Chapter 34: Thus Far

The answer was no.

He had flipped through every book. They all covered what seals were, why they were designed that way, and compared the pros and cons of various structures.

As for how to break them, there wasn't a single word.

Richard leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling for a long moment.

The logic was actually quite simple: teaching someone how to identify a seal was disaster prevention; teaching them how to break one was handing them a weapon.

Including seal-breaking methods in introductory materials would be like putting a guide to maximizing arson damage in a fire safety manual.

Given the accessible knowledge on this shelf, finding an introductory breathing method for the Golden Path was already an act of extreme generosity.

Finding a step-by-step guide for breaking seals here was out of the question.

He hadn't entirely ruled out asking Mr. Hutton, but after turning the idea over in his head a few times, he snuffed it out.

There were two reasons for this.

First, the motive didn't hold up.

Why would a poor student save up two pounds just to buy an ancient bronze artifact from the Black Soil River Basin?

For a collection? As a decoration? Mr. Hutton had seen too much to be fooled by excuses like those.

If the old man simply asked, "What do you need this lamp for?"

Richard would be forced to choose between telling a half-truth that exposed some of his secrets, or telling a lie that would destroy his credibility once exposed.

Both options were dead ends. It was better to keep his mouth shut from the start.

The second reason was more fundamental.

Even if he did ask how to break a seal, Mr. Hutton wouldn't necessarily give him the answer.

From the very beginning, Mr. Hutton's attitude had been clear: I point out the path; how far you walk is up to you.

He had provided the exact row and shelf numbers, handed over the only copy of the reference index, and left him to safeguard it after reading.

He had offered a practical observation of a seal; whether Richard went, and how much he learned from it, was entirely up to him.

Every step of the way, the underlying message was: I will give you the access, but I will not complete it for you.

It was a passive method of screening: he left the door unlatched; whether you pushed it open was your own business.

Those who pushed it open proved they were qualified to step inside.

Those who failed and turned back hadn't lost anything either.

After organizing the day's notes, Richard slipped them chronologically into his notebook.

The notebook was already more than half full. Dense pencil script stretched from the very first page all the way to the third from the back. He locked it away in his drawer.

He clicked off the desk lamp, and the room darkened.

The curtains weren't fully drawn. Moonlight slipped through the gap, landing perfectly on the edge of the desk.

Richard sat in the dark for a moment.

Up to this point, he had essentially been taking a free ride.

Everything Mr. Hutton had provided—the occult bookshelf, the reference index, the seal observation, the Silver Coin, the Ashcore Grass—hadn't cost him a single copper.

But the free ride ended here.

He had already hit the ceiling of what those twenty-six books could offer.

He had a theoretical framework, a system of terminology, three occupational paths, and the seven Ranks.

From here on out, he would have to use his own abilities to secure resources.

In the Surface World, the Cicero Cup was the first admission ticket he could grasp.

The prize money would solve his immediate financial problems, while the recommendation list would provide a steady source of income and serve as a stepping stone to higher academic institutions.

In the world behind the veil, he also needed a ticket.

But he still couldn't see what that ticket looked like.

The only certainty was that no matter which path he took, he first needed to become someone of value.

Valuable enough that others would willingly share their deeper secrets with him.

He stood up, walked to the window, and pulled the curtains tight.

Returning to the edge of the bed, he sat down, closed his eyes, and began today's practice of the breathing method.

Inhale for four beats. Hold for four beats. Exhale for four beats. Hold for four beats.

A gentle warmth spread outward from the Seat of the Sun, lingering steadily through the exhalation phase without dissipating.

...

That morning, Evelyn fried an egg in the kitchen.

Strictly speaking, she fried two: one for Richard, and one for herself.

The oil in the pan sizzled. The edges of the egg whites crisped into a delicate, lacy frill, while the plump yolks bulged in the center, carefully kept soft and runny.

"The one I fried for you last time was overdone. The yolk got hard."

She carried the plates to the table. "This one is much better."

"Since when did you care about frying the perfect egg?"

"I always have." Evelyn untied her apron and hung it on the hook behind the door. "You just couldn't taste the difference before."

Richard dipped the corner of his bread into the runny yolk and put it in his mouth.

"Mm, definitely better than last time."

"Of course it is."

Evelyn sat down across from him, scooped a spoonful of marmalade, and spread it on her own bread.

Her mouth was busy, but her eyes weren't idle; she kept observing her brother across the table.

Lately, she had gotten used to this kind of observation.

Richard's complexion was improving by the day.

It wasn't the kind of improvement that came from wearing makeup or sleeping for twelve hours straight. This was an all-around recovery.

Color had returned to his cheeks, his eye sockets were no longer so sunken, and his lips had changed from a cracked, ashen pink to a normal light red.

Even the speed at which he ate was different.

He used to have a terrible appetite, nibbling on half a slice of bread for ten minutes. Now, two pieces of bread and an egg were wiped clean in under five.

"Richard."

"Hmm?"

"How have you been taking care of yourself lately? It's not like I've seen you exercising."

"Sleeping early, waking up early, and eating more."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Evelyn sliced off the crispy edge of her egg white with her fork, popped it into her mouth, and chewed.

She felt her brother was brushing her off again, but she couldn't find an angle to argue from.

He really was going to bed early, waking up early, and eating more. The ironclad truth was sitting right in front of her.

"Fine." She pushed her plate away and wiped the corner of her mouth. "You being healthy is a good thing, anyway."

The topic shifted from idle chatter to what was actually worrying her. "Mom said we need to start preparing for the trip to the Imperial Capital over the next few days."

"Yeah."

"Are you nervous?"

"Not really."

"I'm a little nervous."

Richard glanced at her.

Evelyn twirled her braid around her finger a couple of times.

"The way those relatives looked at us at the last gathering..."

A fringe branch attending the main house's gathering—being sized up from head to toe, only to receive a polite smile in return—was the kind of feeling that burned itself into a person's memory for a lifetime without needing a second experience.

"This time is different." Richard finished the tea in his cup. "This time, Grandfather explicitly asked to see me."

"That's exactly why I'm nervous."

"Don't be. Just stick close to me when we're there."

The girl stared at him for a moment, then unwound the braid from her finger.

"You say that as if you have a lot of experience."

"I might not have gone there many times, but I've read a lot of books lately."

"Reading books can fix your presence and posture?"

"...It really can. Haven't you ever heard the saying? Books are the tools that forge the soul."

Evelyn felt like she was losing more and more arguments against him. She pursed her lips and stood up to clear the dishes.

As she reached the kitchen doorway, she turned back and reminded him out of habit, "Come home early tonight. Don't stay out too late."

"I know."

"Don't get in anyone's car."

"I know."

"Don't join any gangs."

"...Yeah."

Satisfied, Evelyn turned and went into the kitchen.

The clinking of dishes rang out. Together with the sunlight from the window, it filled the dreary, overcast morning with a touch of warmth.