Bo Li’s lips twitched slightly; she had not expected that even in such a frightened state, Mitt was still thinking about inviting her to dinner.
However, even if Mitt had not mentioned it, she would have found a way to dine with someone in order to test Erik’s attitude.
A convenient tool delivered to her doorstep should not be wasted.
Bo Li gripped Mitt’s hand even more tightly.
Her expression was one of surprise and deep emotion: “I never thought that Mr. Mitt would be so magnanimous, to the point of not even minding that I asked reporters to photograph you for the circus’s publicity… of course I will!”
At these words, Mitt nearly lost his breath. His heart was filled with grievance.
He had merely said he wanted to invite Bo Li to dinner; he had never said he did not mind being photographed, nor that he did not mind the photos being used for circus publicity.
Yet, under the watchful gaze of so many people, he could not possibly reveal his true thoughts. He could only swallow the bitterness along with his own blood, and force himself to endure it.
After sending Mitt off, Bo Li, ignoring the people’s chatter, went to find the reporter, urging him to quickly develop the photographs and publish them on the front page of the newspaper.
Otherwise, if Mitt came to his senses, he might regret it on the spot.
The reporter understood this as well—this was major news. If they could print the photographs before Mitt regretted it, the newspaper’s sales that day would surely surge.
If fortune favored them, it might even draw the attention of a news agency, which could then distribute the story to newspapers across the country.
But developing photographs took time: once developed, they still had to be exposed onto the halftone screen, transferred as negatives onto copper plates, and only then installed on the printing press to produce images in the paper.
It was a highly complex process, taking at least two to three days at the shortest.
Bo Li had to stall Mitt for two or three days, long enough for the paper to be released before he could go back on his word.
Fortunately, she also needed Mitt as a tool to help her test Erik.
By then, with the newspaper already in circulation and Erik’s attitude already tested, it would be a complete victory for her—what Mitt might gain from all this was another matter.
In high spirits, Bo Li politely ushered the crowd away.
Many people asked her when the circus would officially open, for they wished to come and test their own courage.
After all, the three most renowned gentlemen of New Orleans had all failed Bo Li’s test of courage.
If they themselves could pass, would it not prove that they were bolder than those gentlemen?
Bo Li had long anticipated such a scene. Smiling, she said: “Everyone, please be patient. Once we officially open, the announcement will certainly appear in the newspaper… and at that time, our hospitality will not be as simple as it is now. We will provide complimentary drinks for everyone.”
At once, the crowd stirred in excitement.
Free drinks!
That was even more enticing than a test of courage.
A policeman present gave a dry cough.
Bo Li immediately amended her words: “For the sake of safety, each visitor may have only a single glass.”
She could not allow a gang of drunkards to come and wreck the place. She was already planning to study how to dilute the drinks with water.
Even so, the people remained full of eager anticipation for the circus performance.
Even after most of the people had dispersed, the low hum of their murmurs could still be heard.
The two trial performances had brought the circus unprecedented attention, yet they also made Bo Li realize a problem—she must shorten the performance time if she wished to receive more visitors.
At first, she had set the performance at three hours, but who would have thought that these people could not last even ten minutes before being frightened out?
Bo Li did not realize that her present expression resembled that of a shrewd merchant.
She thought very seriously about whether to reduce the performance to ten minutes—at most twenty minutes, leaving some time for them to recover, lest they vomit everywhere.
Having successfully frightened those three gentlemen, the performers were all in high spirits; even Emily’s face carried a faint smile.
In the secret passage, she had heard Wright sneer at the identity of the woman who had once undergone an abortion. At first, she had felt uneasy, as though long-concealed suffering were suddenly laid bare under the glaring daylight, made the subject of ridicule and judgment.
Yet the very next moment, Wright was shivering all over, vomiting incessantly from fright.
And what he had seen was nothing but a man-made illusion—only the tip of the iceberg compared to what she had once endured.
The blood, flesh, saws, and screams were all false.
Her own deformed four legs, however, had indeed almost been sawed off.
So this was what was called a gentleman?
Words and conduct coarse and vulgar, courage smaller than her little finger’s nail.
Why should she ever care for the judgment of such a man?
Bo Li noticed that Emily’s whole demeanor had changed.
Once she had always appeared sorrowful, as though she might take her own life at any time; now, though her face was still pale, it carried a trace of resolve.
It was as though she had drawn some kind of strength from those three gentlemen’s fear, and grown more unyielding.
Bo Li, after looking at Emily, turned her gaze upon Marbelle and Flora—Marbelle had always been strong, never once giving in to despair.
Flora was still a carefree little girl; though she had neither been treated kindly nor suffered great misfortune, she had always preserved her innocent and lively nature.
Bo Li had established the circus at first only to survive under Erik’s control.
When she recruited Emily, Marbelle, and Flora, she had no intention of saving them; it had been merely incidental—she needed deformed performers, and they happened to be there.
Yet, because of her actions, they had gradually begun to change for the better.
All of a sudden, Bo Li felt a strange sensation.
It was difficult to describe.
As though, for a fleeting instant, the back of her head had turned transparent.
Everything around her seemed to gain substance.
A sense of reality she had never before felt—the air was real, the floor was real, the joyful people before her were real.
Emily, Marbelle, and Flora noticed the look in her eyes and came over to clasp her hands.
Hand pressed against hand.
Their warmth too was real—more real than she had ever felt before.
