Chapter 63: Taste Tester

Isabella stood up straight, her handbag strap leaving a shallow crease on the shoulder of her coat.

She tapped her fingers lightly against the silver chain once more.

The invisible curtain in the corner scattered on the wind, and the chatter of the crowd rushed back in.

The entire process had been completely silent. No one nearby noticed that the corner had just been isolated.

Isabella pulled something else from her coat pocket and handed it to Richard.

It was a palm-sized Small Tin Flask. The cap was screwed on tightly, and a minimalist daisy was engraved on the side.

"What's this?"

"Medicine. For my sister." She tapped the flask with a fingernail.

"This is a bit more effective than the medication I sent before. Have her take one pill every night before bed, and no more than that."

The medication she sent before... So that was it. That explained why his father made regular trips to the post office.

"Your mother's breathing problems aren't purely physical."

Isabella pressed the flask into his hand.

"When she gave up her cultivation, the remnant circuits in her body weren't completely sealed. The ether has been idling inside them for over a decade, causing chronic damage to her lungs.

The coal smoke in the Northern Industrial Zone merely aggravated the condition. The root cause is internal."

"So just treating her lungs won't cure it..."

"Correct," Isabella said bluntly. "With her current physical condition, all we can do is manage the symptoms."

"This flask will last about three months. Write to me when she runs out, and I'll find a way to mail more to you."

Richard tucked the flask away, slipping it securely into his inside pocket.

"Thank you, Aunt."

"Mm." This time, she didn't correct his choice of address.

"With your mother's chronic condition, you should consider having her stay in the Imperial Capital for a while.

The environment here is much better than in Briston, and the medical facilities are superior."

The air in the Imperial Capital was indeed better than Briston's. More importantly, the ether concentration here was far higher than in any industrial city.

"I understand," Richard said.

Isabella settled her bag on her shoulder, preparing to leave.

"Debate Week is held every other year, and the Department of Classics at several universities in the Imperial Capital have guaranteed admission quotas."

"If you're interested, you can try for it in the future. Though, of course, you'll need to actually get into a university first."

With that, she turned and left.

Richard slipped the business card into the inner compartment of his satchel, right next to his letter of recommendation.

His tea was down to half a cup, and it had already grown cold.

He downed the rest in one gulp and set the cup on the low table.

The crowd around him continued to mingle. The judges had gathered in small groups near the long table, drinks in hand as they chatted.

A number of the contestants had surrounded Montagu, clustering tightly around the blond boy.

He handled the attention with effortless grace, occasionally letting out a light chuckle as he leaned in to listen.

Catherine stood by the window farthest from the crowd, her red hair tucked behind her ears and an empty glass pinched between her fingers.

Her gaze drifted across the crowded reception room and met Richard's.

Richard passed the dessert table on his way over and snagged a scone.

"Williams. Do you actually believe the things you said in your speech?" Her gaze was direct.

"Which part?"

"'The act of questioning is civilization itself.' Do you actually believe that?"

"I do."

Catherine stared at him for a moment.

"My version is a little different."

"The way I see it, there are two types of people who seek answers.

One type asks their questions, then retreats back into their room, patches up the wall, and pretends nothing ever happened. The other type asks their questions, then moves to the other side of the wall."

"Which type are you?"

Richard took a bite of his scone, chewed, and swallowed.

"I haven't decided yet."

It was a dishonest answer.

He had already moved to the other side of the wall—from the very moment he first touched the Copper Pendant on his nightstand.

But admitting that here in the Imperial Capital, inside the St. Augustine Chapel, to someone he had only met twice would not be wise.

Catherine didn't press the issue.

She picked her empty glass up from the windowsill and took a few steps toward the long table before tossing a remark over her shoulder.

"My name is Catherine. My friends call me Kate."

"I'm Richard."

"Of course I know who you are. The host read your name twice."

The red-haired girl waved at him and disappeared into the crowd.

Richard lingered by the window to finish the other half of his scone, then dusted the crumbs from his hands.

The tea party was still going, but he had no reason to stay.

He had secured his spot on the recommendation list, pocketed his prize money, and collected Isabella's business card.

He had gotten everything he came for and met everyone he needed to meet.

He pushed open the side door and stepped outside. The cold wind of the autumn evening rushed over him, blowing away the stifling pleasantries of the social gathering.

