When Bo Li woke up, she was startled.
This villa was one she had rented temporarily—the landlord thought New Orleans was too damp, with too many snakes, insects, rats, and ants. At midnight came the howls of wolves and the cries of foxes, even wild boars crashing against the fences. So, he had placed an advertisement in the newspaper offering it for rent.
As soon as Bo Li saw it, she rented it immediately.
The landlord, seeing someone take over, packed up right away and left, without even moving his valuable furniture.
Bo Li had originally thought she would get up the next day and return to the hotel to fetch her own clothes, but unexpectedly, when she woke up, the bed was covered with clothing.
She thought Erik had brought over her clothes from the hotel, but upon closer inspection, they were actually an entirely new set.
—Corset, gloves, hat, stockings, shoes, silk ribbon accessories for the hat, a white velvet dress, a pale yellow belt, a white cashmere coat.
Bo Li’s mood was complicated.
He had even chosen the embellishments for the hat.
What was this supposed to mean?
Bo Li tried hard to recall the original story, attempting to find the reason he had done this.
But in the original, it had never once mentioned that he liked to dress women up like dolls!
However, it was true that his desire for control was extremely strong.
In the original, he did not permit anyone other than himself to enter Box Five, nor did he allow any performer who failed to meet his standards to step onstage.
—In the horror story, that soprano he had thrown into the boiler was the example.
Indeed, music, architecture, magic—all the fields he excelled in—none could exist without powerful control and leadership.
It was only natural that he would want to control her as well.
As long as he did not kill her, it was fine.
After all, she often did not know what she should wear the next day—this could just save her the trouble of choosing clothes.
Bo Li happily changed into the dress.
What left her momentarily stunned was that not only did the dress fit her perfectly, the corset, gloves, hat, stockings, and shoes matched her measurements exactly.
…When had Erik taken her measurements?
What shocked her most was the shoes.
After transmigrating, she had never once worn shoes that truly fit—at the circus, she had worn someone else’s pair: cracked gray leather shoes, so large they almost dangled off her feet. She had to curl her toes tightly to hook into the soles just to avoid flinging them off.
After entering the city, the shoes she found could only be considered barely fitting.
Men’s shoes did not come in such small sizes.
Women’s shoes were either too soft, made entirely of silk, or too hard, like rubber shoes—she had to tape up her little toes and heels, or else they would be rubbed raw and bleeding.
The pair of sneakers in her hiking pack was close to her size, but she was unwilling to wear them—she only had this one pair, and once ruined, they would be gone for good.
Of course, New Orleans was not without shoemaking services, but the good shops required a wait of at least half a year.
Bo Li looked at the shoes on her feet.
They were a pair of white, soft goatskin shoes. The design was not elaborate, even somewhat simple—the upper surface carved with hollow, symmetrical patterns, while the soles bore more intricate designs, resembling the style of the Baroque period.
As she gazed at them, a strange thought suddenly arose in her heart.
—Could these shoes have been personally made by Erik?
For them to fit this perfectly, only handmade shoes were possible—shoes sold in shops could never match even the exact curve of her arches.
But why would he make shoes for her?
And how had he measured the data of her feet?
Could he really have judged so precisely just by looking at the shoes she had worn?
Or had he, while she was asleep, silently entered her room, and with his eyes, with a soft measuring tape, with his palms… measured inch by inch the length and curvature of her feet?
Bo Li’s heart gave a heavy thump.
What left her utterly unsettled was that she seemed to feel the warmth of the shoes—as though what cradled her feet was not leather, but Erik’s long, jointed hands.
Bo Li very much wanted to take the shoes off, change back into her usual casual pair, and pretend nothing had happened.
But it was undeniable that she desperately wanted to know—why had Erik done such a thing?
And she wanted to know, after seeing her put on these shoes, what kind of reaction he would have.
Bo Li’s mind was a complete mess, one bizarre thought after another—if he treated her in this way, would he still want to kill her?
Would he still wake her in the dead of night with a knife?
To dress her up like a doll, to make shoes tailored to her feet—what exactly was his intention?
Was it her imagination, or had the atmosphere between them… truly become somewhat ambiguous?
Bo Li had been in two very brief relationships, the kind without much real feeling. Each time, it was the other party who pursued her first, only to be discouraged by her introversion.
She did not like parties, nor bars, nor outdoor sports.
