Chapter 174 - 156: New Year’s and the Crossing Veil

Brighton, Waste Rock Lane.

In the Williams Family’s small living room, the Fir tree still stood in the corner, but most of the Christmas decorations had been put away.

Margaret carefully wrapped the glass ornament with the little golden Angel inside in cotton again and placed it back in its box in the attic.

Evelyn sat at the dining table, an open copy of the *Desserts of the Eastern Continent* spread out before her.

"Dad," she said, looking up. "Have you ever had red beans?"

"I have," Rogers replied from the sofa, where he was reading the newspaper.

"What did you think of them?"

"...They were average." Rogers shook his head. "People around here don’t eat many beans."

"What if they’re used in a dessert?" Evelyn pressed. "With cream and butter?"

Rogers put down his newspaper.

"Your brother isn’t here. If you’re asking me about this, I can’t be of much help."

"Dad, weren’t you against me opening a bakery?" Evelyn asked, a bit slyly. "How come you’ve suddenly softened up these past couple of days?"

"When did I ever oppose it?" Rogers snorted. "I just wanted you to focus on your studies first."

"And now?"

"Now, I still want you to focus on your studies first," he reiterated. "You have to do both."

Evelyn stuck out her tongue.

Her mother, Margaret, came out of the kitchen carrying a plate.

On the plate was a semicircular red bean pie, her daughter’s first experiment of the day, made according to the *Desserts of the Eastern Continent*.

"Want to try it?" Margaret asked, setting the plate on the dining table.

Evelyn cut a triangular slice and handed it to her father.

Rogers took it and had a bite.

"...It’s all right."

"Dad!" Evelyn cried out. "What do you mean, ’it’s all right’?"

"’It’s all right’ means ’it’s all right’," Rogers said after chewing the last of it. "It’s edible, but it doesn’t make me want a second bite."

"..."

"Evelyn," Margaret said, placing a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

"Your father’s palate is the strictest standard for judging whether a food ’can fill an ordinary person’s stomach.’ If he says ’it’s all right,’ that actually means it passed."

"Really?"

"Really," Margaret said with a smile.

Evelyn cut a slice for herself. She took a bite and chewed for a couple of seconds, then her brow furrowed as well.

"...It’s not quite sweet enough," the young girl admitted honestly. "I didn’t add enough sugar."

"Then make another one and adjust it until it’s right."

"It’s too late at night," Rogers said, glancing at the wall clock. "It’s almost twelve."

"It’s New Year’s Eve," Margaret shot him a look. "No one’s going to sleep anyway."

Rogers didn’t object further.

Evelyn ran back to the kitchen to prepare a second one.

"Your brother hasn’t called all day."

Margaret took the plate and set it on the table.

"He said before that it wasn’t convenient to call during his internship, but he could receive letters."

"A letter?" Evelyn blinked.

"If we mail it first thing tomorrow morning, it’ll reach him in a couple of days."

"...But I don’t have anything to write about," the young girl said, troubled.

"Write whatever comes to mind," Margaret said, patting her daughter’s head. "Just tell your brother what’s been happening at home this past week."

Evelyn glanced down at the red bean pie recipe notes in her hand.

"...Can I write about food?"

"Of course."

Rogers folded his newspaper, then spread it open again.

"Your brother’s been out and about for a week. He’s definitely craving home-cooked food. Writing about food is the best thing you could do."

Evelyn’s eyes lit up.

She turned and went upstairs, quickly returning with a stack of things from her room.

The nib of her pen scratched across the paper for a while.

Midway through the third page, the girl’s pen suddenly stopped.

She put down her pen, jumped up from her chair, and ran back to the kitchen.

When she returned, she was holding a small tin can.

Inside the tin was the leftover red bean paste from the pie she had baked today.

She scooped out a little with a small spoon and pressed an irregular fingerprint onto the bottom-left corner of the letter.

