

"This is my teacher. He always stands behind me when we take pictures, saying that the light in the front row is too bright and he can't get a clear picture of people."

"Keep this one."

Isabella put the photo into the bottom drawer of the writing desk.

"What are you two looking at?" Sophia asked, leaning closer.

"Your collar is crooked."

Sophia immediately grabbed her collar, and when she realized it wasn't crooked, she turned around and glared at Richard.

Isabella then got down to business: "Have you packed everything?"

"I've put it away."

My aunt took out a piece of paper and handed it to me; it had a few lines of Italian speed transcription on it.

bnn.

(Good morning.)

az.

(Thanks.)

, ah pat va?

(Excuse me, how do I get to this road?)

:

t nn l man.

(I don't eat this.)

n tè， p fav. nza h.

(Please give me a cup of tea, no sugar.)

tn l.

(I was with him.)

Richard raised his head.

"Auntie, that last sentence..."

"If you lose them or get stopped, just point at Professor Mortimer and read this sentence aloud."

"Although the old professor won't admit it, quite a few people in Milan recognize him."

Richard placed the paper and the passport together.

"I've got it."

Clara also took out a booklet bound with thin rope and placed it in front of Richard.

"This is my little proficiency declaration, with a summary attached. You can take a look when you have time on the road."

"Although our traditions are different, the considerations for the venue, the medium, and the order in which the spirits are integrated into the objects are universal."

Thomson, standing nearby, asked curiously, "Williams, you're going to the Apennines?"

"Yes, Milan."

"...I've never been abroad." Thomson said, his face slightly red.

"The furthest I've ever been is York, to see a manuscript."

Price leaned against the doorframe: "I went to Fran once; my cousin got married in Calais."

"What's your impression?"

"Their car speedometer was completely inaccurate, the coffee was bitter, the bread was hard, and customs even took away the cigarettes I was carrying."

Sofia didn't interrupt until they had all finished speaking, then she gave them serious instructions.

"If you want to eat, don't sit down in one of those restaurants that look the most conspicuous in the corridor; those are for passersby."

If you walk towards Scala, there's an old restaurant on your right.

:

Order a plate of yellow rice with saffron sauce, served with a veal steak coated in breadcrumbs and pan-fried in butter – that's how old Milanese people eat.

If you're craving something sweet, go to the café next to the cathedral.

The three of them looked at her together.

"...Senior, where did you learn all this from?" Richard asked.

"I read it in a book."

No one present believed it, but Richard suddenly realized that the name Sophia seemed to be a favorite of the old nobles on the Ross side.

The last princess of Byzantium was named Sophia, and Catherine was also named Sophia before she got married. This name symbolizes ancient wisdom.

Hmm... Wisdom and Sophia are indeed a good match.

But pairing it with Hardy just doesn't feel right.

This is a very local Albion surname; nowadays, a novelist who writes about wastelands and country folk has this name, as does a mathematician in the Royal Society.

Richard had previously suspected that Sofia's family background was not simple.

………………

The next morning at 5:40, the old man and the young man boarded the train to Dover.

The carriage was mostly empty; there weren't many people heading south at this time.

Mortimer, wrapped in his dusty old coat, began to doze off less than five minutes after sitting down.

As the train passed the switch, a black cat suddenly pressed against the glass, startling Richard.

"Sit still."

That husky voice went straight into his heart.

"lady."

"Take out the ring."

Richard took the silver ring out of his collar.

The black cat stretched out a paw and pressed it in that direction through the glass; the ring was so hot that he almost let go.

"Once I cross the strait, the mark I leave behind will fade," Mrs. Mary said.

"How much lighter?"

"So indifferent that I can only shield you once."

:

"Think carefully before you use it, whether it's worth spending this time on that matter."

"I've got it."

"Also, my name doesn't work well in the Apennines."

The black cat stood up, its tail swept across the outside of the glass, and then faded into the morning mist.

Across from him, Mortimer mumbled something indistinctly.

"...Don't buy French bread, I can't chew it."

When we arrived at Dover, the wind was much wilder than in Beijing; it was blowing right into our collars as soon as we stepped out of the station.

There was a long queue at the dock, with people in khaki military uniforms in front of them.

