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At the same time, another sharp whistle came from the direction of the camp, followed by countless points of firelight flaring up, as though a blaze had broken out.
The circus people had discovered their absence and begun raising torches to search for their trail.
The mist grew denser. Ashen-white fog, almost tangible, drifted among the tall cypress trees.
In less than a moment, the camp’s firelight was swallowed up, leaving only a faint, threadlike glow.
Yet this was no good sign.
The thicker the fog, the closer it meant dawn was.
Bo Li somewhat regretted having the nanny return the golden pocket watch to Mike. With the watch, at least she could have known the time.
Moreover, after returning the watch, Erik had received neither apology nor recompense.
People still thought of him as a freak.
Not far off was the stable, with a dozen or so horses inside. Most were draft or pack horses, large and heavy, slow in pace, used mainly to pull wagons.
The entire circus had but one fine horse, which the manager called “Caesar.”
It was a lean and powerful white Arabian, lithe and graceful in form, its coat sleek as satin, with a pearly luster shimmering upon it in certain light.
When Bo Li had sought to ingratiate herself with the horse trainer, she had fed Caesar several times—it was as picky as a spoiled dog, nibbling only at the juiciest tips of carrots, and after its main meal, it still demanded fruit.
She herself had never once eaten fruit in the circus.
After several such attempts, Bo Li abandoned the idea of escaping on Caesar’s back.
It was too pampered. Who could say, when the moment came to flee, whether it might throw her off in a fit of displeasure?
Yet Erik led Caesar out with ease.
Bo Li could hardly believe her eyes.
She had thought the horse doglike because, when given food it disliked, it would bare its teeth and snarl like one.
The trainer had once said that Caesar, in a fit of frenzy, had bitten off a handler’s ear.
Since then, whenever she glimpsed its large, neat teeth, a chill ran down her spine, and she dared not approach it again.
Now, however, it seemed to sense the dangerous aura clinging to Erik, and did not so much as snort, allowing him to strap the mountaineering bag to the back of the saddle with a leather belt.
In Caesar, Bo Li saw her own reflection—it was just like her, afraid that Erik might, without the least warning, stab it to death.
Out of sympathy, she reached out and stroked its head.
Caesar did not resist; instead, it gently nuzzled her palm with its nose.
Erik did not so much as glance at them. He had already swung himself into the saddle.
Bo Li hesitated, unsure how to tell him that she had never ridden before and did not even know how to mount a horse.
Before she could think up a perfect excuse, Erik leaned down, gripped her firmly at both sides of her ribs, and lifted her up, setting her before the saddle.
He had so little contact with people that he knew nothing of restraint.
Her underarms burned with pain where his fingers had pinched her.
Bo Li dared not cry out in pain, afraid he would only hurt her more.
This could not go on.
If they were truly to act as partners, he had to undergo… socialization training.
She did not ask that he converse with her normally, only that he learn the proper strength with which to touch her.
If their relationship improved a little further, she might even tell him to take a bath or something of the sort.
At this moment, Erik gave the reins a slight flick, and Caesar broke into a run.
Bo Li instantly clutched the saddle horn with all her strength, terrified she might be jolted off—if the horse threw her down, Erik would never pick her up again.
At the same time, the circus folk seemed to have discovered that they had stolen Caesar; several warning shots rang out into the sky.
Only then did Bo Li understand why, back in Los Angeles, people there were so sensitive to loud noises.
Those who would never be gunned down could never comprehend what it felt like to hear shots explode behind them.
It was like a whip lashing savagely against the heart.
Bo Li consoled herself: at this hour the accuracy of their aim must be low, and even in bright light it was uncertain whether they could hit them.
All the more so with such heavy fog.
No sooner had this thought flitted through her mind than—bang, bang, bang—several shots went off, and a bullet struck the ground beside the horse’s hooves.
Under Erik’s control, Caesar only let out a frightened whinny and did not rear to throw them off.
Bo Li’s back, however, was instantly drenched in cold sweat. Her heart rammed against her throat, blood surged madly through her temples, and her whole body nearly collapsed limp into Erik’s arms.
At this point, she no longer cared what Erik thought. She twisted around and pressed herself desperately into his embrace, trying to use him as a human shield against the bullets.
To her surprise, Erik did not push her away.
She heard his heartbeat.
Though his gaze was icy and vacant, his heart beat swift and strong, like some powerful hydraulic machine, ceaselessly pumping scalding blood into every limb and bone.
Astonishingly, within his arms, she felt warmth—and… safety.
But the mood was swiftly broken.
Suddenly, a wagon appeared ahead—not a carriage with a cab, but a flatbed more like a freight cart, blocking the way entirely.
On the cart, a guard raised a gun and took aim at them, shouting loudly: “Stop—stop, or I’ll shoot!”