After pressing it down, she drew a small arrow next to the print and wrote a few words above it.

Her mother leaned over to take a look.

"...What’s this for?"

The young girl smiled mischievously. "So he can smell it. It can be his gift from home."

"The red bean paste will be spoiled by the time it gets to him," her father said from the sofa, stating the cruel truth.

"..."

"Just draw one with ink," her father suggested. "Your brother’s smart. He’ll be able to guess what you drew."

Evelyn considered this for a moment, then dabbed the glob of red bean paste with a piece of blotting paper.

The blotting paper absorbed most of the moisture, leaving a faint, yellowish stain on the page.

In the blank space next to the stain, she used her fountain pen to trace the outline of a red bean pie.

Next to the red bean pie, she drew a small, grinning rabbit.

The rabbit was holding a piece of pie of the same shape.

"...Who’s the rabbit?" her mother asked.

"Me."

"Why a rabbit?"

"Because rabbits love to sneak food."

At the beginning of the fourth page, Evelyn paused again.

She glanced at the wall clock, which pointed to eleven forty-five.

"What do you think big brother is doing right now?" she asked.

"He’s sleeping," her Mother answered.

"...Then I’ll write that he’s sleeping."

The nib began to scratch across the paper once more.

Reaching the end, Evelyn put her pen down and held the letter up to the light of the Oil Lamp to look it over.

Margaret heated the sealing wax for the envelope and dripped a drop onto the flap.

She took her wedding ring from her sewing box and pressed the family crest on its face into the wax.

"Mail it tomorrow morning at eight, when the postman passes by."

"What about money for the stamp?" Evelyn asked.

"I’ll cover the postage," her Mother replied readily. "It’s just for a four-page letter. Our family can afford it."

"...Four pages, how much is the postage?"

"Three pence."

"...Then I’ll pay one penny." Evelyn fished a copper plate from her small coin purse. "Mom can pay the other two pence."

"All right." Margaret took the copper plate.

The wall clock struck its twelfth chime.

The new year had arrived.

Rogers folded the upside-down newspaper and set it on the arm of the sofa.

He had finally figured out which way it went.

"Dad," Evelyn called out to him.

"Hm?"

"Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year," Rogers replied.

"Mom."

"Happy New Year," Margaret said, beating her daughter to it.

"Can I have another piece of red bean pie?"

"...Go ahead."

Evelyn ran to the kitchen to cut the pie.

Margaret tucked the envelope into her apron pocket.

Outside, the snow was still falling, and the first bell of the new year chimed from the distant Anglican Church.

The sound of the bell swirled among the chimneys before settling on the windowsill of every home.

...

On the morning of New Year’s Day, at the southeast corner of Whitcombe Mill’s outer wall.

Richard was crouching at the base of the outer wall, conducting a final check with Mrs. MacNeil before that night’s Crossing Veil.

His right hand was covered in silver powder.

Mrs. MacNeil walked up from behind him.

She crouched down beside him and gestured over a section of the Inscription.

"That’s enough. We’ve already checked it several times."

She took a pocket watch from her pocket and glanced at it.

"Let’s wrap it up. We have just enough time to make it back for lunch."

"Alright."

Richard’s hands were numb with cold.

In the Highland winter, the temperature was so low that you even had to keep the inkwells tucked inside your coat to keep them warm.

Once the ink froze, it was impossible to trace the Inscription.

He flexed his fingers, and his knuckles cracked several times.

Mrs. MacNeil crouched beside him, watching him pack up his miscellaneous tools.

"Richard, how many people are in your family?" she asked suddenly.

"Four," Richard replied without stopping his work. "My father, mother, sister, and me."

"How old is your sister?"

"A year younger than me. She’s still in middle school," Richard said, taking the opportunity to elaborate. "She’s always talking about wanting to open a bakery."

"A bakery," Mrs. MacNeil said, a little surprised. "She wants to open it in Brighton?"

