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Bo Li had never imagined that one day she would pin her hopes upon spirits and deities.
Yet she had indeed begun to interact frequently with Boyd, hoping to draw out more information from his mouth concerning mediums.
To be fair, Boyd was a man worth associating with. He was gentle and courteous, humorous and charming, with slender, fair fingers, and the faint scent of perfume upon him.
Even if he were not a medium, she would still be willing to be his friend.
Boyd told her that mediums were always cautious and would not easily receive guests.
“You must understand, even now there are places that still preserve the tradition of burning witches,” Boyd said. “Every medium, especially female mediums… is a precious asset of the spirit world within the mortal realm. We must protect them.”
“But rest assured,” he added softly, “when the time is right, I will certainly introduce you to them, so that your friend may find the way home.”
Bo Li did not know if she was merely clutching at straws.
She was keenly aware that some of Boyd’s words, rather than being meant for her so-called ‘spirit body,’ were more a kind of rhetoric.
For instance, those who sought out mediums were, for the most part, people driven to desperation.
And since they were desperate, naturally they would be weighed down with gloom.
All the more so since her neck still bore the marks left by Erik’s fingers.
Her throat had been squeezed until it turned bluish-purple; of course she would feel fear, and thus he could speak with such certainty: “Your spirit body is very afraid.”
What truly remained with her, however, was that one line: “Let me guess, you do not belong here.”
But then, her accent, tone, mannerisms, attire, even the way she walked—all of it was at odds with the ladies around her.
That he would conclude “she did not belong here” was only natural.
After much thought, Bo Li decided it was better to believe than not to believe.
That day, she had lunch with Boyd and then went to the theater to see a performance.
Thinking of the plots she had seen in films, she was in truth not very willing to go.
Boyd, thinking she disliked opera, laughed as he explained: “This is a small theater, there are no operas performed here. The audiences who come are here to see magic, acrobatics, or to hear the singing stars.”
Bo Li considered for a moment and agreed.
Perhaps in the end she must still return to her old trade; going to the theater to understand the style of performances now would not be such a bad thing.
Boyd was a regular at the theater and directly led her into a crimson box to take their seats.
He drew a small opera glass from his breast and handed it to her. “With this, you will see more clearly.”
The theater glass still carried his body’s warmth, making her feel a wave of discomfort.
Whether it was her imagination or not, when she took the glass from him, his thumb seemed to brush lightly across the back of her gloved hand.
Bo Li could not help but knit her brows.
Perhaps because everyone’s breath mingled together, the theater was unbearably stifling.
In less than ten minutes, Bo Li was already drenched in sweat. Sticky perspiration slid down her neck, like insects crawling over her skin.
Perhaps because she was seated in the box, she kept feeling a hot draft against the back of her neck—
as though someone were breathing right behind her.
At this moment, Boyd suddenly spoke: “That female singer must be mad, to cut her hair so short, like a man’s.”
Bo Li only wanted to step out for air, and did not care in the least what he was saying. “Hm?”
“Hair possesses spirit,” he said in a low voice. “When I treat my female patients, I always urge them to protect their hair. A woman’s hair is also a part of her spirit body… To cut it off is equivalent to cutting off one’s own spirit body, and this will invite ghosts to intrude.”
Bo Li finally realized he was talking nonsense. “How could hair possibly be part of the spirit body? Then wouldn’t men’s spirit bodies all be cripples among spirits?”
Boyd did not answer. After a pause, he stood up, went behind her, and pressed down upon her shoulders.
Bo Li grew increasingly uncomfortable and struggled a little. “You—”
“Don’t move,” he bent low and spoke at her ear. “I will not harm you. I only did not expect that after knowing each other so long, you still don’t believe that I can see the spirit body… Allow me to prove it to you.”