For a few seconds, Bo Li’s mind went utterly blank. Her whole body seemed steeped in ice water, her limbs stiff, incapable of any response.
Everything before her eyes had gone beyond the bounds of her comprehension.
However calm she might be, however quick her thoughts might turn, she was still but an ordinary person, with no means at all to face such a situation.
Just as they were about to crash into that freight cart, Erik suddenly yanked the reins back hard.
Caesar reared with a loud whinny. The scene before her spun wildly; in panic, Bo Li only had time to cling tightly around Caesar’s neck.
Caesar panted in short, rapid breaths, its neck already slick with sweat, seemingly just as frantic and bewildered as she.
Yet Erik yanked hard on the reins, leaned forward, and clamped his legs tight against the horse’s belly, actually forcing it into calm submission!
Just as Bo Li was about to let out a breath of relief, what happened next etched itself into her memory for life—
Erik flung out a rope with lightning speed, its loop falling with perfect precision around the guard’s neck. With a savage jerk backward—!
No one knew how he had manipulated the rope, nor how monstrous his strength truly was, but he wrenched the guard’s head clean off!
Bo Li cursed her own sharp eyesight; she could see all too clearly the severed neck, the raw red flesh, the ghastly white spine laid bare.
Erik’s gaze was steady as he drew the rope back inch by inch.
Bo Li saw a shred of meat clinging to the rope and nearly retched on the spot.
She squeezed her eyes shut, turned her head away, straining not to look at the carnage before her.
Yes, she had seen her share of horror films, but to witness such a grotesque sight with her own eyes was still far too much.
Especially the blood—so real, blackened, warm, gurgling, congealing the instant the wind touched it, like some rancid, metallic jelly.
Erik only seemed calm. In truth, his heartbeat thundered violently, the scene before him stirring in him a strange, unspeakable thrill.
Bo Li did her utmost to diminish her presence, fearful he might remember that in his arms still lay a living being whose neck he could just as easily snap.
Erik did not look at her. His eyes fell instead upon the rifle lying beside the guard.
Dozens of seconds passed before Bo Li managed to steady her terror, barely recovering composure.
“…Should we pick it up?” she asked.
Erik gave no reply, but dismounted and picked it up.
He knew how to handle a gun—the way he ejected the cartridge, reloaded, every motion was swift and practiced.
No matter how many times she saw it, Bo Li could not help but feel astonishment—his powers of perception far surpassed ordinary men; his mind was brilliant beyond measure.
Just as the original book had said: if not for his monstrous appearance, he might well have become a world-renowned inventor and master of illusion.
Bo Li did not wish to appear so spineless.
Yet she was truly grateful that, upon their first meeting, he had only expressed his opinion with a dagger—instead of tearing her head from her shoulders.
Erik finished examining the gun and began searching the guard’s pockets.
Bo Li had no idea when he would be done.
She felt a surge of fear and longed to climb down from the horse to stand by his side.
But damn it—she did not know how to dismount.
She had never received riding lessons; to get down rashly might startle the horse—and in that case, losing the mountaineering bag would be the least of it. More likely, she would snap her neck in the fall.
She could not fathom why Erik would leave her alone on horseback.
Some kind of test of trust?
To see if she would wheel the horse around and abandon him?
But she did not even know how to ride!
Time ticked away, second by second. At any moment, the circus people might catch up.
A fierce sense of danger crept along Bo Li’s spine. She clutched the saddle horn, her limbs stiff, not daring to move.
Fortunately, Erik had at last finished stripping the corpse and turned toward her.
But he was already a step too late.
Through the thick fog, flames drew closer and closer, like a wildfire rapidly spreading.
The circus people had arrived.
From the darkness, a dozen strange faces emerged, their expressions blank as they gazed at them, like eerie black-and-white portraits in some museum.
The atmosphere grew taut, suffocating, on the verge of breaking.
At their head rode a man on a black horse. Compared to her own tense unease, he sat at ease, completely in control.
—The manager of the circus.
This was the first time since her transmigration that Bo Li had seen the circus manager face-to-face.
He was around forty, his appearance ordinary, with a pair of moustaches on his lip. He wore a dark suit, from whose waist dangled the gold chain of a pocket watch, looking for all the world a cultivated gentleman.
Yet behind his ear was a cigarette, and the holster on his saddle was unbuttoned, exposing the ivory handle of a revolver.
In the dead silence, the manager spoke at leisure:
“To be honest, I am somewhat curious—how did you persuade Erik to run away with you?”
Bo Li fixed her gaze on his eyes without answering. Her palms were slick with cold sweat.
