Caught Red-Handed

Hutton walked in the opposite direction, handing him the back door key before leaving and telling him to lock up and exit through the gap in the wall.

Richard locked the door and walked along the wall to the section on the east side that had been cut short, climbing over the gap.

There was hardly anyone left on the street.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, his right thumb and index finger pinching the silver coin.

The panel glowed quietly in the corner of his consciousness.

[Available Points: 0.25]

The value had increased by 0.1 the moment he got his hands on the coin, and it was currently continuing to seep in.

Unlike the Sphinx Oil Lamp, the residual Aether on the silver coin was not suppressed by a seal; although the seepage rate was slow, it was much more fluid than the lamp.

When he reached the steps at his front door:

[Available Points: 0.5]

The number stopped.

He took the silver coin out of his pocket and examined it under the streetlamp.

The grey-blue frost had completely vanished, and the surface of the coin had returned to the luster of pure, aged silver.

Drained dry.

A silver coin with over three hundred years of history, the residual Aether deposited after acting as a filtration medium for a seal totaled about 0.4.

He stuffed the coin back into his pocket and began to make comparisons in his mind.

Copper pendant: 1 point, a millennium-level antique, primitive sealed supernatural residue;

God-Descending Disk: 1 point, also an Eastern Continent relic over a millennium old;

Sphinx Oil Lamp: With the seal on, he could only absorb 0.1 at a time, but if the seal were broken, the total might be over 1 point;

Silver coin: 0.4 points, only three or four hundred years old, and not a primitive antique, but merely a byproduct of the sealing process.

There was a vague positive correlation between age and points.

The older the antique, the more supernatural residue it contained, and the higher the points it could provide.

If this hypothesis held true:

How much would be sealed inside those truly supernatural antiques with a history of a millennium or even longer, such as the implements from the peak of the priest class in the Black Soil River Basin, or the sacred relics in the temples of the Aegeus Sea?

Two points? Four points? Seven points?

He stood on the steps for a moment, suppressing his excitement.

Tonight's harvest was already substantial.

He had witnessed the entire process of reinforcing a seal, verified a key hypothesis that Aether dispersed in the air could not be converted into points by the panel;

At the same time, he had gained 0.4 available points, a piece of Grey-Stamen Grass, and a small defensive spell.

Furthermore, the cognitive update brought to him by that afterimage was more intense than any description in a book.

He took out his key and turned the lock on the front door, trying his best not to make a sound.

The living room was dark, and the kitchen was dark as well.

Richard carried his shoes in his hand, stepping barefoot onto the stairs and walking up one by one.

The old wooden boards emitted a very faint creaking sound under his feet.

When he reached the second-floor hallway, the space beneath the door to his sister's room was also dark.

He walked over on tiptoe and was just about to push open the door to his own room...

"Stop."

The voice emerged from the darkness, carrying a hint of a nasal tone.

Richard's heart tightened as he discovered his room door had been opened from the inside.

Evelyn was sitting on his bed, wrapped in a blanket.

The girl's hair was loose, her eyes half-open and half-closed; she had clearly been waiting in his room for a long time.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Richard looked down at the wall clock in the hallway, but the light was too dim to see clearly.

"...A little past eleven."

"Eleven forty-seven." Evelyn's tone was icy; she had obviously checked the time specifically.

"I went out for a walk."

"A walk that lasted until eleven forty-seven."

"The air is nice at night."

"The air in Briston is nice?"

That's true; the city smells of coal smoke all day, so it's hard to convince anyone the air is good at night.

Evelyn climbed out of bed, the blanket sliding off her shoulders, and she snatched it back to wrap around herself.

Moonlight shone in from the small window at the end of the hallway, casting a deathly pallor over her cute little face.

Walking up to Richard, she sniffed him a few times like a puppy: "You smell like something."

Richard cursed his luck inwardly.

He must have been covered in that damp, icy scent from the basement, a mixture of rust and ancient decay.

"I passed through the flea market while Walking."

"The flea market is closed at night."

"The smell drifted out as I passed by."

Evelyn looked him up and down.

A dark, old coat, dust on his pant legs, shoes carried in his hand to avoid waking anyone while Walking barefoot, and dirt in the crevices of his fingers.

In the past, she never had to worry about her brother staying out all night.

That Richard, who was always sick, couldn't even walk fast for two steps without needing to lie down for half a day, let alone sneak out in the middle of the night.

And now?

He spends his days in the library until dark;

He comes home in the luxury car of a wealthy female classmate;

He goes out at night and doesn't return until nearly midnight, covered in dirt.

She realized she couldn't keep up with the pace of her brother's changes at all.

"Brother."

"Hmm."

"Did you join some kind of gang?"

"...What?"

"One of those gangs of thugs in the Old District, the kind that steals things and gets into fights."

"Evelyn, you know I don't know how to fight."

"That's exactly why you'd join a gang—so someone would protect you."

Richard felt that conversations with his sister never followed normal logic.

From "being kept" to "joining a gang," this little girl's train of thought jumped way too far.

"I didn't join any gang."

"Then what are you doing out in the middle of the night?"

"I really was just Walking."

"Do Mom and Dad know?"

"They don't."

Evelyn wrapped the blanket tighter, but she didn't continue the interrogation, nor did she return to her own room.

After a standoff that lasted about ten seconds, she stepped to the side, clearing the doorway.

"Go back to sleep."

"Alright."

"Leave your dirty clothes by the door after you change, and I'll get up early tomorrow to wash them so Mom doesn't see."

Under the moonlight, the girl wrapped in the blanket had messy hair, her eyes still hazy from sleep.

She looked completely different from the capable, sharp Evelyn she usually was; she looked a bit like a little owl huddled in its nest... her round face puffed up, glaring at you with sleepy eyes, looking fierce but actually just tired.

"Thank you, Evelyn."

"Don't thank me." She turned her head away: "I don't care what you're actually doing."

"But you have to promise me... don't get hurt, don't get sick, and don't make Mom worry anymore.

The last time you had that high fever, Mom sat by your bed the whole time, not even drinking any water."

She murmured:

"Even though Dad didn't say anything, he didn't even go to work for those two days."

The hallway was quiet for a long while.

"I promise," Richard said.

Evelyn didn't respond; she pushed open her bedroom door and walked inside.

The door closed, the latch clicking softly into the slot.

A few seconds later, a muffled voice came from under the door crack:

"Leave your dirty clothes by the door, don't forget."

"I know."

"And the mud on your feet, remember to wipe it off yourself."

"I know."

"I'll fry an extra egg for you at breakfast tomorrow."

"...Okay."

"Good night."

"Good night."

Richard closed his bedroom door, took off his dirty jacket, folded it, and placed it by the door.

He then found an old rag to wipe the dust off the soles of his feet.

The sweat on the back of his shirt had already dried, leaving behind a ring of salt stains.

He took off his shirt as well and placed it on top of the jacket.

Sitting on the edge of the bed in the darkness, he took the silver coin and the Grey-Stamen Grass out of his pockets.

He placed the silver coin on the nightstand and tucked the Grey-Stamen Grass inside the cover of his notebook.

His breathing slowly returned to its normal rhythm in the night.

Richard pulled the quilt up and closed his eyes.

Outside the window, the wind whistled as it passed through the chimneys of Briston.

The pillow felt cool and comfortable against the back of his head.

Today, he had caught a glimpse of the true mystical side of the world, something far more real than any forum post he had ever scrolled through.

But the candle had already been lit; whether the eyes in the darkness could see it or not was their own business.

There was only one thing he had to do: make the flame burn brighter, and brighter still.

Until one day, even if those eyes saw it, they wouldn't dare to draw near.