He extended his hand and gently stroked the side of her neck. “Do you feel it? Your spirit body is moving along with my fingers… It is very afraid, afraid of someone once more seizing your throat and leaving behind those dreadful bruises. But it is all right, I will heal it—my blood carries magnetism, so long as you and I share a room and are open with each other, everything will be cured—”
The corner of Bo Li’s lips twitched, and she suddenly stood up.
…It was too humiliating.
As a modern person, she had actually associated with a mere charlatan for so long.
She had guessed correctly: Boyd’s words were all patter, their purpose to seduce.
Who knew how many women he had deceived with this trick—naïve young ladies, who might truly, under his touch, feel their bodies tingling and mistakenly believe a spirit body was flowing beneath their skin.
Boyd looked at her with some surprise. “What is the matter, Miss Claremont?”
Bo Li very much wanted to turn hostile.
But these past few days, she and Boyd had gone in and out together; Boyd already knew she lived at the hotel, and had even sneaked a glance at the number on her key.
She had no choice. To transmigrate into the nineteenth century, to encounter Erik’s inhuman strength… and given that Boyd’s every act had, until now, seemed like that of a gentleman, it was difficult not to believe his words.
Had this been modern times, she might already have kicked him.
But this was the nineteenth century, America, New Orleans.
Police forces were meager, and methods of handling cases limited.
Boyd was also connected to Tricky Terry—the manager, for money’s sake, had sold Emily to Tricky Terry, who then “put her to sleep” and sold her to so-called “scientists” in need.
When she met Tricky, she had just escaped the circus and thought it all over, forgetting entirely that Tricky was as dangerous as the manager!
Cold sweat seeped into Bo Li’s palms, and a chill surged upward from the soles of her feet.
Boyd and Tricky were jackals of the same lair; it was entirely possible he might do something as extreme as Tricky.
She was now in a weak position. She had to remain calm, steady him first.
Leave here, and then think of other matters.
Bo Li swallowed, stepped back, and forced herself to say: “It is too stifling here, I cannot breathe. Let us watch another performance some other time.”
Boyd raised his brows, recognizing that she was frightened by his actions.
But he was accustomed to seeing such a reaction from female guests, and thought nothing of it.
As an excellent hunter, he knew well that only when the prey relaxed its vigilance could the net be drawn closed.
Bo Li was beautiful. Though her palms were a little rough, her speech and bearing were in no way like those of a girl from a poor household.
He did not mind waiting a while longer.
“It is nothing,” Boyd gently lifted the brim of his hat with two fingers and said warmly, “when you wish to heal your spirit body, contact me at any time. I will always be waiting for you.”
Bo Li did not reply. She took her ladies’ coat and hastily departed.
Boyd returned to the velvet seat, crossed his legs, and took a sip of gin.
He raised the opera glass and fixed his attention on the performance, failing to notice that the closed door had once again opened a silent crack.
Back at the hotel, Bo Li had the attendant heat water. She went upstairs, removed her wig, and shed the heavy gown.
Women’s clothing was too dangerous; better to dress in men’s garb in the future.
Besides, it was far too hot.
The theater was small, and the box even smaller.
Two people sitting together felt like three people breathing.
…No, not right.
She suddenly shivered.
Could there truly have been a third person there?
The only one capable of such a thing was Erik.
But he had not appeared for a long time, nor had he any reason to appear in that box.
Just then, the attendant knocked at her door to inform her that the bathwater was ready.
Bo Li thought for a moment, fetched a pair of scissors, and cut off a lock of the wig, intending to place it later at the threshold of her room.
In this way, she would know whether anyone had entered her room.
After finishing, Bo Li especially instructed the attendant not to enter her room and not to send anyone to clean. Then she went to bathe.
When she returned, she crouched down to inspect the hair at the door’s crack.
There had been no change.
Had she been overthinking?
That night, she slept poorly—for if the one in the box had been Erik, it was highly possible he might break into her room in the middle of the night.
She slid a pair of scissors beneath her pillow.
The entire night she held fast to the handle of the scissors.
