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Bo Li was awakened by Erik pushing her.
She opened her eyes in a daze, thinking he wanted to embrace her again, so she reached out to wrap her arms around his waist, buried her head against his chest, and prepared to continue sleeping.
He seemed to pause for a moment, but very quickly seized her arm and tore her away.
It was the first time he had ever rejected her embrace.
Bo Li was fully awake.
They did not know how long they had slept; the sky was already pale with dawn.
Morning mist spread thick, and it seemed there had been a small rain the night before. Moss, rotting leaves, and silt were all soaked, presenting a murky, ghostly green.
The sight of mud gave Bo Li a headache.
Even after so long, she still could not adapt to the harshness of the wild.
No bed, no water, mud that could swallow the hems of her pants and soak her shoes at any moment.
A life like this—no matter if another ten years passed—she doubted she could ever grow accustomed to it.
While she hesitated, Erik had already risen and stepped out of the tent.
Bo Li put on her shoes and was just about to go out in search of him, when suddenly the sound of hooves and the creaking of wheels came from outside.
No wonder Erik had torn her away and left ahead of time.
He disliked being watched by strangers and rarely appeared before others.
As a predator, he had no need to appear before others—shadows were more suited for launching attacks.
The carriage seemed to have stopped in front of the tent. The sound of a door pushing open rang out; someone leapt down from the carriage and walked toward her.
Bo Li reacted swiftly. She rushed to the edge of the tent, showing only a side profile, one hand hidden behind her back, feigning as though she held a gun:
“—Who?”
A warm voice called out: “Thank heavens you are here! I thought that freak had killed you!”
The man seemed to know her, his tone very familiar, yet she had no idea who he was.
Bo Li’s heart tightened.
From his words, it seemed he knew of Erik’s existence, and also of everything that had happened in the circus.
She had thought that once the manager was dead, the matter of the circus was finished, and she was completely free of that group.
But now it seemed she was still shrouded beneath the shadow of the circus.
Someone had even secretly followed them here.
Bo Li said coolly: “I don’t know you.”
“But I know you.” The man removed his hat and bowed toward her, the gesture so humble it was almost comical. “You are Polly Claremont of the circus, are you not?”
“And if I say I am not?”
The man smiled. “Then I would say—you are a dishonest child. Do you know Emily?”
Bo Li’s voice was taut: “She is not with me.”
“I know, because she is with me,” the man replied. “To show my sincerity, Mr. Claremont, let me first introduce myself. My name is Terry. I am an honest and friendly intermediary, never one to use knife or gun. You may rest assured and come out to speak with me.”
Bo Li did not know what trick he was playing. After thinking for a moment, she slowly stepped out.
It was fine, she told herself, Erik was watching her from the shadows.
She did not realize this was an unhealthy dependence.
The instant she clearly saw Tricky’s face, Bo Li’s whole body trembled.
She knew this tall, thin man—on the morning of her second day after crossing over, and later at the evening party, he had stood beside Emily, talking and laughing with the manager.
—Emily’s elder brother!
Her guess was not wrong, yet the tall, thin man was not Emily’s brother.
He called himself an “intermediary,” but what kind of intermediary he was, and why he had tracked them here—Bo Li had no way of knowing, nor did she dare to think further.
“I do not believe I am worth being sought out by an intermediary,” she said, enunciating each word.
“You are cautious. That is a good thing.” Tricky pulled a match from his pocket and a cigarette from a case. “The world is not safe. Villains are everywhere. The police do not care, and the Pinkerton Detective Agency serves only the wealthy—for people like us, even if we die, no one spares a thought.”
Bo Li said coldly: “You mean, if I die here, no one would care?”
“God bear witness!” With the cigarette between his lips, Tricky raised his hand, his face full of sincerity. “I speak of those people in the woods—your former employer, Mr. Dawes.”
“Dawes” was the manager’s surname. The circus itself was called “Mr. Dawes’ Circus.”
Bo Li: “Whether Mr. Dawes lives or dies—what is that to me?”
“So cold,” Tricky sighed after taking a drag, shaking his head. “But understandable. Dawes was not a good man—cheating, tricking, wicked beyond measure. To tell you the truth, I am not Emily’s brother.”
