Chapter 116: Peanuts and Candy (Monthly Ticket Bonus 4)

As Richard was fastening his schoolbag buckle, Old Biggs leaned in close, an uneasy expression on his face.

"Little brother, let me ask you something from the heart."

"Go ahead."

"Have you really never thought about taking the path of our Secret branch?"

Richard's hands paused on the buckle.

"Your Inspiration test scores were great today, and your foundation in the breathing method is solid. That proves you have excellent control over ether, and Spirit Vision is all about control."

"With fine control and enough Inspiration, you're a prime seed for our Secret path."

"If you're willing to walk the Secret road, I can formally recommend you to my teacher.

With your foundation, your odds of completing the apprenticeship are much higher than mine were. One day, you might even reach Senior Sister MacNeil's level."

When he finished speaking, he watched Richard with a face full of anticipation.

Richard fastened the buckle and hitched the schoolbag higher on his shoulder.

"Old Biggs, I'll work hard to learn everything you teach me. Spirit Vision and Wax Reading are a huge help to my primary vocation."

He paused to choose his words carefully before offering a polite refusal:

"But I've already walked quite a distance down the Scholar path. My instructors, resources, and academic promotion channels are all over there. The cost of turning around and changing directions now is simply too high."

Old Biggs's expression shifted from eager hope to regret.

"Sigh, I knew you'd say that."

He slapped his thigh and stood up:

"Fine, fine, a Scholar it is. Spirit Vision and Wax Reading are universal skills anyway. Once you master them, you can shine just as brightly on the Scholar side."

He cleared the remaining items from the table, packing the ten testing artifacts back into his canvas bag one by one.

"Coming again next week?"

"Of course."

"Then next week I'll explain the practical techniques of using Spirit Vision to appraise unknown items. That's the main reason most Scholars learn it in the first place."

He narrowed his eyes with a smile.

"When you get your hands on an object, fix your Spirit Vision on it for thirty seconds. The information you see will be more than what you'd find looking through reference files for three days."

That sentence struck Richard right in his point of interest.

Shouldering his schoolbag, Richard headed for the door, only to pause at the frame.

"Old Biggs, what you said earlier about Inspiration and Madam Marie—I won't mention a word of it to anyone."

Old Biggs froze for a moment, then laughed.

"I know."

He waved a hand. "Go on. Be careful on the road, and don't take any secluded alleys after dark."

"You too."

"I've got a gun, what do I have to be afraid of?" Old Biggs patted the bulging spot at his waist:

"The street punks in Briston take a detour when they see me coming. Last time one of them tried to steal my tool kit, I chased him from the third floor all the way down to the first."

"Did you catch him?"

"Nope. I tripped on the stairs and fell flat on my face."

By the time he stepped out of the Branch Office, the sky had turned pitch black.

Winter dusk arrived early in Briston; the streetlamps were already flickering to life before five o'clock.

The gas flames danced inside their glass mantles, casting shifting light and shadow across the puddles on the road.

Richard adjusted his shoulder straps and picked up his pace toward home.

The Panel glowed quietly in the corner of his vision.

[Learning Lv.2] Progress: 58%

It had risen another two percentage points compared to what he had seen in the carriage that morning.

The introductory knowledge on Spirit Vision and Wax Reading that Old Biggs had taught him that afternoon had a remarkable effect on driving his Learning experience.

Sure enough, if he wanted Learning to grow quickly, he had to keep absorbing new knowledge.

Especially in fields of study related to the mystic side that he had never touched before.

The theoretical framework of Spirit Vision, the underlying logic of Wax Reading, the operational mechanics of the Wax Reading method... With every thread of new knowledge that flowed into his brain, the Learning progress bar jumped at a speed far exceeding normal classroom study.

When he reached the intersection of Grafton Street and Post Office Street, the old man selling roasted chestnuts by the curb had already packed up his stall. The handcart was chained to the iron railings on the street corner, its charcoal embers long dead.

He hadn't planned on buying chestnuts today anyway.

Three streets away from his front door, he turned into a slightly narrower alley.

A small shop at the mouth of the alley still had its lights on. Above the lintel hung a faded wooden sign painted with a squirrel with its tail raised.

The shop sold an assortment of candies and dried nuts.

Rows of glass jars lined the counter, filled with toffee, mints, marzipan, sour plums, caramelized peanuts, and candied fruit.

Richard walked in and scanned the display.

"How much?" He pointed at the caramelized peanuts and the mints.

"Peanuts are a penny an ounce, mints are a penny half."

He bought two ounces of caramelized peanuts and one ounce of mints. The shopkeeper wrapped them separately in brown paper, twisting the corners into two neat cones before handing them over.

Stepping out of the alley, he carried the two packets of snacks in his hand and continued toward home.

He had his sister's tastes figured out completely.

Every time he came back from doing business outside, as long as he held out a little treat in front of her, that face full of questions would be stopped by food.

The mouth that would normally pester him with "Where did you go?", "Was it Latin again?", and "What on earth are you doing?" would be plugged by caramelized peanuts—at least until she finished eating them.

And by the time the snacks were gone, her attention would have long since drifted to something else.

When he pushed open the front door, the aroma of stewed soup drifted down the hallway.

"You're back?" His mother's voice called out from the kitchen.

"I'm back."

"Dinner will be a little longer. The soup isn't ready yet."

He went upstairs first, putting his schoolbag into his room and locking it.

Then he carried the two packets of snacks downstairs to his sister's bedroom door.

The door was cracked open. Evelyn was sprawled over her desk doing her homework, the tip of her pen scratching across the paper.

He rapped twice on the doorframe.

"What?"

She didn't even turn her head.

