December 18. A rare, clear Friday.
For the first half of December, Lamifa City was trapped in a miserable predicament of mixed rain and snow, forcing many residents to reduce their outings. The vast majority of people found themselves in the difficult position of struggling to get out of bed on winter mornings and finding it too freezing to fall asleep at night.
However, for Siles, who was sheltered by the power of Akamara, falling asleep and waking up were hardly difficult. The real challenge under these circumstances was simply maintaining body heat.
Chendo was quite worried about this, even muttering complaints about the dormitory conditions provided by the university. He mentioned hearing rumors that certain high-end residential areas in the East District would be the first to install heating or underfloor warming systems. Perhaps when they eventually went house-hunting, they could specifically look for those.
Actually, Siles felt he was quite resistant to the cold. His high Constitution stat of 75 proved as much. Still, Chendo’s concern made him feel incredibly warm inside.
According to the newspapers, other countries and regions were also suffering from meteorological disasters during this period, causing logistical and transportation difficulties. However, the Ashless Lands had unexpectedly gained a period of peace thanks to the soaring popularity of Noel Cards. The winter cold certainly fueled the widespread trend of this card game.
Recently, Siles had received consecutive letters from the merchant Jerome Lanmere and Alva Gillini. The former wrote enthusiastically that he had already discussed collaboration with the Gillini family and would soon promote the cards within Lamifa City. Lanmere also mentioned the Stardust vein. Unfortunately, he hadn’t managed to glean any relevant news from other merchants, and once again suggested Siles seek answers from the Church of the Past. Of course, even if they started with the Church of the Past, Lanmere didn’t seem optimistic that Siles would actually obtain any useful information.
In the latter’s letter, although Fate Cards were also mentioned, the tone wasn’t nearly as optimistic. Alva invited them to dinner together this Sunday. This would mark the first time the four of them reunited in nearly two months.
Siles was highly intrigued by what Alva might say at dinner. He had previously asked the young man to track down the mysterious person who had signed the card production agreement with the Gillini family, but had received no reply since. Perhaps Alva would bring it up this time?
Beyond that, Siles had been incredibly busy these past few days. The Deep Sea Dreams would reopen to him this Saturday and Sunday; he was looking forward to news from Nona and deeply wished to study that mysterious pasture.
Furthermore, he had an appointment to visit Dorothea Grant this Saturday. Aside from dining with Alva and Chester on Sunday, he also had to attend a dinner with publisher Benton and the journal editors regarding his highly sensational paper on wandering poets.
Come Monday, Professor Bright would be discharged from the hospital, and Siles naturally intended to pay a visit. This inevitably cut into his dating time with Chendo, though Chendo didn’t mind. If anything, because his teaching assistant position was finally finalized last week, he had been positively radiant lately—after all, he could now openly appear in Siles’s classroom and office. Naturally, considering the optics, they maintained a polite, safe distance while on campus. But Chendo felt this arrangement carried a subtle, thrilling sense of secrecy that left him secretly delighted.
By late December, a new batch of archives from the Praia family would arrive. The delivery had been delayed for nearly a month, but given the weather, they couldn’t be too harsh about it.
Of course, before tackling these busy matters, they first had to wrap up this Friday’s club outing—the foreign art exhibition at the Lamifa Museum.
“…So, does this count as a date?” Chendo whispered softly into Siles’s ear as they led the students to the museum’s second floor.
Siles chuckled softly. “Using public office for private gain.”
Chendo disagreed nonchalantly. “You’re mistaken. It’s just going with the flow.”
The remark amused Siles.
They were the only dozen or so people in the entire second-floor foreign art exhibition hall. The students quickly dispersed, admiring the artworks from a distant land at their own pace.
“Considering the transportation issues… this art exhibition was probably scheduled a long time ago,” Siles observed.
“Indeed.” Chendo looked with interest at an old ship’s wheel hanging on the wall ahead. It was wooden, glowing with a deep, mellow luster forged by time, and carved with peculiar patterns. “This actually looks quite nice.”