Many men, upon hearing she loved watching horror films, would grow excited, eyes lighting up, thinking she would be so frightened as to throw herself into their arms for comfort.
In reality, they were merely her mealtime companions.
Aside from a few male colleagues, her contact with men was truly limited. Was that why she was beginning to feel… an illusion of ambiguity toward Erik?
Bo Li did not know.
Her head was in utter chaos.
Something was going off track.
She clearly realized this was wrong, abnormal, something that ought to be sternly corrected.
It even carried a certain hint of immorality.
…Erik might very well be several years younger than her.
But that sense of immorality was quickly diluted by the danger he exuded.
He could kill her at any moment—she had no time to be dwelling on his age.
No, that was not right.
Bo Li squeezed her eyes shut, silently shouting “stop” several times in her mind.
She was shocked at her own thoughts.
He had only prepared a pair of shoes for her, and because they happened to fit, she had spun all of this in her head?
Bo Li thought she really must be hungry.
Or perhaps simply too idle.
With that thought, she immediately pushed all such notions aside, stepped out of the bedroom, and prepared to look for a venue for the circus performance.
The “Big-Footed Girl” Marbelle, like Emily, needed to use a wheelchair for life and could not easily go out.
Theodore behaved with extreme silence. Bo Li did not know him well and did not dare to take along a “giant” standing two meters and forty tall.
Of the group, the “Four-Legged Girl” Emily had suffered the most twists of fate—not only forced into an abortion, but also sold by the manager to Tricky, nearly murdered and turned into a specimen.
Even though she had gained a new life, her spirits had not improved. She only whispered a quiet “thank you” to Bo Li.
The only ones she could bring with her were Thorn and Flora.
Flora merely had knees that bent backward more than normal, which did not hinder her walking.
She had a sweet appearance, a lively personality, and was extremely affectionate. Bo Li was happy to have her accompany her.
Before leaving, Bo Li handed Marbelle a pistol, gently telling her that if Theodore made any suspicious move, she was to shoot him.
The reason she did not give it to Emily was out of fear she might turn it on herself.
Though Marbelle’s legs were disabled, her hands were very nimble. And even after losing her mother, she had not sunk into despair. Instead, she strove all the more to keep living—for her, giving the gun was the best choice.
Marbelle accepted it calmly, hiding it within her petticoat. She said, “Do not worry, Miss Claremont, I will not fail your trust.”
They all loved to call her “Miss Claremont,” no matter how she tried to correct them.
Bo Li stroked her hair, then left with Flora and Thorn, driving the carriage out.
She first went to the local newspaper office and paid for a notice to be published—at Garden Villa Street No. 108, two maids, one cook, one manservant, and one coachman were required. Wages negotiable, honesty preferred.
Next was the matter of finding a performance venue.
Bo Li had no intention of performing in a theater or music hall—the rent for those was far too high. She might have money, but she did not wish to spend so much on rent.
Who said a circus must only perform acrobatics and magic, or line up “freaks” for people to gape at?
Her true plan was to create a haunted house—but one that went far beyond a simple haunted house.
Modern haunted houses were all so “competitive,” and in the end were disposable entertainments, only able to draw in tourists from afar.
This was the nineteenth century; though trains already existed, most people would not travel by rail just for the sake of experiencing a haunted house.
If she wanted profit, she would still have to do as other troupes did—tour different cities.
Therefore, she could not rely on elaborate sets and large-scale mechanisms to achieve frightening effects like an ordinary haunted house—by the time she had painstakingly finished the renovations, the audience would already have dispersed.
She had to simplify the props and mechanisms.
…And as it happened, she had by her side a master of trapdoors and hidden devices.
Bo Li suddenly understood why the circus manager and Tricky Terry were both so desperate to possess Erik.
Because with Erik, no problem was truly a problem.
Mechanisms could be entrusted to him.
Illusions could be entrusted to him.
The music for the haunted house, the backstage accompaniment… all could be entrusted to him.
He was so utterly omnipotent, capable of bringing to life any idea of hers, no matter how absurd it might seem.
The only difficulty was—how to persuade him to take part.
But that hardly seemed like a difficulty at all.
Bo Li lowered her head and glanced at the shoes on her feet.
Whether ambiguous or not, something between them had become… unusual.
He was a beast, wild and inhuman.
Yet she could make him cease his hunt.
