Bo Li blinked her lashes and continued softly: “Truly, if you hadn’t hypnotized Henry, the other actors wouldn’t have performed so well. That Henry was so arrogant—if the premiere had failed, the actors would surely have been struck a blow… Thanks to you, such a situation didn’t occur.”
As she spoke, she tilted her head slightly, her thick lashes brushing past his black gloves.
Clearly separated by a layer of leather, yet Erik still felt the touch of her lashes.
Like feathers, like sand.
A sudden tingling ran across his scalp; his voice turned cold and unyielding: “I did not come to listen to your flattery.”
Bo Li did not sense anything amiss.
But he sensed it.
His voice carried a terrifying power of control—he could speak without moving his lips, alter at will the volume, timbre, and direction of sound, making one feel as if his voice came from everywhere at once.
This was the first time he made such a strange sound.
Bo Li: “……”
Then why did you listen for so long?
The corner of her lips twitched slightly, though her face maintained a sweet smile: “Then, pulling me in here—did you want to whisper some secret to me?”
After dozens of seconds, his deep, icy voice sounded at her ear: “The form of performance you designed is very novel. Success was inevitable.”
So he came to praise her.
Bo Li’s heart warmed. Just as she was about to throw her arms around him and say “thank you,” she heard his cold voice continue:
“But your judgment needs improvement. Theodore has no gift for acting. If not for encountering you, he would be fit only to perform tricks in a circus. You need not waste so many words of praise on him.”
Bo Li: “……”
Never did she expect that the first time Erik spoke so much to her would actually be about Theodore!
“…I,” she wanted to clarify that her judgment was not wrong, “did see that his acting was somewhat stiff. Praising him was only to encourage him—it’s a way to win people’s hearts.”
He paused, and his voice once again turned strange: “You wish to win over a mediocrity?”
Bo Li patiently explained: “It’s not a matter of mediocrity or not. Theodore is my employee. No matter whether his acting is brilliant, as long as he performs earnestly, I will praise him. Only in this way will others feel that working under you is something worthwhile—”
Bo Li’s words did not finish.
As if recalling something, Erik suddenly pressed down, seizing her throat and forcing her against the wall of the hidden chamber.
His gaze was invasive, his movements rough.
The tanned leather of his black gloves cracked slightly; when it rubbed against her neck, it stirred a subtle, ticklish sensation.
Bo Li was somewhat unsettled, and could not help gripping his wrist.
Before she could say anything, he abruptly released her, turning his head aside, his Adam’s apple rolling as he swallowed several times. His breathing was heavier than hers.
Bo Li was utterly at a loss: “What is wrong with you? Did I say something wrong?”
(TL: This kind of relationship is only thrilling in the books okay 😭 don’t take this as an inspiration)
Erik looked at her coldly.
She had said nothing wrong.
Yet every single word made him intensely uncomfortable, his anger burning within.
Perhaps this was the true crux of the matter.
Inside the secret chamber, the air was stifling and oppressive.
His breathing grew increasingly rough, breaking off and resuming; in order to suppress its violence, even his jawbone trembled faintly.
Bo Li, fearing he might be unable to breathe, reached out and patted his back. “Calm down, don’t rush. Whatever it is you want to say, take it slowly… there’s no need to work yourself up like this…”
He fixed his gaze on her, eyes so chilling they made one’s hair stand on end.
In the past, Bo Li had no doubt—when he looked at her with such eyes, it meant he wanted to kill her.
Yet now, he merely seized her wrist and pushed her toward the hidden trapdoor.
Bo Li: “???”
Fortunately, her emotions were well under control. Erik had been like this not just for a day or two.
She had long since grown used to his fickleness; after being puzzled for a couple of seconds, she shrugged and left.
Compared with Erik’s attitude, Bo Li cared more about whether those three gentlemen had seen her provocation printed in the newspaper.
But a day passed, then two, and the three gentlemen still gave no response to the test of courage she had thrown before them.
It seemed they thought that as long as they ignored her, she would cease troubling them.
Bo Li, however, would not let such a perfect opportunity for publicity slip away. She continued to write in the newspaper:
“What is a gentleman?
Only a man who is honest, courageous, upright, respectful of women, willing to help others, and of a certain social standing, is worthy of being called a ‘gentleman.’
Those three gentlemen gossiping behind my back show they ‘do not respect women’; pretending not to see my article shows they are ‘dishonest’; not daring to accept the test of courage I initiated shows they are ‘not courageous.’