“It looks somewhat similar to Ligadia’s amulet symbol,” Siles noted.
Chendo studied it for a moment, then replied honestly, “Because they’re both round?”
Siles: “…”
He turned sideways and gave Chendo a silent look. Chendo laughed.
They continued appreciating the foreign art together. Overall, Middleton’s art style was quite rugged, exuding a bold and unrestrained feel that completely differed from the artistic sensibilities of the Duchy of Konst. Siles could hear the students clicking their tongues in awe, seemingly drawing quite a bit of inspiration.
They paused before a specific painting. It depicted the ocean, a storm, a ship, and sailors. The profound sea seemed to reflect countless shadows and darkness, while high above, faint stars peeked down at this struggle between humanity and nature.
“Do you know much about Amois?” Siles asked.
“The God of Warriors and Pirates?” Chendo thought for a moment. “My previous impression of this deity was that of a valiant warrior. But, He is actually a god.”
“Yes,” Siles sighed slightly. “It seems deities can be entirely different from one another.”
They stood there looking for a while. After a moment, Siles suddenly said, “‘Stars falling onto the sea.'”
“What?” Chendo asked curiously.
“I’ve heard this concept in two places,” Siles murmured. “‘Stars falling onto the sea.’ An unknown manuscript, and the Summary of the Age of Shadows Literature, which mentions melting stars falling into the ocean.”
Chendo pondered this. “Sounds like Lusmi has some connection to Amois.”
“I think so too,” Siles said. “But what exactly is the connection?”
Chendo shrugged. “Maybe they’re lovers.”
Siles: “…”
He looked at Chendo hesitantly and asked, “Why would you think that?”
“Because the stories of these gods… they always give off the feeling that they, too, possess the seven human emotions and six desires,” Chendo explained. “And stars, the sea surface… stars are always reflected on the sea, aren’t they? Just like you, you are always reflected upon the lake of my heart; your every move stirs ripples within me.”
Chendo whispered softly in Siles’s ear.
Sure enough, Siles thought, he ultimately steered the conversation toward a confession. Still, he couldn’t help but smile, replying, “I am honored.”
Noticing that none of the students were paying attention to their quiet corner, Chendo gently kissed Siles’s lips. He flashed a sly smile. “Is this the thrill of a secret affair?”
Siles froze for a second before laughing helplessly. “Does just a kiss count as an affair?”
Chendo: “…” Then shouldn’t his beloved Professor Noel do something more?
Chendo bumped his forehead against Siles’s shoulder. Being of similar height, Chendo always liked doing this—lowering his head to deliberately bump his lover’s shoulder, using this less-than-forceful method to protest Siles’s aloofness.
Siles couldn’t help but let out a muffled laugh. He took Chendo’s hand, interlacing their fingers. This gesture always managed to instantly soothe Chendo. This man, who claimed to be thirty years old, sometimes possessed a childishness that entirely belied his age.
Sure enough, Chendo was completely satisfied.
They continued browsing the gallery. Siles noticed that quite a few paintings were by the same artist: Frank Lanchy. According to the brief introduction beneath the artworks, he was a relatively famous Middleton artist over the past few centuries of the Age of Mist. His works mostly depicted the sea, storms, and the fierce survival of sailors and mariners. Other pieces illustrated the various impacts the ocean had on Middleton, such as the fishing craze and the booming seafood trade.
He was born in the third century of the Age of Mist and died several decades ago. It wasn’t until after his death that his paintings gradually gained popularity, earning him a unique title: “The Painter of the Sea Folk.” This was likely tied to his relentless focus on the ocean.
Aside from these maritime paintings, the gallery housed plenty of other art, including depictions of Middleton’s urban and rural landscapes, scaled models of famous ships, and sailor statues.
They spent two or three hours in the second-floor hall. A dedicated docent explained and analyzed the merits of these works, though in Siles’s view, the commentary was far too centered on the artistic trends of the Duchy of Konst. Granted, the current Duchy of Konst didn’t know much about Middleton either. The students, however, listened in sheer amazement as they learned about the origins, styles, and histories of the pieces.
