Chapter 155: Card Spread: Crossing the Bridge

"Tonight's card spread is called 'Crossing the Bridge.' I'll walk you through it to give you a feel for the atmosphere."

Mrs. MacNeil held her right hand over the 'Bridge' card.

"Edmund."

"Yes."

"You turn over the 'Bridge'."

Edmund hesitated a moment before reaching out to flip it over.

[The Hanged Man - Upright]

The card depicted a man hanging upside down from a T-shaped cross.

One of his legs was bound by a rope, the other bent into the shape of a '4'.

The hanging man's face showed no fear, only tranquility.

"The Hanged Man." Edmund frowned. The card's implications were hardly positive.

"The Hanged Man, upright." Mrs. MacNeil nodded. "The essence of the Bridge is 'surrender' and 'waiting'."

She glanced around at the four Newcomers.

"The Hanged Man represents willing sacrifice, a pause, and an inverted perspective.

"This crossing of the veil is, essentially, us using our own positions to 'exchange' for the stability of the seal."

"The Hanged Man upright tells us that this 'surrender' has been accepted."

Mr. Hutton added from the side, "The seal itself is willing to accept our group going down to repair it."

"So it's a good thing." The young man's shoulders relaxed.

"Yes." Mrs. MacNeil nodded. "The bridge is stable."

She held her right hand over the 'Starting Point' card.

"Maggie, your turn."

Maggie reached out and flipped it over.

[The Star - Upright]

The card depicted a naked woman kneeling by the water.

With her left hand, she poured water from a pitcher into a pool, and with her right, she poured water from another pitcher onto the earth. Eight stars shone above her head.

"The Star, hope!" Maggie said with some excitement.

"It means our starting point is hope and clarity." Mrs. MacNeil nodded.

"The Star - Upright tells us that when we set out tomorrow, our condition will be excellent.

"The repairs over the past few days have already stabilized the outer manifest layer, so we will go down with a very solid 'starting point'."

She moved her right hand over 'Crossing the Bridge.'

"Richard, it's your turn."

"Yes."

Richard reached out.

His fingers paused half an inch above the card. He could feel it 'breathing' beneath his fingertips.

He flipped it over.

[The Moon - Upright]

Richard had already seen this card once before.

"The Moon in the 'Crossing the Bridge' position..." Mrs. MacNeil began to interpret.

"When we 'cross the bridge,' we might encounter some illusions."

"What kind of illusions exactly?" Theodore asked.

"It's impossible to determine in advance." Mrs. MacNeil shook her head. "The characteristic of the Moon is that 'it cannot be predetermined'."

She glanced at Richard.

"Your Inspiration is quite high. The Moon's influence is most severe on those with acute perception."

"..." Richard's complexion paled slightly.

"Remember one thing," Mrs. MacNeil warned him. "During the process of 'crossing the bridge,' anything that makes you 'want to take one more step forward' is an illusion of the Moon."

Richard recalled the voice in his chest—the one that didn't belong to him—from the first time he entered the Near Shore.

He nodded. "I'll remember."

"Good." Mrs. MacNeil moved her right hand above the 'Destination.' "Theodore."

"Yes." The stable boy's hands were trembling. He rubbed them against his trouser legs first.

He flipped it over.

[The World - Upright]

The card depicted a dancing woman encircled by a wreath of laurel leaves. In the four corners were the heads of a man, an eagle, a lion, and a bull.

"The World!" Theodore couldn't quite believe it.

"The World, upright." Mrs. MacNeil was equally pleased. "The 'Destination' of this crossing of the veil is completion, fulfillment, and closure."

"So it's a good ending?"

"It is a good ending." Mrs. MacNeil pumped her fist lightly to encourage them. "We will succeed."

Everyone around the table breathed a sigh of relief, but Mrs. MacNeil didn't stop.

"Success, yes, but the process will have its setbacks."

She added, "During the 'crossing the bridge' phase of this veil crossing, there might be a confrontation, and someone will get hurt because of it."

"As for what this specific confrontation is, there's still the final card left. I'll reveal this one myself."

She moved her right hand over the 'Obstacle' and flipped it over.

[The Devil - Reversed]

The card depicted a goat-headed demon with two people chained at its feet.

But the card was positioned upside down: the devil at the bottom, the chains at the top.

"The Devil, reversed."

Upon seeing the Devil card, the previously joyful expressions of the Newcomers turned gloomy once again.

"The Devil in reverse," Mrs. MacNeil interpreted. "It signifies imprisoned power and bonds that are about to be broken."

She looked up.

"Our obstacle is..."

She didn't need to finish her sentence; everyone knew what the obstacle was.

The entity within the seal—the 'Shadow-Eating She.'