If such men can still be called ‘gentlemen,’ then the South has truly declined.”
Bo Li wrote so deliberately.
The beautiful “North–South” dispute had a long history.
Southerners believed Northerners were crude, barbaric, without refinement—shouting slogans such as “liberate the slaves” merely to win a war, leaving America in chaos.
Northerners, in turn, thought Southerners obstinate, closed-off, incapable of change. Yet after the war, many Northerners sought to attach themselves to Southern nobility, becoming genuine nouveaux riches.
Bo Li had investigated carefully: those three gentlemen came from prominent Southern families, two of whom had even married Northern wives just to barely maintain their present standing. Otherwise, they would already have been tilling the fields, growing cotton.
Sure enough, as soon as these words were published, the three gentlemen could no longer sit still. In the newspaper, they denounced Bo Li as malicious and sowing discord. A woman so skilled in sophistry could never be considered a proper lady, and thus it was only natural for gentlemen to reproach her.
As gentlemen, they would never criticize women of the upper class.
But Bo Li wore men’s attire daily, conducted business like a man, exposed herself in public, flaunted herself about, and even bribed the police to promote her circus—such shameless behavior!
So why should they not condemn such a shameless, inferior woman?
At this point, the police, having been implicated, could no longer remain still either.
The sheriff issued a solemn statement:
“The police department has never accepted Miss Claremont’s bribe. The notice published in the newspaper by our officers was purely out of goodwill—after all, one of our officers, Henry Jensen, remains unconscious in the hospital due to excessive fright.”
It was the first time the entire city had witnessed such a large-scale quarrel, involving so many parties, to the extent that even the police were dragged in.
Everyone watched with relish, discussing it endlessly in private.
If one day the three gentlemen failed to respond to Bo Li in the newspapers, there would always be some onlookers knocking on their doors to ask why they had gone silent—was it because they intended to accept the test of courage Bo Li had proposed?
The three gentlemen were furious, nearly to the point of bursting, and attempted to attack from the angle of Bo Li’s fuyong-fude [virtues of womanly appearance and womanly conduct], criticizing her for being unchaste and unvirtuous.
Unfortunately, Bo Li truly did not care whether she possessed “womanly virtue.” Even when she saw their sharp criticisms in the newspaper, she still donned men’s attire, rode horseback, and passed right by their villas.
It must be known, for a woman to lack womanly virtue was an extremely grave offense—let alone after being denounced in the papers by gentlemen.
If it were a woman of the upper class, bound by the teachings of the boudoir, receiving such an appraisal, she would likely have already drowned herself in a river.
Bo Li, however, remained entirely unaffected, still conversing and laughing with those around her, as though there were an invisible wall shielding her.
This woman was utterly shameless, impossible to strike at.
In the end, the three gentlemen admitted defeat and agreed to take part in Bo Li’s test of courage.
Bo Li’s psychological endurance was in truth not very strong. When encountering harsh criticism during a performance, she would still be saddened for a few days.
But this was the nineteenth century—letters, newspapers, post stations, factories… even rumors traveled sluggishly.
Even quarrels had a kind of delay to them, unlike the internet where one could receive instant replies.
Her quarrel with the three gentlemen in the newspapers would only bring their angry response several days later. It was less gratifying than the drifting bottles back when the internet had first appeared.
One could only say that the three gentlemen lost because they had never been online.
Yet Bo Li had no intention of letting them go.
Dressed once more in men’s attire, and through a few ladies whom she found somewhat pleasing, she tracked down the wives of the three gentlemen.
They were attending a reading party in a villa. In the drawing room there were about a dozen ladies, all young and beautiful wives or young misses. As soon as Bo Li entered, the low murmur of their conversations fell silent.
The ladies had long since heard of Bo Li’s name—her behavior was simply outrageous. No woman had ever dared to challenge men, and much less three distinguished men.
The scene filled them with both fear and a touch of curiosity.
What sort of woman dared to do such a thing?
What they had not expected was that Bo Li should look so… striking.
Her features were delicate and graceful, clad in a white suit, a wide-brimmed hat on her head, her long legs slender and straight.
The ladies had seen women in men’s attire before, but unlike those, Bo Li had not dressed herself in the manner of a man. She even wore a beautiful woman’s hat adorned with ostrich feathers.
Men’s attire with a woman’s hat—such a combination could only be called strange.