Bo Li deliberately raised her brows in feigned surprise.
“Dawes sent her to follow me because he hoped she could devote herself to science—you know, she has four legs. Many scientists were very curious whether she had two sets of organs, and if so, how pregnancy functioned in such a body.”
Tricky said, “I was a persuader hired by Dawes. He wanted me to convince Emily to accept euthanasia and ‘donate’ her body to those curious scientists.”
At last, Bo Li understood what was meant by “the art of language.”
Human trafficking and filthy profiteering—yet this man could dress it up as “devotion to science.”
Bo Li sneered: “Then are you here to persuade me to ‘devote myself to science’ as well?”
Tricky laughed: “My dear, apart from Emily, no one is needed to devote themselves to science.”
He exhaled a plume of smoke, narrowing his eyes. “I came here to recruit your companion, Erik.”
At last, he had reached the true purpose.
Bo Li’s heart skipped a beat. Her thoughts turned swiftly, and she attempted to fish for information in a tone of jealousy: “Erik? What is there to recruit in him? He is nothing more than a thief who happens to steal quickly.”
“If you had seen with your own eyes the manager’s manner of death, you would not say so.”
Bo Li answered with perfect righteousness: “I did not see it. My horse was startled.” This was the truth.
Tricky, seeing her answer every question with ignorance, showed impatience on his face, and his earlier politeness disappeared.
“Enough chatter, boy.” Even the way he addressed her had changed. “Tell me where Erik is. I can give you a large sum of money, enough to guarantee you a lifetime of comfort. You don’t want to spend your whole life wallowing in mud, do you?”
The look he gave her was as though she were a fool, clutching a treasure yet unaware of its worth.
But he did not know—handing over that treasure would mean her death.
Besides, Erik was so formidable, nearly omnipotent. Everyone wanted him to risk his life on their behalf.
Since that was the case, why should she be the one to hand him over?
And yet…
Bo Li’s eyes shifted toward Tricky’s carriage.
There was no doubt—it was an expensive private carriage.
The body was lacquered, with silk curtains hanging from its windows. Even the panels bore exquisite paintings, and the wheels had been carefully maintained, appearing both sturdy and smooth-turning.
Tricky was a wealthy man, and he had provoked Erik—Erik surely had not gone far, and might well be listening nearby.
Bo Li could not help but think, with a flicker of malice, whether she might persuade Erik to rob this Tricky?
That way, she would no longer have to “spend her whole life wallowing in mud.”
Seeing her silence, Tricky seemed to realize his tone had grown harsh, and he forcibly twisted it back into one of gentle humility:
“I mean him no harm, truly. I merely wish to discuss a business matter with him—you do not know how astonishing his magic is! He can conjure fire out of thin air, as though it were sorcery! The last magician who shocked me so deeply was Robert-Houdin.”
In the original text as well, Erik’s consummate magical skills were likened to Robert-Houdin.
One must know, Robert-Houdin was the “Father of Modern Magic.”
If not for him, magic might still be only a street performance, and not an art gracing both refined and popular stages alike.
Bo Li had never seen Erik perform magic, and could not help but feel a touch of curiosity—was he truly so extraordinary?
She thought it over, and decided to uphold to the end the guise of a jealous, envious companion: “What is so great about that? There was an Indian in the circus who could even breathe fire.”
“How could that compare? With a mouthful of liquor and a torch in hand, even a three-year-old child can breathe fire—” Tricky was so provoked by her words that he leapt to his feet, restraining with the last of his discipline the impulse to lash out.
He drew a deep breath and handed Bo Li a calling card:
“This is my card. My address is on it. Next week, I shall be holding a banquet there, and all the gentlemen and ladies of high society will be attending.”
“If you should have any news of Erik, it would be best to tell me before that day—on the day itself will also do. I promise I will show you my gratitude.”
Tricky’s calling card bore a faint fragrance—the scent of his cologne, somewhat pleasant.
Bo Li could not help but lift it to her nose for a sniff.
