Chapter 156: New Year's Eve and Crossing the Veil

Briston, Slag Alley.

In the small sitting room of the Williams residence, the fir tree still stood in the corner, but most of the Christmas decorations had already been taken down.

Margaret wrapped the glass ornament enclosing a little golden angel in cotton and placed it back into the box in the attic.

Evelyn sat at the dining table with an open copy of the Comprehensive Book of Eastern Continent Desserts spread out before her.

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

"I have." Rogers sat on the sofa, reading the newspaper.

"What did you think of them?"

"...Ordinary." Rogers shook his head. "People around here don't eat beans much."

"What if they were used in a dessert?" Evelyn pressed. "Paired with cream and butter?"

Rogers lowered his newspaper.

"Your brother isn't here. Discussing this with me won't help."

"Dad, weren't you against me opening a baking workshop?" Evelyn asked with a sly little smile. "Why has your attitude softened these past two days?"

"When was I against it?" Rogers scoffed. "I only want you to finish your studies first."

"And now?"

"Now I still want you to finish your studies first." He reiterated his stance. "You have to do both."

Evelyn stuck her tongue out.

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

On it sat a semicircular red bean pie, Evelyn's first experimental batch today, made according to the Comprehensive Book of Eastern Continent Desserts.

"Want a taste?" Margaret set the plate on the dining table.

Evelyn sliced a triangular piece and handed it to her father.

Rogers took it and took a bite.

"...Not bad."

"Dad!" Evelyn cried out. "What does 'not bad' mean?"

"'Not bad' means 'not bad.'" Rogers finished chewing the last bite. "I can swallow it, but it won't make me want a second piece."

"..."

"Evelyn." Margaret rested a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

"Your father's palate is the strictest standard for whether a dish 'can fill an ordinary person's stomach.' When he says 'not bad,' it actually means it passed."

"Really?"

"Really," Margaret smiled.

Evelyn cut a piece for herself. She took a bite, chewed for two seconds, and her brow furrowed.

"...It's not sweet enough," the girl admitted honestly. "I put too little sugar in."

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

"It's too late in the evening." Rogers glanced at the wall clock. "It's almost twelve."

"It's New Year's Eve," Margaret shot him a look. "No one will sleep anyway."

Rogers raised no further objections.

Evelyn ran back into the kitchen to prepare a second batch.

"Your brother hasn't called yet today."

Margaret picked up the plate and set it on the table.

"He said before that calls would be inconvenient during his internship, but he could receive letters."

"Letters?" Evelyn blinked.

"If we mail it first thing tomorrow morning, it'll reach him in two days."

"...But I don't have anything to write about," the girl said, looking a bit troubled.

"Write whatever comes to mind." Margaret patted her daughter's head. "Just tell your brother what happened at home this week."

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

"...Can I write about food?"

"Of course you can."

Rogers folded his newspaper and spread it open again.

"Your brother is running around outside for a week. He's definitely going to crave home-cooked meals, so writing about food is best."

Evelyn's eyes lit up.

She turned and hurried upstairs, quickly returning from her room with an armful of supplies.

The pen tip scratched across the paper for a while.

Halfway down the third page, the girl's pen suddenly stopped.

She set the pen down, jumped out of her chair, and ran back to the kitchen.

When she returned, she held a small tin can.

Inside the can was the red bean paste left over from baking her pie today.

She scooped out a tiny bit with a spoon and pressed an irregular thumbprint onto the bottom left corner of the stationery.

After pressing it down, she drew a small arrow next to the smudge and scribbled a few words on it.

Her mother leaned over to take a look.

"...What does this mean?"

The girl gave a mischievous smile. "I want him to smell it, as a gift sent from home."

"That red bean paste will be sour by the time it reaches him," her father offered the harsh truth from the sofa.

"..."

"Just draw one in ink," her father suggested. "Your brother has a good head; he can guess what you drew."

Evelyn considered for a moment, then pressed blotting paper against the glob of red bean paste.

The blotting paper absorbed most of the moisture, leaving a yellowed stain on the paper.

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

Beside the pie, she drew a tiny, grinning rabbit.

The rabbit held a pie of the same shape.

"...Who is the rabbit?" her mother asked.

"Me."

"Why a rabbit?"

"Because rabbits like stealing food best."

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

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

"What is Richard doing now?" she asked.

"Sleeping," her mother replied.

"...Then I'll write that he's sleeping too."

The pen resumed its scratching against the paper.

Reaching the end, Evelyn set the pen down and held the stationery up to the light of the kerosene lamp to read it over.

Margaret heated sealing wax and let a drop fall onto the envelope's flap.

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

"We'll mail it tomorrow morning at eight when the postman passes by."

"What about the postage?" Evelyn asked.

"I'll cover the postage," her mother replied simply. "It's just stamps for four pages; our family can afford it."

"...How much are stamps for four pages?"

"Three pence."

"...Then I'll pay one penny." Evelyn fished a copper coin out of her small purse. "Mom covers the remaining two."

"Alright." Margaret accepted the copper coin.

The wall clock struck the twelfth time.

The new year had arrived.

Rogers folded up the upside-down newspaper and rested it on the sofa armrest.

