I Loaded the Mysticism Panel

As he was fastening the buckle on his schoolbag, Old Big suddenly leaned in, a somewhat hesitant look on his face.

"Little brother, let me ask you something from the heart."

"Go ahead."

"Have you really not considered walking the path of our Secret Direction?"

Richard’s hand, which was fastening the buckle, paused.

"Your inspiration test score today was good, and you have a solid foundation in the Breathing Technique. This shows you have good control over Ether, and Spiritual Vision is all about control."

"Good control plus sufficient inspiration makes you an excellent Miaozi for our Secret Direction."

"If you’re willing to walk the path of the Secret, I can formally recommend you to our teacher.

With your foundation, your chances of graduating are much higher than mine were. In the future, you might even reach the level of Senior Sister MacNeil."

After he finished speaking, he looked at Richard, his face full of expectation.

Richard finished fastening the buckle and slung the schoolbag over his shoulder.

"Old Big, I will study everything you teach me seriously. Spiritual Vision and Divination are a great help to my main profession."

He thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully, and politely declined:

"But I’ve already come quite a way down the path of a Scholar. The teachers, resources, and academic track are all there. The cost of turning around and changing direction now is too high."

Old Big’s expression changed from expectation to disappointment.

"Sigh, I knew you’d say that."

He slapped his thigh and stood up.

"Fine, fine. A Scholar it is. In any case, Spiritual Vision and Divination are universal skills. Once you learn them, you can still shine on the Scholar’s path."

He started packing up the remaining items from the tabletop, placing the ten test objects back into his canvas bag one by one.

"Are you coming next week?"

"Of course."

"In that case, next week I’ll tell you about the specific uses of Spiritual Vision for identifying unknown objects. That’s the main reason most Scholars learn Spiritual Vision, anyway."

He squinted and smiled.

"You get an item in your hands, lock onto it with Spiritual Vision for thirty seconds, and you’ll see more information than you could find by digging through documents for three days."

That sentence piqued Richard’s interest.

Richard slung his bag on and walked toward the door, stopping again when he reached the frame.

"Old Big, I won’t mention what you said earlier about the inspiration, or about Lady Mary, to anyone else."

Old Big was taken aback for a moment, then he smiled.

"I know."

He waved his hand. "Go on, be careful on your way. Don’t take any deserted roads now that it’s dark."

"You too."

"I have a gun, what’s there to be afraid of?" Old Big patted the bulky spot at his waist.

"The thugs in Brighton give me a wide berth when they see me. Last time, one of them tried to steal my tool bag, and I chased him from the third floor down to the first."

"Did you catch him?"

"Didn’t catch him. I even tripped on the stairs and face-planted."

By the time he left the Branch Office, the sky had completely darkened.

Evening came extremely early in a Brighton winter. It wasn’t even five o’clock, but the streetlights were already flickering on one after another.

The flames of the gas lamps danced within their glass casings, casting shifting light and shadow on the puddles in the road.

Richard adjusted the straps of his schoolbag on his shoulder and quickened his pace toward home.

The panel glowed quietly in the corner of his vision.

[Scholarship Lv.2] Progress: 58%

It had risen another two percentage points since he’d last seen it in the carriage that morning.

The introductory knowledge of Spiritual Vision and Divination that Old Big taught him this afternoon had a significant effect on his Scholarship experience gain.

’As expected, if I want my Scholarship to increase quickly, I have to keep learning new things.

Especially in fields of knowledge related to the Mysterious Side that I’ve never encountered before.

The theoretical framework of Spiritual Vision, the Underlying Logic of Divination, the operating principles of the Wax Reading Technique... with every new piece of information that entered his brain, the Scholarship progress bar jumped at a rate far exceeding that of a normal class.’

When he reached the intersection of Grafton Street and Post Office Street, the old man who sold roasted chestnuts by the roadside had already packed up. His cart was chained to the iron railing on the corner, its charcoal fire long extinguished.

He hadn’t planned on buying chestnuts today, though.

Three streets away from his home, he turned into a slightly narrower alley.

A small shop at the mouth of the alley was still lit. A faded wooden sign hung above the door, bearing a painting of a squirrel with its tail raised.

The shop sold all sorts of candies and dried fruits.

Glass jars were lined up on the counter, filled with toffee, mints, almond candy, dried sour plums, caramel peanuts, and candied fruit.

Richard walked in and scanned the counter.

"How much?" he asked, pointing at the caramel peanuts and the mints.

"The peanuts are one penny an ounce, the mints are a penny and a half."

He bought two ounces of caramel peanuts and one ounce of mints. The shopkeeper wrapped them separately in brown paper, twisted the corners of the two packets, and handed them over.

Leaving the alley, he carried the two bags of snacks and continued on his way home.

’I have my sister’s tastes figured out completely.

Every time I come back from an outing, all I have to do is dangle a little snack in front of my sister, and her face, full of questions, will be stuffed with food instead.

The mouth that was about to ask "Where did you go?", "Was it Latin again?", and "What are you really up to?" would be blocked by caramel peanuts, at least until she finished eating them.

By the time the snack is gone, her attention will have already shifted to something else.’

When he pushed open the front door, the smell of stew wafted from the hallway.

"You’re back?" His mother’s voice came from the kitchen.

"I’m back."

"Dinner will be a little while longer. The stew isn’t ready yet."

He went upstairs first, put his schoolbag in his room, and locked the door.

Then he went back downstairs with the two bags of snacks and walked to his sister’s door.

The door was ajar. Evelyn was hunched over her desk doing homework, the tip of her pen scratching across the paper.

He knocked twice on the doorframe.

"What?"