The next morning, upon rising, she immediately checked the hair at her door.
Still, there was no change.
After the incident with Boyd, she dared not grow careless again, and continued to place the hair by the door.
To prevent herself from forgetting, she even took out her spare phone—powered it on, switched to power-saving mode, and snapped a photograph.
The days passed one by one. On the fourth day, the strands of hair finally showed a change.
A very subtle change.
The intruder seemed to have discovered the strands she had wedged at the door. After disturbing them, he had tried to restore them from memory.
But he had not known she possessed a phone; every strand of hair had been captured with precision in her photograph.
Bo Li did not know who the one sneaking into her room was—Erik, or someone under Tricky.
She thought about it for a while and realized the question was meaningless.
Both of them could threaten her personal safety.
What difference did it make who it was?
Yet, in her heart, there was a voice whispering—there was a difference.
Boyd could not fill the emptiness of her spirit after transmigrating.
But Erik could. He made her heart race, her breath catch, her adrenaline surge, her entire being become sensitive and alert.
He made her hear the pounding of her own heartbeat, made her feel that she was alive—truly alive.
Boyd too made her cautious, yet the feeling he brought was completely different from Erik’s.
Why?
She did not know.
Nor did she know what she ought to do now.
Should she pretend she knew nothing? Or leave at once?
If it were the latter, would it provoke the other, and invite something worse?
On the fifth day, the strands of hair at the door vanished. The intruder seemed to realize she had noticed and no longer tried to restore them.
This discovery sent a chill coursing through Bo Li.
She immediately went to the docks to ask several captains scheduled to set sail whether they could take her aboard.
Her actions seemed to have angered the intruder. On the sixth day, the phonograph in her room was turned on, a worn record placed upon it.
The crackling song that poured out was the very one she and Boyd had heard at the theater.
Bo Li’s scalp prickled, her chest tightened, her heart pounding as if it would burst.
She fought to suppress her panic, turned to open the door—only to find it locked fast. The intruder no longer wished to play at intimidation, but had begun his attack.
Bo Li did not hesitate, immediately moving toward the window, but the window too had been locked.
She drew a deep breath, just about to grab something to smash it open—when suddenly, a dark shadow dropped from above, lunging straight toward her—
For several seconds she was nearly frozen in place, her heart seized violently by fear, forced to watch as that thing dangled before her eyes, swaying back and forth.
…It was, in fact, Boyd’s finger.
She remembered his finger vividly and recognized it at a glance—what was more, on that finger was Boyd’s ring, the edge engraved with his initials: L.B.
It was not one of Tricky Terry’s men.
It was Erik who had broken into her room.
Knowing this, she did not relax; instead, her heart tightened even further.
Erik’s behavior had grown ever more unpredictable.
She had no idea why he had entered her room, or why he had cut off Boyd’s finger.
The next moment, a cold knife lightly pressed against her neck, sliding downward along her carotid artery.
Erik.
He was right behind her, the blade grazing her throat, as though at any moment he might split open her artery.
Would he?
—Yes, he would. He had already acted against Boyd.
Why had he acted against Boyd?
—She did not know. These past days she had spent all her time with Boyd, and she could not recall saying anything that might have offended him. They had not even mentioned him.
But clearly, something had provoked his wrath.
The temperature around her seemed to plummet at a terrifying speed.
Bo Li could hear his breath sounding behind her—so rough, so urgent.
Her fearful, helpless flailing seemed to arouse in him a trace of… excitement.
That was more frightening than his anger.
Bo Li had seen him in excitement before—that time, he single-handedly slaughtered the manager and the circus guards.
She did not want to know what might happen if he were excited now.
With a bang—
It seemed he had lowered the dagger.
Bo Li’s heart nearly ceased beating.
From where she stood, she could see the towering shadow closing in, slowly devouring her frail and fragile shadow—
Then, warmth spread across her body.
He leaned forward and embraced her.