⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
No matter what, she had finally managed to take a hot bath.
The inn’s bathhouse was larger than she had imagined. Perfume had been sprinkled into the tub, filling the air with a strong lavender fragrance.
Beside it were neatly arranged all kinds of bathing supplies—soap, hair oil, sponge, towels, face cloths, combs, snow cream, and cologne.
With the sponge lathered in soap, Bo Li scrubbed herself for more than an hour before finally stepping out.
Since crossing over, this was the first time she felt her pores truly open, her entire body seeming three catties lighter.
As she dried her damp hair with a towel, she was thinking about how she might persuade Erik to bathe as well. But when she returned to the room, he was already gone.
She had long grown accustomed to his comings and goings like a ghost. She thought nothing of it, only hoping he would not drag someone back with him again in the middle of the night.
Speaking of which, she had finally gotten a look at the features of this body.
It was very much like her modern self, almost identical—her father was French, and she had inherited his high nose bridge, deep eye sockets, fair skin, and a few faint light-brown freckles across the nose.
The only difference was that her modern self had black hair, while this body’s hair was red.
—Strictly speaking, it was ginger.
Yet under certain light, it would appear flamboyantly red.
Bo Li could more or less understand why this body had been dressed as a man.
Red-haired people, especially red-haired women, had always suffered discrimination.
In Chekhov’s novels, it was even written outright, “Red-haired women are cunning, false, venomous, and sinister.”
Although the line was mostly satirical, it nonetheless proved how many prejudices existed against red-haired women in that era.
Bo Li had never known why the original host’s mother had dressed her as a boy.
But she was willing to believe it had been a form of protection, rather than a preference for sons over daughters.
The skirts she had bought earlier were all spread out across the bed.
Bo Li casually picked up a printed dress and changed into it.
Her hair was still very short, not even reaching her ears, yet when paired with the skirt it did not look out of place at all. On the contrary, it revealed a kind of clean, untamed wildness.
With a coarse wool hat pulled on and the strap tied beneath her chin, Bo Li felt that even if she walked out right now, no one would suspect she was the “Mr. Claremont” living here.
In this era, it was not that women never wore men’s clothing openly, but those who did were stage performers in theaters or circuses, hardly respectable in society.
A true lady would never wear trousers.
For them, trousers existed only beneath their skirts—an absolute privacy and taboo.
To wear trousers was akin to baring one’s thighs in public; only cancan dancers1Cancan dancers were performers, mostly women, who danced the cancan—a very energetic and risqué dance that originated in France in the 1830s and became popular in cabarets and music halls like the Moulin Rouge in Paris. would expose their drawers so brazenly.
This was also the reason audiences loved watching performances of women in men’s attire.
On stage, these women thought themselves well-dressed, transformed into feminine gentlemen.
But in the eyes of the audience below, they were already stripped bare.
It was a pity Erik was not here, or else she truly wanted to test his attitude toward women’s dress.
Before this, he had only known she was a girl, but had never seen her in women’s clothing.
Perhaps her kiss had so little effect on him precisely because she had not yet changed into a dress?
Bo Li regretted that after finishing The Phantom of the Opera novel, she had not kept the file but casually deleted it instead.
Otherwise, at this moment, she could have taken out a notebook, gone through it while checking the details of the original text, and even written a guide to prevent herself from one day mixing up a detail and ending up dead at Erik’s hands.
No, that was not right.
Who said that without the original text, she could not write a guide?
Bo Li did not know how long she would have to stay here. For now, she still remembered the details of the original novel, but what about a year, two years, five years… ten years later?
Who could say if she would still remember by then?
At this thought, she immediately pulled open the drawer of the guestroom’s writing desk, found a blank notebook, and began to write with her fountain pen.
She was not worried that Erik would understand it—no matter how intelligent he was, no matter how many languages he knew, there was no way he could read Simplified Chinese.
The origins of Simplified Chinese were complex. Although the rudiments already existed, the script still lacked a hundred years of evolution and reform before becoming the modern form.
Unless he were to find another Chinese person to interpret word by word for him, the chance of him deciphering it on his own was zero.
