At this moment, Bo Li suddenly remembered that she had already neglected Erik for an entire week.
If she went to find him now, would he agree?
But there was no need to rush. Bo Li pondered—if she simply went over without a word, Graves would not necessarily allow her inside to look around, let alone fulfill his promise.
She decided to warm things up in the newspaper first.
Thus, when the citizens of New Orleans awoke, the first thing they saw was Bo Li’s article printed in the morning paper.
It must be said, before Bo Li came to New Orleans, the most sensational gossip here was no more than the petty scandals of thieves and prostitutes.
After Bo Li’s arrival, however, it seemed there was something new and lively in the papers almost every day.
Some people would not say it aloud, but in truth, upon waking each day, their very first action was to look in the newspaper for news concerning Bo Li—and if they found none, they would be sorely disappointed.
Bo Li did not fail their expectations. Almost as soon as the second week after Graves slandered her in the press, she gave a powerful response.
—“I am willing to accept Mr. Graves’ challenge.”
That headline startled not only the citizens of New Orleans but even Graves himself—for when had he ever said he wanted to challenge Bo Li?
In the article, Bo Li first clarified the true origin of this style of performance, which was by no means from India, as Graves had claimed.
Then, she declared that she had already received Mr. Graves’ urgent determination to challenge her—for he had not only copied her performance model, but even plagiarized her performance rules. If this was not an attempt to challenge her, then what was it?
Bo Li’s words were calm and composed. So long as Mr. Graves’ “House of Strange Scenes” opened for business, she would be the very first to step forward and accept the challenge.
If Graves could frighten her into the state of Mitt, she was willing to leave New Orleans forever.
Conversely, Graves must abide by his own promise—if she could clear the course within eight minutes, he must pay her one thousand dollars.
This was clearly an unfair challenge.
The price of Bo Li’s loss would be to leave New Orleans permanently.
Whereas Graves, all he needed to do was keep his own word.
In this way, Graves had no room to refuse the challenge—for to refuse would be to publicly admit that the “House of Strange Scenes” could not compare to Bo Li’s circus.
Bo Li’s performance could frighten three renowned gentlemen of the city, yet Graves’ “House of Strange Scenes” could not even scare one young woman.
If so, who would still go to watch his shows?
It was then that Graves realized—there was a reason Bo Li thrived in New Orleans as though in her native waters.
Her ability to manipulate public opinion was by no means inferior to that of certain small-time entrepreneurs in New York.
Graves began to suspect that the true mastermind behind “Miss Clermont’s Circus” was in fact a man.
Otherwise, how could Bo Li, as a mere woman, possibly possess such wisdom?
Thus, in the newspaper, Graves responded, saying that Bo Li was welcome to come and tour the “House of Strange Scenes,” and he was also willing to accept the terms she proposed—but on the condition that the one to enter the “House of Strange Scenes” must be Bo Li herself.
Graves did not go so far as to demand she enter alone.
After all, she was still a woman; if in the “House of Strange Scenes” she were to be frightened into some misfortune, he might as well close his business entirely.
If Bo Li insisted on going in alone, he would even find someone to accompany her, so as to avoid unfavorable public opinion.
In Graves’ view, the reason why Mitt and the others had become the laughingstock of New Orleans’ citizens was that they had made the wrong move.
To deal with a woman like Bo Li, criticism and slander were the worst strategies—such methods not only failed to befit the status of a Southern gentleman, but would also become evidence she could use to sue him.
He had to make use of a woman’s timid and delicate nature to defeat her.
Graves saw through Bo Li’s trick at once. By writing in the newspaper this way, she merely wanted to provoke him, to lure him into quarreling with her publicly as Mitt and the others had done.
Then she could collect evidence and bring a charge of defamation.
Graves had long anticipated this move of hers. His wording was exceedingly cautious, and he would never infringe upon her feminine dignity.
Bo Li likely never expected that he would have such endurance, agreeing to her request outright and inviting her to tour the “House of Strange Scenes.”
All women, in his mind, were as timid as guinea hens. Seeing his response in the newspaper, she had surely been frightened out of her wits and was now busy at home wiping her tears!
With disdain, Graves thought so, then promptly cast Bo Li from his mind and continued directing the stagehands arranging the sets inside the “House of Strange Scenes.”