After the tour ended, they said their goodbyes to Siles and left while animatedly discussing various Middleton-related topics among themselves.
“What should we do now, Professor Noel?” Chendo asked. “Prepare for a busy weekend?”
“Prepare to taste your cooking, Chendo,” Siles replied. “I thought last week’s ribs were excellent.”
“Oh, your fondness for that dish makes me jealous,” Chendo teased. “But fine. Since it’s what you like, I’ll force myself to love it by association.”
Siles chuckled. “Time to go to the market.”
The Lamifa Museum, the market, 32 Lowell Street, 6 Hayward Street… Friday afternoon into the evening vanished in a blur as they moved between these locations.
As they were leaving 32 Lowell Street, Chendo reminded him, “Don’t forget to bring the assignments from Professor Bright’s class, Siles.”
Siles paused, then realized, “Right. I need to hand those over to Professor Bright on Monday. How did they do?”
“Mmm…” Chendo dragged out the sound. “By your standards, they’d all fail. But by my standards, they were very lucky to receive ‘Good’ or ‘Excellent.’ Anyway, I’m much more lenient than you.”
Siles reached out and tugged at Chendo’s braid. “Then they should consider themselves lucky that Teaching Assistant Chendo graded their assignments.”
“Of course,” Chendo said, thoroughly pleased with himself. “I was incredibly merciful. However…”
He paused suddenly, leaving Siles slightly puzzled.
Chendo grasped Siles’s hand, tilted his head to kiss his palm, and then gently licked that small patch of delicate skin. His eyes curved into crescents as he smiled, looking like a fox that had just tasted something sweet.
“I certainly won’t show mercy with my mouth, do you understand?”
Siles: “…”
He stood there, caught off guard for a moment, before letting out a low laugh. “You really tried hard, Chendo.”
Chendo was just about to say something when Siles pulled him into his arms and kissed him. He responded with intense excitement, as if trying to transmit his fiery passion directly to Siles.
Outside the window, snowflakes quietly began to fall once more.
When the kiss ended, Siles couldn’t help but pant softly for a moment. Feeling the spreading heat between them, he couldn’t help but indulge in it slightly. Chendo asked, reluctant to let go, “Do we still have to wait much longer?”
“…No, Chendo.”
“Then what exactly is holding you back?”
Siles hesitated for a moment before saying, “I’ve always hoped… the first time would happen in our home. A real… ‘home’.”
Chendo froze.
“Do you ever feel like you’re drifting in a foreign land?” Siles asked softly. He gazed at Chendo’s emerald eyes from up close. The distance was so intimate he couldn’t see them clearly, yet he understood the man in his arms so well.
“…I understand. I understand, Siles,” Chendo said, his voice hoarse. “You should have told me sooner. And I should have told you sooner… A foreign land, no, it’s not like that.”
Siles waited for him to reorganize his incoherent thoughts.
After a moment, Chendo said, “Wherever you are, is my home. This is no longer a foreign land. I have found the place where my soul belongs.”
Expected words, Siles thought.
A more profound sense of emotion and resonance permeated his heart. He couldn’t express these thoughts to anyone else in this world, but he knew Chendo could understand—at least, Chendo could understand a certain facet of this feeling. They were both lonely souls searching for an answer in this world. This world was their foreign land. They didn’t know where they came from, nor did they know where they were returning to. But at the very least, they had found each other.
The world became their shared foreign land. Therefore, it would be a foreign land no more.
Siles sighed softly and said, “The place where your soul resides will also shelter mine.” He paused, then added, “Chendo, I love you.”
Chendo hugged him tightly, his voice trembling slightly. On this completely ordinary, unprompted day, they had faced a profound issue and resolved it just as gently.
“I love you too, Siles,” Chendo said. “Ligadia bears witness to this vow.”
They embraced in silence for a while, and then Siles said, “It’s snowing outside. I should head back early.”
“You’d better go,” Chendo said. “It’s just a little over ten days until the New Year. Do you have any plans?”