"She’s still thinking about it," Richard said, shaking his head. "The preliminary plan is to finish middle school first, then go to the Imperial Capital for advanced studies."

"She’s quite ambitious."

"She’s loved making pastries since she was little."

"Is she any good at it?"

"...Some things are decent, others are just average." Richard didn’t want to oversell it. "Last week, she made scones, and my dad said they only looked good."

Mrs. MacNeil chuckled beside him.

Richard wiped the ink and silver powder from his hands with a damp cloth.

"Mrs. MacNeil."

"Yes?"

"How many people are in your family?"

Mrs. MacNeil didn’t seem to mind the question and answered directly, "My parents are still alive. They live in a small courtyard house in the Old Imperial City District."

"I also have two younger brothers. One is serving in the navy, and the other is an elementary school teacher in the Imperial Capital."

"...Are they all ordinary people?"

"All ordinary people," she nodded. "In my family, I’m the only one who entered this line of work."

"Why is that?"

"When I was a child, I discovered I could see an extra layer to things that others couldn’t."

"When I was twelve, I saw an old woman constantly pacing on the street corner by my house.

I ran and told my mom that there was an old woman walking back and forth outside.

My mom went out to look around and came back saying there was no one there.

I pulled her back out to look again, but she still couldn’t see her."

"And then?"

"Later, our neighbor’s old cat died."

Mrs. MacNeil’s expression turned a bit unpleasant. "After the old cat died, the old woman disappeared."

"..."

"My mom took me to a doctor, who said there was nothing wrong with me.

Then she took me to see an old Priest. After hearing the whole story, the old Priest gave my mom an address—Number Seven, Huayue Street."

Richard tactfully didn’t ask any more questions.

When he and Mrs. MacNeil returned to the inn after finishing the final inspection, Edmund, Maggie, and Theodore were already at the table.

Mr. Hutton was sitting in his usual spot.

"Sir," Richard said, sitting down across from him. "Are you in charge of the Curse Spell portion today?"

"What exactly is..."

"You’ll find out tonight," Mr. Hutton said with a smile. "For today, just rest. After you eat, go back to your room and sleep until the afternoon."

"...Sleep until the afternoon?"

"You’ll need to be at your sharpest tonight."

"Any state of fatigue will be magnified tenfold during the ’bridge crossing’ tonight."

Richard nodded.

"Then what are we doing?" Maggie asked.

Mrs. MacNeil began assigning tasks.

"The four of you, move the engraved True Name Stones into the mill’s cellar.

Mr. Hutton has already marked the specific spots with chalk."

"That’s it?" Theodore asked.

"That’s it," Mrs. MacNeil nodded. "After you’re done moving the True Name Stones, come back and sleep."

...

At five in the afternoon, the innkeeper’s wife came knocking on Richard’s door.

"Time to get up."

Richard’s eyes snapped open, and he was instantly wide awake.

The waking effect of [Sleep] Lv. 2 brought his consciousness fully online within five seconds.

He went downstairs. Dinner was already prepared.

In his bowl was a thick, dark brown soup with a peculiar smell.

It was a bit like a medicinal liquor, a bit like a meat stew broth, but thicker.

"This is the last meal before the Crossing Veil, the specialized ’Calming Heart Soup’."

Mrs. MacNeil explained, "After drinking it, your body’s stability within the Curtain will increase by thirty to forty percent."

"Thirty to forty percent?" Theodore’s eyes lit up.

"Yes."

"I’ll have another bowl, then."

"One bowl per person," Mrs. MacNeil said, shaking her head. "If you drink another, your stomach will protest."

Richard picked up his bowl and took a sip.

A sweet aftertaste was mixed in with the bitterness, and a warmth immediately spread through his stomach as he swallowed.

The warmth rose all the way up to his Throne of the Sun, and the Light Tree Leaves unfurled completely.

He drank the entire bowl of soup.

"Let’s go," Mrs. MacNeil said, standing up.