She had to admit, though this man harbored ulterior motives, he had solved her greatest current dilemma—having neither money nor connections.
Truly, when drowsy, a pillow was handed over.
If she wanted to establish herself in this era, relying on nothing but the manager’s wallet was impossible.
And returning now to the circus encampment to plunder goods was not feasible—surely not everyone had joined in the hunt for them; there would certainly be some left behind to guard the camp.
Seeing that the manager had not returned for so long, those left behind at the encampment had either gone out in search of him, or divided up the property and dispersed.
If she could persuade Erik to let her attend Tricky’s banquet, she would be able to make some new acquaintances.
If luck were on her side, she might even secure some investment for her own circus.
But chiefly—it was about making new acquaintances.
Bo Li longed too much to speak with others.
She was not someone who loved socializing, even somewhat introverted. Aside from necessary social occasions, she generally stayed at home playing games.
It was only because her friends had dragged her along that she had gone climbing. She had stuffed two six-jin hotpot tins into her pack, and her friends had teased her about it for a long time afterward.
After crossing over, she no longer dared to meet others’ eyes, no longer dared to speak, no longer dared to speak of her own feelings.
The sensation was unbearable.
It was as if she had been utterly cut off from the entire world.
So much so that later, even embracing someone who might kill her at any moment brought her a measure of comfort.
Erik was so perilous.
The relationship between them was not that of friend and friend, but of predator and prey.
Even so, she still felt it better than the coldness and loneliness of reality.
She craved contact too much.
Without social contact, even the faintest breath of another’s presence would suffice.
Like Erik, she too desired an embrace.
Any kind of embrace would do.
So long as it allowed her to be certain she was still alive.
When she came back to herself, Tricky had already climbed into his carriage and departed.
Footsteps sounded behind her—Erik had returned.
A tall shadow loomed over her. He stood behind her and drew the calling card from her hand.
For some reason, his head lowered slightly, and the place where his nose would be beneath the mask was pressed toward the card… almost as if he were inhaling its scent.
Why?
Because she had smelled it too?
Bo Li felt a little bewildered.
She did not dwell on it. Gathering herself, she said to him: “…I want to attend this banquet.”
Erik looked at her, neither assenting nor refusing.
“I truly mean to form a circus, not merely speak of it,” Bo Li said. “Tricky has ties to the manager, and those people at the banquet may very well be interested in a circus. If I am fortunate enough, I might even secure considerable investment there.”
Erik held the calling card and regarded her, his expression unfathomable.
Bo Li had now grown exceedingly perceptive; meeting his gaze, she knew she ought to embrace him:
“Rest assured, I will not exchange you for anything.”
As she wrapped her arms around his waist, she added silently in her heart: But if you could help me rob Tricky, that would be even better.
Of course, this was only idle fancy in her mind—she did not truly believe she had the power to command Erik.
Erik, from beginning to end, gave no response. Yet after she hugged him, he returned Tricky’s calling card to her.
Bo Li let out a sigh of relief. He believed her words.
Crisis averted.
The thought had scarcely flashed through her mind when the card in her hand suddenly ignited—
The flame sprang up as if out of nothing. She was certain the card had no oil, no alcohol, no combustible at all—yet it burned!
She started in fright.
The card fell into the mud, still blazing. The fire was strangely large, and before long, it crumbled into a pool of ashes.
Bo Li’s heart raced wildly; for a long moment she could not recover herself.
She knew the essence of magic was sleight of hand—or rather, an art of performance.
A magician deceived the audience’s senses—misdirecting their vision, manipulating their psychology, to bewilder their eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and body.
But to witness such a scene with her own eyes—it was overwhelming.
If her phone could connect to the internet, she would already be searching for an explanation video.
Bo Li stared at the ashes of the card, and asked somewhat dazedly: “…Then may I still attend the banquet?”
Unexpectedly, Erik nodded.
Surprise mingled with puzzlement within her—if that was the case, then why had he burned Tricky’s card?
Suddenly, a strange thought sprang into her mind:
Could it be that he was refuting the words she had spoken to Tricky—“What is so great about that? There was an Indian in the circus who could even breathe fire”…?