He was a genius, rare in all the world.
Yet she could make him serve her use.
Though being with him still carried the danger of death, she had to admit—there was something intoxicating in the feeling of taming a beast.
Bo Li knew her thoughts were dangerous, but she could not control them.
If blame must be laid, then let it fall on Erik—these shoes had entirely unsettled her mind, making it nearly impossible to think straight.
Bo Li visited several tavern owners, asking if they were willing to rent out their spaces for circus performances.
The first few refused her outright without even granting her an audience.
At the last tavern, the owner thought he had misheard: “A circus? A performance? This stage is so small—it can only host a few songs and dances. How could you possibly do tightrope walking or fire-hooping?”
Bo Li gave him a simple explanation of her concept.
The owner listened in stunned silence, but since he had never seen such a “performance” before, he feared it might harm the tavern’s reputation, and so he refused as well.
Bo Li said, “It’s fine. You only need to rent me the space. I will pay for all the drinks that night—no one refuses free alcohol. Even if the performance fails, for the sake of the drinks, no one will hold it against your tavern.”
The owner thought it over and concluded that Bo Li must be some wealthy, foolish young lady—one who, instead of staying quietly at home, insisted on running out to found a new kind of circus.
With the attitude of ‘money is money—only a fool wouldn’t take it’, the owner agreed, on the condition that the payment for the drinks be settled before the performance.
After signing the contract, Bo Li drove back to the villa in the suburbs.
After rushing about outside for an entire day, all the messy thoughts in her head had scattered clean away. She only wanted to take a bath, collapse into bed, and sleep soundly.
After dinner, Bo Li finished her bath, put on a cotton nightdress, gathered up her damp hair, and returned to the bedroom.
The moment she stepped through the door, she shuddered as though doused in a basin of ice-cold water.
—Erik was in her room.
The bedroom lights were not lit.
He was watching her, his gaze palpable.
Yet she could not see where he was.
It seemed he could be lurking in any patch of shadow.
Bo Li calmly closed the door and said, “Good evening. Do you need something?”
In the darkness, footsteps came closer.
He seemed to have stopped right before her.
His breathing sounded above her head.
At first, whenever she heard his breathing, she always thought of the killers in horror films.
No matter where the victim ran, the heavy breath always followed close behind.
Yet at some unknown moment, the quality of his breath had begun to change in the depths of her heart.
Bo Li stood still, motionless, when an uncontrollable thought surfaced in her mind—when he had measured her feet, had he breathed in this same way, walking to the side of her bed?
Her chest tightened; she dared not think further.
A subtle blend of accomplishment and guilt welled up inside her, giving rise instead to a strange, shivering thrill.
But soon her heart gave a sudden lurch.
Erik snapped his fingers, and at once the candlelight flared to life in the room.
With his back to the wavering flames, the gaze upon his white mask was dark and unreadable.
Bo Li rarely looked into his eyes, but tonight his gaze seemed to hold a peculiar allure—one that made her want to… keep looking.
His eye sockets were deeply sunken; his gaze like a pair of hooks, boring into her eyes, tugging at her blood vessels, pulling at her nerves.
Her breathing slowed, and her entire body relaxed against her will.
It was as if some strange force had taken over her body, guiding her feet step by step toward him.
In the candlelight, his eyes seemed to change from amber to gold—practically like an excited beast.
Golden eyes.
The very color the original story had described for Erik’s eyes.
…The original.
Bo Li suddenly snapped awake and stepped back two paces: “—Why are you hypnotizing me?!”
Erik did not answer.
Bo Li swallowed, her heart thundering wildly, recalling that once she had been curious—beyond being a master of music, architecture, and magic, what other title of mastery did he hold?
Now she remembered it all—he was also the world’s foremost master of hypnosis!
Bo Li wiped the cold sweat from her brow, feeling as though she had stumbled upon a treasure.
If only Erik could return to the modern age with her.
With his help, even in the present day they could make the haunted house grand and strong.
Erik looked at Bo Li without any discernible emotion.
He did not know himself why he had hypnotized her.
Perhaps it was because the expression with which she looked at him was too fearful—her face pale, breath rapid, a sickly flush on her cheeks, swallowing again and again.
He had wanted to make her fear him less.
But he had failed.
So he could only turn his gaze away and say coldly, “It has nothing to do with you.”