Siles thought for a moment and shook his head honestly. “It doesn’t seem to make any difference to me.”
Chendo chuckled softly. “I knew you’d think that. Why don’t you have dinner with your friends and ring in the New Year together? Though, you really do know a lot of people…”
He mulled it over for a second, then sighed. “Professor Noel, I suddenly understand why you are so busy. It’s because you mingle in various social circles, and every single circle drags you into so many affairs.”
“…That is true.” Siles couldn’t deny it.
Professor, Revelator, novelist—these three identities brought him an endless stream of matters to attend to, not to mention the various other minor chores he had to handle. Moreover, he had Chendo. Of course, this was a happy kind of trouble.
He gave Chendo one last light kiss, bid him farewell, and returned to 6 Hayward Street. That evening, he briefly organized his lecture materials for the following week, along with the contents for his novel, Miss Garland’s Dream Adventure.
Barring any surprises, he would bring the manuscript along when he met his publisher the day after tomorrow.
…He suddenly realized that even though he didn’t need to attend those gatherings this weekend, there were still plenty of other obligations tying his hands. Often, when getting involved in certain fields, he hadn’t anticipated facing so much trouble in the days that followed. He couldn’t help but sigh.
He went to sleep early. The next morning, after waking up and giving it some thought, he headed to the History Society to methodically continue his research on sealed artifacts.
Siles was gradually beginning to understand how to use sealed artifacts. It was similar to using a Time Trace, but didn’t require incredibly strict adjustments for ritual compatibility. The vast majority of Revelators could achieve near-perfect compatibility on their first attempt at using a sealed artifact.
If performing a ritual was like opening a webpage, then a sealed artifact was like a webpage saved for offline viewing; while it could be opened very quickly, it also meant the page could no longer change.
Under Siles’s observation, both he and his assistant attempted to use the birdman feather during ritual time—there was no need to test the nail; it wasn’t necessary. Through the perspective of ritual time, he could still see the blue radiance flow into the feather at his will. The feather then writhed slightly, and a dense cluster of tiny blue lights appeared, enveloping his body and granting him a sense of [Body Lightness].
To Siles, there seemed to be no difference between using a Time Trace and a sealed artifact. But to Aneurin, this method of usage was remarkably miraculous, because he didn’t need to perform any act of “replication.” In other words, the ritual process had been greatly simplified.
Even though sealed artifacts did simplify rituals, they were ultimately still harmless out-of-control Time Traces. For now, no one knew what the consequences of using the same sealed artifact for a prolonged period would be.
In fact, a hypothesis was slowly forming in Siles’s mind. Sealed artifacts were out-of-control Time Traces. However, while an out-of-control Time Trace would cause spiritual inactivation in humans, a sealed artifact would not. Did a sealed artifact, therefore, mean that this out-of-control Time Trace had already “absorbed” enough spirituality?
From this angle, sealed artifacts also possessed the three basic attributes: Constitution, Spirituality, and Will. A sealed artifact was indeed something physically existing in this world; it possessed spirituality obtained from Revelators; and it seemingly… lacked a Will, or its Will stat was 0.
In any case, since sealed artifacts possessed spirituality—this mystical power—could Siles roll a check against them?
This idea was gradually taking root in Siles’s mind because his fundamental goal in studying sealed artifacts was to communicate with the dice. Therefore, he wanted to use the power of checks to probe the dice’s “thoughts.” Ultimately, what kind of existence was this dice, with its increasingly lively personality?
Siles was quite tempted by the idea of making a check, but he wasn’t in a hurry to test it. He needed to pick a suitable, inconspicuous time to conduct this research.
Approaching ten o’clock, he left the research department. In the hall of the space behind the History Society’s doors, he suddenly heard someone calling his name.
“…Professor Noel!”
A somewhat familiar-looking young man ran up to Siles. Siles looked at him, then remembered his name: “Larry Lampson, good morning.”
Larry Lampson. He was one of the Revelators who had acted as the first batch of test subjects when Siles was conducting experiments for the Replicating the Self ritual. At that time, Bart, the copyist from the History Society, had been with him.