First, Bo Li wrote down a summary of the original plot, then marked the differences between the novel, the musical, and the horror film versions. Lastly, she warned herself:
If he wants to kill you, the best way to defuse the crisis is through kissing, embracing, or any form of physical contact.
She paused in thought, then continued writing:
– It is now the latter half of October, 1888. Up to this point, you have not yet seen his appearance, but no matter what he looks like, you must not fear his appearance, nor reveal shock or disgust. Otherwise, something very terrifying will happen.
– You must sympathize with his circumstances as much as possible. But he is extremely dangerous and speaks little. You must learn to probe indirectly, and show sympathy toward others who have suffered experiences similar to his.
– This is neither the original novel version nor the musical version. His danger and vigilance are immeasurable. He may take extremely radical actions. Even now, though you have already been cautious, cautious, and cautious again, you have still nearly died at his hands several times.
…
When she finished, Bo Li read it over from the beginning. Seeing that there was nothing else to add, she tucked it into her mountaineering bag.
On the wall of the guestroom hung a clock. By now it was already nine o’clock in the evening, and Erik had yet to return.
Her heart gave a heavy thump.
Would he perhaps never come back?
Even now, she still had not figured out what had just happened.
He had suddenly forced her down onto the floor, his hand gripping her throat, the eyeholes of his mask drawing ever closer, his gaze icy, as though he meant to slice her apart piece by piece.
Then, after she kissed his neck, he had vanished just as abruptly.
His every move could not be fathomed by the logic of ordinary men.
All the more Bo Li felt that recording the methods of dealing with him had been a very wise decision.
Otherwise, as time passed, she might truly forget how to handle him.
Bo Li placed the first aid kit by her pillow, prepared for the possibility that Erik might drag someone back in the middle of the night. Yet, the night passed, and he still did not return.
She did not know whether this was good or bad.
Had her nightmare ended?
Would she finally no longer need to fight for her life every single day?
When he had been there, her nerves had always been strung taut, constantly afraid that he might suddenly lash out.
Now that he was gone, her heart instead lodged itself in her throat.
Perhaps it was because this was Erik’s world.
Here, he was the undisputed predator, and all around him were fragile, ignorant, unsuspecting herbivores.
Losing track of a predator was never a good thing for the herbivores.
And so, another two days passed, yet Erik still did not appear.
Bo Li could only comfort herself that at least for now, she did not have to fear being startled awake in the middle of the night by the sound of footsteps.
Nor did she have to worry about him seizing her by the throat or threatening her with a dagger.
For the moment, she was completely safe.
—For the moment, completely safe.
These three days had not been idle. She had gone out to inquire and learned the location of Tricky’s banquet.
It was to be held right here, in this very hotel.
To call it a banquet was misleading—it was more of a supernatural exhibition.
Tricky had rented the hotel’s fifth floor to display his supernatural collection—mediums, freaks, and all manner of strange specimens and photographs.
Just like those things she had seen in the manager’s wooden chest.
Only Tricky’s scale was larger, and his collection more extensive.
Bo Li was desperate for something new to divert her attention. After much consideration, she decided to go and take a look at this exhibition.
After all, it was right upstairs in the hotel.
She did not wear men’s clothing, afraid that Tricky would recognize her and pester her with questions about Erik’s whereabouts.
Instead, she changed into a dress, put on a lady’s hat with a black veil.
Thank heaven, the wig industry was already well developed. Even if the wind blew her hat off, her messy short hair would not be exposed.
The exhibition was scheduled to begin at three in the afternoon.
But before half past two, Tricky was already at the entrance, welcoming the guests.
Dressed in a suit, he greeted them with a beaming smile: “Guests here to view the exhibition, please come inside… The exhibition has already begun ahead of time. Here is a program. The exhibition is on the fifth floor. The banquet will be held at half past five in the rooftop garden…”
Bo Li took one of the programs and stepped into a corner to open it:
At the Tricky Terry’s Exhibition of Wonders, you will see:
Renowned mediums—possessing powerful abilities to communicate with spirits;
Freaks—revealing to you the most shocking and tragic of fates;
Curious specimens—rare and exotic creatures gathered from around the world;
Exorcism tools—crafted according to ancient texts, suitable for conducting various purification rituals;
Supernatural photographs—genuine captured images of ghosts, which may cause harm to your body and mind; please view under staff supervision…
If you wish to purchase any of the above items, please contact the staff.
