I loaded the Mysticism panel.

After the awards ceremony, Mr. Holland strode over from the audience.

He practically jogged across half the hall and draped his arm over his student's shoulder.

"Williams".

"gentlemen."

The balding middle-aged man seemed to want to say something nice, but then thought it was too pretentious, and finally only managed to squeeze out one sentence:

"You've brought honor to the entire Greenwood community."

"Thank you, sir."

Don't thank me, thank yourself.

He patted Richard hard on the shoulder.

"Study hard when you get back, and don't be arrogant."

"understood."

Mr. West walked over, said nothing more, and simply extended his hand.

Richard shook hands with him.

Ms. Grant blew her nose beside her.

She probably started building up her emotions after the second round ended, and finally couldn't hold back anymore.

"Ms. Glenn, are you alright?" Mr. Holland asked with some concern.

"I'm fine." She stuffed the tissue into her pocket and looked up.

His eyes, red and bright, behind his gold-rimmed glasses: "I just think Williams spoke very well, that's all."

Palmer and Hutchinson walked over from a corner of the audience, carrying empty pie packets in their hands.

Palmer crumpled the paper package into a ball and threw it into the nearby trash can, then patted the grease off his hands.

"Williams, tell the truth." He tilted his head to look at Richard:

"Were you hiding your talents all along in school?"

"no."

"Then how come you suddenly become so talkative?"

"After the fire, I've figured out a lot of things," Richard said, offering his usual explanation to everyone.

"Goodness, I'll get a fever every flu season from now on, maybe it'll help me see the light."

Hutchinson patted Palmer on the back of the head: "Even if your brain is fried, you still won't get it."

How will you know if you don't try?

"Because you're third from last."

"There are two people who are even worse than me!"

"...What's there to be proud of?"

The two bickered as they walked toward the door.

Palmer took a couple of steps and then turned back, unusually serious for once: "Williams, wanna go back together? I'll treat you to a kidney pie."

"No need, I have a car to pick me up."

"Wow, you've really hit the jackpot." Palmer whistled. "Well, I hope you stay this rich."

In the following period, the winners will be invited to attend an academic tea party.

The tea party was held in the annex reception room, where the ceiling was much lower than in the main hall, but the decor was more elaborate.

Three long tables were arranged along the south wall, covered with white tablecloths, and filled with tea sets and snacks.

The porcelain cups and saucers were neatly arranged, with a small silver-plated spoon next to each cup.

The dim sum is served on a three-tiered stand in the style of the capital city.

The bottom layer consists of finger sandwiches, the middle layer is scones with cream and jam, and the top layer is a few rows of exquisite small cakes.

Richard felt a moment of regret for his sister when she saw this dessert tower. Her eyes would probably light up.

Contestants and judges mingled together, walking around with cups in hand, exchanging business cards and polite words.

Such tea gatherings are probably as common in academic circles as afternoon tea in industrial areas, the only difference being the quality of the tea and the professionalism of the conversation.

Richard took a cup of black tea from the long table and walked to the corner by the window.

He is neither good at nor fond of these kinds of occasions.

Holding a cup, standing in the crowd with a polite smile, saying a few insignificant words, and then finding a chance to slip away... the whole process was actually more tiring for him than deciphering code words.

At least there are patterns to follow in code words, whereas there are none in polite social interactions.

He had just stopped in the corner, ready to finish his tea and leave.

"You are my sister's son." The voice came from the left.

Richard turned his head and saw Isabella standing a few steps away, holding a white porcelain cup.

She changed out of the dark blue suit she wore on the judges' panel and is now wearing a knitted long dress.

A thin silver chain hung around her neck, with something hanging from the end, hidden by her collar.

This aunt's facial features are seven or eight parts similar to her mother's, but her temperament is completely different.

Even on days when her health was relatively good, my mother was still frail. She would press her hand to her chest when walking and speak so softly that you had to strain your ears to hear her.

Although Isabella's facial features were equally beautiful, her eyes always seemed to scrutinize people.

It's as if she's always waiting for you to say something inappropriate so she can correct you.

"...Auntie."

"Just call me Ms. Ashford here," she corrected, her tone not cold.

In academic settings, kinship terms can easily lead to various interpretations by those around the person using them.

Richard nodded.

Isabella pulled over a chair and sat down next to him.

"Your second presentation was very interesting."

She held the cup, the steam rising from the tea spreading between her eyebrows and eyes.

"The water pipes in the wall...where did you hear that metaphor from?"

"It's based on what I read in books, plus some of my own thoughts."

"yes."

Isabella brought the rim of the glass to her lips and took a sip:

Paracelsus used almost the exact same analogy in Book III of His Discourse on the Nature of Things.

She didn't look away as she said this; her gaze remained fixed on Richard's face.

"He was talking about 'mercury flowing in the bones of a house,' but your version changed it to water pipes, which is more suitable for the cognitive framework of contemporary audiences. It's a very clever adaptation."

Richard put the cup down from his lips:

"I know the name Paracelsus, the pioneer of modern alchemy, but I haven't read his original works."

The term "infection" was coined by Paracelsus, and my grandfather also mentioned it in his study.

However, he did not have the opportunity to access the original text.

"My father told me about you before the competition, and now it seems you really have the talent for this line of work."

Isabella spoke with certainty:

"The speech you constructed in fifteen minutes—its logical structure, word choice, and layers of metaphor—exceeded the level expected of someone your age and educational background."

She picked up the teacup from the low table and then put it down again:

"You should know the composition of your score in the second round. You received full marks from most of the judges for the two sections: rhetorical comprehension and depth of expression."

Montagu only surpasses you technically; that gap can be bridged with one to two years of specialized training.

"But what you showed in the second round..."

She gently tapped the surface of the low table with her index finger.

"Both Montague and Catherine are excellent; one has a profound background, and the other is sharp and outstanding."

But their speeches all operated within the conventional semantic scope of the word "civilization."

"You've stepped out of the box and brought the discussion to another level."

Using a relatable, everyday image as a container, it holds content far exceeding the ordinary.

"Those who can do this either read a lot, think deeply enough, or have both."

After she finished speaking, she took a business card from the handbag that was placed at her feet.