Bo Li invited the wives of those three gentlemen to come and watch the performance. First, to draw a clear line—after all, who knew whether those three gentlemen had any courage at all, or if they might be frightened to death by Erik.
Second, to make those three gentlemen lose face before their wives, so they would no longer have the courage to challenge her.
In addition, Bo Li also invited the policemen from before to come.
The policemen had seen the slander against them published by the gentlemen in the newspapers.
Although it was true that they had taken bribes, they had only come to see Bo Li’s performance for the sake of that one hundred dollars.
The problem was, the one who had taken the bribe was the sheriff. Because Henry had fainted from fright, the one hundred dollars had never even reached their hands.
For the gentlemen to issue such statements again was equivalent to slandering them.
On one hand, the policemen were delighted to see the gentlemen make fools of themselves; on the other hand, they also hoped the gentlemen would pass the courage test, to somehow salvage the masculine dignity Henry had lost. Their feelings were extremely conflicted.
Bo Li knew nothing of the policemen’s inner struggle. She publicly declared in the newspapers that she welcomed journalists from all quarters to come watch the performance and give the three gentlemen a score for their conduct.
This move once again stirred up heated discussion.
Some said Bo Li was putting on airs to appear more impressive than she was—after all, who could say for certain whether one was courageous or not?
Some believed that eating snakes, insects, rats, and ants was proof of bravery; others believed that only fighting with a bear was true bravery.
Not everyone was like that timid policeman who had fainted at a circus performance.
Bo Li, wanting to display her magnanimity, invited reporters to witness the performance—but who knew whether the reporters would side with the gentlemen?
If those reporters insisted that certain of the gentlemen’s actions counted as courageous, how could she argue against it?
In the end, they would say, women are women, unfit for doing business.
Even if she gained the upper hand in her dispute with the gentlemen, she would quickly grow complacent and reveal her true nature.
Bo Li was completely unaware of the gossip swirling in the streets and alleys.
The people here were somewhat reserved; even if they gossiped about her behind her back, when they saw her they would still remove their hats in greeting.
The ladies, too, though they appeared to be at odds with her, secretly courted her goodwill—every day when Bo Li opened her mailbox, she would find a large number of letters. Aside from some obscene insults, most were invitations secretly extended by ladies, roundabout ways of asking whether she would join the local reading club, the dance society, and the like.
At this very moment, what worried Bo Li most was not whether the three gentlemen would be frightened, but how to remind Erik not to play those three men to death.
These days, she did not know how she had offended him; no matter what she said, he gave no response.
Yet the articles she published in the newspapers, he would still read one by one, and even, as before, leave behind a few brief annotations.
Bo Li had no idea what kind of temper he was in.
She thought it over again and again, and concluded it must be that her attitude of being overly tolerant toward mediocrity had incurred his displeasure.
Although he displayed a strange gentlemanly courtesy toward women, if the woman happened to be mediocre, he would make comments that were biting to the point of cruelty.
She remembered once, when he took her to the opera.
Bo Li had no real knowledge of opera, and did not understand what the soprano was shrieking about, but it sounded all right—the pitch was accurate, her breath sufficient, her diction clear. Wasn’t that just “all right”?
So when he walked up behind her and asked for her impression, she, without thinking, replied, “It was pretty good.”
Erik was silent for a moment, then said coolly, “Had I known, I might as well have taken you to the zoo. Listening to the howls of wild beasts might at least salvage your precarious taste in music.”
Bo Li: “…” Say that again?
She was deeply thankful she had never once thought of currying his favor by singing.
Otherwise, by his standards, she might very well have lost her life on the very first day.
Bo Li resolved never to let him know that she could, in fact, sing.
Erik’s criteria for judging talent were so severe.
Yet in front of him, she had said that she would praise every mediocre person—only so they would more willingly work for her.
To him, that was indeed an intolerable blemish.
Still, the way he had looked at that time—his breath heavy, his jaw so tightly clenched it almost trembled—was far too strange.
Forget it.
Bo Li thought, after all, he was still young. Being unable to control his emotions was normal.
Though most of the time, it was truly hard to sense that he was so much younger than she.
He was too cold, too dangerous, too silent.
Only when he ceased hunting could one feel the difference in age.
Bo Li prepared to apologize to him.
Back in the bedroom, she took off her men’s attire, changed into her nightclothes, and drew out stationery from the drawer, intending to write a sincere and moving letter of apology.
—These past days, he had only been a voice without a form; she could only communicate with him in this way.
She had only just written the opening line when the gas lamp on her desk suddenly went out.
Darkness fell before her eyes.
A tall shadow loomed over her head.
That familiar presence gradually enveloped her.
Bo Li was not frightened, only a little puzzled.
After the last incident, she had replaced her candles with a gas lamp, and yet he was still able to extinguish the light at will.
How did he do it?
Could he teach her?
That way, when she went to bed, she would not have to get up especially to turn off the light.
At this moment, Erik’s voice broke through her thoughts: “What is it you wish to say to me.”
His voice was as ever—cold, mellifluous.
Bo Li’s scalp tightened; by habit she rubbed at her ears. “I want to explain something to you.”
“What is it.”
“I think there was a little misunderstanding between us earlier,” Bo Li said earnestly. “When I praised Theodore, it was not to affirm his talent. In truth, after having witnessed your abilities, no one else’s talent could ever astonish me again.”
He suddenly asked, “What abilities do I have?”
Bo Li was taken aback. “Illusion, ventriloquism, music, hypnosis… Nanny said you are a famed master of trapdoors, but I believe your attainments in architecture go far beyond that.”
