Richard acted as if he hadn’t noticed.
"A leap in Tier requires an ’Announcement.’ A Hunter makes their Announcement with blood and blade, a Secretive One with formations and drawings, and a Scholar with words."
"But there isn’t a single text that says... a person can rely on their ancestors to make the leap for them."
"The moment your signature is branded, the Curtain recognizes *you*.
Not your name, not your blood, and certainly not those ancestors of yours hanging on the wall."
At these words, those in the know were visibly stirred.
Oliver’s chest heaved violently. He opened his mouth but found he had no rebuttal.
Richard wasn’t finished. He glanced at the book in Philips’s hand:
"Genus et proavos et quae non fecimus ipsi, vix ea nostra voco..."
"(Birthright, ancestors, and things we did not earn ourselves—we can scarcely call them our own.)"
"Cicero had no notable officials in his ancestry."
"In the Senate, he once declared before all:
You noble lords, you inherited your high positions in your sleep.
I earned mine while wide awake—earned it by toiling through the nights, one matter at a time."
"Two thousand years have passed. The portraits of those great families have rotted on the walls, and no one remembers them.
Yet we still recite the words of Cicero."
"Why?"
Richard asked and answered his own question.
"Because the people in those portraits were born noble.
But Cicero... he earned his immortality, word by word."
Richard picked up a nearby teacup and took a sip.
"I am half Ashford, half an engineer’s son. I acknowledge both halves of my blood, and I’m not ashamed of either."
"But blood, by itself, cannot define a person."
"What defines a person is what they earn while wide awake."
"It’s the three bridges my father built. It’s the things I myself toiled for, night after night."
The hall fell deathly silent.
Oliver stood rooted to the spot, his chest rising and falling like a bellows.
His face flushed a furious, deep red. His right hand was clenched into a fist, his entire arm trembling slightly.
He was so crushed by the weight of Richard’s layered words that he could barely breathe, the string of his sanity stretched to its limit.
And at this moment, the eyes of everyone in the room were fixed on Richard.
The representative from the Ministry of Internal Affairs, standing alone by the east wall, gave Richard a couple of interested glances before adding a note to his register.
In a corner, a few young people from the Divinity School in long black robes exchanged a look.
One of them whispered something to his companion. His tone was neutral, but the coldness in his eyes had thawed.
The girl named Edith Carter was still huddled in the farthest corner.
She had been watching, learning, but in this moment, the way she looked at Richard changed.
’On my own journey to get here, I can’t even count how many times I’ve been put down by that whole ’blood’ and ’birthright’ nonsense.’
’But I’ve never seen anyone throw it all back, word for word, in front of a hall full of aristocrats.’
In her heart, she silently cheered for him.
The young ladies from Earl Blake Ben’s family, who had brought their cousins along to "size up" potential suitors, also stopped their light chatter and began to whisper amongst themselves.
The cousins from lesser branch families had a look of unspoken satisfaction in their eyes.
The highborn young ladies themselves weren’t angry; on the contrary, they found it all rather novel and interesting.
They were accustomed to the usual hall gatherings of mutual flattery and social niceties, where no one dared to lose face.
A northern youth who dared to belittle Oliver Montague to the point of a fistfight was a first for them.
Just as Oliver’s fist was hovering on the verge of being raised...
"Oliver."
A voice came from the side.
Montague had strolled over at some point.
From the looks of it, he had probably heard the entire exchange from beginning to end.
He didn’t look at his cousin first.
He looked at Richard.
"Williams." Montague nodded at him. "I heard most of that."
Richard returned the nod.
"That speech of yours," Montague’s gaze lingered on his face, "was more than just simple sharp-wittedness."
"Oh?"
"Sharp-wittedness is just about speaking prettily."
"What you did just now... that wasn’t just a talent for arguing."
Montague looked at him and said, word by word, "That is the fledgling form of oratory."
Richard’s heart gave a slight stir.
"During the summer program, we’ll have a proper chat."
After saying this, the golden-haired young man turned and left.