Although Larry also had the surname Lampson, he wasn’t related to the Lampson family in the West District. Larry clearly came from a good family background and studied the harmonica at a music academy. For people in this era, art was a luxury. Only those from affluent families could afford to study such things without psychological burden.
“Good morning, Professor Noel!” Larry greeted him with immense excitement. “It’s been a long time since we last met. I was just wondering when I might run into you again so I could express my gratitude.”
“There’s no need to be so polite,” Siles said.
Larry shook his head repeatedly. “No, no, you might not realize just how much help that Replicating the Self ritual has been to us ordinary Revelators. We never imagined it would be possible to reduce spiritual pollution through a ritual. It’s like a miracle!”
He was a little overly excited, gesticulating wildly. A deck of cards fell out of his pocket, scattering all over the floor. He let out a yelp and hurriedly crouched to gather them.
Siles helped him pick them up, noticing that they were, in fact, Fate Cards.
He asked with some surprise, “These are Fate Cards? Where did you get them, Larry?”
This deck of Fate Cards was clearly a very early version, identical to the one Alva had brought out on the train.
…Wait, Alva is an art student. Could he and Larry know each other?
“Huh, you know about them too?” Larry said, somewhat surprised. “You know, I’m a student at the Ambrose Music Academy. Right next door to our academy is a fine arts academy. The two academies frequently hold interactive exchange events. I met a young man studying painting at one of those events, and he taught us how to play this card game. We’re already regular card buddies! Not long ago, he even told us about a new way to play called Noel… Noel… Noel Cards?”
Larry suddenly stared dumbfounded at Siles.
Siles remained silent for a moment, suddenly feeling like he couldn’t explain himself even if he tried. Finally, he sighed softly in his heart and said, “Are you talking about Alva Gillini? I met him during my travels in the Ashless Lands, and we co-created this new gameplay.”
Larry stared at Siles in shock. After a moment, he suddenly grew excited again, “Professor! You are truly a genius! Not only can you invent the Replicating the Self ritual, but you also created such a fresh and interesting card game! I admire you so much!”
Siles wondered why, judging by Larry’s tone, inventing a card game seemed even more important than the aforementioned ritual.
He couldn’t help but laugh and asked, “Is this way of playing very popular right now?”
“It’s very popular in our two music and art academies,” Larry said. “Because we usually don’t have much else to do. We have to hide it from the teachers when we play… but last time, I saw that the seemingly strict department head had a deck of cards stuffed in his pocket. He clearly confiscated them from us, but put them in his own pocket… Really now, maybe one day we’ll become card buddies?”
He fell into a subtle dilemma.
Watching him, Siles felt a strong urge to laugh. However, hearing Larry mention the music and art academies, and thinking of the Revelators in the History Society, a thought suddenly struck him, bringing up a question.
“By the way, Larry, have you ever seen a young painter at the History Society?” Siles paused. “He’s about your age, maybe a year or two older, wears gold-rimmed glasses, has a rather thin build, and always carries a drawing board on his back.”
Larry listened carefully, then said with some confusion, “You mean, he is a Revelator?”
“He should be,” Siles said.
Larry recalled for a moment, then shook his head. “Sorry, Professor. As far as I know, there is no young painter with those characteristics in the History Society.”
Siles was slightly taken aback and couldn’t help but ask, “Is it possible it’s someone you just don’t know?”
“It’s not impossible,” Larry first conceded, then added, “But in all of Lamifa City, the art-related circles are only so big. A young painter, gold-rimmed glasses, and a Revelator on top of that… At the very least, I’ve never heard of this person’s existence. Perhaps you could ask Alva; he knows the painters’ circle better than I do. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
Siles nodded in understanding. “Thank you, Larry.”
“It’s nothing… Professor, I’m the one who should be thanking you,” Larry said earnestly. “When I stepped into the realm of Revelators and joined the Second Corridor, I never imagined that the shadows and pollution hidden within Time Traces and history would be so severe. You saved my life. So, you don’t need to thank me. I believe there are countless people in the History Society like me who would be more than happy to offer you whatever help they can. It’s what you deserve.”
