The atmosphere seemed to undergo a subtle change.
Bo Li did not know whether this was a good thing or a bad thing—he further realized that she was a woman.
It ought to be a good thing.
Though he was cold-blooded and ruthless, capable of yanking off a person’s head with a rope without the slightest hesitation, he nevertheless possessed a strange kind of gentlemanly bearing toward women.
After she changed into women’s attire, he no longer violently tugged at her hair, nor did he seize her by the throat. At times, he would even assist her into the carriage.
Bo Li deeply regretted not wearing a dress from the very beginning.
She had suffered all that pain for nothing!
She was not worried that, upon fully realizing the difference between man and woman, he would develop other intentions toward her.
He was too young.
Yet when she was with him, she never felt the presence of age.
That inhumanly cold temperament upon him, that terrifyingly intelligent mind—no age could contain such things.
Bo Li even suspected that, with his disposition, he might never experience the hormonal impulses of youth before meeting the heroine.
Besides, he did not regard every woman differently.
—Whether in the original work or in the horror-film version, his attitude toward Carlotta had been exceedingly cruel, for the sole reason that Carlotta’s singing voice did not meet his standards.
Bo Li was very clear in her self-awareness.
She could sing, had once attended a musical theatre summer camp, and would occasionally take on the role of a supporting actress in small performances at stadiums.
She sang fairly well, but it was by no means to the level that could make a master musician look upon her with new eyes.
All the more so since Erik’s talent extended far beyond that of a mere “master musician.”
In the original work, he had once accepted Garnier’s invitation to participate in the foundation works of the Paris Opera House, constructing within the double retaining walls of the foundations a lakeside dwelling, shielded from without by natural waters and filled within with a torture chamber of endless transformations.
Many had desired to venture inside, but none had returned alive.
He was not only the world’s foremost master of music, but also a peerless master of architecture and of illusion… Bo Li did not know what other titles of mastery he bore; she only knew that the possibility of such a man developing affection for her was next to none.
If he did not kill her, she would already thank Heaven and Earth.
To make him like her would be far too difficult.
Erik was still staring at her legs.
He seemed not to realize that this was an exceedingly offensive act, nor that his gaze had grown like that of a cat watching a bird, filling one with dread and unease.
Bo Li could not help but clear her throat. “…Then, may I rest for a day today?”
Only then did he return to himself, lowering his lashes and giving a slight nod.
That unsettling gaze vanished.
Bo Li considered, then said: “Although we cannot watch a play today… I can still keep you company.”
“Keep me company?”
At this moment, the only form of indoor entertainment seemed to be playing cards. She did have a few movies cached on her phone, but it was hardly possible to bring them out for him to watch, and besides, it would consume too much battery.
“Reading, listening to music, dining together…” she said. “As long as it pleases you, anything is fine.”
In less than ten minutes, Bo Li regretted saying she would keep him company.
His presence was too strong—so strong that even if he did not utter a word, he could not be ignored.
He sat nearby, legs crossed, head lowered over a book.
Bo Li lay on the bed wrapped in the quilt. Although he had been absorbed in the book in his hands and had not spared her a single glance, she still felt herself penetrated by the aura he exuded.
Utterly ill at ease, she sat up and, for the sake of saying something, asked, “Shall we talk?”
His eyes remained fixed on the page, his tone flat: “Speak.”
“You seem never to have asked me where I come from.”
He gave no reply, as though considering it a question unworthy of words.
“I know so many things—are you not even curious?”
He turned to the next page.
Bo Li had only wanted to break the awkward silence, but his indifferent attitude stirred her competitive spirit. “Don’t you think my breadth of knowledge is rather wide?”
At last he spoke: “Is it wide?”
Bo Li: “…”
She had intended to bring up a few things he did not know, to give him a fright, but the nineteenth century was too close to modern times; after two industrial revolutions, everything that could be invented had been invented, and even Einstein had been born.
But she could hardly declare “E = mc²,” could she?
This formula appeared deceptively simple, yet the simpler a formula, the more it demanded the support of a vast body of theory and complex experimentation.
Before she could astonish him, she had already exhausted all her brain cells.
Bo Li lay back down in dejection. “…Forget I said anything.”
At that moment, Erik’s cold, low voice sounded: “Your knowledge is indeed broad, but broad without depth. It is difficult to imagine what kind of education you have received.”
Bo Li: “…” Compulsory education.
How rare for you to speak so many words at once.
Whether it was her illusion or not, she felt that the atmosphere between them was not as taut as before.
She very much wanted to ask, Then, do you still want to kill me now?
Yet she feared disturbing the current peace.
As though sensing her gaze, Erik lifted his head and looked at her.
Compared to the beginning, his eyes no longer seemed so hollow and vacant; there was a strange warmth in them, though if one looked too long, one still felt an uncanny, inhuman strangeness.
Should she ask?
The atmosphere was rare in its harmony.
If she did not demand a guarantee now, it would be difficult to ask for one later.
Bo Li’s heartbeat gradually grew slow and heavy.