As for his cousin, face flushed, fists clenched, trembling like a leaf in the wind...
Montague didn’t even spare him a glance.
He walked past Oliver without looking at him, as if he were just some insignificant stray dog.
Oliver’s half-raised fist froze in mid-air.
He stared at his cousin’s back, at the man who wouldn’t even deign to look at him, and the last bit of color drained from his face.
Richard watched Montague’s retreating back, then glanced at Oliver, who was shrinking back into the crowd with slumped shoulders.
’The very person he’s spent his entire life trying to emulate doesn’t give a damn about the code he lives by.’
"Truly beautiful." Pendleton placed his empty plate back on the windowsill and brushed the pastry crumbs from his hands.
He extended a hand to Richard.
"In honor of today’s fine show, I’ll pick a bed with good lighting for you during the program."
"Thank you." Richard shook his hand.
Philips held his tea, silent for a long moment.
Finally, he took a large gulp of the Darjeeling in his hand and muttered under his breath:
"...Now I completely understand why you were the runner-up for the Cicero Cup."
As the tea party was drawing to a close, Isabella came over.
She had been standing not far away and had watched the entire scene unfold.
"Had your fill of watching?"
"I’ve had my fill."
"Any thoughts?"
Richard thought for a moment.
"A family like the Montagues... I truly can’t compare to them right now."
Isabella glanced at him.
"If you can’t compare, then don’t.
The path of a Scholar has never been about whose family tree is bigger. It’s about who can see just a little bit more."
She smiled, then continued, praising her nephew:
"However, that speech of yours just now was indeed beautifully delivered."
"Claiming glory for oneself, not living off the laurels of one’s ancestors."
"That’s easy to say, but hard to do.
Nine out of ten people in this room would deny it, but they all live by leaning on the tree behind them."
"For you to be able to say it today, in front of this whole hall, and render them speechless..."
She looked at Richard, unable to hide the gratification in her eyes.
Isabella led him toward the exit.
As they reached the door, Philips caught up to them again.
"Richard, let’s exchange contact information."
Philips thrust a slip of paper into his hand.
"Once the program starts, let’s keep in touch."
"Alright."
Philips waved at him and turned back to the tea party.
Richard put the note away and followed his aunt out the door.
Evening in the Imperial Capital. The sky was slowly growing dark.
The gas lamps on the street lit up, one after another.
Richard climbed into the Ashford Family’s carriage.
The carriage started to move, its wheels making a steady rumbling sound on the cobblestone road.
It was after ten by the time they returned to Ashford Mansion.
After washing up, Richard didn’t go to sleep right away.
"During the program," Isabella had said in her office that day, "a Grand Mastery will come to inspect the site."
"Inspect what?"
"To look for Miaozi."
"The Classics Department depends on this program to gather all the best Miaozi from across the country in one place.
The department’s senior professors, the pillars of the faculty, will take turns observing. At least one Grand Mastery will come."
"...A Grand Mastery will personally come to see a bunch of students who haven’t even signed their names yet?"
"They will." Isabella’s answer was crisp.
"The program is where the academic system puts down its roots.
Which Miaozi has the potential to carry a field in the future is largely determined during this month.
A Grand Mastery’s visit is to serve as a gatekeeper for the department."
"And that’s not all," his aunt added.
"The program is held at Imperial University. The campus has a high concentration of Ether and many nodes.
At this time of year, the students’ inspirations all stir at once, creating quite a lively scene."
"With such a lively atmosphere, even Experts will occasionally take a look."
"Experts?" Richard’s breathing grew shallow.
"Mhm. They get bored after spending so long on the other side of the Curtain.
A place where young people gather is full of pure, clean spiritual energy. It’s refreshing for them."
Richard had noted her words that day but hadn’t taken them too much to heart.
But tonight, sitting at his desk, he suddenly connected that matter with another.
The Divine Pantheon Salon.
This time, the gathering was in the middle of June.
And the program... it was scheduled to start next Friday and last for four weeks.

Comments

Loading...