The old man turned his attention back to the magnifying glass in his hand.
"Besides that lamp, there are just a few old coins and a pair of earrings left."
"Can I take a look?"
"Find them on the shelf yourself. Don’t squeeze them too hard."
Richard walked around the shop and found where the old coins and earrings were.
The three old coins. The panel showed no reaction.
A pair of earrings shaped like two coiled snakes. Their craftsmanship was crude, the kind of imitation you’d find in a tourist souvenir shop. The panel, likewise, showed no reaction.
’All scrap copper.’
He widened his search, scanning the objects in other areas of the shop.
Porcelain from the Western Continent, silverware, old clocks, old books... none of them elicited any reaction.
The only "living" thing in the entire shop was the Sphinx Oil Lamp; everything else was dead.
The old man’s voice came from behind the counter:
"Why are you so much more enthusiastic with your touching today? Are you treating my shop like some kind of daily check-in spot?"
"No, I just like the lamp’s design."
"If you like it, then buy it. It pains me to see you manhandling it every day."
"Not even a penny less than two pounds?"
"Not a single penny less."
"I’m still a bit short, then. I’ll come back in a while."
The old man huffed, pulled a flannel cloth from a drawer, and walked over to meticulously wipe down the body of the lamp.
"Are you here to look at antiques or to wreck them? You’ve had your hands all over this lamp for so long, the rust on its wings has gotten a shade deeper."
He set the lamp straight again and shot Richard a glare.
"You’re not from a competitor, are you? Sent to deliberately damage my things so you can haggle down the price?"
"Mr. Clement, I’m a student."
"And students can’t be up to no good? I’ve seen more misbehaving students than you’ve eaten loaves of bread."
Richard felt it was impossible to explain things to the old man, so he quickly took his leave.
The Copper Bell tinkled again. He stood in the alley and sighed.
’Looks like the path of getting it for free is a dead end.’
Absorbing Points was getting slower with each visit, and the old man was growing wary of his frequent appearances.
To get the lamp, he’d have to spend some real money.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and headed home.
...
When he got home, a bicycle was parked at the gate to the yard. It wasn’t his family’s.
Richard pushed open the main door. There was a mailman in the living room.
His Mother sat on the sofa, clutching a letter. The letter was unfolded on her lap.
His father stood by the window, back to the door, hands in his trouser pockets.
Evelyn peeked out from the top of the stairs. Seeing Richard was back, she shot him a look.
The meaning in her eyes was clear: ’Something’s happened.’
"What’s wrong?" Richard closed the door.
His Mother handed him the letter.
The paper was of high quality—thick with a subtle pattern. The script on it was neat and elegant, written in expensive indigo ink.
The letterhead was stamped with a family crest: an oak tree and a rampant lion on a shield-shaped escutcheon.
This was his Mother’s maternal family—the Ashford Clan.
The letter’s contents were brief:
"A family dinner will be held at the Imperial Capital estate on the fifteenth of next month.
Margaret Williams (née Ashford) and her family are cordially invited to attend."
It was signed with the butler’s name, but a line was handwritten at the end in a different, more forceful script:
"I especially hope to meet Margaret’s eldest son."
His Mother looked paler than usual today, the corners of her mouth drawn tight.
The kettle in the kitchen boiled, its lid rattling from the steam, but no one paid it any mind.
"We have to go. We can’t not go."
His Mother looked down and folded the letter, pressing the creases hard.
Evelyn came down the stairs and sat next to Richard.
"Grandfather specifically asked to see you," she said in a low voice. "When Mom received the letter, it was as if she already expected it."
Richard looked at the folded letter on the coffee table and began to sort through the information in his mind.
’The Ashford Clan’s status in the Imperial Capital is clearly not low.’
’Mother’s position in that family probably isn’t very high, or she wouldn’t have married out.’
’She and Father met at university.’
