The set of guiding sigils at the beginning of the third section was the most complete, its gap nearly closed.
He drew out his Ether and pushed it in.
This time, after the room was unveiled, two images appeared beneath it.
The image on the left was of water, its depths unseen. Looking down from above, the surface was perfectly smooth, without a single ripple.
The image on the right was of fire, blazing fiercely. Tongues of flame shot upward, burning the sky above it bright.
Between the two images was a vertical slit.
This time, Richard couldn’t discern the age or gender of the voice.
"There are two kinds of people who walk through the door."
"Those who sip, and those who chug."
After the voice finished speaking, the image of water on the left began to move.
There was a person in the water.
His mouth was clamped shut. The surrounding water seeped into his body bit by bit, but he remained motionless.
He was sinking, very slowly. Richard had to stare for a long time before he could tell the man was truly descending.
"The sippers are called the Silent School."
"The first rule of their branch is to keep their mouths shut.
The thing behind the door has a name. Once that name is uttered, spoken aloud, the thing knows someone is calling it.
Therefore, members of the Silent School never speak its true name in their entire lives. They don’t just avoid its name; they don’t even say which layer they have descended to.
They rely on controlling their Breathing, sinking bit by bit.
The slower they sink, the less likely the thing behind the door is to notice them."
"Some of them can stay in the water for a lifetime, until they die of old age, and the thing behind the door never pays them any mind."
The voice paused, but the image on the left didn’t fade.
"But look at him."
Richard looked at the person sinking in the water.
He was still descending.
"He didn’t lose to the thing behind the door. He lost to the water itself.
He has been descending for so long that he can no longer remember why he entered the water in the first place.
He just keeps his mouth shut and continues to descend. Sinking is addictive."
The image on the left remained, and the image of fire on the right began to move.
There was a person in the fire, too.
Richard couldn’t see clearly at first; the fire was too bright.
"The chuggers are called the Burnt Offering School."
"The rules of their branch are the exact opposite.
They believe the price is unavoidable. What the thing behind the door wants to take, it will take sooner or later. Hiding and concealing are useless; even if you sink slowly, you’re still going down.
Since it’s unavoidable, then pay it all, in one lump sum.
Burn. The brighter, the better."
In the image, the person in the fire chanted louder and louder.
The flames on his body leaped high, burning the sky above white-hot.
"They chant aloud, facing the door.
When the thing behind the door is summoned, they bargain with it."
The two images, one on the left and one on the right, hung before Richard.
One sank slowly in the water, his descent unknown to all.
The other burned with all his might in the fire, his immolation visible to everyone.
The scene before him returned to normal. Richard began to write down the two major schools of the Abyss Tradition—the Silent and the Burnt Offering.
He now understood his aunt’s meaning.
The sweetness of the Abyss Tradition, its power, and its lethality—it was all in the story.
.........
Richard went downstairs for dinner.
"Big Bro!" Evelyn peeked out from the kitchen. "We’re having chicken today!"
"Chicken?"
"Roast chicken." The little girl held up one finger.
"Dad stopped by that shop in Felding on his way home from work and asked if they had any chicken left.
The owner said there was only one left and gave Dad a twenty percent discount."
Richard changed into his slippers and walked into the kitchen.
Margaret was taking the roast chicken out of the oven.
The chicken skin was roasted to a caramel color, and the layer of fat beneath it had rendered out, pooling at the bottom of the enamel dish like a small amber puddle.
"Sit," his Mother said, re-tying her apron around her waist. "Dinner will be ready in a moment."
There was more than just roast chicken on the table.
Next to the chicken was a small white porcelain bowl filled with his favorite cream stew, its caramelized and creamy white top swirled together, refusing to separate.
There was also a dish of baked mac and cheese, the bottom of the pan lined with a crust baked with coarse salt. Just by looking at that layer, he knew how much patience his mother had put into baking it today.
Not a single dish on the table was one he didn’t love.
Richard sat down.
His father also came out of the study, washed his hands, and sat down diagonally across from him.
"We’re eating well today," Rogers said, spreading a napkin on his lap. "It’s a rare day that I don’t have to work late."
"Mm."
Evelyn finished setting out the knives and forks and sat down next to her mother.
She snuck a glance at her brother.
Richard picked up his knife and fork.
The aroma of the cream stew wafted straight into his nose. He could almost taste the smooth texture of the potatoes after they had soaked up the cream.
He speared a cube of potato with his fork and lifted it to his mouth, but he had little appetite.