And yet, on Bo Li’s person, it was not discordant in the least.
Her smile bore none of a boyish air; instead it was sweet and radiant, like a fruit with tender sweetness and juice brimming full.
The ladies could not help but glance at one another, whispering among themselves.
One lady could no longer restrain herself. Setting her book aside, she stood up.
“Heavens, heavens! I never imagined you would look like this—you are so beautiful. May I touch your leg?”
Bo Li felt a little strange, but still smiled gently and answered: “Of course.”
The lady lightly touched Bo Li’s leg, exclaiming all the while: “Oh my, so long, so straight! This is the first time I have ever noticed that women too can have such a pair of legs!”
A slightly older lady scolded: “Mrs. Garcia, you are far too improper.”
Another lady whispered with a laugh: “Miss Claremont, you must forgive Mrs. Garcia. She has always been like this—whenever she sees a beautiful girl she cannot help herself. And you, dressed like this—”
The drawing room rippled with soft laughter.
Bo Li smiled with composure, unshaken by favor or disgrace. “It’s all right. I am here to see Mrs. Davis, Mrs. Mitt, and Mrs. Wright.”
“Oh, I understand! You are here to put them in their place, aren’t you?” a lady asked.
“Certainly not,” said Bo Li. “I came to remind them that performances carry a certain risk—you must know already that there was a policeman who fainted from fright and remains unconscious. This is by no means an exaggeration. For the sake of safety, I hope they might watch the performance from the side. That way, should danger arise, they can immediately be present… But most importantly, they can see with their own eyes how their husbands pass the test of courage.”
The ladies had not expected Bo Li to come merely to inform the three gentlemen’s wives that they could watch the performance.
Such a gesture of disregarding old grievances was, in fact, more gentlemanly than the conduct of those three gentlemen.
After all, during this period they themselves had seen with their own eyes how those three gentlemen had lashed at Bo Li in print—as though determined to drive her to ruin.
Only after quite some time did Mrs. Davis speak: “Thank you for coming all this way to tell us this matter. We shall attend the performance.”
“Then I am relieved,” said Bo Li, removing her hat and pressing it to her chest. With courtesy she bowed to all the ladies. “I sincerely apologize for disturbing you. Farewell.”
Not until she had completely left the drawing room did the ladies resume their chatter:
“Heavens above! She truly exists… How can there be a woman who dares dress like that, with both legs exposed? Has she no shame?”
“But she is so beautiful,” said another, “Had I known, I would have done as Mrs. Garcia did and touched her leg as well.”
A young girl said coldly: “I would never touch such a woman. Far too filthy.”
“Miss Jones,” spoke a lady seated by the fireplace, chuckling, “You are still young, you cannot yet understand Miss Claremont’s allure. Wait until you are married, living daily with a husband who disgusts you, then you will understand her worth!”
“Mrs. Garcia has taken in many girls, but not one is as beautiful as Miss Claremont, nor as spirited…”
A lady asked teasingly: “Mrs. Garcia, why did you not let her give you a hand-kiss just now? Her lips looked so soft.”
All the ladies burst into laughter.
Miss Jones’s face flushed red, and she was just about to denounce their shameless words when suddenly the chandelier in the drawing room began to sway—
The ladies immediately fell into chaos, shrieking aloud.
The slightly older wives were more composed, urging them to calm down, insisting that it must be due to disrepair that the chandelier swung so violently.
Yet the next moment, the ornaments on the chandelier came crashing down like a torrential downpour.
If it had ended there, it would not have been so frightening.
What truly horrified Miss Jones was that the ladies present all seemed to be suffering from a grave hallucination.
First, the lady who had exclaimed that Bo Li’s “lips looked soft”—she nearly screamed as she cried that her mouth had vanished, melting into blood, as though stricken with some dreadful hysteria.
Mrs. Garcia’s hallucination was just as severe—she saw a venomous insect crawling upon her own hand. Crying and screaming, she flailed her arms wildly, until at last her eyes rolled back and she fainted.
Perhaps it was the terrifying atmosphere that influenced her, but Miss Jones too began to see inexplicable horrors.
Trembling, she lowered her head, staring in terror at her own hands, watching as her fingers grew longer, softer, and then dissolved into foul, viscous blood that dripped down in heavy drops.
It was as though she were being punished for that one sentence—
“I would never touch such a woman. Far too filthy.”