I loaded the Mysticism panel.

But there are always people who are different.

His tone started to rise.

"There will always be people who put their ears to the wall; they can't stand not knowing."

"They heard a sound and wondered what was on the other side of the wall."

"They broke through the wall and saw the pipes."

He paused, allowing the image of "pipeline" to land in the minds of more than 500 people.

"They followed the pipeline deeper and discovered that it connected to a larger network of pipes, which in turn connected to a water tower, beneath which was an underground river."

Where does the underground river lead? They don't know, but they keep going.

He raised his hand from the edge of the podium and pointed gently towards the audience below.

The index finger points to the ground, as if pointing to the stone slab under one's feet, or perhaps to something deeper beneath the stone slab.

Someone in the audience glanced down following the finger, then quickly looked away.

"Cicero once said..."

"Non nobis solum nati sumus. (We are not born for ourselves alone.)"

"He wasn't talking about political obligations, much less civic responsibilities."

"He's saying... there are things bigger than your room, longer than your life."

"You can choose to stay in the room, close the doors and windows, and treat the sound of the water pipes as an illusion."

Most people live their lives like this: safe, warm, and oblivious.

"You can also choose to press your ear against the wall."

"Choose to break through the wall and step into the world behind the pipes."

"That world might be colder, darker, and more dangerous than this room."

There will be cracks in the pipelines, and there will be things you've never seen before in the underground river.

"But at least you're asking questions."

"Questioning is itself a form of civilization."

He spoke very slowly at the end, leaving enough breathing space between each word.

"And the boundaries of civilization..."

He paused, and the entire chapel awaited his next word.

"The moment you stop asking questions."

After those words were spoken from the pulpit, the people in the chapel remained speechless for a long time.

Palmer was biting into a pie in the corner.

He stopped halfway through taking a bite, his mouth half-open, a piece of beef kidney hanging in mid-air.

The applause started in the front row and spread out to the back.

The sound of palms striking palms echoed between the stone walls, creating a rolling thunder-like effect.

Palmer finally swallowed the pie in his mouth, clapped twice with his greasy hands, wiped them on his pants, and continued clapping.

Hutchinson placed the paper package on his lap and carefully rummaged through it for a long time.

On the judges' panel, the white-haired professor put down his pen and applauded.

The balding professor didn't applaud, but he filled all the blank spaces on the evaluation sheet.

The two principals were also taking notes. After one of them finished writing, he turned around and said something to the other, and the two nodded at the same time.

Richard bowed slightly on the podium and walked off.

On his way back to his seat, he passed Montagu.

The blond boy turned his head and glanced at him.

"Bene dixisti. (You're right.)"

In such a situation, greeting each other in Latin is equivalent to two swordsmen tapping their sword tips together after a match.

"Gratias tibi. (Thank you.)" Richard replied.

Catherine sat two seats away, her red hair falling over her shoulders.

She didn't look over, but she spoke as Richard passed by.

"Water pipes." The red-haired girl smiled slightly. "My ancestors called them elves."

Richard replied, "Everyone has their own way of calling things."

Catherine's smile widened a little.

Simon remained silent for a long time after he sat back down.

After waiting a while, he said in a low voice, "I've been trying to find logical flaws in your speech."

"Did you find it?"

"No." He pushed up his round-framed glasses. "Instead, I've gotten myself into a mess. Now all I can think about are water pipes."

On the far right of the judges' panel, Isabella Ashford looked down at the score sheet.

Her pen finally moved, and she wrote a number in each of the columns for "rhetorical comprehension" and "expressive depth".

Originally, out of consideration for avoiding any appearance of impropriety among relatives, she only intended to give an equal score.

But Richard's presentation was so good that she couldn't help but give him two perfect scores.

Rooms, walls, water pipes, pipelines, underground rivers.

In a public speech of less than four minutes, in front of more than 500 people, the young man described the blurry scene behind the curtain.

There wasn't a single technical jargon, not a single word that would raise suspicion.

What the average person hears is a fascinating discussion about the boundaries of knowledge and human curiosity.

Those in the know hear something else entirely.

Finding people who are genuinely interested in what's behind the scenes is precisely the purpose of their selection process.

Isabella screwed the pen cap back on and leaned back in her chair.

The child knows what he is saying.

Moreover, he knew how much to say in this kind of situation.

………………

The final rankings will be announced at 4 p.m.

This time, there's no need to crowd the bulletin board; the host will read it aloud from the stage.

The white-haired old man cleared his throat, and the more than 500 people quieted down.

"Ahem... The final rankings for this year's Cicero Cup are as follows."

"First place: Alexander Montagu, Eton College."

The applause from the audience was enthusiastic, but no one was surprised.

Montagu stood up from his seat and gave a slight bow in greeting.

With a crushing victory in total scores across both rounds, he is the undisputed champion.

"Second place..."

The host paused for a moment.

The pause lasted longer than the announcement of the first place winner, probably because the name was unexpected.

Richard Williams, Greenwood High School.

There was a moment of silence in the audience; it was the name of a school no one had ever heard of.

But soon the applause rang out, lasting even longer than when the winner was announced.

The contestant who ranked fourth in the first round jumped to second place by giving a free speech in the second round.

The applause was enthusiastic, an instinctive expression of goodwill towards those who achieve a comeback.

Richard stood up, bowed slightly towards the judges' panel, and sat back down.

Among the applause coming from the audience, one pair of hands clapped particularly hard.

Mr. Holland stood up and sat down again, his bald head bobbing up and down in the crowd.

Mr. West, who was standing next to him, was also clapping, a little less loudly, but he also had a smile on his face.

Ms. Grant took off her gold-rimmed glasses and wiped them clean.

She rubbed the tip of her nose with the back of her hand, pretending nothing was wrong.

Third place: Catherine Blackwood, Cheltenham Girls' College.

The red-haired girl stood up, nodded decisively, and sat back down.

After sitting down, she turned her head and glanced in Richard's direction, her lips moving slightly.

Richard read the lips: Next time.

The awards ceremony took place immediately after the announcements, with the winners walking up to the stage one by one.

Montagu went up first, took the envelope and certificate from the host, and bowed to both the judges' panel and the audience.

His posture was impeccable, even the angle of his bow was just right at thirty degrees.

Richard took the stage after him.

The host was an elderly man with white hair, and he hesitated a bit when he handed the envelope to him.

"Greenwood High School...is it in the north?"

"In Briston, sir."

"Oh, Briston."

The old man nodded, probably because he had just searched his memory for the name but couldn't find it: "Very good, young man."

The envelope contained a thirty-pound bank draft and a letter of recommendation bearing the emblem of the Classical Society.

Thirty pounds, he weighed the envelope in his hand on the stage.

It was enough for her mother to carefully budget for more than half a year, buy Evelyn dozens of pairs of comfortable little leather shoes, and buy back old Clement's Sphinx oil lamp, with most of the money still left over.

There's also a recommended list; wealthy families in Beijing use this list when hiring tutors.

Referral lists are a channel for generating continuous income, and their long-term value is far greater than thirty pounds itself.

He put the envelope into his backpack and zipped it up.