Siles paused slightly, then said in a low voice, “I understand.” He paused again, adding, “See you another day, Larry.”
“See you another day, Professor Noel.”
This meeting with Larry gave Siles quite a few things to think about. He realized he seemed to have underestimated the significance of the Replicating the Self ritual for these Revelators.
He quickly put these thoughts to the back of his mind, had lunch near Atherton Square, and then took a rented carriage to the northern suburbs—the residence of the Grant family.
As expected, it was a very solemn and ancient mansion, featuring beautiful stained glass windows and highly artistic horticultural decorations. Dorothea was dressed very properly, wearing an elegant long dress even in winter, waiting for Siles at the door.
“Good afternoon, Dorothea,” Siles said. “Aren’t you cold?”
“Good afternoon, Professor,” Dorothea replied. “So we should get to the drawing room as quickly as possible; I need a large cup of hot tea.”
Siles couldn’t help but smile at his apprentice’s words. They walked into the warm interior, simultaneously breathing a sigh of relief.
Dorothea introduced, “You aren’t the only guest at home today. An old friend of my grandfather’s suddenly came to visit with his grandson today, and you just happened to run into them.”
Siles was a little surprised to learn this.
Dorothea continued, “He is a painter. You might have heard his name…”
Hearing the word “painter,” Siles had an inkling. He said, “Alden Bridges?”
“…How did you know?!” Dorothea looked at him in astonishment.
Siles paused, not expecting it to actually be this painter. He said, “I crossed paths with him once before at the Lamifa Museum.”
Dorothea then understood. “I didn’t expect you to already know him.”
This sentence stirred an inexplicable feeling in Siles’s heart—she said, “already”. This carried a strong sense of a “prophet,” didn’t it?
Not long after, he felt this subtle emotion once again.
The Grant family’s drawing room was very spacious. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, one could see a beautiful winter scene: snow, woods, and a frozen stream. Presumably, the four seasons of spring, summer, autumn, and winter each offered different scenery. The walls on both sides of the drawing room were lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves; one side was a bookshelf, the other a display cabinet. The wall directly facing the windows featured a fireplace, above which hung a very beautiful landscape painting.
The well-maintained wooden floors showcased the Grant family’s affluent background and savings. On the sofa sat two adults and one child. Siles had seen the two elderly men before, but surprisingly, he had also seen the young boy.
…Emil Harrison. One of the two saplings in the Deep Sea Dreams. The one forced by his grandfather to study painting, who received a Rubik’s Cube from Mr. Ghost, whose father was missing, and who was about to start school—that Emil Harrison.
His grandfather was actually Alden Bridges!
Siles maintained his composure and calm demeanor while greeting the three of them, showing absolutely no sign that he recognized Emil. But inwardly, he thought with slight astonishment that this was far too much of a coincidence.
Coincidences of fate… having occurred so many times, he found it very difficult to continue deceiving himself into thinking there was nothing wrong with his destiny. Of course, he originally knew there must be unknown secrets behind his transmigration. However, compared to a secret with uncertain details, an actual “mystical event” happening right beside him was far more anxiety-inducing.
Siles thought of a few things that had recently struck him as coincidental. For instance, Mrs. Lampson and Mrs. Collens knowing each other; detective Jon Mansfield just so happening to be the one who found the Marigold Cup; or how he found clues to the long-sought conversation record within the Brewer Darrow archives.
Furthermore, there were even older matters: like Dorothea and Angela being close friends; Angela’s stepmother being his companion in another mysterious organization; and Professor Cabel’s disappearance being indirectly connected to the folklorist Alfonso Carte.
Piece by piece, event by event, it was as if a spider’s web had been spun around him. Everyone was caught in it, without exception.
Thinking of this, Siles couldn’t help but take a deep breath. He picked up the hot tea from the table in front of him and took a sip. The slightly scalding temperature caught him off guard, abruptly pulling him out of his tangled thoughts.
