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Bo Li was not worried that without the business card she would be unable to find Tricky.
This was not the modern era, where people were indifferent to one another. If Tricky truly intended to hold a banquet, all she needed to do was enter the city and inquire; there would certainly be some busybody eager to reveal everything about him.
Breakfast consisted of a rabbit Erik had hunted.
Right before her eyes, he skinned the rabbit—slitting its belly with his dagger, then hooking his fingers into the opening, pulling hard to both sides, and tearing the pelt off in one clean motion.
Bo Li was utterly stunned; she even wanted to beg him to catch another rabbit so she could try tearing it herself.
Unfortunately, she did not dare.
After breakfast, Erik doused the fire with water, then kicked some dirt over the embers, and finally pressed the loose soil down firmly with his boot.
After this series of actions, almost no trace of the fire remained.
She had to admit, winning Erik over was the wisest decision she had made since transmigrating.
He seemed to possess extremely rich experience in wilderness survival. His movements were calm and swift: first folding the tent and wool blanket together, tying them behind the saddle, then laying the backpack sideways across the back of the horse and fastening it tightly with a thick leather strap.
In modern times, horses were the most extravagant of luxuries.
Even those who had ridden usually did so under the supervision of an equestrian trainer.
Ordinary people had no idea how to approach a horse safely, let alone how to adjust the saddle without startling it.
Although being with Erik was fraught with peril, she had to admit, without him she would likely already be dead—beneath the manager’s gun, or under Caesar’s hooves.
Bo Li had not forgotten that when Caesar went mad, he once bit off a groom’s ear.
Erik had helped her immensely.
She could not help but say to him: “…Thank you.”
When away from home, a few more words of thanks never went amiss.
Erik acted as though he had not heard, swung himself onto the horse, and tugged the reins.
Just as Bo Li was about to say “I can get up by myself,” he bent down, seized her by the sides of her waist as before, and lifted her up.
Bo Li had no choice but to swallow her words.
She still remembered what was written on the business card—Tricky lived in a hotel in New Orleans—yet she did not know how far they were from that city.
The journey passed in silence.
Bo Li gazed at the scenery along the road, her mind noisier than it had ever been.
At first, she had not intended to form a circus at all; the only reason she said so was to win Erik over.
Later, when she spoke of tailoring scripts for the deformed performers, so the audience might know they were living human beings too, that too was for the sake of winning him over.
He never spoke, his thoughts elusive, his actions impossible to predict.
She could only use those with experiences similar to his to break down the defenses of his heart.
Only in this way could she increase her chances of survival under his shadow.
She had not expected Tricky to come looking for her.
In this way, the resources and money for opening a circus were secured.
If she did not set up the circus, it would likely arouse his suspicion, so she could only grit her teeth and carry out the words she had once spoken.
There was little to see in the swampland—only tall, sinister bald cypress trees, their branches thick with moss, draped with strands of dark green lichen that swayed with the wind.
As Bo Li watched, she accidentally drifted into sleep. When she awoke, dusk had already fallen.
The surroundings were no longer the cypress forest of the marsh; instead, there appeared several simple farmhouses, with pigs, cattle, and sheep inside their fences.
The road was slick with mud, and every few steps lay a heap of horse dung.
As they neared the city, the fog grew heavier and murkier, taking on a filthy brownish-yellow hue.
Gas lamps already lined the road, but the mist was so thick it seemed to swallow the light whole, leaving not a trace of brightness.
Bo Li could not help but furrow her brows, covering her nose with her arm, feeling the air here was even more acrid and foul than the streets of the modern era.
Erik seemed to have been to New Orleans before; even with the fog so dense and heavy, he found the hotel with no difficulty.
At that moment, he leaned forward slightly, seemingly intending to toss the reins over the hitching post.
Bo Li quickly stopped him—in case he could not see her gesture, she practically reached out to hold his waist.
“Wait, do you know where there is a clothing shop?”
Erik paused for a moment, then picked up the reins again, gave a light tug while still astride the horse, and led it off in another direction.
