I loaded the Mysticism panel.

After collecting the dishes and going upstairs, Richard closed the door.

He carefully took the oil lamp out of his schoolbag and placed it on his desk.

After the oil paper was removed, the copper surface of the Sphinx gleamed a dark green under the lamp.

The dark rust on the wings was heavier than he remembered, probably because they had been sitting in the shop for over a month longer.

He flipped it over to the base, where the seal symbol of a circle within a triangle was still there.

The direction of curvature of the short lines extending from the three sides of the triangle is highly consistent with the sample he recorded in the Imperial Capital University Library.

The standard safety valve structure of the priest's inscription in the middle reaches of the Black Soil River.

The contents of the oil lamp are sealed and suppressed; the only way is to find a way to break the seal.

But there's no rush today.

The intense decoding work over several consecutive nights put my brain under immense strain.

The document "On Ascending Behind a Curtain" was so densely packed with information that after digesting it, I felt like a wrung-out towel.

He needs to slow down.

………………

On Sunday morning, Richard slept in and was able to sleep in until the sun was shining.

The sound of Evelyn and her mother talking could be heard downstairs, mixed with the clatter of frying pans and dishes.

Breathing is propelled by daily practice, knowledge is gained through reading and deciphering, eating and sleeping are just beginning, and experience accumulation is still in the climbing stage.

When all three physical skills are used simultaneously, the physical condition does indeed improve visibly.

Evelyn complained that his appetite had become outrageously large lately, and that the hash browns he had yesterday afternoon were actually a special treat his sister had made for him.

Richard lay in bed for another five minutes, mentally reviewing his plans for the day.

The brain needs a rest, so the work of deciphering codes needs to stop for a while.

The free time is perfect for taking care of another important matter.

My aunt Isabella had already mentioned the list of recommendations from the Classical Society back in Beijing.

Those on the list are eligible to be hired as tutors by wealthy families in the capital, with an hourly rate equivalent to a day's wages for an ordinary worker.

Mr. Holland had said the same thing earlier.

But no matter how good the tutoring market is in Beijing, he lives in Briston and can't possibly take the train to Beijing every week to teach.

Fortunately, the recommended list covers the entire country, and although Bristol is a northern industrial city, it is not without wealthy families.

Warren's father was the vice chairman of the North District Coal Miners Association, and Grey's family also owned a factory.

These families send their children to Greenwood because Greenwood is considered the best school in Briston; the next best option would be a boarding school in the capital.

However, not all wealthy families send their children to Beijing; some prefer to keep their children with them and hire tutors to come to their homes for extra lessons.

Richard got dressed and went downstairs.

Evelyn pushed a plate of fried eggs and toast in front of him: "What are we going to do today?"

"Looking for a job."

"What kind of job?"

"Private tutor".

Evelyn put down her teacup.

"What should we teach?"

"Latin, Classics, and understanding what the other party needs."

Evelyn looked him up and down, her gaze sweeping over him.

"That shirt of yours won't do."

"Why not?"

"The collar is frayed and the color has turned grayish after washing."

If you dress like that and go to a rich person's house, they'll think you're there to apply for a handyman job.

"I'm just going to have a talk, it's not like I'm going to a dance."

"First impressions are important." Evelyn stood up and ran upstairs without even taking off her apron.

Two minutes later she came down with a shirt, white with thin blue stripes, a crisp collar, and dark patterns around the cuffs.

"This belongs to Dad; he hasn't worn it much."

"Dad, my clothes are too big."

"I've altered it. I measured your old one and made the alterations accordingly. I shortened the shoulder line by half an inch and shrunk the cuffs as well."

Richard took the shirt, unfolded it, and examined it.

The stitches are fine and even, and two hidden pleats are added to the waist to make the wide pattern fit snugly.

This girl didn't just start preparing yesterday.

"...Okay, thanks."

"And a tie." The younger sister pulled out a dark gray tie.

Richard took his shirt and tie upstairs to change, and tidied himself up in front of the wardrobe mirror.

His shirt fit perfectly, his tie was neat, and with the improved complexion brought about by his breathing exercises, he could easily pass for a college student.

Evelyn was waiting at the top of the stairs when they came downstairs. She glanced at the person up and down and said, "So-so."

"Would it kill you to praise someone?"

"Let's go quickly." The younger sister waved her hand dismissively.

………………

The Classical Society has liaison offices in various cities.

The Briston contact point is on the third floor of an old building in the city center, with a brass plaque that reads "Northern Office of the Classical Society".

Richard pushed open the door and went inside; the space was smaller than he had expected.

Two desks, a row of filing cabinets, an old-fashioned typewriter, and a pot of half-dead fern on the windowsill.

A man in his forties sat behind the table, his hair neatly combed, and his pince-nez glasses perched on the bridge of his nose were about to fall off.

"Hello, I am Richard Williams, the registrar for the Classical Society's recommended list."

The man looked up at him, adjusted his glasses, and asked, "List number?"

Richard reported a string of numbers.

The man opened the register on the table and traced down the densely packed names with his finger.

"Williams... Williams... I've got it."

He drew a checkmark next to it with a pencil: "Second place in the Cicero Cup, Greenwood High School, right?"

"right."

"Currently, there are three registered tutoring needs in the North District..." He flipped through a few pages.

He turned the register over to Richard to look at.

The three requests came from three different families.

The first case involves a retired military officer's family who need to tutor their twelve-year-old son in Latin and Aegwythian, and they live in the western suburbs of Briston.

The remarks section reads: "Prefers teachers with military academy backgrounds."

The second case involves a textile factory owner's family who need to prepare their fourteen-year-old daughter for entrance exams, including subjects such as Latin, history, and geography.

The remarks column is empty.

The third one caught Richard's attention.

Client's name: Mrs. Edmund Dawn.

Student: Tom Dawn, 12 years old.

Subject requirements: Latin, Classics.

The remarks column contained two lines of text:

"We have had three different tutors before, and the students were not very cooperative. We would appreciate applications from people who are patient."

Richard looked at the words "had changed three tutors".

The fact that all three tutors were fired indicates that the parents have high expectations for teaching quality, or that the child is difficult to manage, or both.

But he cared about something else.

The address in the notes is Highfield Road, which is the most expensive street in the North End.

Coal mine owners, shipping companies, bank partners—that's the kind of people who live on Highfield Road.

"How much is the hourly rate for Dawn's class?"

The clerk glanced at the notes: "Two shillings per hour."

Two shillings per hour.

Mr. Holland's statement that "an hour of teaching is worth a day's wages for an ordinary worker" is absolutely true.

The daily wage for an ordinary worker is about this much, but the tutoring fee for one hour is equivalent to digging coal in a mine all day.

If you attend one hour of class each weekend, it will cost you sixteen shillings a month, which is a little over one and a half pounds.

It was half again as much as he had estimated, more than a pound.

"I can try this one."

"Okay." The clerk wrote a few strokes in the register:

"I'll send a letter to the Dawn family and attach your information."

If the other party agrees to a meeting, we will notify you of the time and place.

He took a form from the drawer and pushed it over:

"Please fill in your personal information, including your academic transcript and Cicero Cup award certificate."

Richard took out Mr. Holland's letter of recommendation and the school's recommendation letter from his bag, and placed them on the table along with the award certificate issued by the Classical Society.