I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Isabella straightened up, the strap of her handbag leaving shallow marks on the shoulder of her coat.

Her fingers tapped lightly on the silver chain once more.

The invisible curtain in the corner was blown away by the wind, and voices poured in again.

The entire process was silent and unnoticed; no one around noticed that the area had just been isolated.

Isabella took something else out of her coat pocket and handed it to Richard.

It is a small, flat tin bottle, about the size of a palm, with a tightly screwed-on cap and a minimalist daisy design engraved on the bottle.

"What is this?"

"The medicine is for my sister." She tapped the bottle with her fingernail.

"This one is more effective than the medicines I sent before. Take one pill before bed every night, don't use more than that."

The medicine I sent before... I see. He said that's why his father goes to the post office regularly.

"Your mother's breathing problems are not entirely due to physical reasons."

Isabella pushed the flat bottle into his hand.

"She gave up her spiritual practice, but the remaining circuits in her body were not completely shut down. The ether spun in the circuits for more than ten years, causing chronic damage to her lungs."

The coal smoke from the northern industrial areas is merely a contributing factor; the root cause lies elsewhere.

"Therefore, simply treating the lungs won't cure the problem..."

"Yes," Isabella readily admitted, "Given her current physical condition, all we can do is alleviate the symptoms."

"This bottle should last about three months. Write to me when it's finished, and I'll try to send it to your home."

Richard carefully put the tin bottle away, placing it close to his body in his inner pocket.

"Thank you, Auntie."

"Hmm." This time she didn't correct Richard's form of address.

"Your mother's old ailment could be addressed by having her stay in the capital for a while."

The environment in Beijing is better than in Bristol, and the medical facilities are also better.

The air quality in the capital is indeed better than in Briston. Most importantly, the concentration of ether in the capital is far higher than in any industrial city.

"I understand," Richard said.

Isabella slung her bag over her shoulder, ready to leave:

"The Debate Week is held every other year, and some classical studies departments at universities in Beijing offer guaranteed admission quotas."

"If you're interested, you can give it a try later. Of course, the prerequisite is that you have to get into university first."

After saying that, she turned and left.

Richard tucked the business card into the inner pocket of his bag, placing it together with the letter of recommendation.

The tea is down to half a cup and it's gone cold.

He finished the cup in one gulp and placed it on the low table.

The crowd was still moving around, and the judges gathered in twos and threes near the long table, talking with their cups in hand.

Some of the contestants gathered around Montagu, the blond boy surrounded by a crowd.

He handled the situation with ease, occasionally chuckling and listening attentively to the other person.

Catherine stood by the window furthest from the crowd, her red hair tucked behind her ears, holding an empty cup in her hand.

Her gaze passed over the heads of the people in the reception room and met Richard's.

Richard passed the long table of pastries as he walked by and casually picked up a scone.

"Williams, do you even believe what you said in your speech?" Her gaze was direct.

Which part are you asking about?

"Do you even believe the statement, 'Questioning is a form of civilization,'?"

"letter."

Catherine stared at him for a while.

"The version I believe is slightly different."

In my opinion, there are two types of people who ask questions.

One type of person, after questioning the victim, will return to their room, repair the wall, and act as if nothing happened. Another type will move to the other side of the wall after questioning the victim.

Which one are you?

Richard took a bite of the scone in his hand, chewed it twice, and swallowed it.

"I haven't decided yet."

This answer is not honest.

I moved there a long time ago, ever since I first saw the brass ornament on the bedside table.

But it would be unwise to say such things in the capital, in the Chapel of St. Augustine, or in front of someone you've only met twice.

Catherine didn't press the matter.

She picked up the empty cup from the windowsill, took two steps toward the long table, and then turned back to throw a remark at them.

"My name is Catherine, but my friends call me Kate."

"My name is Richard."

"Of course I know your name; the host read it twice."

The red-haired girl waved to him and disappeared into the crowd.

Richard stood by the window, finished the remaining half of his scone, and patted the crumbs off his hands.

The tea party continued, but he no longer needed to stay.

I got the list of nominees, I got the bonus, and I even got Isabella's business card.

I've taken everything I was entitled to, and I've met everyone I was supposed to meet.

