The restaurant was small, with only seven or eight tables, and was decorated with simple elegance.
A few neoclassical oil paintings hung on the walls under soft lighting.
The waiter clearly recognized Isabella and led her to a window table in the back.
"Associate Professor, we’ve kept your usual spot for you."
The four of them sat down.
Isabella ordered like she knew the place by heart, not even glancing at the menu.
"The usual three, and add a bowl of today’s special soup."
Richard took a look around the restaurant.
The patrons all seemed to be refined, scholarly types.
At the next table, two elderly men were deep in a hushed discussion, a rolled-up manuscript spread out between them.
A table over, a middle-aged man with glasses was eating alone, a book open in front of him.
This place felt less like a restaurant and more like a gathering spot for scholars to meet and discuss their work.
The food arrived quickly and tasted quite good.
Isabella was clearly a regular. She ate comfortably, her usual cold expression softening a bit in this setting.
"Richard." She took a few bites, then set down her knife and fork.
"The owner of this restaurant is an old acquaintance of my Mentor. He used to bring me here often."
"After my Mentor passed away, I started coming alone."
Richard listened quietly.
Sofia and Clara also fell silent.
Isabella looked at Richard.
"Your evidentiary text today, the way you pivoted from the ’Curtain’s decay’ to the ’return’ trigger..."
"It was highly innovative. Looking at it reminded me of something my Mentor always used to say."
"What was that?"
"He said that every generation of scholars should see just a little bit more than the one before."
Isabella shook her head.
"It has nothing to do with who’s smart and who isn’t. You live in an era where the Curtain is thinning."
"What you see are things that can only be seen in your time."
Richard thought about the thesis that had inspired him to write.
His predecessors wrote "posterity need not worry" because the Curtain was still thick in their era.
But they didn’t live to see the day the Curtain thinned.
His aunt was talking about the very same thing he had been thinking.
"Aunt."
"Hm?"
"Thank you."
Isabella glanced at him.
Her cold expression finally relaxed, revealing the faintest hint of a smile.
"What’s there to thank me for? Just eat. The food’s getting cold."
Sofia finally couldn’t hold back any longer.
"Mentor, you’re quite talkative today."
"...Am I?" Isabella seemed a little embarrassed.
"That’s because something good happened today," Clara suddenly interjected.
"What good thing?" Sofia asked.
Clara glanced at Richard.
Isabella’s hand, holding her fork, froze.
She neither confirmed nor denied it, simply lowering her head to take a sip of soup.
Back at Ashford Mansion, Richard received an unexpected letter.
It was from Grey.
The letter was short, inviting Richard for a small get-together over the weekend at her family’s residence in the Imperial Capital.
On Saturday morning, Richard followed the address in the letter to the Grey family’s home.
It was a three-story Western-style house with a small garden out front, a wrought-iron gate, and a sedan parked inside.
He stood at the entrance for a moment, sizing it up. He felt the mansion wasn’t as grand as the Ashford Family’s.
The Ashfords were, after all, an old family with hundreds of years of history. Every detail, from the colonnaded portico to the family crest on the door, spoke of their deep-rooted, aristocratic heritage.
The Grey family’s residence in the Imperial Capital looked newer and lacked a degree of its grandeur.
A maid opened the door.
"Mr. Williams?"
"That’s me."
"The young lady is waiting for you in the living room."
The living room was exquisitely decorated, with modern furniture and appliances.
A very faint scent of spices lingered in the air.
Richard took a sniff, trying to identify them.
Cardamom, a hint of cinnamon and clove... all spices imported from the Eastern Continent.
The snacks Grey used to bring Richard often had the taste of cardamom.
Even back then, he had guessed her family was in the spice trade.
Now, smelling it throughout the house, his suspicion was confirmed.
Grey emerged from the other side of the living room.
She wasn’t in her school uniform today, but a light-colored dress.
Richard could tell at a glance that something was off about Grey today.
As she approached, her steps were hesitant and dragging.
"...You’re here."
"Yeah, your family’s house isn’t easy to find."
"It is a bit out of the way." The girl averted her gaze.
"My mother said the west side of the city is quiet, good for studying."
The two of them stood in the living room, a moment of silence falling between them.
It wasn’t usually like this at school.
Back at Greenwood, Grey had always been direct and straightforward when talking to Richard; she hadn’t been the least bit timid then.
But today, in her own home, the girl seemed like a different person.
She just stood there, twisting the hem of her dress with her fingers, unsure of what to say.
"Um..." Grey finally spoke again. "Have a seat. I’ll go get some tea."
"Don’t trouble yourself, the maid just..."
"I’ll get it myself."
Grey turned and fled to the pantry as if escaping.
Richard sat down on the sofa and shook his head as he watched her flustered retreat.
The usually composed, old-money heiress was flustered for a change.
Before Grey could return with the tea, footsteps sounded from the other end of the living room.
A middle-aged noblewoman walked in.
Richard immediately stood up.
The noblewoman was wearing a tasteful set of house clothes, her hair meticulously styled, and she carried herself with a graceful dignity.
Richard guessed her identity.
"You must be Richard," the noblewoman said with a smile.