Bo Li, on the other hand, cared nothing for what Graves might be thinking. Another matter entirely had seized her heart—Erik was gone.
Not long ago, having tasted forbidden sweetness, he would always fix her with a shadowed, unreadable gaze.
No matter what she was doing, his eyes would always fall upon her lips.
Even when she slept, she always felt his gaze tracing the curve of her lips, even the tongue within her mouth.
—It was not her imagination. Each time she was awakened in the middle of the night by a pressing need, she would invariably meet those golden eyes of his.
Though he never spoke a word, she had seen in the depths of his eyes a kind of feverish entanglement.
Though winter was nearly upon them, his gaze upon her could make her feel the suffocating swelter of midsummer in an instant.
Unfortunately, at the time she was too lacking in courage, always feeling she could not bear the weight of his emotions.
Whenever he looked at her, she would hurriedly avert her gaze.
…It was almost as if she regretted having kissed him.
Later, once she had thought things through, Erik no longer looked at her with that same gaze.
Bo Li felt uneasy.
Could it be that he had been angered away by her?
Only now did she realize, between the two of them, it was still Erik who held the reins.
She merely held a slight advantage in matters of emotion.
Whether they met or not, whether there was physical contact or not—these were always decided by him.
Just like now—once he chose to vanish, she had no way to reach him.
This feeling… was far too constraining.
Bo Li could not be as elusive as he, nor could she conceal her whereabouts—she was the head of the circus, she had to remain in the public eye in order to maintain its momentum.
Though the citizens of New Orleans outwardly resisted women in business, in truth half the circus’ popularity was brought about precisely by her being a woman.
People both scorned her for being a mere woman daring to learn from men and engage in business, and at the same time were curious as to why she could manage the circus so prosperously.
On the one hand, they despised her every action as a violation of womanly virtue; on the other hand, they were willing to pay for the very conduct that transgressed propriety.
Bo Li fell into thought.
How could she seize the initiative?
He was far too difficult to control.
When she approached him of her own accord, he would retreat, even leave; when she kept her distance, he would vanish altogether.
Bo Li strained to recall what she had done the last time he appeared.
That day, she had merely risen as usual, washed, dressed, and taken her meal.
For Erik had prepared for her a gown of white satin, with collar, sleeves, and hem all edged in a trim of white down.
So she had taken out the egret-feathered hat Theodore had gifted her and placed it upon her head.
The hat was indeed extraordinarily beautiful, the white egret plumes light and airy, lending her a striking air.
Along the way, more than a few people turned their heads to look at her; some gentlemen even doffed their hats in greeting.
That evening, upon her return to the villa, before she had time to change her clothes, Erik appeared in her bedroom, regarding her with an inscrutable expression.
At the time she had felt too guilty to speak with him. She only removed the egret hat, set it aside, draped a scarf over her shoulders, and went downstairs to dine.
By the time she returned, Erik was gone, and the egret hat was gone as well.
The next morning, she awoke to find several egret-feathered hats placed upon her bed.
Bo Li was not well-versed in the study of plumage; she knew white egret feathers only because of their great rarity.
But the hats Erik had sent her were clearly far more precious and rare—besides the white egret feathers, there were also rose-colored and bluish-gray egret plumes.
Bo Li: “…”
If he were willing to follow her into the modern world, the very first thing she would tell him was that in modern times, hunting wild animals would land one in prison for life.
This thought had scarcely flashed across her mind before she startled herself—she had already begun to imagine him coming with her into the modern age.
It seemed, then, that what she resisted was not his fierce, overwhelming passion, but rather the gulf of more than a hundred years.
After that, she resumed treating him with a deliberate nearness and distance.
But Erik disappeared.
Bo Li pondered—perhaps the reason he had appeared before was because she had worn the egret-feathered hat Theodore had given her, drawing the gaze of many men.
If she were to dress herself carefully again and stroll about, would he appear as before?
It was worth a try.
That night, Bo Li changed into a black velvet gown, the neckline slightly low, revealing the hollow of her collarbones.
She wore no necklace, only tied a black ribbon about her throat. Upon her head she placed neither hat nor ornament; her soft, lustrous red hair fell straight over her shoulders.
Black was the color of mourning.
Red was the color of cunning.