He pushed open the side door and went out. The cold autumn evening wind blew in from outside, blowing away all the formalities of the social gathering.

The Ashford family's carriage was already parked in its usual spot in the square.

The driver was leaning against a pillar on the roof of the carriage, his hat askew, probably dozing off.

He woke up as Richard approached, straightened his hat, and bowed slightly from his seat.

"Young Master, shall we return to the manor?"

"Let's go back."

The horse-drawn carriage entered the evening rush hour traffic in the capital.

Richard leaned back in his car seat, looking at the business card in his hand: Room 314, Petrie Building.

He could almost see the end of Greenwood's library; he could clearly feel the ceiling of the twenty-six books.

The door to the capital city had just been opened a crack when the information my aunt revealed today suddenly stretched the depth of field behind that crack.

He connected the clues in his mind, and a clear path emerged:

The Cicero Cup → Higher Education Institutions → Debate Week → Speakers → A key link in the upward mobility process.

Each step builds upon the previous one, and each step involves a larger stake than the previous one.

The carriage turned onto Chelsea Road, and the bumps on the gravel road pulled him back from his thoughts.

The lights at Ashford House are on.

A small head popped up behind the window on the second floor, then shrank back inside.

Before the carriage had even come to a complete stop and the driver was still reining in the horses, the side door of the mansion was pushed open from the inside.

Evelyn stood on the doorstep wearing slippers, her braid half hanging down her shoulder, clutching the box of chocolates in her hand.

"I'm back!"

"Um."

"What place?"

Richard pulled the envelope out of his bag and waved it in front of his sister: "Second."

The girl's mouth gaped open in an "O" shape, and the chocolate box almost slipped from her fingers.

"Second place?! Second place in the entire empire?!"

"The whole empire is probably an exaggeration, but he is indeed the second-place winner among the contestants."

"This..." Evelyn took the envelope.

She glanced at it, and the "thirty pounds" on the draft was reflected in her gray eyes.

Evelyn closed the envelope and handed it back to him neatly.

"Brother, you've really changed a lot."

Over the past two months, she had looked at him with the same gaze many times.

The look in his eyes is different today.

The confusion remains, but something else has emerged.

Perhaps it's acceptance, perhaps it's trust, or perhaps it's simply being tired—it's too exhausting to keep asking someone who will never give the truth.

"Keep the money for the gloves." Richard patted the envelope. "I'll buy the two-shilling pair of wool gloves myself."

"Huh? Is that alright...?"

"And the prize money from this competition, I'll buy you a new pair of shoes that fit when we get back to Bristol."

Evelyn neither said thank you nor refused.

She handed the box of chocolates to her brother; there was only one chocolate left in it.

"Here, let's celebrate."

Richard stood on the steps and put the chocolate in his mouth.

After taking a bite, something felt off.

The hazelnut inside had lost its flavor; it had a rancid, stale taste.

He chewed it twice, but didn't spit it out.

Evelyn.

The girl walking in front stiffened slightly.

"Did you eat almost all of this box of chocolates by the second day?"

Evelyn turned around, her face displaying a complex expression.

She opened her mouth as if to deny it, but her eyes already betrayed her:

"...On the afternoon of the second day, there were only two pieces left. I held back from eating the last piece for a long time."

Richard looked down at the remaining half of the chocolate in his hand:

"Valentine's chocolates are best enjoyed within three to five days after opening, but yours has been sitting for almost a week."

Evelyn was a little embarrassed and reached out to try to take the half piece from his hand.

"Then don't eat it, it definitely won't taste right..."

Richard pulled his hand back to avoid her hand and stuffed the remaining half into his mouth.

"elder brother!"

But he had already swallowed it.

The taste was indeed not very good; it was a completely different food compared to the silky smooth texture that melted in your mouth when it was first opened.

"fine."

"I told you not to eat..." The girl lowered her head, rubbing her feet together inside her slippers.

"If you feel bad about it..." Richard reached out and ruffled the messy hair on her head.

"When you open that bakery later, just let me eat there for free."

Evelyn slapped his hand off her head and glared at him.

After staring for a while, he couldn't hold back and started laughing.

"You better remember this: when I finally open my own workshop, I'll use you as the taster for my first batch of chocolates."

"make a deal."

"No taking it back."

"No regrets."