"Hello, Madam. I’m Richard Williams."
"Please, sit. Don’t be so formal."
The noblewoman sat down across from him.
"That child, Grey, she often mentioned you to me when she was in Brighton."
"...Is that so?" Richard was a little surprised.
"Yes." The noblewoman’s eyes scanned Richard from head to toe.
"She said your Latin is excellent, that you took second place in the Cicero Cup, and that your article was featured in the Northern Literature Review."
"You flatter me, Madam."
Just then, Grey returned with the tea.
When she saw her mother sitting there, her steps faltered.
"Mom, why are you..."
"I came to see your young guest."
The noblewoman took the tea from Grey’s hands and offered a cup to Richard.
"Grey, go to the kitchen and check on how the pastries are baking."
"But..."
"Go on."
Grey glanced at Richard, then at her mother, and finally retreated to the kitchen.
In the living room, only Richard and Grey’s mother remained.
Richard felt inexplicably nervous. ’Why does this feel like I’m meeting the parents?’ he thought.
Sure enough, as soon as Grey was gone, the noblewoman began to speak.
"Richard, I hear your mother was a young lady from the Ashford Family?"
’Here it comes.’
"Yes, my mother, Margaret, was indeed from the Ashford Family."
"Ashford..." The noblewoman’s hand, holding her teacup, paused for a moment.
"Was her father the esteemed Lord Gerald, or from one of the other branch families?"
"Lord Gerald was my maternal grandfather."
Richard could see it clearly now.
In the noblewoman’s mind, the name "Ashford" carried more weight than second place in the Cicero Cup and a feature in the Northern Literature Review combined.
Although the Ashford Family was "a family in decline," a starved camel is still bigger than a horse.
A family with a Grand Mastery presiding over it was still a renowned name in the upper echelons of Imperial Capital society.
"Then the one teaching at Imperial University must be your aunt?"
The noblewoman’s tone became a few degrees warmer.
"Yes, she’s an associate professor in the Classics Department."
Richard could tell she was checking off his value, item by item.
Family background, kinship, personal achievements, academic prospects—with each item she verified, the satisfaction on the noblewoman’s face grew.
"Richard, are you planning to pursue a career in academia in the future?"
"Yes, I hope to get into the Classics Department at Imperial University."
"Academia is a good path. It’s stable and respectable." The noblewoman took a sip of tea, then changed the subject.
"Our family is in business."
"The spice trade, I presume," Richard said, glancing at her. "I smelled cardamom the moment I walked into your home."
The noblewoman smiled.
"You have a sharp nose. The journey to import spices from the Eastern Continent is long."
"The seas are rough, and bandits and pirates are numerous. To bring the goods back safely, you need to rely on more than just ships and men."
Richard heard the hidden meaning in the noblewoman’s words.
"You mean to say, Madam..."
"For our family business to have reached its current scale, we’ve relied on the management of several generations, as well as on connections that ordinary people can’t help with."
The noblewoman looked at him.
Richard understood.
Combined with some of Grey’s earlier hints, it seemed her family truly did have a foothold on the Mysterious Side.
"It seems you understand," the noblewoman said with a small smile.
"...I think I have a general idea," Richard nodded.
Just then, Grey returned from the kitchen, carrying a tin box.
The moment she saw her mother was still sitting there, her face flushed red.
"Mom! Why are you still talking to Richard..."
"We’re finished." The noblewoman stood up and nodded at Richard.
"Richard, it was a pleasure speaking with you today. In the future... you’re welcome to visit often."
She deliberately emphasized the words "visit often" before gracefully departing.
Only Richard and Grey were left in the living room.
Grey stood there, her head lowered, not daring to look at him.
"My mom... she didn’t give you a hard time, did she?"
"No, she was very polite."
"I’m sure she asked you a bunch of random things. Don’t take it to heart."
"...It was fine."
Grey opened the tin box.
Inside was a row of freshly baked scones, still warm.
The aroma of butter and fine sugar drifted out, mixed with a hint of cardamom.
"Last time, I said it was the last time in Brighton. Now this is the first time in the Imperial Capital."
"Want to try one?"
Richard picked one up and took a bite.
The buttery fragrance melted in his mouth, with that subtle, spicy hint of cardamom hidden beneath the sweetness—it was just right.
"...It’s delicious."
A smile finally returned to Grey’s face, just like old times.
"That’s good. It seems I’ve improved since Brighton."
"Have you?"
"Mhm, I changed the recipe. The butter was specially shipped in from the countryside."
The two of them chatted for a while over the scones.
They talked about old classmates from Greenwood, about the girls’ school in the Imperial Capital, and about their respective plans for the future.
As they talked, Grey gradually relaxed.
When it was time for him to leave, she pressed the tin box into his hands.
"Take them with you. If you can’t finish them all, share them with your aunt and the others."
"Thanks."
Their interaction had returned to its usual rhythm.
When they reached the door, Grey suddenly stopped.
"Richard, you have to do well on your exams. If you get in, we can see each other often in the Imperial Capital."
As she spoke, the girl’s gaze drifted away again.
"Yeah, I’ll get in."
"Well... see you next time."
"See you next time."

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