Bo Li let out a breath of relief.
After a night’s fermentation, his scent had turned quite peculiar—the mingling of sweat, blood, and the decaying leaves of the swamp. If he did not change his clothes, the moment they stepped into the hotel, all eyes would surely be drawn to him.
The very thought of that scene sent a chill through her.
Erik disliked appearing before people, disliked being watched even more.
If such a scene truly occurred, he would likely start a massacre.
The clothing shop was on the verge of closing, but after much persuasion, Bo Li finally convinced the owner to let them in.
For some reason, the owner was unbothered by the mask on Erik’s face. He simply took the measuring tape from around his neck and began to take their measurements.
“Six feet two inches…” the owner muttered about Erik’s height. “You’re very lucky. Normally, I don’t stock clothing in such a size. One of my patrons, a fellow named Terry, ordered quite a few garments for those ‘freaks’ of his, and some were this large. When we make clothes, we’re used to sewing a few spares. Just so happens a few remain—I can give them to you.”
Bo Li immediately thanked him.
The shopkeeper seemed to take her for Erik’s manager and began to chat casually with her. “You must be here for that spectacle exhibition, right? Quite a few people have come into the city recently, all for that show…”
“No, no,” Bo Li replied, “we are siblings. He is my younger brother, just back from hunting in the swamp.”
As she spoke, she handed a shirt and trousers to Erik, urging him into the dressing room to change.
The owner measured her height, visibly puzzled. “Strange… you two as siblings, one towering like a giant, the other ridiculously short… What, did he steal all your milk in the womb?”
Bo Li nearly choked on her own saliva.
Thankfully, Erik was inside the dressing room and did not hear those words.
Mother, woman, intimate contact.
All of these were untouchable taboos for him.
He would never allow anyone to make jokes about them.
Bo Li suddenly thought, if she were to take care of him the way a mother would… might that prolong her survival under his hand?
She had to reverse the “predator and prey” dynamic.
Perhaps this was a good breakthrough.
With this thought, she turned and asked the shopkeeper: “Do you have dresses? In my size… dresses.”
In the end, Bo Li bought several printed dresses, a few shirts and trousers, a wide-brimmed hat, a coarse woolen bonnet, and a black cloak.
Erik raised no objection to the clothes she picked, only bought himself a pair of gloves at the counter.
Black leather gloves.
When he slowly drew on the black leather gloves, pulling them tight over his long fingers until the thin, tough leather was stretched taut over his knuckles—
Without warning, a scene from a film replayed itself in her mind, and she felt the aura of a hunter, cold and merciless.
Perhaps out of fear, her legs weakened slightly.
Bo Li had him put on the black cloak and the wide-brimmed black hat, and then they returned to the hotel.
At the hotel entrance, a few gentlemen were smoking. When they saw them dismount, they cast a casual glance their way before returning to their idle chatter.
—Going to buy clothes had been the right choice.
Bo Li dared not imagine how those gentlemen might have looked at them with scorn had they not bought new clothes.
Exposed to such gazes, what dreadful thing might Erik have done?
Another calamity averted.
If this were a game, she ought to have unlocked an achievement by now.
Bo Li wiped at her cold sweat, found the hotel attendant, and booked a room—she had intended to book two, but remembering Erik’s danger, she thought it safer if they stayed together.
The hotel had a dedicated bathhouse. The previous guest had just finished bathing, and the water was still warm. The attendant said that if they did not mind reusing the water, the bath fee could be cheaper.
Bo Li politely declined, requesting instead that two fresh vats of hot water be boiled.
Their room was on the third floor.
At the stairwell, a boy was handing out business cards.
He looked no more than twelve or thirteen, dressed in an adult’s suit, his hair slicked back with oil:
“Gentlemen, next week there will be an unprecedented spectacle exhibition held here—this is the curator, Tricky Terry’s card!”
Bo Li took one and glanced at it. This card was plainer than the one Tricky had given them before, without an address. Along the border were intricate floral patterns, and beneath the bold name was a graceful line of text:
—“Curator of Spectacles.”
