"Most of what gets written is garbage," the Spirit Medium said bluntly.
"Over ninety percent of it is just fragmented text, symbols, and meaningless scribbles."
"Occasionally, you’ll get scattered fragments of Latin, Ancient Greek Language, Persian, or even older, dead languages. These could all be pieces of Mysticism knowledge waiting to be deciphered."
"In extremely rare cases..."
She paused.
"You might get complete Techniques, lost rituals, or prophetic sentences."
Richard’s back tensed slightly.
"It involves the Spirit Realm, so there have to be risks, right?" He was intrigued.
Mrs. MacNeil didn’t shy away from the question.
"The channel to the Spirit Realm occasionally communicates in reverse. Certain... gazes will follow the tip of the pen back to look at the one writing."
"Information pollution is also a problem. Performing it frequently over a long period can lead to auditory hallucinations, chronic headaches, and in severe cases, mental illness."
"That’s why you must have a Secretive One with keen inspiration standing guard nearby. We call them a ’Watcher.’"
"A Watcher monitors the writer’s condition and will forcibly interrupt if necessary."
"Of course, if the secretary in question feels they’re experienced enough, they can do the work on their own, but we generally don’t recommend it."
She finished.
Richard mulled it over for a moment, organizing the information in his head.
"Are you asking me to try this work?" he asked.
Mrs. MacNeil nodded, clearly pleased that he had brought it up himself.
"Your repository of Scholarship far exceeds your Tier, and you have more than enough inspiration;
Judging from your performance last night, your Spirit hasn’t started to waver just because your inspiration is high..."
Richard didn’t deny it.
"All things considered, if you become an Automatic Secretary in the future, you’ll be more stable than the average one."
"But not now?"
’So, it’s just an empty promise after all...’ Richard found this feeling of being led on, of having his appetite whetted for nothing, to be rather unpleasant.
Mrs. MacNeil shook her head.
"A Newcomer can’t handle the state of semi-detached consciousness. Forcing it open could cause you to sink completely, even on the first try."
Her tone left no room for argument.
"What about after signing my name?"
"After you sign, you’ll be a Practitioner. Your micro-circulation will be calibrated by the signing ceremony, and your stability will rise to another level."
She looked up at him.
"After you sign and become a Practitioner, I’ll arrange for you to take on jobs."
"I’ll be your Watcher myself."
Richard’s fingers paused on the armrest.
Mrs. MacNeil was at the level of Minor Mastery. For her to act as his Watcher personally—that carried a lot of weight.
"What’s the base pay for a job?"
"About two pounds. Plus, if what’s deciphered doesn’t involve any contamination, you can study it yourself. After all, you’re the one who wrote it."
’Two pounds, plus the possibility of new Mysticism knowledge as a bonus.’
Richard was more interested in the latter.
"If you get lucky and find something rare, the price can multiply dozens of times."
’That’s tens, even hundreds of pounds! Enough to buy several artifacts.’
He suppressed the thought of that number, not letting it show on his face.
"I understand."
Seeing his expression, the corners of Mrs. MacNeil’s mouth lifted in a slight smile.
"Oh, by the way, my teacher said she would come find you herself in a while."
She added, out of the blue.
"She has her own ways."
’Her own ways?’
Hearing those words, Richard suddenly recalled the black cat with golden eyes from Number 17 Huayue Street.
The way that cat had looked at him was as if it were reading a book.
From the cover to the title page, from the title page to the table of contents.
"Is it the cat?"
Mrs. MacNeil had already risen and was about to leave.
Her hand on the doorknob, she didn’t turn back.
"I don’t know what you’re talking about."
As the door opened, light from the hallway spilled in, dispelling some of the dimness in the small lounge.

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