Combined together, it produced instead a sense of uncleanness and ominous foreboding.
Bo Li draped a white cashmere coat over her shoulders and descended the stairs.
In the drawing room, Theodore was teaching Thorn to read. Hearing her footsteps, he did not even lift his head:
“It will be over soon, Miss Claremont, just one more passage. Do not worry, I won’t keep him up too late tonight.”
Bo Li waved her hand and walked toward the villa’s front door. “I’m not here to hurry you to bed. I just want to take a walk.”
Theodore objected, “At this hour, is it not too late? Recently, many taverns have sprung up in the city, and drunken brawlers are increasing by the day. You—”
He raised his head, and when his eyes fell upon Bo Li’s attire, his voice cut off abruptly.
That air of uncleanness and ominousness left his throat dry, his palms damp with sweat, and for a time he could not utter another word.
Bo Li picked up a riding whip, patted the gun holster hidden beneath her coat, and said, “It’s fine. I have a gun.”
But Theodore rose to his feet, insisting on driving her carriage.
Bo Li thought for a moment, then did not refuse.
Indeed, it was safer with Theodore at her side.
Theodore harbored no ulterior motives, only the wish to ensure her safety.
He admired Bo Li, but never once believed he could possess her.
Whether it was her intellect, her origins, or even the kindness she had shown in helping them—everything about Bo Li was like a riddle.
Theodore had always been exceedingly cautious in maintaining his distance from her.
He never probed into her past, nor asked why she held so many novel ideas.
At times, curiosity was harder to quell than desire itself.
Theodore dared not imagine, if one day he learned Bo Li’s true origins and discovered that the gulf between them was even wider, how unbearable that pain would be.
Since that was so, it was better to keep his distance from the very beginning.
Bo Li had Theodore stop in front of the theater.
Before alighting, she asked whether he wanted to see the play. Theodore shook his head, saying he would rather remain in the carriage.
So Bo Li went in and bought a ticket for herself.
Once inside the hall, she discovered it was a symphony concert.
The orchestra was not large, only thirty to forty musicians, and the conductor was a young man in his early twenties, his features upright and proper.
Bo Li forced herself to raise her spirits, intending to appreciate the grandeur and refinement of the symphony, but as the quality of the performers was uneven, she soon grew drowsy.
Just as she was about to drift into slumber, a cold voice sounded beside her ear:
“This man has no charm and no understanding of conducting. Why would you come to watch his performance?”
Bo Li shuddered, instantly awake.
As expected—so long as she dressed herself with care, she need not even speak to another man; merely sitting in the audience, watching a man perform, was enough to make him bite down upon the bait she had cast and appear once more at her side.
“Are there not also thirty or forty other musicians besides him?” she wondered aloud. “How has it become his performance alone?”
Erik paused. “Unless it is a solo, the success or failure of a performance rests entirely upon the conductor.”
Bo Li grew curious. “Why is that?”
“Because the conductor is the true master,” he answered calmly. “From the smallest matters of instrumentation and balance of voices, to tempo and rhythm, and further to the overall mood and artistic expression of the piece—everything depends upon the conductor.”
Bo Li nodded and said no more.
She did not ask how he knew such things.
Just as she knew he possessed astonishing talent in music, yet had never asked him for knowledge in that field, nor ever requested that he play an instrument.
And yet, she had gone out at night deliberately to watch this mediocre performance.
At the moment he realized it, a violent surge of some emotion welled up in his chest, nearly to the point of bursting—it was a jealousy he had never before experienced.
He almost wished he could strangle the conductor on the spot.
Though he had never held moral restraints close to heart, never before had murderous intent been so easily provoked.
Perhaps it was because her attitude toward him had grown increasingly strange.
When they had kissed before, in order to survive, the expression in her eyes as she looked at him had been burning hot.
But lately she had grown cold, often averting her gaze, refusing to look at him or speak to him.
Whenever her attitude turned cold, he would be seized by a wild impulse—to seize her chin, to force her mouth open and once more draw her tongue into his own as before.
At this moment, his eyes fell upon the black satin ribbon at her throat.
Tied tight against her fair and delicate neck, it was as though someone’s hand were clenched firmly around it.
The thought that all those around them had seen her thus attired caused ever more frenzied and terrifying notions to spread through his mind like wildfire.