She drew in a deep breath and said, “…Are we friends now?”
There was no response.
He looked at her, the white mask concealing all expression from his face.
That sense of not knowing what his attitude was made Bo Li somewhat afraid.
“Forget it…”
Yet he interrupted her: “Continue.”
Bo Li could only brace herself and go on: “If we are friends… could you not always think of killing me at every turn?”
Were they friends?
He did not know.
He only knew that every time he looked at her, his eyes throbbed with pain, as though pierced by something.
But at the same time, more details revealed themselves to him.
He noticed that her complexion was not a monotonous white—sometimes white as milk, sometimes white as plaster.
She was soft, fragile, and slight; one could even see the fine veins beneath her skin, enough to quicken the pulse and parch the throat.
The last time he had felt something like this was in the arena, when he fought death-row convicts with ropes.
His patience was superb, especially in the hunt; he never treated it carelessly.
Yet, like most hunters, he enjoyed manipulating the prey’s emotions—slowly closing in, then delivering the fatal strike.
When the death match ended, the arena was a scene of devastation, filled with the stench of slaughtered beasts.
It was a horrifying spectacle, yet the king richly rewarded him.
That was the first time he had been greatly relied upon.
Perhaps the stench of blood had provoked his nerves—he felt his veins pounding at his temples, his heart thudding violently, his ears filled with the roar of blood surging.
Such excitement was almost like a disease.
So why did he now feel excitement?
Was it because his intent to kill her had not yet dissipated?
Erik suddenly drew his dagger, the blade gleaming cold, radiating a chill that pressed close.
Bo Li instinctively flinched and shrank back.
He leaned forward, bracing one hand beside her, while with the other he suddenly thrust the dagger into the space at her side.
Bo Li felt as though lashed by a whip; her breath abruptly turned rapid.
It was not killing intent.
He realized with clarity that he did not wish to kill her.
It was more like toying with her.
Like a cat playing with a bird, watching her flutter helplessly, watching the cold sweat stream down her face.
Bo Li was indeed terrified.
Her whole body trembled as she widened her eyes to look at him, their black and white so clear, like a mirror steeped in water, reflecting the white mask upon his face.
He fixed his gaze upon her, wanting to see more of her reactions. Then he raised the dagger, its blade lightly pressing against her abdomen.
The fabric sank in a small hollow.
She was so soft, so fragile—just a little more pressure, and she would become softer still, weaker still—
Like a block of butter ready to be cut through.
Bo Li’s entire body went rigid. Terror was cold water soaking her temples; her heart nearly leapt into her throat.
…Though she did not sense Erik’s intent to kill.
He did not wish to kill her.
Yet whether because she was overly tense, she kept feeling for a moment that as he stared at her abdomen, he was about to thrust the blade in—
It was a strange kind of urge to attack.
It chilled her to the bone, even as it left her legs weak.
Bo Li regretted it bitterly, thinking she had brought trouble upon herself. Was it not enough to let him sit there reading quietly? Why had she insisted on saying more?
The next instant, the pressure at her abdomen eased; the blade lifted away.
He flung the dagger aside and returned to his book, offering no answer to her question.
Bo Li looked at the dagger, swallowed hard, and still felt a coldness in her stomach.
After a surge and crash of emotion, the mind grew terribly confused.
Just like now, when a thought flashed through her head without warning—approaching a beast was surely dangerous, yet once tamed, the sense of accomplishment would be immeasurable.
After all, in the earlier times, he had truly wanted to kill her.
But this time, it had been more like…
mockery.
In her fear, Bo Li found it difficult not to feel a trace of accomplishment.
As though she had entered a new stage of a game.
A new dialogue had been unlocked with the character she was trying to capture.
It made her long to keep going, to see if more could be unlocked.
Bo Li thought herself mad.
She was in the midst of peril, had only just managed to discover a way to survive, and yet for the sake of that illusory sense of achievement, she wanted to draw even closer to him—
She even went so far as to think she might be able to tame him.
Yet that surge of adrenaline he brought her… it truly felt good.
Bo Li wiped away the cold sweat, her whole body hot and clammy, and decided to cast aside those chaotic thoughts for now, first to fetch some hot water for a wash.
Before leaving, she suddenly thought of something and turned to ask: “Erik, have you bathed yet?”
He paused, lifting his head from the book.
Bo Li threw on her coat, walked to the doorway, and only then finished the latter half of her words: “…The human body produces a great deal of sebum and sweat every day through metabolism, so one must bathe frequently!”
At this time, there was as yet no concept of “metabolism,” so he likely had not understood.
Bo Li only wanted to retort to that earlier “Is it wide?”—and, having spoken, slipped away as fast as oil underfoot.
It was a full quarter of an hour later before Erik slightly turned his head and sniffed at his collar.
Since entering the city, he had bathed daily, but just now he had indeed broken into some sweat from over-excitement.
Had she noticed it?
For some reason, her detecting his scent did not make him feel as ashamed as her seeing his face or hearing his voice.
Perhaps because animals all marked their territory with scent.