She wiped the cold sweat from her brow—she had almost let slip that he was a master architect as well.
Fortunately, her mind worked quickly, and she stopped herself in time—for he had never told her of his involvement in architecture.
Erik said nothing.
Bo Li went on: “You may think I say this only to curry your favor… but it truly is not so. You are the most gifted man I have ever met. The things you can do—most people could spend their whole lives without mastering even one, yet you are already a master in each of those fields.”
In order to soothe his anger, she practically ransacked her mind for words of praise:
“You have almost changed my very notion of genius… Under such circumstances, how could I possibly have truly praised Theodore?”
He said indifferently, “What is it you actually wish to say.”
“I wish to say—don’t be angry,” Bo Li turned around and clasped his hand. “I know your attitude toward mediocrity. I will not praise Theodore like that again.”
Erik himself wanted to ask—why was he angry?
As Bo Li had said, Theodore was a mediocrity. Apart from standing nearly eight feet tall, he had nothing of merit.
Though Theodore was a foot and seven inches taller than he, Erik could strangle him with a single hand.
And Theodore would have no power to resist.
Tall, lumbering, slow to react, weak of will—Theodore would not even need suggestion. Erik could simply hypnotize him directly into putting a gun to his mouth.
So why should he be angry that Bo Li had once praised Theodore?
Yet the moment he thought of her—treating everyone, mediocrity or genius alike, with the same lavish praise—the fire in his chest became impossible to suppress.
The fault was not in him.
It was in her.
If he killed her, this swelling, painful discomfort in his chest would vanish.
Everything would return to normal.
He would no longer be thrown into turmoil by her every word and phrase.
Erik fixed his gaze on Bo Li’s neck, his hand slowly settling over it.
She was utterly defenseless against him. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, pressing her cheek against his black leather glove.
Erik did not notice that at the instant she leaned in, his heart skipped a beat.
He only stared coldly at her throat.
With just a little strength, her breath, her voice, her warmth, her heartbeat, her pulse… all would vanish without a trace.
From then on, there would no longer be a Polly Claremont in this world.
The next instant, she suddenly grasped his wrist and lightly kissed his black glove. “Don’t be angry anymore, all right?”
He was kissed by her until numbness spread from his fingertips to his spine, and he very nearly shoved her head away.
Just then, he noticed her lips—bright red, moist, so soft, with neat teeth faintly visible between their opening and closing.
—Her lips looked so very soft.
As he stared at them, an almost bewitched impulse arose within him, to press something between them, a finger or a tongue—
The thought startled him. He jerked back a step, turned his head aside, his breathing breaking into uneven fragments.
Yet her lips seemed branded into his vision, searing at his temples, setting his heart pounding violently.
Bo Li, not understanding, asked, “What’s wrong?”
After several tens of seconds, his slightly hoarse voice finally sounded at her ear: “…I am not angry.”
Bo Li pretended to believe his words. “That’s best, then.”
Erik turned, as if to leave.
Only then did Bo Li remember her real purpose, and hastily caught his hand.
She did not notice that she had, by accident, interlaced her fingers with his.
Before Bo Li could react, he had already pulled his hand away, his tone unsteady. “Anything else?”
Bo Li had already come to grasp the outline of his temperament.
If she reminded him directly not to play the three gentlemen to death, he would probably flare up again.
Why he could grow angry so easily, she had no idea. Could it be he was entering some rebellious phase?
She needed, as before, to use a little physical touch, so that he would accept her words.
With this thought, Bo Li stepped forward and embraced him.
Again she felt that strong masculine allure—it was not her imagination. The muscles of his shoulders and back, his waist and abdomen, had indeed grown firmer, no longer like before, when he seemed but a towering frame of bone.
“There’s one more thing I must ask of you,” Bo Li said softly. “I know you are a man who acts with measure, and that your willingness to help me host the performance is already an immense favor to me… but I still hope that, at tomorrow’s performance, you will not frighten them too severely.”
She curved her lips in a sly smile. “I hope they will remain conscious as they witness their own disgrace. For them to fall into a faint, like Henry who lies unconscious even now, would be letting them off too lightly.”
“Will you?”
Having said this, she rose on tiptoe and kissed his white mask.
It was not the first time she had kissed his mask.
Yet as every time before, his scalp tingled, the hairs on his body bristled, his ears burned hot, and his chest swelled with a pain as if about to burst.
By the time he came to himself, one hand was already clamped around her jaw, forcing her mouth open.
Bo Li looked puzzled, but she yielded completely, allowing him to grip her cheeks.
And yet, for some reason, the more compliant she was, the more furious he became—lately, he was always in a fury, a violent, ungovernable passion that was wholly at odds with his usual cold restraint.
His eyes fixed motionless on her lips. He thought, if he followed that impulse and thrust a finger inside—would it calm the rage within him?
But plainly, what he wished to press into her mouth was not his finger.
But his tongue.
Her lips were truly soft—
He was more shameful than those women.
For in that instant, the only thought in his mind was—her lips were truly soft—
Could they enclose his tongue?
What made his scalp prickle even more was that, for some reason, she turned her head and lightly kissed his fingers—through the layer of black glove.
For a fleeting moment, he actually felt a pang of jealousy toward a pair of gloves.
Bo Li noticed nothing of his strange state, and was still asking, “Then, it’s settled between us?”
His hearing was so keen that he could catch the faintest things as she spoke—her breath, her swallowing, even the sound of saliva gathering at the root of her tongue.
Those subtle sounds seemed to carry a terrible heat, searing his eardrums, until at last he spoke in a low voice: “…Understood.”
“`
TL: SEND HELP, I can’t with these two 😭🔥