The Ashford House carriage was already waiting in its usual spot on the plaza.

The coachman was leaning against the carriage's roof pillar, his hat skewed to one side as he dozed on the bench.

He woke up the moment Richard approached, righting his hat and offering a slight bow from his seat.

"Back to the residence, Young Master?"

"Yes, let's head back."

The carriage rolled into the evening traffic of the Imperial Capital.

Richard leaned back against the carriage seat, staring at the business card in his hand: Room 314, Petrie Building.

He had nearly exhausted the resources of Greenwood's library; he had thoroughly probed the ceiling of its twenty-six books.

Now, a door in the Imperial Capital had just cracked open, and the information his aunt had revealed today gave him a sweeping view of the sheer depth that lay beyond it.

He strung the clues together in his mind, and a clear path surfaced:

Cicero Cup → Higher Education → Debate Week → Speaker → A key juncture in Rank advancement.

Each step built upon the last, and the stakes of each step were higher than the one before.

The carriage turned onto Chelsea Road, and the bumpy gravel road dragged him back from his thoughts.

The lights of the Ashford Residence were already on.

A small head bobbed behind a second-floor window, then quickly ducked out of sight.

Before the carriage had even come to a halt and while the coachman was still pulling the reins, the side door of the residence was thrown open from the inside.

Evelyn stood on the front steps in her slippers. Her half-undone braid slumped over her shoulder, and she was clutching that box of chocolates.

"You're back!"

"Yeah."

"What place did you get?"

Richard pulled the envelope from his satchel and waved it in front of his sister. "Second."

The girl's mouth dropped into a perfect "O," and the box of chocolates nearly slipped from her grasp.

"Second?! Second in the entire Empire?!"

"'The entire Empire' might be a stretch, but yes, second place out of all the contestants."

"Wow..." Evelyn took the envelope.

She peeked inside, and the "thirty pounds" written on the money order reflected in her gray eyes.

Evelyn sealed the envelope and handed it back to him with solemn care.

"Brother, you've really changed so much."

She had looked at him with that exact same expression many times over the past two months.

But her gaze today was different.

The confusion was still there, but it was mixed with something else.

Perhaps it was acceptance, or perhaps trust. Or maybe she was just tired; pressing for answers from someone who would never give the truth was simply too exhausting.

"Keep the money for the gloves," Richard said, tapping the envelope. "I bought the two-shilling wool gloves myself."

"Huh? You don't have to..."

"And with this prize money, I'll buy you a pair of shoes that actually fits once we get back to Briston."

Evelyn neither thanked him nor refused.

She shoved the box of chocolates into his hands. There was only one piece left inside.

"Here, let's celebrate."

Richard stood on the steps and popped the chocolate into his mouth.

The moment he bit down, he noticed something was wrong.

The hazelnut center had gone stale, carrying the distinctly rancid taste of old oil.

He chewed a couple of times, but didn't spit it out.

"Evelyn."

The girl, who had just walked ahead of him, stiffened.

"Did you eat almost this entire box on the very second day?"

Evelyn turned around, a flurry of emotions crossing her face.

She opened her mouth to deny it, but her eyes had already confessed.

"...There were only two left by the second afternoon. I held out for so long because I couldn't bear to eat the last one."

Richard looked down at the remaining half of the chocolate in his hand.

"Once a box of Valentine chocolates is opened, they're only at their best for three to five days. You've kept this one for almost a week."

Evelyn looked a bit embarrassed and reached out to snatch the remaining half out of his hand.

"Then don't eat it. It must taste awful by now..."

Richard pulled his hand back, dodging her grasp, and tossed the rest of the chocolate into his mouth.

"Brother!"

But he had already swallowed it.

It really didn't taste very good. Compared to the silky texture of a freshly opened box, it felt like an entirely different food.

"It tastes fine."

"I told you not to eat it..." the girl mumbled, ducking her head as she shuffled her feet in her slippers.

"If you feel that bad about it..." Richard raised a hand and ruffled her messy hair.

"Just give me free food when you finally open that bakery of yours."

Evelyn swatted his hand away and glared at him.

She tried to keep glaring but couldn't hold it, cracking a smile.

"You just remember that. When I do open my bakery, you're going to be the taste tester for my very first batch of chocolates."

"Deal."

"No taking it back."

"I won't."