"Brought you something good."

Evelyn's pen stopped.

She slowly turned her head, her gray eyes landing first on his face before sliding down to the two brown paper cones he held up in his hand.

"What good stuff?"

"Caramelized peanuts and mints."

She bounced out of her chair, crossing to the door in three strides and reaching out to grab them.

Richard raised the paper bags just high enough to clear her reach.

"Answer a question first."

"...What question?"

"How much homework did you finish today?"

"A lot."

"How many subjects?"

"Three."

"Which three?"

"...Geography, arithmetic, and..." She darted a quick glance at the open textbooks spread across her desk: "...and history."

"Good. Then you get some sweets as a reward." He dropped the packets into his sister's outstretched hand.

Evelyn immediately clutched the two bags of snacks to her chest and retreated into her room.

She kicked the door shut behind her, followed immediately by the rustling sound of paper being torn open.

She didn't ask another word about where her brother had been on Sunday afternoon.

Richard stood in the hallway and let out a soft chuckle.

He had this gluttonous little girl's nature down to a science; a single bag of caramelized peanuts could buy at least two days of peace and quiet.

Dinner was beef brisket stew served with warm bread.

His mother had been busy in the kitchen all afternoon. The brisket had been simmered with onions and carrots until it was tender and falling apart, the broth thick and rich with a layer of oil clinging to the rim of the iron pot.

His father had returned from the factory a bit earlier than usual; after reading the newspaper in the living room for a while, he took his seat at the table.

Richard helped his mother carry out the soup bowls and bread plates and set the table.

"Evelyn..." his mother called toward the upstairs landing. "Come down and eat."

The sound of dragging footsteps echoed from above, and his sister's movements as she sat down at the dining table were unusually sluggish.

She pulled out her chair, sat down, and stared blankly at the steaming bowl of brisket soup in front of her without moving.

She scooped up half a spoonful of broth and lifted it to her lips, then stopped.

She set the spoon down and picked up the bread.

Tearing off a small piece, she put it in her mouth and chewed twice.

Then a troubled look appeared on her face.

Sitting opposite her, Richard kept his head down as he drank his soup, catching out of the corner of his eye that his sister's bowl had barely decreased at all.

His mother sat down with her own bowl and gave her daughter a look.

"What's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"

"No." Evelyn's voice was quieter than usual.

"Then why aren't you eating? This soup has been simmering all afternoon. You were just saying last week how much you wanted brisket stew."

Evelyn picked up her spoon again and scooped another spoonful.

She chewed as if she were chewing rubber taffy—very slowly, and very reluctantly.

His father lowered his newspaper and glanced at his daughter.

"If you can't eat, don't force yourself."

"I'm not forcing myself..." Evelyn rested her spoon against the rim of her bowl, her voice trailing off to a whisper.

His mother's gaze shifted from her daughter's face to the bowl in front of her, then back to her face.

"Did you eat something this afternoon?"

Evelyn's back stiffened.

"No."

"No?" His mother's expression sent a chill down the spine.

In a household where every pat of butter was sliced with precision, "waste" was a far graver offense than failing grades.

Evelyn lowered her head, her fingers rubbing back and forth along the hem of the tablecloth.

"Evelyn!" Her mother's voice rose.

"...I ate a little bit of something this afternoon."

"What did you eat?"

"Caramelized peanuts... and mints."

"How much did you eat?"

"...One packet. No, two packets."

His mother dropped her spoon into her bowl with a sharp clink.

The entire dining table fell dead silent in an instant.

His father's hand, holding his teacup, froze in midair before he decisively directed his attention back to his newspaper.

"Two packets?" His mother didn't raise her tone.

But that kind of calm was usually the prelude to a storm.

"I originally just wanted to eat a few..." Evelyn's voice grew smaller and smaller:

"But the peanuts were too good, and then the mints were really good too, and then..."

"And then you finished them all."

"...Mmh."

"You finished all your snacks right before dinner, and now you're sitting here dazed over the brisket soup I spent all afternoon stewing."

Margaret reached out and lifted the soup bowl from in front of her daughter, walking into the kitchen to dump the broth back into the pot.

When she returned, she carried a plate of raw lettuce leaves.

"This is what you're eating tonight. You have to finish every bit of it."

Evelyn looked at the plate of bright green leaves—served without a grain of salt or a drop of dressing—opened her mouth, and closed it again.

Throughout the entire dinner, Richard maintained his posture of keeping his head down and sipping his soup.

When he finally looked up, Evelyn's glare as she poked at her lettuce leaves happened to sweep right over him.

That gaze was filled with silent accusation directed at the person who had handed her the snacks.

Richard pretended he hadn't seen a thing.

After dinner, he helped his mother clear the bowls and plates.

Evelyn huffed her way upstairs, slamming her bedroom door shut behind her with a loud bang.

His father remained nestled in his armchair in the living room reading his newspaper, offering no opinion whatsoever from start to finish.

His mother was in the kitchen washing dishes, the rushing sound of the faucet mixing with the clinking of china.

Richard stood at the kitchen doorway, hesitating for a moment before confessing the source of the snacks.

"Mom, I'm the one who bought her those peanuts and candy."

Margaret set a bowl into the rack and dried her hands on her apron.

"I don't object to you buying her snacks, but next time you get something, make her eat it after dinner."

"I'll be careful next time."

"Mmh."

He went upstairs to his own room.

As he passed Evelyn's door, he slowed his steps and listened closely.

There was no scratching sound of homework being written, nor any rustling of illustrated magazines turning.

There was only a crunching sound.

Very quiet, and very rhythmic.

The girl had eaten all the peanuts, so she had clearly saved a few of the mints.