"Big Bro?"
Evelyn was the first to notice something was wrong.
The small knife in her hand, meant for cutting the chicken, paused in mid-air.
"What’s wrong?"
"It’s nothing." Richard picked up his knife and fork again.
"You look pale."
"Just a little tired today."
His mother didn’t look at him. She was adding another spoonful of stew to Evelyn’s plate.
"I’m full." Richard placed his knife and fork back on either side of his plate.
"You’ve only had two bites." Evelyn’s eyebrows furrowed. "Big Bro, everything on the table today is your favorite."
"I had a snack this afternoon," Richard said, inventing an excuse on the spot.
"What kind of snack?"
"Chocolate."
"Who gave it to you?"
"Grey." ’She probably wouldn’t go ask Grey to confirm something so minor.’
"She gave you more?"
"Mm."
"She’s way too nice to you..." Evelyn’s brow furrowed even deeper, but her mother stopped her.
"If you’re full, go upstairs and rest," Margaret said. "I’ll make you some porridge tomorrow."
"Okay."
Richard stood up and gently pushed his chair in a little.
As he reached the foot of the stairs, he glanced back at the dinner table.
His father had already cut off a piece of the chicken leg and, reaching over, forked it onto his own plate.
"If my son won’t eat, I’ll eat it first. Can’t let it go to waste."
Evelyn, pouting, also speared a piece. "Dad, don’t eat it all yourself!"
"Alright, alright," his father said, chewing on the chicken. "I’ll save some for you, I’ll save some for you."
His mother didn’t join in the squabble over the food.
Her gaze rested on her son’s back for a few seconds before returning to the spoon in her hand.
Richard walked over to his desk and sat down. He quickly returned to a state of rational thought.
’The reversal rule of Shadow Reversal is to invert the operational direction of a given Technique.
From inside-out to outside-in. From oneself to another.’
’If the operational direction can be reversed, can the cost of the Technique also be reversed?’
Beneath this line of text, he had originally only drawn a small question mark.
Richard crossed out the small question mark with his fountain pen.
He then wrote several more lines below it in neater script.
’Premise One: Shadow Reversal currently only applies to an ’Official Technique.’
The Fog Wall Technique is not applicable. The reason is that the core of the Fog Wall Technique is the Ether carried by the Ashen Grass itself; the Caster’s Ether is not truly involved.’
’Premise Two: Stone Armor can be reversed because its core is the Ether Flow, so its operational direction can be inverted.’
’Hypothesis: A certain class of Technique from the Abyss Tradition.
If it can be mastered to the point where it meets the criteria for ’reversal,’ can its operational direction also be inverted?’
’If it can...’
He paused, his hand holding the pen resting on the desk for a few seconds.
’If it can, does the cost of this class of Technique also get reversed?’
Then he wrote more below.
’Possibility One: For a reversed Technique, the cost is transferred to a designated target.
But how is the ’designated target’ to be chosen?
Shadow Armor can only target a living thing with a Shadow. The cost of the Abyss Tradition is likely not something a mere Shadow can bear.’
’Possibility Two: For a reversed Technique, the cost flows ’back’ to the Curtain itself.
But this is unlikely, as the Curtain is the source from the very beginning. The cost cannot flow back to its source.’
’Possibility Three: The reversal fails, and the cost flows back onto the Cultivator, doubled.’
Finally, beneath the three possibilities, he wrote a separate line.
’Possibility Four: The reversal succeeds, but the reversed Technique falls outside the scope of any existing tradition, attracting the attention of a High Tier entity.’
Richard put down his pen.
Of the four possibilities, the third and fourth would both be catastrophic for him.
Possibility Two was theoretically impossible, leaving only Possibility One.
He moved his gaze back to the line about the "designated target."
’How is the ’designated target’ to be chosen?’
He recalled the diagram his aunt had drawn on the white paper.
A signature Marvel is, in itself, a part of the Cultivator’s soul.
In other words, if an object could bear a portion of a Cultivator’s soul...
...then the cost of the Abyss Tradition could, in theory, be transferred to that object.
Richard’s pen tip paused on the word "substitute."
’The Abyss Tradition is truly sweet.
To annihilate enemies with a wave of your hand—who wouldn’t want that?
But the cost is just as real.’
Richard closed his notebook.
The enhancement of his five senses from [Perception] allowed him to hear Evelyn still arguing with their father.
"...Leave a piece for me!"
"I did, I did. I saved it right here in my mouth."

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