The door to Number Seventeen, Huayue Street, closed behind him. As Richard walked along the stone-paved path, the sounds of the main street washed over him in waves.
The Ashford family’s carriage was parked at the corner of Huayue Street’s entrance. The driver was curled up on the coachman’s box, dozing.
Hearing footsteps, he woke with a start, then jumped down and pulled open the carriage door.
"Young Master, back to the estate?"
"Back to the estate."
Richard leaned against the wall of the carriage, turning Lady Mary’s words over and over in his mind.
’My micro-circulation is very stable. I could consider proceeding directly with the Signing during the summer workshop.’
A judgment delivered personally by a Grand Mastery Spirit Medium naturally carried significant weight.
But the stakes of the Signing were too high. He didn’t dare make a final decision based on one person’s word alone.
By the time he returned to the Ashford estate, the lunch hour had passed.
Richard quickly ate two sandwiches and had the butler lead him to the study.
Gerald was sitting in front of the fireplace, a newspaper spread across his lap.
"You’re back." The old man didn’t look up. "Finished your business on Huayue Street?"
"It is." Richard sat down opposite him. "Grandfather, there’s something I wish to discuss with you."
"Go on."
"I want... to proceed with the Signing ahead of schedule."
The evening paper was folded shut.
Gerald set the newspaper aside, his gaze lingering on his grandson.
After a silence that lasted several breaths, the old man finally spoke, his voice slow and deliberate.
"Don’t give me your reasons just yet." He held up a hand. "Stand up. Take two steps toward the center of the room."
Richard did as instructed, moving to the center of the study.
Gerald extended his right hand and loosely curled his fingers.
An extremely restrained Ether Field emanated from the old man, descending upon Richard alone.
The entire process took no more than two seconds—the exact same technique he had used when they first met in the living room last year.
Richard’s Throne of the Sun trembled slightly.
Gerald withdrew his hand.
"Hmph. Acceptable."
The old man sat back in his armchair, picked up the teacup at his side, and took a sip.
"When you get down to it, the Signing is just two things: the Marvel acknowledges you as its master, and this side of the Curtain knows you’ve arrived.
"The physical side of things doesn’t actually need to take so long. The main reason is to leave a sufficient margin for error.
"If your circulation were to collapse at the critical moment of the Signing, with the brand only half-imprinted, you would be crippled for life."
Richard listened intently.
"Your foundation," Gerald said, looking at him, "is far more stable than the norm. You’ve had a sufficient margin for error for a long time now."
Richard felt a weight lift from his shoulders.
"So, can I...?"
"Don’t celebrate just yet." The old man cut him off.
"I can give the final say on matters concerning your micro-circulation, but you are on the path of a Scholar."
Gerald stood up and walked over to the telephone in the study.
"And a Scholar’s affairs must be approved by a Scholar."
He made the call.
It was the lunch break, so someone from the Classics Department office had to go and fetch her.
After a good while, Isabella’s somewhat impatient voice finally came through the receiver.
Gerald was concise, explaining the situation in just a few sentences.
Isabella’s reply from the other end was decisive.
"Send him over. Have him come to my dormitory."
......
The faculty dormitory for the Imperial University’s Classics Department was tucked away in a grove of old plane trees behind the Petrie Building.
Richard found his aunt’s room by the number on the door and knocked.
The door opened.
Isabella was still in her nightgown, clutching half a pencil.
She stepped aside to let him in.
"Come in. Don’t just stand there."
Richard stepped inside and quickly scanned the room.
The room looked nothing like a single woman’s living quarters.
There were no flowers or vanities, none of the delicate furnishings commonly found in a lady’s room.
A long row of bookshelves against one wall was crammed full, their spines facing out. The topmost shelf held additional materials, stacked all the way to the ceiling.
In a corner of the room were piled three or four wooden crates used for field research. Their seals were still intact, and collection sites and dates were scrawled on their sides with a charcoal pen.
A writing desk took up half the room. Spread across its surface were Rubbing Copies, comparison charts, and half-finished manuscript pages. A coffee pot sat next to an inkwell.
Aside from the dresses in the wardrobe, there was almost nothing in the entire room that could be considered feminine.
"Sit." By now, Isabella had changed into a proper dress.
"This is just a place for me to sleep and finish whatever work I couldn’t get done at the office."
Richard sat on the hardwood chair in front of the writing desk.
His gaze swept around the room before settling on the bottom shelf of the bookcase.
That shelf was partially obscured by several intimidatingly thick volumes of the Epigraphic Literature Collection. Behind them, the corner of a tin box peeked out.
The box’s lid bore the trademark of a time-honored pastry shop in the Imperial Capital: a gilt iris.
Tucked beside it were two unopened packets of toffee.
The puffy wrappers had been pressed flat by other books, concealing them carefully.
A small smile touched Richard’s lips.
Isabella followed his gaze, a hint of discomfort on her face.
She reached out and nudged the Epigraphic Literature Collection volumes forward, completely obscuring the tin box and the candy from view.
"Let’s see your lamp first." His aunt cleared her throat, changing the subject. "Did you bring the Marvel for the Signing?"
"I did." Richard took the Sphinx Copper Lamp from his satchel.
Isabella produced a brass instrument covered in a dense array of knobs and dials.
"Give me your arm."
Richard held out his wrist.
She pressed the instrument to the pulse point on his wrist. Inside it, a fine needle wavered a few times before coming to a stop.
Isabella studied the dial for a moment, then raised an eyebrow.
She put the instrument away. "Not bad. Your foundational circulation is indeed sufficient."
Only then did she turn her attention to the lamp.
"Nourish it once, in front of me."
Richard placed the Copper Lamp in the center of the desk. He guided Ether down the inside of his right arm to his palm and infused it into the lamp.
Isabella’s eyes were glued to the lamp.
The moment Richard’s Ether reached his palm, the lamp reacted.

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