Bo Li tucked the card away, thanked the boy, and went up to the third floor.
After leading them to their room, the attendant told them that the bathhouse was next door. The water was still being heated, and once ready, someone would come and notify them.
Bo Li once again murmured thanks.
After closing the door, she suddenly realized—she did not even know whether Erik was willing to bathe.
Wild animals disliked bathing.
…Would he resist it?
Bo Li turned her head toward him, but before she could speak—her vision blurred, and in the next instant, she was already forced down to the ground.
A thick wool rug covered the floor, yet even so, the pain nearly tore a cry from her lips.
“…You—” she gasped painfully, “…what is it this time?”
Erik loomed above her in silence. The gaze behind the hollows of his mask scraped tangibly against her throat.
She seemed to be in great pain, trembling with fear, sweat beading at her neck. The slick, searing dampness felt like smoldering coals against his palm, stinging to the touch.
Yet even in the depths of fear, she allowed him to touch her.
He did not like this feeling.
It made him feel… at a loss.
She seemed almost fervent in her desire to touch him, and to be touched by him.
No one had ever treated him this way.
Not even his mother.
In the days of the past, what he touched most often were corpses.
In the palace of Mazandaran, his duty was to perform killings for the king—to torture prisoners in the chamber of torment, or to strangle men in the arena with ropes.
He had touched corpses of every kind.
Warm, cold, stiffened, blood-soaked, eyes wide in death.
When alive, they recoiled from his touch; when dead, they were as docile as livestock, left to his dragging and hauling.
He was a man of calm and reason, who had never entertained the fantasy of touching the living.
Yet in these past days, he had touched far too much.
She was always embracing him, kissing his mask, sleeping in his arms, treating him as though he were nothing more than a harmless, oversized plush toy.
And now, she had gone further still—changing him into new clothes, bringing him into a luxurious guestroom, and even preparing to have him bathe—
What did she take him for?
A pet?
He had never felt such discomfort; the veins in his temples throbbed violently, his body brimming with restless aggression.
He knew she meant no harm. She was only doing her utmost for survival, treating him well within her limited power.
And yet—each time she looked at him, each time she embraced him, each subtle kiss pressed upon his mask was like an unseen whip lashing him hard.
The skin at his scalp tingled, every hair stood on end, the veins on his neck bulged. Some primal instinct for self-preservation urged him to strangle her on the spot.
Otherwise… something very terrible would happen.
Bo Li had no idea what was happening.
It seemed as though Erik was truly considering whether or not to kill her.
She could not fathom the reason, only taking it as the sudden madness of a horror film protagonist.
Breathing with difficulty, she cautiously propped herself up, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed his mask.
What chilled her from head to toe was that kissing his mask no longer seemed to work.
He gazed down at her from above, the eyes behind the hollows of his mask utterly unruffled, as though unmoved.
“……”
She could not help cursing inwardly—so even this could develop resistance?
Fear pressed upon her chest like a block of cold lead; perhaps from excessive tension, she even heard a piercing white noise.
At that moment, she noticed his neck—the pale skin beaded with sweat, a vein slightly raised, trembling like an enraged serpent—
Without thinking, Bo Li pressed her lips to it.
That was the first time she had kissed his bare skin.
He reacted as though stung by a venomous insect, abruptly releasing her.
Bo Li collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath.
She shut her eyes, drenched in sweat, her heart pounding violently within her chest, to the point her throat ached from it.
She had chosen correctly again—truly, she was a genius.
Only, it seemed she had developed some strange conditioned reflex: whenever threatened, she wanted to kiss him.
The only consolation was that he too had developed a similar conditioned reflex—whenever she kissed him, he abandoned the thought of killing her.
Bo Li could not say which of these reflexes was the more deranged.
Nor could she say, between the two of them, who was being controlled—and who was doing the taming.
Translator’s note: It’s twisted, it’s fragile, and it’s exactly what makes their tension so addictive.