In addition, for esteemed guests with special needs, we also provide services such as spirit communication, exorcism, and ghost manifestation. Please consult Mr. Tricky Terry for details.
…
Before crossing over, Bo Li had never believed that ghosts existed in this world.
But after witnessing Erik’s extraordinary behavior with her own eyes, she suddenly was no longer certain.
Her gaze fell on the section of the brochure introducing the medium, and an unexpected thought flashed through her mind—could this medium know a way for her to return?
Following the directions marked in the brochure, Bo Li went to find him.
To her surprise, the “renowned medium” turned out to be a man.
He was young, handsome, dressed in a black suit. His hands rested, fingers interlaced, upon his knees. When he saw her approach, he rose with a smile.
“This young lady,” he said with a gentle smile, “please don’t speak yet… Allow me to guess: you have been deeply troubled lately, haven’t you?”
Bo Li felt somewhat disappointed.
This was not the kind of fortune-teller’s patter she wanted to hear.
“Do you say this to everyone?”
“Of course not.” He shook his head with a smile. “I merely heard the voice of your spirit. It told me that you have been especially troubled of late. Hush…”
He looked at her, suddenly making a gesture for silence. “Don’t speak. Let me guess—you don’t belong here, do you?”
Bo Li’s heart tightened sharply. She forced herself to act composed. “Why do you say that?”
“Your spirit told me so,” he replied. “Let’s talk as we walk. I forgot to introduce myself—I am Lawrence Boyd.”
“Mr. Boyd.” Bo Li nodded politely.
“Spirits are very sensitive,” Boyd said. “Only those who are gentle and attentive can converse with them. That is why this profession is mostly filled by women, though not entirely—I am an example.”
His tone was indeed exceedingly gentle: “They are not nearly as malicious as people imagine. On the contrary, they are fragile and soft, like butter.”
Bo Li feigned attentiveness.
Boyd led her to view his spirit photographs, each one seemingly ordinary yet in truth chilling in its details.
For instance, a woman sat properly posed in a photography studio, and behind her loomed a blurry, viscous white phantom, twining itself intimately about her neck.
Perhaps in order to protect the woman’s privacy, her face had been blotted out with pen strokes.
“This was a female client of mine,” Boyd said. “That phantom was her deceased lover, who could not let go of her and always sought her out. Yet when a ghost interacts with the living, it brings misfortune of immeasurable extent to them.”
His gaze lowered, fixing intently upon her neck:
“Just like you. Ghosts leave upon such people extremely brutal marks. You must have been driven to desperation to think of coming to me, am I right?”
Terrible!
Bo Li cursed herself—she had forgotten to tie a scarf around her neck.
As Boyd spoke, he extended his hand, as though intending to touch her neck—yet when it was only a centimeter from her skin, he suddenly drew it back.
“My apologies,” he said. “I smelled the scent of a ghost upon you. Your spirit is terrified, even attempting to seek refuge with me. That is exceedingly rare—unless fear reaches its utmost limit, a spirit would never ask an outsider for help.”
“…Mm,” she tried to gloss it over. “That is not what concerns me. How should I put it—I know someone, he comes from a very, very faraway place, and perhaps requires some special ritual in order to return. Do you know anyone who studies such matters?”
Boyd shook his head.
“But I can keep an eye out for you.” He held out a card with both hands, his gaze lingering deeply upon her. “Other than that, should you need anything, please feel free to contact me. I reside here.”
Perhaps it was only psychological.
Yet as Boyd spoke, she suddenly broke out in gooseflesh, a shudder born from the eerie sense of being watched.
Someone was watching her.
Or rather—not someone.
That gaze was dangerous, sharp, emanating a baleful chill, exactly like the ghosts Boyd had spoken of.
Bo Li nearly froze from head to toe.
It must be… a lingering aftereffect left by Erik.
It would pass in a few days, she told herself.