’In fact, Father is also exceptional. He worked his way through university and found a relatively high-paying job, making him a standard member of the middle class.’
’It was only because of the costs of Mother’s medical care and medicine, on top of sending both my sister and me to good schools, that life has always been so tight.’
’But marrying a middle-class man like Father was considered marrying down in the eyes of a clan like that.’
’At the last gathering, Cousin Vincent gave me a Copper Pendant.’
’The remnants of Extraordinary Power sealed inside the pendant were enough to drag a person into an unrelenting high fever and kill them.’
’Did Vincent know there was something wrong with it? That question still hangs in the air.’
’Now, just one month after the last gathering, Grandfather has specifically asked to see me.’
’The interval is too short.’
’A normal family gathering once a year would be a lot.’
’To send two invitations in such a short time, and even add a handwritten note at the end—"I especially hope to meet the eldest son"—this probably isn’t a mere courtesy.’
He ventured a guess: the Ashford Clan might be connected to the Mysterious Side.
This speculation wasn’t unfounded.
An influential clan in the Imperial Capital, with members who could obtain an ancient artifact containing sealed Extraordinary Power and give it away as a gift.
Furthermore, his grandfather wanted to see him immediately after Richard had recovered from a serious illness.
His Mother’s reaction upon receiving the letter also suggested she probably knew something.
Richard walked to the kitchen and moved the kettle, which had boiled away half its water, off the stove.
The steam dissipated, and the kitchen fell silent.
He made a cup of tea for his Mother and brought it out, then poured a cup for his father.
His Mother took the teacup, her fingers brushing against his.
"Richard," she called her son’s name softly.
"Yes?"
"When you get there, don’t wander off."
As she said this, her eyes weren’t on him, but fixed on the gloomy gray sky outside the window.
"I know."
Dinner was the same as usual: soup, bread, and a dish of pickled cucumbers.
His father ate in silence, while his Mother occasionally exchanged a few words with Evelyn about household chores.
The letter from the Ashford Clan was not mentioned again. It lay on the living room coffee table, weighed down by an empty teacup.
After dinner, Richard went upstairs, closed his door, drew the curtains, and cracked open a window.
But today, he didn’t rush to open a book or decipher any codes.
He sat in his chair for a long time, organizing the information in his mind.
’The family dinner is on the fifteenth of next month.’
’This weekend is over, and next week is the last week of the month. So, from now until then, I have about twenty days.’
’What can I accomplish in a little over three weeks?’
’[Breathing]: Based on my current cultivation progress, the chances of reaching Level 3 are slim.’
’Besides, the Healing effect of Level 3 is only "where the breath flows, minor wounds self-repair, and chronic ailments gradually recede."’
’It’s more than enough for dealing with everyday aches and pains, but I’m not sure if it will be of any use against a real threat.’
’[Scholarship]: I just reached Lv. 2, so leveling up again within three weeks is unrealistic. But I can use this time to absorb as much knowledge about the Mysterious Side as possible.’
’The more I know, the better my judgment will be, and the less likely I am to be led by the nose in an unfamiliar environment.’
’The Cicero Cup will probably be held a week after the family dinner, which means there’s only about a month left.’
’The timing doesn’t conflict with the family dinner. The two things can be advanced in parallel.’
’Besides, the prize money from the competition is my most realistic source of income right now: get the money, buy the lamp, acquire Points, invest in Skills.’
Richard lay down on his bed, closed his eyes, and began today’s Breathing Technique practice.
Inhale. Ether floods the chest cavity with the breath.
Hold the breath. Anchor attention on the Throne of the Sun, visualizing the stream of light converging into a single point.
A warmth spreads out from behind the sternum, clearer than in the past few days, its borders more distinct.
The warmth doesn’t recede completely.
He can feel that during the four beats of the exhale, the residual warmth remains.
It is the signal that Ether has begun to accumulate in his body—the first ray of dawn for his Inner Sun.
’The first milestone. It’s close.’

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