The line stretched from the springboard all the way to the back of the cargo shed, with no end in sight.

Once on the ship, Richard had a surreal feeling.

Once you cross this strait, you'll reach Frankfurt.

Half an hour after the boat left the shore, Mortimer stood by the railing, leaning on his cane.

The sea breeze blew his old overcoat sticking to his back.

Richard stood next to him: "Professor, what exactly are we going to do this time? You kept saying you'd only tell me once we were on the road."

The old professor took out a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and used his cane to hold down one corner.

The paper was jointly signed by the Department of Classical Studies at Imperial University and the Royal Anthropological Society, with the following title: "Case Study on the Preservation of Rare Wartime Originals".

"The department took the lead and, together with several universities, copied one copy of each of the most important originals from the Western Continent and stored the copies in a cellar in Helvetii."

Helvedi was a neutral country, bordered by mountains to the north and south, so even in the worst-case scenario of war, the fires wouldn't spread beyond the mountains.

"We are divided into seven routes in total, and Milan is one of them. It is the largest city closest to the Helvetic border."

Richard looked down at the paper. Under Milan's name was Mortimer's, and next to it was a line of small print: "One person to record the journey."

"The second route is the Black Soil River. Curator Weatherby went there personally to work with Professor Halaf on the copying."

"Professor Khalaf?"

"He brought this up when he came last month."

"He has his plans, and we have ours."

"What about the third route?"

:

"Greece."

"Who's going?"

"Old Mike brought his student with him."

Richard thought that the other person seemed to be preparing something these past two days: "Catherine?"

"They boarded the ship yesterday, a day earlier than us, and left from Southampton."

Li sensed something was wrong: "There's fighting on the island of Heimers in Greece."

Mortimer nodded: "The war on the Greek mainland hasn't reached Athens yet, but the area north of Thessaloniki is full of trenches."

"It's much more dangerous over there than in Apennines, which is why they sent Old Mike. You've seen his fighting prowess."

Seagulls kept calling out at the stern of the boat.

"Professor, about that person you mentioned you were going to visit..."

Richard asked the question that concerned him most.

But he was interrupted halfway through the question when a sailor shoved a life jacket into Richard's arms.

"Sir, please put it on and don't take it off. Take it off once we're on the other side and have secured the shore."

Over the loudspeaker, a lieutenant's voice swept across the deck.

"All passengers, assemble on the deck."

On the deck was a long table with a few neatly cut pieces of paper and a box of oil paper bags.

"Everyone writes down their name, nationality, and domestic contact address."

After writing, I stuffed it into the bag, twisted the opening tightly, and put it in my inner pocket.

A woman raised her hand: "Second Lieutenant, what's this for?"

The lieutenant's expression was very polite.

"Madam, this is so that you will never become an unknown person under any circumstances."

It means that if the boat capsizes, at least we'll know who was salvaged.

The lady lowered her hand, and the line moved forward quietly.

The escorting destroyer followed the course on the port side of the ship, and it took more than two hours to travel the entire strait.

Richard bought a sandwich for the old professor on the ship.

:

Mortimer lifted the top slice of bread and glanced at it, his wrinkled old face full of disgust.

"Just like more than a decade ago, they can't bear to add too much butter."

Rain started at sea, and the rain that fell on the deck was blown away by the wind.

Half an hour later, the shoreline on the other side of the sea emerged from the rain.

The outlines grew wider and wider, and gradually the outlines of the houses and cranes on the shore became distinguishable.

Richard stood in front of the railing, across the entire strait, and looked back at the archipelago that was no longer visible behind him.

He took out his camera and took a picture to commemorate his first trip abroad.

Of course, I wouldn't dare use the Sphinx lamp's transformative power to take photos.

………………

After passing the docks of Calais, the train headed towards Paris, stopping frequently along the way.

At the foot of the clock tower in the North Station, the first thing Richard saw was a sea of ​​black.

The entire platform was black: the hats women wore, the cuffs they wore, the collars they wore, and the black veils that were only half-wrapped around the arms of a few children.

At the third platform, wounded soldiers were being carried out of the train carriages one stretcher after another.

At the other end of the platform, someone was singing "Tiberrelié".

He knew the tune by heart, but the lyrics were completely different.

