Chapter 317 - 251: Consecutive Eliminations

By the first weekend of the course, more than half of the regular class had been eliminated.

The reason, written on the notice, was a specious one: "Basic academic aptitude not up to standard."

’Richard knew the truth. With a limited number of spots, the eliminations had little to do with actual aptitude. It was just a numbers game.’

Among the diligent students who were cut, one began to plead publicly.

A boy who looked to be about Richard’s age stopped Pendleton.

He said, over and over, that he could still catch up. It was difficult for his family to support his studies. Could he please have one more chance?

Pendleton couldn’t grant his request. He could only repeat that the list was decided by his superiors and was out of his hands.

Most of the others silently packed their bags.

The hallway suddenly grew quiet.

The throngs of students who had crowded around the notice board just a few days ago, searching for their names, had all but vanished.

Richard stood behind a pillar on the second-floor gallery, watching the crowd packing their things in the hall below.

He noticed something.

The representative from the Ministry of Internal Affairs, the one who was always so expressionless, was here again today.

He wasn’t looking at those who remained. His gaze was fixed solely on the group that had been eliminated.

’Young people who were eliminated, desperate, and yet possessed a certain fundamental talent.’

As the representative from the Ministry of Internal Affairs was leaving, he pulled a sheet of paper from his notebook and jotted down a few names.

Richard’s breathing grew softer.

’What were those names the Ministry was taking down for?’

"What are you looking at?"

A voice came from behind him.

Philips appeared around the corner from the stairwell, carrying a pot of tea.

’Richard couldn’t be bothered to ask where Philips had gotten the tea today. The man always found a way.’

Richard jutted his chin toward the hall below.

Philips walked over, leaned against the railing to glance down, and curled his lip.

"A bunch of poor souls."

He gestured.

"Come on, let’s not watch. It’s too depressing."

He pulled Richard over to a windowsill at the end of the hall.

The sill was wide and sat in the Sun—a prime spot he’d scouted out earlier.

"Have a taste." He first poured a cup for his tea-drinking companion. "This one’s from the northwestern mountains. It’s been fully fermented."

Richard took a sip. The tea had a full body and a long, sweet aftertaste.

"The people in our special class..."

Philips leaned against the window frame, nodding his head toward the classrooms down the hall.

"They’re all wound up as if they’re about to march off to war."

"They must feel the competition is fierce, too," Richard said, setting his cup aside.

"Fierce, my ass." Philips scoffed.

"The twenty spots in the special class are basically locked. The eliminations are mainly hitting the regular class.

What our group is really competing for is ranking—who gets which Mentor, who gets into which field of research."

"Even if they don’t make the cut at Imperial University, people with fallback options and a solid academic foundation are still a rare commodity.

They’ll just be transferred to other affiliated colleges. Someone will always take them."

"You seem to have it all figured out."

"I have it figured out, but I can’t be bothered to compete."

Philips drained his tea in one gulp.

"What’s the point? I fight for a good Mentor, work myself to death for the next few years, and for what?"

"For an associate professorship?"

"Associate professor?" Philips burst out laughing.

"Do you have any idea how much work it is to be an associate professor?

Maintaining old Seals, running fieldwork out in the middle of nowhere, getting dragged out of bed in the middle of the night.

My family’s business is more than enough for me to live comfortably as a lecturer for the rest of my life. Why would I put myself through the hell of being an associate professor?"

’Richard glanced at him. This half-in, half-out attitude of his was rather interesting.’

’Not a complete slacker, but with no ambition to climb to the top either.’

"Speaking of which," Philips said, changing the subject as he refilled both their cups.

"I also read that essay of yours that was published in the *Northern Literature Review*."

"You read that?"

"I read everything," Philips said, lifting his chin proudly.

"It’s truly well-written. If that piece had been published in the Imperial Capital, it would’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest."

"Why is that?"

"Because it makes people ’see.’"

"And," Philips said, "the one thing those in power hate most is being seen."

Just as their conversation was getting interesting, someone appeared at the other end of the hallway.

Catherine Blackwood was walking toward them, a stack of books in her arms.

Her red hair was particularly striking in the hallway.

She was heading back to the special class classroom, which meant she had to pass by the windowsill where Richard and Philips were standing.

As she drew near, her pace faltered for half a beat.

She glanced toward Richard from across the handful of people passing by.

Richard met her gaze and gave a slight nod.

Catherine nodded in return but didn’t break stride, continuing toward the classroom with her books.

"Got your eye on her?" Philips leaned in, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"No."

Philips wouldn’t let it go. "I’m telling you, she might seem cold, but actually..."

"Actually what?"

"Actually, I have no idea."

Philips deflated.

"I’ve tried talking to her a few times, but she shuts me down with a few words every time."

Richard laughed out loud.

......

The second week of the workshop began, and the various associate professors started to file into the classroom.

The first one in was Isabella.

The students had all heard her name before.

She was one of Imperial University’s most famous beauties, a Minor Mastery Scholar, and had become an associate professor at a remarkably young age.

Coupled with her connection to Richard, the gossips had been chattering in private for some time.

But the moment Isabella stepped into the classroom, all discussion ceased.

She wore a formal suit, her hair tied back in a neat bun.

The moment she stood at the lectern, her commanding presence filled the room.

"Today’s lecture is on Epigraphy."

"Specifically, the key variations between the late Alexandrian School and the exegesis of the Medieval Church."

She wrote the topic on the blackboard, her handwriting as neat as a printed font.

Richard sat in the audience, not letting his gaze linger on his aunt. He focused solely on the lecture.