She didn’t even turn her head.

"Brought you something good."

Evelyn’s pen stopped.

She slowly turned her head. Her gray eyes first landed on his face, then slid to the two brown paper bags he was holding up.

"What is it?"

"Caramel peanuts and mints."

She shot up from her chair, crossed to the door in three strides, and reached out to snatch them.

Richard raised the bags just out of her reach.

"Answer a question first."

"...What question?"

"How much homework did you do today?"

"A lot."

"How many subjects?"

"Three."

"Which three?"

"...Geography, arithmetic, and..." She glanced quickly at the open textbook on her desk. "And history."

"Hmm, then you’re rewarded with a sweet treat." He placed the bags in his sister’s outstretched hands.

Evelyn immediately hugged the two bags of snacks to her chest and retreated into her room.

She kicked the door shut with her foot, followed immediately by the rustling sound of a paper bag being torn open.

She completely forgot to ask where her brother had gone on a Sunday afternoon.

Richard stood in the hallway and chuckled softly.

’I’ve completely figured out this little glutton’s nature. One bag of caramel peanuts can buy me at least two days of peace and quiet.’

Dinner was beef brisket stew with warm bread.

His mother had been busy in the kitchen all afternoon. The brisket, stewed with onions and carrots, was fall-apart tender. The broth was thick, with a layer of glistening fat clinging to the edge of the iron pot.

His father got back from the factory a little earlier than usual. After reading the paper in the living room for a bit, he came to the table.

Richard helped his mother bring out the soup bowls and bread plates and set the table.

"Evelyn..." his mother called upstairs. "Time for dinner!"

The sound of shuffling footsteps came from upstairs, and his sister was slow and hesitant as she sat down at the table.

She pulled out her chair, sat down, and stared at the bowl of steaming beef brisket stew in front of her without moving.

She scooped up half a spoonful of stew, brought it to her lips, and stopped.

She put down the spoon and picked up the bread.

She broke off a small piece, put it in her mouth, and chewed twice.

Then a troubled expression appeared on her face.

Across from her, Richard kept his head down, drinking his soup, but he saw from the corner of his eye that the contents of his sister’s bowl had barely diminished.

His mother sat down with her own bowl and glanced at her daughter.

"What’s wrong? Not feeling well?"

"No." Evelyn’s voice was a size smaller than usual.

"Then why aren’t you eating? I spent all afternoon on this stew. Just last week you said you were craving it."

Evelyn picked up her spoon again and took another scoop.

She chewed as if she were eating gummy candy—slowly and reluctantly.

Her father put down his newspaper and glanced at his daughter.

"If you can’t eat, don’t force yourself."

"I’m not forcing myself..." Evelyn rested her spoon on the rim of the bowl, her voice growing quieter and quieter.

Her mother’s gaze moved from her daughter’s face to the bowl in front of her, and then back to her face.

"Did you eat something this afternoon?"

Evelyn’s back stiffened.

"No."

"No?" Her mother’s expression was chilling.

In this household, where every pat of butter was precisely cut, "wastefulness" was a more serious crime than a "failing grade."

Evelyn lowered her head, her fingers nervously rubbing the edge of the tablecloth.

"Evelyn!" Her mother’s voice rose.

"...I ate a little something this afternoon."

"What was it?"

"Caramel peanuts... and mints."

"How much did you eat?"

"...One bag. No, two bags."

His mother placed her own spoon in her bowl, making a sharp CLINK.

The entire dinner table fell silent at once.

His father, whose hand was holding a teacup midway to his lips, decisively returned his attention to his newspaper.

"Two bags?" His mother’s tone didn’t rise.

But that kind of calm was often the harbinger of a storm.

"I only meant to eat a few..." Evelyn’s voice grew smaller and smaller.

"But the peanuts were too good, and then the mints were really good too, and then..."

"And then you finished them."

"...Yeah."

"You finished your snacks before dinner, and now you’re sitting here staring blankly at the beef stew I spent all afternoon making."

Margaret reached out, picked up her daughter’s bowl of stew, walked to the kitchen, and poured it back into the pot.

When she returned, she was carrying a plate of lettuce leaves.

"This is what you’re eating tonight. You have to finish all of it."

Evelyn stared at the plate of green, leafy vegetables in front of her—no salt, no dressing—opened her mouth, then closed it again.

Throughout the rest of dinner, Richard kept his head down, focused on his soup.

When he did look up, Evelyn’s gaze, which had been fixed on the lettuce she was prodding, flicked over to him.

It was a look filled with a silent accusation against the one who had given her the snacks.

Richard pretended he hadn’t seen a thing.

After dinner, he helped his mother clear the dishes.

Evelyn stomped upstairs, puffed with anger, and slammed her door shut.

His father remained ensconced in his chair in the living room, reading his newspaper, having not offered a single opinion the entire time.

His mother was washing dishes in the kitchen. The GUSH of the faucet mixed with the CLINKING of plates and bowls.

Richard stood at the kitchen entrance, hesitated for a moment, but decided to confess the origin of the snacks.

"Mom, I was the one who bought her the peanuts and candy."

Margaret placed a bowl in the drying rack and wiped her hands on her apron.

"I’m not against you buying her snacks, but next time, have her eat them after dinner."

"I’ll be more careful next time."

"Mm."

He went upstairs to his room.

As he passed Evelyn’s door, he slowed his steps and listened closely.

There was no scratching sound of homework being done, nor the rustle of a picture book being flipped through.

Only a CRUNCH, CRUNCH sound.

It was very quiet, and very rhythmic.

’The girl had devoured all the peanuts, but she’d clearly saved some of the mints.’

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