"She will struggle while we are crossing the veil," Mrs. MacNeil continued deducing.

"The reversal tells us that her power is 'suppressed,' but she is 'currently struggling'."

Mr. Hutton nodded. "The 'confrontation' we must face stems directly from this."

"Will she come out?" Theodore gulped.

"She won't." Mrs. MacNeil shook her head. "The 'reversed' nature of the Devil means 'unable to get out.' She can only reach a single hand out when the seal is at its weakest."

The divination concluded.

The five cards lay on the table. Mrs. MacNeil looked at them for a moment before gathering them up one by one and returning them to the deck.

"Remember," she said to the four Newcomers.

"Tomorrow's crossing of the veil will be successful."

"There will be setbacks before that success."

"There will be a confrontation, and someone will get hurt because of it, but no one will die."

"Understood," the four replied in unison.

"Now, go to sleep."

Before heading upstairs, Richard glanced back at the table.

The cards had already been completely cleared away.

Mrs. MacNeil sat at the table with nothing in front of her.

But she remained seated there, one hand resting motionless over the deck.

She was using her Inspiration to hold a final conversation with the cards.

Returning to his room, Richard sat on the edge of his bed.

[Perception Lv.1] Progress: 93%.

It was less than seven percentage points away from Lv.2.

All kinds of practical work in the Secret path were rapidly advancing his [Perception] progress.

[Learning Lv.2] Progress: 81%.

The personal teachings and guidance of a Minor Adept-level spirit medium benefited him far more than flipping through books alone for a month.

Richard blew out the kerosene lamp and began to warm and nourish the Sphinx Lamp.

He could feel the lamp gradually beginning to recognize him, actively syncing with the rhythm of his breathing.

With every exhale, the lamp absorbed a wisp of breath;

With every inhale, the lamp returned a trace of something far purer back to him.

"A two-way channel," he recalled a line from On Ascension Within the Veil.

However, his two-way channel was currently stuck at the level of a 'supernatural item' and hadn't yet reached the level of a 'tradition.'

He wrapped the lamp back up in the old flannel.

He blew out the oil lamp and closed his eyes.

[sleep] activated, and his consciousness sank to the bottom of the water.

Outside, it began to snow once more.

..................

On the final day of the year, the third-floor office of the Briston Branch Office became a tavern.

Eight glasses sat on the table—four large and four small.

The large glasses held malt whiskey; the small ones held ginger tea mixed with hot water.

Older men couldn't just chug strong liquor; the ginger tea was meant to pace them.

In the center of the table lay a deck of playing cards and a tin tray piled high with assorted chips.

"Old Biggs, your turn."

The speaker was Wentworth, the inspector squad leader of the Branch Office.

He sat across from Old Biggs, holding a fanned-out hand of cards.

Urged on by the alcohol, the man's shriveled, skull-like face actually had a bit of color tonight.

"Hold on, let me look at them." Old Biggs slowly brought his cards closer to his face.

"You've been looking at them for two minutes."

"This is just how slow I read my cards." Old Biggs didn't even look up. "If you're in a hurry, you can just fold."

Two other people sat around the table.

One was Brent, an assistant from the coroner's office; the other was Felton, the old man in charge of the Branch Office's archives.

Brent was the youngest, only in his early thirties, and he had already downed two glasses tonight.

"Old Biggs, you play like this at this table every single year."

Brent grinned. "Three minutes to look at the cards, two minutes to play them. It takes half an hour just to finish one round."

"If you're so impatient, then fold." Old Biggs finally laid his cards flat on the table.

He flipped over three cards—three eights.

Wentworth looked at his own two pairs and sighed.

"...I have no idea where you stole this luck from, you old geezer."

"I've spent over a decade's worth of luck at this very table."

Old Biggs swept his pile of chips from the tin tray toward himself. "It's useless everywhere else."

"Isn't that the truth." Felton took a sip of his ginger tea from the side. "If your teacher hadn't pulled strings for you, there's no way it would've been your turn to get such a cushy job."

"Don't mock me either." Old Biggs plucked a Copper Penny from his hand. "You're old as dirt, yet your handwriting is still as crooked as a schoolboy's. Are you finally going to practice writing straight this year?"

"I'm sixty years old. Whether my handwriting is straight or not doesn't matter anymore."

A burst of laughter erupted around the table.

"Let's talk about something serious." Wentworth finished the whiskey in his glass and set it back on the table.

"Old Biggs, how is that student you took on this year?"

"What student?" Old Biggs picked up his ginger tea, looking at him in confusion.

"The runner-up of the Cicero Cup. Mr. Gerard's grandson."

"...He hasn't formally apprenticed." Old Biggs felt somewhat defeated at the mention of Richard. "I teach him, but he hasn't officially joined our lineage."