That song has been sung from last year to this year, and it has been translated into a different language after crossing the strait.

What surprised Richard the most was that there was a comic book cover on the wall.

The painting depicts a minister hiding behind a desk, his belly touching the edge of the desk.

A stack of official documents lay on the table, with a large seal on the top one.

Behind him stood two other figures in suits, the very figures from Hugh's painting, "The Prudent Gentlemen."

The Century Review truly lives up to its reputation as the empire's premier serialized newspaper; it has even reached France, across the sea.

Richard felt that he now had something new to brag about with his best buddies when he got back.

In a side room at Lyon station, an officer in uniform thoroughly searched Richard's canvas bag during the exit inspection.

He stopped when he turned to the flat wooden box containing the enchanted bullets.

"gentlemen."

:

"This is……"

"Arms," ​​the official said with absolute certainty.

Richard opened his mouth.

Mortimer switched the hand holding the cane to the other.

"Stay."

"Professor, this is..."

"I know what this is." The old man pushed the box toward the official.

"Sir, please register this, we'll come back to pick it up on our way back."

After leaving the side hall, Richard was carrying the canvas bag that had been emptied and then put back in.

"professor."

"What's wrong?"

"They don't even give us the opportunity to apply."

Mortimer strolled slowly toward the platform.

"Little Richard, remember one thing."

"Please speak."

"If you bring a gun across the border, you have to fill out seven forms, sign three names, and have an insider vouch for you."

The old professor paused with his cane.

"If you bring a box of paper across the border, you only need to fill out one form."

"That's why I became a scholar."

When Richard was finally checking his luggage, he laid out everything he could take on his lap.

One box of silver needles and three Soul-Devouring Beast Tooth Needles are declared as drawing tools.

The Sheng'er copper paperweight and bronze balance scale are declared as stationery.

The silver mirror of Venus was declared as personal property.

The Sphinx lamp remained close to his body, never leaving his chest from beginning to end.

Webberly's wheel and the ebony revolver were wrapped in oiled paper and coarse salt and sent back to Ashford's home.

:

When Wentworth handed him the gun, he said: "Don't let it go wrong in your hands."

Now it needs to go home first and wait for me to return.

On this section of the train heading southeast from Paris, three more French officers and one accompanying clerk joined the carriage.

Richard could tell the officers were all hunters as soon as he entered the carriage.

The oldest lieutenant was in his forties, and he was missing a section of his left little finger.

He gave each of Albion's distinguished guests a window seat.

"Professor." His Albionese was heavily accented.

"Go through that tunnel in Modane, and you'll emerge at the border of the Apennine Peninsula."

"how long?"

"They'll check your documents tomorrow at noon."

The train started climbing the hill in the latter half of the night, and by morning the valley was shrouded in fog.

Richard woke up early and pressed his forehead against the cold car window, watching the pine forest outside emerge from the mist and then recede back into the fog.

Mortimer had woken up at some point and was reaching for the chipped teacup through the luggage net.

Richard reached for him.

"Professor, there's something I don't understand."

"explain."

Why Milan?

The old professor placed the cup steadily on his lap.

"continue."

"I've been going through the meeting agenda you gave me these past two days. The manuscripts that need to be preserved are mostly in Rome and Florence."

Richard pulled the charter out of his canvas bag.

Rome has the Vatican's archives, as well as several centuries-old private book collections.

Florence has the Laurenziana (the great library built by the Medici family, housing the works of Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, and others), and either of those places would be more legitimate than Milan in doing this.

Mortimer put his reading glasses back on.

The three officers opposite them were speaking in hushed tones, but stopped halfway through their conversation.

:

Mortimer moved the cup aside, making room on the small folding table between the two of them.

"Let's test your knowledge and play a game."

He pressed his right index finger on the table.

Sand rose from the table.

The sand stretched out into a vast plain, so flat it looked as if it had been scraped with a ruler.

A line of white snow emerges in the distance to the north; that is the ridge of the Alps.

To the south, there is a very thin silver line; this is the Po River.

In the very center of the plain, the sand itself gathered into a very thin, pointed top.

The lieutenant's military cap fell to the ground.

"Professor, this..."

"Sit still, Lieutenant. Sand won't bite."

: