I Loaded the Mysticism Panel
Chapter 17: Knowledge Pollution

Chapter 17: Chapter 17: Knowledge Pollution

Mr. Hutton’s class was the last of the afternoon.

The lecture was on the politics of city-states during the decline of the Aegean Sea civilization. It had no connection to the Mysterious Side and was squarely in the realm of a proper history course.

But Richard listened intently. Mr. Hutton had a habit of planting clues in the most unexpected parts of his lectures.

When the bell rang, the students flooded toward the door like water bursting from a dam.

Richard deliberately packed his bag slowly.

Once he and Mr. Hutton were the only two left in the classroom, he zipped up his bag and walked to the front of the lectern.

"Sir, I have a question I’d like to ask."

Mr. Hutton was placing his lecture notes into a folder. "Go on."

"In our last class, you mentioned the Delphic Oracle. I’ve been reading some materials on the knowledge systems of ancient Priests recently, and there’s a question I can’t quite figure out."

He chose his words carefully, weighing each one in his mind before speaking:

"Do you think the ’predictions’ of those Priests came purely from information integration, or were there other factors involved?"

Mr. Hutton set the folder down on his desk. The way he looked at Richard changed.

It was no longer a teacher looking at a student; it was closer to the way one would look at a potential colleague.

"The question you’re asking goes far beyond the scope of the textbook."

"I know."

The old professor took out his pipe and was about to light it, but after a glance at Richard, he decided against it.

"Richard, have you ever heard of a word—Ether?"

Richard gave the answer he had prepared long ago:

"In the Aegus tongue, *pneuma*, meaning Spirit or the breath of life.

The Stoics used it to refer to the rational force that permeates all things. Aristotle also used a similar concept when discussing celestial motion, as another name for the fifth element."

"The textbook answer." Mr. Hutton smiled. "Good, but incomplete."

"The ancients chose this word because, with certain training, a person can indeed perceive things that are not part of the air."

Mr. Hutton rubbed the pipe in his hand.

"Of course, there is no evidence to support this within the framework of modern science. The professors at the Royal Society would call it psychological suggestion, and I’m required to teach it that way in class."

He placed the pipe back on the desk and sat on the edge of the lectern.

"But I personally believe that a truly rigorous Scholar should not conclude that something doesn’t exist simply because it cannot be measured by current instruments. Don’t you agree?"

"I think you’re right," Richard said. "The range of what instruments can measure is constantly expanding. Three hundred years ago, people couldn’t detect electromagnetic waves either."

The old professor nodded, looking somewhat gratified.

Richard seized the opportunity to tentatively steer the conversation in a different direction:

"Sir, I’ve run into Lillian Hayward on the third floor of the library. It seems she frequents that floor as well."

The old professor’s eyebrows shot up as he teased,

"Richard, is it really appropriate for you to be asking me about a female classmate?"

"That’s not what I meant..."

"It’s perfectly normal for a young man to notice a pretty girl."

Mr. Hutton waved his hand dismissively, an "I get it" expression on his face. "But to ask your teacher about it... I can’t exactly play matchmaker for you, can I?"

Richard felt a bit helpless. The old professor had deflected the topic so cleanly.

But because the deflection was so smooth, it only confirmed for him that Mr. Hutton had no intention of revealing any information on the matter.

Of course, that in itself was a piece of information.

He abandoned his probing and turned to the question he really wanted to ask. "Sir, I’ve finished reading Appendix C."

"In three days, including deciphering the code."

Mr. Hutton’s expression turned serious. "Three days?"

Richard didn’t deliberately hide his abilities. He knew he had to let the other party know his true level to get the guidance he needed for the next step.

"The second part mentions the classifications of Breathing Techniques, but it doesn’t provide the specific methods for practicing them. I want to find the methods."

The old professor stared at him.

"Do you know why I made you go through the trouble of deciphering it yourself, instead of just telling you the contents directly?"

"Screening," Richard said.

"Elaborate."

"You likely needed to confirm two things.

First, whether I had a sufficient knowledge base to understand the content;

Second, whether I had sufficient prudence to handle that content."

"Not entirely correct, but close enough." Mr. Hutton stood up and pushed his chair back under the desk.

"There was a third thing. I needed to confirm you had enough discretion to know what could be asked, and what answers you had to find for yourself."

He walked to the window and shut it tight.

"Richard, there’s a reason some knowledge is encrypted, written in code, and hidden in the appendices of obscure books. It’s not because the authors enjoy being deliberately mysterious."

"It’s because that knowledge itself carries a certain... contamination."

"Knowledge of Mysticism written in plain text, if read by someone without the proper foundation, can create a great burden.

In mild cases, it causes headaches and hallucinations. In severe cases... you probably don’t want to know."

"The code and encryption are a protective mechanism. Those who can break it usually have the foundation to withstand the content."

Richard mentally tagged this information with the highest priority.

’Knowledge contamination. Combined with the two words "wandering souls" from the warning at the end of Appendix C, Part Three, the world behind the Curtain is indeed extremely dangerous.’

"So, the specific details of the Breathing Technique..."

Mr. Hutton interrupted him.

"That row of bookshelves you saw on the third floor—have you counted how many books are in it?"

Richard recalled, "Around twenty-something."

"Correct. What you can decipher from them depends on your own ability."

The old professor picked up his red pen and began to make notes on his lesson plan.

"Some of the books contain nothing more than standard academic literature;

some hide appendices, some hide things in the main text, and some contain only half a sentence."

He didn’t look up. "I’ve shown you the location of the bookshelf. The rest is up to you."

"Furthermore, I suggest you cultivate text deciphering as a long-term skill."

The tip of the pen drew a red line across the paper.

"If you want to go further in this line of work, you’ll only encounter more and more complex encrypted texts. If you can’t read them, you can’t pass through the next door."

Richard nodded. "I understand. Thank you, Sir."

He turned and walked toward the door.

"Richard."

"Sir?"

"The Cicero Cup is more important than you think. Prepare well, and don’t get distracted."

The door closed.

Mr. Hutton put down his red pen, leaned back in his chair, and looked at the old map on the opposite wall.

The map depicted the coastline of the New Continent. Its corners were curled, and the thumbtacks had left brown rust stains.

He mentally placed the two students on opposite ends of a Balance Scale.

That girl, Lillian, had a good aptitude for learning and a sufficient sensitivity to cryptographic texts.

She took that book last month, spent two weeks deciphering the code in the appendix, and achieved about seventy percent accuracy.

For a student with no prior foundation in cryptography, that was already quite good.

But Lillian hadn’t taken the initiative to see him after that. He didn’t know if she was too afraid to ask or simply didn’t want to delve deeper.

Richard Williams, however, had deciphered the entire code in three days, including the second layer of nested substitution.

And now he was proactively asking about the Breathing Technique, his questions both precise and restrained.

This boy knew where he stood and where he needed to go next. It was clear he possessed clear self-direction and ample initiative.

Mr. Hutton screwed the cap back on his red pen and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

When he was young and studying in the Imperial Capital, all the brilliant minds of the Imperial flocked there; geniuses were as common as copper pennies.

But the difference between people wasn’t just about talent itself, but also that drive to push forward.

Lillian would push the door open a crack, peer inside, and retreat if she thought it was too dark.

Richard, after pushing the door open, would first call out to gauge the size of the space by the echo before deciding whether to enter.

The latter was far more dangerous than the former, but it also yielded greater rewards.

The old man sighed and closed his lesson plan.

"This young man..." he muttered to himself.