“I spent three months with him, and in all that time heard him say only three things: ‘Not mute,’ ‘Good,’ and ‘Understood.’ He can sing, but he never sings before the audience. No one knows where the sound comes from—is it his throat, his chest, or—has he hidden a phonograph beneath the stage?”
It was a jest.
But Bo Li could not laugh.
The air hung heavy as death.
She instinctively looked toward Erik.
He stood between her and the manager, his expression unreadable, his gaze fathomless, his temper impossible to discern.
“To learn of his past, I visited many locals. A Persian named Daroga told me that he is a demon, one who brings misfortune to those around him.”
“Daroga also said he is cold-blooded and merciless, that he has killed countless men, and invented many dreadful contraptions… Most astonishing of all, that even if his opponent bore gun, or knife, or shield, he could still strangle him with a lasso.”
The manager shook his head with a sigh. “At the time, I thought that Persian was lying. How could there be such a fearsome man in this world? But now, having seen it with my own eyes, I know indeed—such terrifying mastery of the rope does exist!”
All of this was written in the original novel.
Bo Li’s voice was tight: “What is it you are trying to say?”
Smiling faintly, the manager said: “What I wish to say is—he is powerful, near to omnipotent, but also exceedingly dangerous. Are you certain you wish to journey with such a man?”
“That is none of your concern.”
“Ignorant one,” the manager shook his head. “He was once a convict of the Persian Kingdom, sentenced for grave crimes. It was only through certain means that I purchased him from the nobles’ hands. I gave him freedom, I gave him rebirth, I gave him the chance to become a star. And look—this is how he repays me?”
No wonder—Erik had never once shown any intent to kill Mike.
Mike was the manager’s nephew.
And the manager had saved him.
Bo Li said, “Since that is so, then why, when he was slandered and humiliated, did you turn a blind eye?”
The manager spread his hands. “For heaven’s sake, who knows why Mike had him tied to a horse and dragged along! You saw what became of that guard—if he wished, he could snap anyone’s neck at any moment… Who can guess what he was thinking, why he did not fight back—can you?”
“Perhaps that was his way of repaying you,” Bo Li said calmly. “Mike is your nephew. He restrained the urge to kill him.”
The manager froze for a moment, then laughed aloud. “Good, very good—that is a fine explanation! I think I now understand why he obeys you so readily.”
The corners of his mouth lifted, his tone still edged with an effortless smile. “But do you truly mean to go on the road with him? These days, I have been watching you both—surely you too have realized how dangerous he is, haven’t you? Perhaps you yourself have not noticed, but many others have seen it—there is a bruise upon your neck, the imprint of five fingers. It was his hand that left it, was it not?”
So the one who had been secretly observing her all along was the manager.
That explained why Erik had pierced the nanny’s palm with a dagger, yet no commotion had followed.
There had been a pair of eyes hidden in the shadows, waiting to see how close she could draw to Erik.
Bo Li looked toward Erik.
He did not look at her. The gaze behind the hollows of his eyes showed no change, as though he had long foreseen this moment.
Bo Li could only ask the manager: “…What is it that you truly want to say?”
With careless ease, the manager replied: “What I want is simple. At this point, Erik can no longer serve me. I have no more use for him. I want you—you are more valuable than he is.”
He plucked the cigarette from behind his ear, set it between his lips, struck a match, and lit it. “You seem to know where that pack came from, and what it is for. That matters greatly to me.”
The manager drew a breath of smoke and exhaled a slow plume. “If you are willing to stay, and answer my questions about the pack, I can give you everything you desire—fame, wealth, whatever you want, I have it.”
Bo Li thought to herself: You have nothing.
If she were not a modern person, but truly Polly Claremont, she might well have been taken in by such words.
After all, by every appearance, the manager seemed far more worthy of allegiance than Erik.
The manager commanded many men, many guns, and wielded wide connections.
Whereas Erik possessed only a rope, and an old rifle.
Who would be so foolish as to choose him?
Yet she could not erase from her mind the image of Erik twisting the rope and wrenching the guard’s head clean off—that was something no laws of physics could explain.
This was the world of a horror story.
He might well possess inhuman strength.
Since her transmigration, she had weighed gain and loss, swallowed her indignation, moved step by step with caution, and only thus barely won his trust, surviving under his hand.
How could she, for the sake of a circus manager’s empty promise, abandon everything she had so painstakingly built?
“Erik…” Bo Li suddenly spoke, her voice carrying a faint tremor.
The manager did not stop her from addressing him. His expression was full of confidence, as though utterly certain that she would choose him over a dangerous freak.
At last, Erik raised his eyes to look at her.
His gaze was so calm it bordered on tranquil, as if no matter what choice she made, he would feel not the least surprise.
“…I choose you,” she said.
As the words fell, she watched with her own eyes as a look of astonishment flickered across his face.