Stop thinking about it, he thought. Fate—fate. Clearly, this was related to the dice, related to his identity as the Keeper of Secrets. And he had known this for a long time; it was just that now, the situation was presenting itself to him in a much more dramatic fashion.
…So many coincidences!
Siles closed his eyes slightly. When he opened them again, he had completely calmed down, focusing his attention on the situation at hand.
“…I recently read your paper. I didn’t expect that such a group of believers was hidden in history, worshiping gods under the guise of wandering poets, yet no one ever discovered this faith,” the painter Alden Bridges said.
Dorothea’s grandfather, Adolphus Grant, let out a humph before saying, “That’s because no one pays attention to a bunch of vagabonds. However,” his tone softened slightly, “being able to discover this can indeed be considered an achievement.”
Siles snapped back to reality, picking up their conversation and offering a few modest responses. They discussed the paper for a while, after which the topic naturally shifted to Dorothea’s studies.
When his granddaughter was mentioned, Adolphus’s attitude improved considerably. He asked, “So, Professor Noel, how do you feel Thea is doing in her studies?”
“Dorothea is a very driven student,” Siles said. “She just needs more time to translate that drive into practical results. Also…”
He weighed his words. Since Dorothea wasn’t here right now, Siles could speak more frankly with Adolphus about the matter.
He said, “I believe, perhaps due to family heritage, Dorothea seems a bit too focused on the deity Atkinia. As a research scholar, her subjects of study shouldn’t be confined to such a specific, singular area within the field.”
Researching deities wasn’t a bad thing. Currently, Lamifa University even had a theology department. However, being restricted to just one deity—to the point where the papers she wrote and the research topics she considered were solely related to this deity—was, in Siles’s view, a clear waste of Dorothea’s talent in research.
But his words caused the atmosphere in the drawing room to stagnate for a moment.
Adolphus sat on the sofa, slowly narrowing his eyes. He said with a warning tone, “Professor Noel, since you know this is a matter of family heritage, there is no need for you to interject regarding Thea’s choices. This is what the descendants of the Grant family ought to do.”
Ought to do?
Study the deity Atkinia?
Siles remained silent for a moment.
Alden smiled from the side and smoothed things over. “Oh, old friend, don’t put it so harshly. Professor Noel is Thea’s mentor; he knows her academic situation better than we do. Perhaps Thea really does need to study other subjects to broaden her horizons, right?”
Adolphus froze for a moment, his tone finally softening slightly. “…I understand. Professor Noel, my apologies. I lost my composure just now.”
Saying this, he shook his head with a heavy sigh and a sense of despondency.
To the side, young Emil Harrison stared with curious eyes, watching these adults and listening to them speak of things he didn’t understand.
Alden said, “This old friend of mine…” He suddenly sighed as well. “Professor Noel, you also knew Professor Calverley. He was a very dear, close friend of ours.
“He died at a time when this winter hadn’t even truly arrived. To us, that was a massive blow. We suddenly realized that we had reached an age where ‘dying is no longer a surprise.’
“So, we also suddenly realized that it seems only the descendants of the family can inherit our unfulfilled wishes. My old friend has always been very tolerant and doting toward Thea, but there are some basic requirements.
“…Atkinia. Indeed. This is the destiny of the Grant family.”
He spoke with pointed meaning. It seemed he didn’t expect Siles to fully understand, but he felt compelled to voice his thoughts at this moment to give Siles mental preparation.
Siles nodded slowly. He thought to himself: Is the Grant family perhaps a follower of Atkinia?
This wasn’t particularly surprising. Atkinia was the God of Music and Art, the beautiful grain on a picture frame. People involved in the arts were highly likely to be intertwined with this deity, just as merchants were highly likely to be followers of Menavaca.
Furthermore, Atkinia had appeared relatively harmless throughout history. There were indeed quite a few madmen and obstinate individuals among His believers, but that did not hinder the deity’s reputation.