Bo Li lowered her head, feeling her palms grow warm, even burning.
For once, she felt a rare shyness.
Yet her shyness did not last long—Madam Freeman came upstairs with mop and bucket, briskly setting about cleaning.
“All this from those gentlemen’s vomiting?” Madam Freeman clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Miss Claremont, it’s not that I mind such filthy work, but if those gentlemen come again, could you ask them to eat a little less beforehand? Everything they had eaten was on display—how disgraceful!”
At her words, the already merry atmosphere became even more cheerful.
Just then, Thorn came to say that dinner was nearly ready and they could return to eat.
It was only then that Bo Li remembered Erik had not appeared at all; it seemed he had left right after frightening Mitt.
After some thought, she told the others to go on ahead, while she herself went upstairs to look for Erik.
There were no traces of struggle upstairs.
Against Erik, Mitt had no strength to resist; all he could do was weep in terror.
At the end of the corridor, Bo Li picked up two pulleys.
Hypnosis required psychological suggestion—sound, scent, image, music, all could serve as tools.
Erik must have used these two pulleys to guide Mitt into a hypnotic state.
Bo Li stepped into the room where Mitt had been.
The corpses inside, of course, were false. Erik had somehow fashioned materials with the texture of human skin, and even concocted a stench like that of decay, making them indistinguishable from real corpses.
She walked about the room, noticing drops of water falling from the ceiling—signs of melting ice.
Since the tavern already had an ice cellar, making ice was no trouble at all.
Erik had designed vents in the ceiling, placing ice blocks above them, and using the principle of cold air sinking and hot air rising, quickly lowered the room’s temperature.
Without this mechanism, Mitt would not have been frightened into collapse so swiftly.
Bo Li calculated the cost of ice-making and thought that unless the visitors were particularly troublesome, it would be better not to use ice.
Better to save where one could.
Lost in thought, she did not notice a tall figure had already appeared in the doorway.
When she came back to herself, Erik’s form loomed over her.
He looked at her, stepping forward, his gaze carrying a never-before-seen aggression.
Bo Li instinctively retreated a step, her back pressing against the table: “You’re here.”
He did not speak, but kept advancing, his knee pressing against hers.
A little closer, and he would be directly between her knees.
This was the first time he had shown this side of himself.
Bo Li’s heart pounded wildly, nearly leaping into her throat, her body growing weak and soft.
…Far too thrilling.
Agreeing to dine with Mitt had truly been the most correct decision.
Erik’s gaze lingered on Bo Li, inch by inch sliding downward until it came to rest upon her lips. After pausing for one or two seconds, it swiftly shifted away.
This day, for the two of them, was in fact a great victory.
It was the scene he had long envisioned—without ever needing to show himself before others, merely by moving his fingers he could pass judgment on men of hollow reputation, forcing the world to witness his talent.
He had no desire to appear in public, only to dwell hidden in the shadows.
In a certain sense, Bo Li fulfilled all his desires.
And yet—why did he still feel anger and dissatisfaction?
He looked at Bo Li, stepping forward another inch.
Her face was flushed, her breath quickened; she appeared to eagerly await his nearness, yet in truth, it was fear.
She was deeply afraid of his approach.
Because more than once, he had seized her by the throat, intent on ending her life.
Almost instantly, his mind leapt to Mitt, that handsomely detestable gentleman—had she feared Mitt’s closeness?
At that time, Mitt had leaned so near that his breath befouled her face.
Yet she had not retreated in the slightest; rather, she had raised her eyes and shown a smile.
The breath of a strange man had entered her lungs, circling and coursing within her body, before being exhaled once more from her lips—
Breath was intangible.
Yet he felt as though he had truly seen that scene, his blood gradually heating, his chest heaving violently, his heart thundering as though it would burst.
—Was it anger, killing intent, or jealousy?
A dizziness overtook his mind, and before he realized it, his hand had already seized Bo Li’s chin.
She did not resist in the least, but instead lifted her head to him.
He saw her lips and tongue.
With only a slight bow, he could press upon them, could pour his breath into her mouth.
And in the depths of his heart, a voice resounded:
What you desire—is it truly so simple as to let her swallow and exhale your breath?
Or is it that what you truly wish is—
—to let her swallow your tongue?
The very thought seared him.
He released her chin at once, his Adam’s apple rolling heavily as he jerked back a step.
Yet once begun, it could not be withdrawn.
No matter where he looked, he could hear the wet sound of her lips and tongue, tormenting his nerves.
A fierce ache pressed against his chest, a dull pain bordering on thirst, as though only by touching her lips and tongue, by rubbing against them, could it at last be soothed. Unconsciously, he retreated yet another step.
The imagining did not cease there, but instead grew ever darker, ever more frenzied.
She was to dine with Mitt—then why should he not first ravage her lips until they were red and swollen, leaving her unable to open her mouth, unable to swallow, forced only to breathe in his breath—
Merely by imagining it, heat surged through his whole body, as though her breath had already burrowed into his nostrils, seeped into his skin, and corroded his very bones.
But soon, a single thought doused his burning mind like cold water.
She could never kiss him.
The only reason she was willing to draw near him now was because she had yet to see his face.
Once she saw his face, she would recoil from him just as his mother had—never again willing to approach him even half a step.
—As though avoiding a devil, as though fleeing a ghost.
~~~
The tension, the angst, the yearning—HELP I CAN’T BREATHE 💀