He had finally found the right direction for the paper.

"Dad," Evelyn called to him.

"Hmm?"

"Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year," Rogers replied.

"Mom."

"Happy New Year," Margaret spoke before her daughter could.

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

"...Go ahead."

Evelyn ran to the kitchen to cut the pie.

Margaret slipped the envelope into her apron pocket.

Outside, snow was still falling, and the first bell tolls of the new year came from the distant Anglican church.

The chiming circled among the chimneys and landed on the windowsill of every home.

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

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

Richard crouched at the base of the outer wall, conducting a final inspection with Mrs. MacNeil before tonight's crossing of the veil.

His right hand was covered in silver powder.

Mrs. MacNeil walked over from behind him.

She crouched beside him and reached out to gesture over a section of the inscription.

"That's enough; we've checked it several times already."

She pulled out a Pocket Watch from her pocket and glanced at it.

"Let's wrap up; we can just make it back in time for lunch."

"Alright."

Richard's hand was already numb from the cold.

In the winter highlands, the temperature was so low that even ink bottles had to be tucked inside a coat to stay warm.

Once the ink froze, the inscription could not be traced.

He flexed his fingers, and his joints popped several times.

Mrs. MacNeil squatted beside him, watching him pack away the miscellaneous items.

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

"Four," Richard said without stopping his hands. "Father, mother, my younger sister, and me."

"How old is your sister?"

"A year younger than me; she's still in secondary school." Richard smoothly continued the topic. "She's always talking about wanting to open a baking workshop."

"A baking workshop," Mrs. MacNeil sounded surprised. "Opening one in Briston?"

"She's still thinking about it," Richard shook his head. "The preliminary plan now is to finish secondary school first, then go to the Imperial Capital for further study."

"Quite an ambition."

"She's liked making pastries since she was small."

"Is she good at it?"

"...Some things she makes are decent, others are ordinary." Richard didn't overstate it. "The scones she made last week, my father said only their appearance was passable."

Mrs. MacNeil laughed beside him.

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

"Mrs. MacNeil."

"Hmm?"

"How many people are in your family?"

Mrs. MacNeil didn't mind the question and answered directly, "My parents are still living; they stay in a small courtyard in the old district of the Imperial Capital."

"I also have two younger brothers: one serving in the navy, and one working as a primary school teacher in the Imperial Capital."

"...Are they all ordinary people?"

"All ordinary people," she nodded. "I'm the only one in our family who walked this line of work."

"Why?"

"When I was young, I discovered I saw a layer deeper than other people."

"When I was twelve, I saw an old lady pacing at the street corner right outside my house.

I ran to tell my mother that an old lady was walking back and forth outside.

My mother went out and looked around, then came back and said there was no one at the door.

I pulled her out to look again, and she still couldn't see anything."

"And then?"

"Then an old cat belonging to our neighbor died."

Mrs. MacNeil's expression turned slightly grim. "After the old cat died, that old lady disappeared."

"..."

"My mother took me to see a doctor, and the doctor said I wasn't ill.

Later my mother took me to find an old pastor; after knowing the whole story, the old pastor gave my mother an address, which was 7 Flower Moon Street."

Richard sensibly did not ask further.

By the time they finished the final inspection and returned to the inn, Edmund, Maggie, and Theodore were all already by the table.

Mr. Hutton sat in his usual spot.

"Sir," Richard sat opposite him. "Are you responsible for the incantation portion today?"

"As for the specifics..."

"You'll know tonight," Mr. Hutton smiled. "Rest first today; after eating, go back to your room and sleep until the afternoon."

"...Sleep until the afternoon?"

"You'll need to keep your wits entirely about you tonight."

"Any state of fatigue will be magnified tenfold by 'crossing the bridge' tonight."

Richard nodded.

"Then what do we do?" Maggie asked.

Mrs. MacNeil began assigning tasks:

"You four, go move the carved True Name Stone into the mill cellar.

Where exactly to place it has already been marked in chalk by Mr. Hutton."

"That's it?" Theodore asked.

"That's it," Mrs. MacNeil nodded. "After moving the True Name Stone, come back and sleep."

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

At five in the afternoon, the innkeeper's wife came to knock on Richard's door.

"Get up."

Richard opened his eyes, instantly wide awake.

The waking response brought by [sleep] Lv.2 brought his consciousness fully online within five seconds.

He went downstairs; dinner was already prepared.

In the bowl was a dark brown thick soup with a very unusual smell.

It smelled somewhat like medicinal wine, and somewhat like a stew broth, only much thicker.

"This is the final meal before crossing the veil, the specialized 'Heart-Calming Soup.'"

Mrs. MacNeil explained, "After drinking it, your body's stability inside the veil will increase by thirty to forty percent."

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

"Yes."

"Then I'll drink another bowl."

"One bowl per person." Mrs. MacNeil shook her head. "Drink another bowl, and your stomach will protest."

Richard picked up the bowl and took a sip.

Bitterness carried a sweet aftertaste; once it went down his throat, his stomach immediately warmed.

The heat surged straight up to his Seat of the Sun, and the leaves of the light tree opened completely.

He drank the entire bowl of soup.

"Let's set out." Mrs. MacNeil stood up.