Music, painting, literature; art. These things inherently possessed a quality that made people feel they were harmless, even making people stop to appreciate them.
Atkinia’s historical presence could be compared to Ligadia. Both enjoyed absolute reputations among specific groups of people, but neither permeated every aspect of daily life like Menavaca did. However, the difference between Atkinia and Ligadia lay in the fact that the latter’s followers were usually wanderers—poor, destitute, and down-and-out, carrying an air of self-exile and self-loathing.
Even though many people set foot on journeys out of a desire to enjoy life and explore the unknown, and subsequently came to believe in Ligadia, they were only a minority among His congregation. The majority of Ligadia’s believers, much like the wandering poets of the former Sardinian Empire, were generally looked down upon by the common people.
But Atkinia’s believers were the exact opposite. Those engaged in art, especially in the realm of art appreciation, mostly appeared quite respectable. Particularly due to the limitations of the era, basically only merchants and nobles could afford the costs of appreciating art. As for the artists themselves, that was another matter; but regardless, compared to a “good-for-nothing vagabond,” a “destitute artist” sounded much more acceptable to people.
…To some extent, Atkinia’s believers were harmless.
But from another perspective, artists usually possessed higher spirituality. Even if they had no malicious intentions themselves, they were very prone to getting involved in dangerous incidents.
Take, for example, the painter Leon.
He had once entered the Deep Sea Dreams, yet failed to understand their true nature or the existence of that farm. After living alone in the countryside for twenty years, Leon descended entirely into madness. Upon painting his final piece, he passed away.
Siles became entangled with the power of Akamara because he had read his manuscript. Although the outcome was good, that was because Siles possessed a Will stat far exceeding that of ordinary people. What if an ordinary person read that manuscript? They would probably just plunge into endless madness.
“Alden is right,” Adolphus said in a slow, deep voice, carrying a sense of aged weariness. “Letting Thea attend university was already an exception. She needs to make some contributions to the family, not merely enjoy such exceptions.”
Siles weighed his tone, then said, “I am not hoping that Dorothea gives up researching Atkinia, Mr. Grant. It’s just that, as a research scholar, even for the sake of graduation, she needs to start understanding different academic fields.”
“She doesn’t have to graduate,” Adolphus replied. “My Thea has the Grant family backing her. Nobody truly believes that losing the title of ‘research scholar’ would damage Miss Grant’s ‘reputation’.”
Siles: “…”
…He suddenly realized that when Dorothea relayed some of Adolphus’s thoughts to him in class, she had likely sugarcoated them quite a bit.
In reality, this Adolphus Grant was just an incredibly stubborn, conservative old man firmly entrenched in his own stance. It was just that he truly doted on his granddaughter, so he was willing to indulge her ideas in matters he deemed inconsequential.
Siles realized it was impossible to change Adolphus’s mind, and the same went for Alden Bridges sitting nearby.
He relented, saying, “I understand. Speaking of which, Mr. Grant, I just visited the foreign art exhibition at the Lamifa Museum yesterday. Have you heard of this exhibition?”
At the mention of art, the atmosphere of their conversation improved significantly. The two elderly men listened with great interest as Siles introduced the culture and art of Middleton, occasionally asking a few curious questions.
They spent a rather pleasant hour or two this way, discussing culture and art, occasionally touching upon family and children’s education. They particularly discussed Emil Harrison.
Siles only then learned that Emil’s father had indeed abandoned his wife and child because he yearned for the mysteries of the Ashless Lands. He had headed out there and hadn’t been heard from for the past few years.
Mentioning this detestable son-in-law, Alden’s tone inevitably turned foul, unable to maintain his gentle facade. Siles also caught a glimpse of his complex emotions toward Emil and his daughter. But, after all, that was Alden’s family business. Intervening as Mr. Ghost seemed like a better option.
As the time neared three o’clock, the servants brought out afternoon tea. Siles took this opportunity to visit the washroom. While he was washing his hands, the voice of a young boy suddenly came from behind him.
It was Emil Harrison.
He said, “Sir… have I seen you somewhere before?”
