Chapter 61: Aunt Isabella

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

He practically jogged across half the hall and clapped a hand onto his student's shoulder.

"Williams."

"Sir."

The balding middle-aged man seemed to want to say something eloquent, but felt it would be too sentimental. In the end, he only managed a single sentence:

"You've done all of Greenwood proud."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me. Thank yourself."

He gave Richard's shoulder a firm pat.

"Study hard when we get back. Don't let this go to your head."

"I understand."

Mr. West walked over. He didn't waste words, simply offering his hand.

Richard shook it.

Beside them, Ms. Grant blew her nose.

She had probably been welling up since the end of the second round and could no longer hold it in.

"Ms. Grant, are you all right?" Mr. Holland asked, looking concerned.

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

Behind her gold-rimmed glasses, her eyes were red and bright. "I just thought Williams spoke wonderfully. That's all."

Palmer and Hutchinson ambled over from a corner of the audience, still clutching empty pie wrappers.

Palmer crumpled his wrapper into a ball, tossed it into a nearby trash can, and brushed the grease off his hands.

"Williams, tell the truth." He tilted his head, studying Richard.

"Have you been holding back at school this whole time?"

"No."

"Then how did you suddenly get so good at speaking?"

"I caught a bad fever and figured a lot of things out." Richard produced the same all-purpose excuse he used on everyone.

"Good lord. I'm going to catch a fever every flu season from now on. Maybe I'll have an epiphany too."

Hutchinson smacked the back of Palmer's head. "You wouldn't have an epiphany even if your brain melted from the heat."

"How do you know if I don't try?"

"Because you're third from the bottom of the class."

"There are still two people worse than me!"

"...Why are you proud of that?"

The two of them bickered as they headed for the exit.

Palmer took two steps and looked back, sounding unusually serious for once. "Williams, are you heading back with us? I'll treat you to a steak and kidney pie."

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

"Moving up in the world, huh." Palmer whistled. "All right, then here's to you staying rich."

Afterward, the placing competitors were invited to an academic tea party.

The tea party was held in an adjoining reception room. The ceiling was much lower than the main hall's, but the decor was far more refined.

Three long tables were lined up along the south wall, draped in white tablecloths and laden with tea sets and pastries.

Porcelain cups and saucers were arranged in neat rows, each cup paired with a silver-plated spoon.

The pastries were displayed on three-tiered stands in the style of the Imperial Capital.

The bottom tier held finger sandwiches, the middle offered scones with cream and jam, and the top featured rows of delicate little cakes.

His sister's eyes would probably light up at the sight of a pastry stand like this. Richard felt a fleeting pang of regret on her behalf.

Competitors and judges mingled together, drifting around with their cups as they exchanged business cards and pleasantries.

In academic circles, tea parties like this were probably as routine as afternoon tea in the factory districts. The only differences were the quality of the tea leaves and the technicality of the conversation.

Richard picked up a cup of black tea from the long table and headed for a corner by the window.

He was neither good at nor fond of these kinds of social events.

Standing in a crowd with a cup in hand, wearing a polite smile, exchanging a few meaningless words, and then finding an excuse to slip away... to him, the entire routine was more exhausting than deciphering a code.

Codes, at least, had rules to follow. Social pleasantries did not.

He had just settled into the corner, planning to finish his tea and leave.

"You must be my sister's son." The voice came from his left.

Richard turned. Isabella stood a few steps away, holding a white porcelain cup.

She had changed out of the dark blue skirt suit she had worn on the judging panel and was now dressed in a long knit dress.

A thin silver chain hung around her neck, its pendant tucked beneath her collar.

This aunt of his shared seventy or eighty percent of his mother's features, but her presence was an entirely different matter.

Even on her better days, his mother exuded frailty. She would press a hand to her chest when she walked, and her voice was always so soft that one had to lean in to hear it.

While Isabella's features were equally elegant, her gaze always carried a trace of scrutiny.

It was as if she were waiting for you to say something inappropriate just so she could correct you.

"...Aunt."

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

In academic settings, familial titles could easily invite unwanted speculation.

Richard nodded.

Isabella pulled over a nearby chair and sat down beside him.

"Your speech in the second round was quite interesting."

She held her cup, the steam from the tea rising and dissipating across her brow.

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

"I read it in a book, and added some of my own thoughts."

"Is that so."

Isabella brought the cup to her lips and took a sip.

"Paracelsus used an almost identical analogy in the third volume of On the Nature of Things."

Her gaze didn't waver as she spoke, remaining fixed on Richard's face.

"He spoke of 'the mercury flowing through the bones of the house.' Your version changed it to water pipes, which better fits the cognitive framework of a modern audience. It was a clever adaptation."

Richard lowered his cup.

"I know the name Paracelsus—a pioneer of modern alchemy. But I've never read his original work."

The term 'infection' was coined by Paracelsus, and his maternal grandfather had mentioned him in the study as well.

But he truly hadn't had the chance to read the original text.

"Father told me about you before the competition. Looking at it now, you really do have a talent for this line of work."

Isabella spoke with absolute certainty.

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

She lifted her teacup from the low table, then set it back down.

"You should know the breakdown of your score in the second round. For rhetorical comprehension and depth of expression, you received full marks from the majority of the judges.

Montagu only surpassed you in technique, and that gap can be bridged with one or two years of specialized training."

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

She lightly tapped her index finger against the low table.

"Montagu and Catherine are both excellent. One has a profound foundation, while the other's brilliance is on full display.

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

"You broke out of that box. You elevated the dimension of the discussion to an entirely different level.

You used an everyday image that everyone could understand as a vessel, and filled it with content that far transcended the everyday."

"A person who can accomplish that has either read deeply enough, thought profoundly enough, or both."

With that said, she took a business card from the handbag resting at her feet.