"Why? Don't the Scholar path and the Secret path overlap quite a bit?"

"He wants to focus solely on the academy system and doesn't want to get too distracted."

"I see." Wentworth wasn't surprised. "The academy system is indeed a cut above the Civilian Guild."

"It's a pity." Old Biggs took a sip of ginger tea. "That kid's Inspiration is the second best I've seen in all my decades."

By tacit agreement, no one asked who the first was.

"Let's toast." Felton raised his teacup. "It's almost midnight. The year is almost over."

Four glasses clinked together over the table.

"To this year."

"To the next."

..................

On the final day of the Christmas lantern festival, the entire central plaza was illuminated as brightly as day by thousands of lanterns.

An arcade built from fir trees stretched all the way from the plaza's entrance to the central fountain, and every fir was decorated in a different style.

Some were draped in bells, some covered in paper stars, and others hung with little dolls made of spun sugar and dried fruit.

Isabella had a student standing on either side of her.

Sophia was on her left, while a male student named Thomson was on her right.

There was also a first-year graduate student, Clara, who couldn't make it today due to other matters.

"Professor, look over there!" Sophia pointed toward the end of the arcade.

At the end of the arcade stood a small, temporarily erected stage.

On the stage, several people in costumes were acting out a mythological play from the Black Soil River Basin—Isis gathering the pieces of Osiris's corpse one by one.

"Is this a new addition for this year?" Isabella glanced at the poorly made prop body parts and frowned.

"Yeah." Sophia recalled. "The year before last it was Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream, last year it was changed to Celtic mythology, and this year they've swapped it for Black Soil River mythology."

"The lantern festival changes every year." Isabella tightened her scarf. "When my sister and I first came here as children, they were performing The Trojan Horse."

"Your sister, Professor?" Sophia's eyes lit up. "Could you tell us about when you came to the festival as kids?"

It was New Year's Eve, and Isabella was in rare high spirits.

"There's nothing I can't talk about."

She led the two students further down the arcade.

The scent of fir mingled with candied chestnuts, mulled wine, and roasted chestnuts; the entire plaza smelled sweet.

"When my sister and I were little, Father would bring us here for the lantern festival every year."

Isabella tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, staring absentmindedly at the distant lights.

"Father was strict back then. He rarely let us go out to play, so this was the one time a year we were allowed to stay out late."

"So what did you do?"

"We ate." Isabella smiled. "I was a very greedy eater when I was little, too."

"Why 'too'?"

"Because my sister says her daughter is also incredibly greedy for food. I suppose it runs in the family."

Both Sophia and Thomson laughed aloud.

Isabella continued. "Every time I saw candied chestnuts, I refused to budge. My sister would just wait beside me.

"Once I finished eating, she would lead me to the next stall."

"Did she buy anything for herself?"

"She didn't like buying food." Isabella shook her head. "Every year she came to the lantern festival, she only bought one thing."

"What was it?"

"Dried daisies."

Thomson was a bit surprised. "...Daisies?"

"Yes." Isabella nodded.

"There was a woman on the north side of the plaza who set up a dried flower stall every year.

"My sister would buy a bouquet every year. She saved them up for many years."

"Is that stall still there?" Sophia scanned their surroundings.

"It was there last year." Isabella wasn't entirely sure either. "I don't know if it's still there this year."

The three of them walked along the arcade until they reached the north side of the plaza.

The stall was indeed still there. The old woman looked considerably older than Isabella remembered; she had to be in her seventies by now.

Various dried flowers were spread out across the stall, and sure enough, the daisies were placed in the most prominent spot.

"You're still here." Isabella walked over.

The old woman looked up at her, taking a moment for her cloudy eyes to recognize the visitor.

"...The young miss of the Ashford family?"

"That's me," Isabella replied. "My sister and I used to come here every year to buy daisies from you."

"Oh... oh..." The old woman's face broke into a broad smile. "Is your sister doing well?"

"You still remember my sister?"

"How could I not? Your sister was the child who loved flowers the most in this entire area."

"Give me three bouquets of daisies." Isabella began to take out her purse. "I'll keep one for myself, and give one to each of my two students."

"Alright." The old woman quickly and nimbly wrapped them up.

When Sophia accepted her daisies, she noticed a small movement from her professor's hand.

Isabella had just used a wisp of ether to transfer a little something into the bouquet.

On an etheric level, the daisies would remain fresh for a year.

It was a minor trick of the Secret path, but she saw it very clearly.

"Professor..." Sophia whispered.

"Shh." Isabella shook her head. "We'll talk about it when we get back."

She held her own bouquet of daisies in her hand.

"Let's go. We're going to get some candied chestnuts."