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After finishing moving the things, the little boy appeared, grinning as he apologized to her.
Bo Li had matters weighing on her heart, so she did not bother arguing with him.
Lunch was stew and potatoes—extremely unpalatable. The stew had only a little salt and carried a greasy, fishy odor. The only thing she could force down was the potatoes, yet their skins had not been properly peeled.
Bo Li ate until tears nearly fell from her eyes.
Still, lunch was not without gain. At least she learned the little boy’s name was John. In the future, if he slacked off, she could call out to stop him loudly.
As in the morning, Erik still did not appear.
Bo Li began to worry—had something happened to him? If yesterday was merely his last flare of strength before death, then how was she to escape from here?
After the meal, the men went off to smoke and talk loudly; the women cleaned the bowls and mended clothes. Several others gathered around her hiking pack, trying to figure out how to open it. The manager also went over to take a look. But he did not show much interest in the pack—after exchanging a few words, he left.
The afternoon sun dispersed the heavy fog, and the view grew wide and clear.
Only then did Bo Li recall—they seemed to have camped near a swamp. The air was damp like a towel soaked in water. Not far away ran a river, its waters unfathomably deep, green to the point of dread, with swarms of mosquitoes buzzing around.
Bo Li could swim, but to leap into such a river would be no different from suicide.
Besides, the diary of the body’s original owner had mentioned crocodiles nearby.
In addition, the camp had two exits, both guarded by men with rifles in hand. One of the exits even had a horse trough.
Bo Li had never dealt with horses and did not know they were so easily startled; merely the scent of a stranger could make them rear up and whinny.
Thus, either she had to become a horse-taming expert in a short time, or she could only leave through the other exit without the trough.
It was too difficult.
Bo Li had not failed to consider—like the protagonists in transmigration novels—offering the manager a few modern playlists, thereby raising her position in the circus.
But the premise of all this was that the manager would not turn other people’s fetuses into specimens, nor was there a tradition here of burning witches.
It must be remembered, in the nineteenth century abortion was illegal, yet the manager dared risk lifelong imprisonment to display unborn fetuses.
It was difficult for Bo Li not to suspect—had he committed even graver crimes… such as murder?
Taking a step back, even if her negotiations with the manager went smoothly, other than binding her more tightly to the circus, it would be of no use at all.
She did not know the exact age of this body—at most no more than sixteen.
Would the manager respect a sixteen-year-old child, giving her fair shares and treatment?
Clearly not.
Turning the thought over and over, Bo Li once more cast her gaze toward Erik’s tent.
Apart from him, she seemed truly to have no other way.
—Should she gamble?
But soon, a new problem arose.
When evening came and the party was held, Erik still did not appear. His tent, too, was dark, with not the slightest glimmer of light.
Bo Li felt somewhat anxious, yet dared not let it show.
Compared with lunch, the food at the party could be called abundant: there was beer, fruit wine, pies, smoked ham, baked potatoes, blood sausage, and meat pudding.
Bo Li had intended to taste the meat pudding, but before she could even get close, the stench of suet and lamb kidney reached her, forcing her to step back at once. The others, however, ate with relish.
Now was no time to be picky.
Bo Li forced herself to take a pie and some baked potatoes. Holding her breath, she swallowed them down with fruit wine.
After a glass of fruit wine, her stiff thoughts loosened and grew more nimble.
She had been far too cautious—not daring to speak, not daring to meet anyone’s eyes. Even though she knew that Emily, the “Four-Legged Girl,” had a suspicious brother, she did not dare to inquire after news.
Outwardly she looked calm, but inwardly she was terrified—afraid of betraying something different, afraid of being questioned and judged by those around her.
This could not go on.
She must take the initiative, do things the body’s original owner would never have done, and see whether she could change her present situation.
Suddenly, a burst of warm applause broke out ahead.
The manager appeared, pushing Emily’s wheelchair into the crowd. Smiling amiably, he waved to the people: “Emily will soon be leaving. She wishes to sing one last song for everyone—who would like to sing with her?”
Many raised their hands, and the band struck up a lively melody. People gathered by the bonfire, singing and dancing. Bo Li had never heard this song before; it must have been a local ballad.
Taking advantage of everyone’s attention on Emily, Bo Li turned to head for Erik’s tent.
But as soon as she looked back, she caught sight of his thin figure.
In the darkness, that white mask of his was blindingly stark, the two eyeholes vacant and dull like those of a waxen doll, radiating a detached indifference.
He watched the crowd in silence, his thoughts unreadable.
As if sensing Bo Li’s gaze, the next moment he met her eyes.
It was like a basin of icy water poured over her head. The back of her skull tensed, and the chill seeped from head to toe. She instinctively wanted to step back.
But she tightened her grip on the wine cup in her hand and restrained the impulse to flee.
—She must take the initiative, do things the body’s original owner would never have done.
Even if Erik were the Phantom of the Opera in a horror version, so what?
He did not know she was no longer Polly Claremont, yet she knew his life story, his sorest wounds—how no one appreciated his talent, and no one would draw near to him.
He could not even obtain the love of his own mother, and so he had become like a beast untamed by human teaching, primal and rough.
She still remembered—how had the heroine in the original work subdued him?
A kiss.
With merely a kiss, he had yielded, abandoning everything that lay within his grasp.
A daring thought gradually took form in her mind.
Even if he truly was the Phantom in a horror tale and would not surrender so easily, she still wished to try—what would happen if she kissed him?
—Do the things the body’s original owner would never have done.
Bo Li looked at him and took a step forward.
Erik looked back at her, tilting his head slightly—not in puzzlement, but more like a beast adjusting its vision or locating a sound source as it fixed upon its prey.
Thinking that at any moment he might draw a dagger and plunge it into her throat, Bo Li’s legs weakened, and her stomach felt as though crammed with stones—cold and heavy.
She forced herself to rally her spirit and continued to move forward.
One step, then another—
By the time she stood before him, even the air seemed to have thickened, viscous and stagnant, refusing to flow, making it hard to breathe.
Erik stared straight at her, his gaze gradually sharpening with a trace of vigilance.
His eyes were like a hand, seizing hold of her.
Under that gaze, she stood rigid, nearly unable to move, her voice trembling slightly: “Are you feeling better?”
Erik did not reply, his eyes still cold and wary.
Bo Li thought, if only he truly were a beast—at least then she could extend a finger, let him grow accustomed to her scent, instead of standing here foolishly, letting him scrutinize her again and again.
The band played loudly; people had already begun dancing the waltz. In the circus, men far outnumbered women, so those unable to find partners had no choice but to pair off with the bearded guards.
Everyone laughed together, as if they dwelled in another world.
Bo Li steeled herself once more, then at last gathered the courage to speak: “Guess what I saw today in the storeroom?”
No response.
“—Emily’s child, made into a specimen.”
Still no response.
Erik’s gaze did not shift in the least, as though utterly indifferent.
He had no interest whatsoever in the life or death of Emily’s child.
Bo Li knew this very well. She had brought it up only to lead into—
“The manager, for the sake of a little petty profit, was willing to commit the grave crime of abortion. Do you think, with his character, he would truly let Emily go, or let any one of us go?”
Erik remained unmoved.
Bo Li did not give up. Pressing her lips together, she continued to raise the stakes.
“If my guess is correct, Emily’s brother is very likely a ‘freak hunter’—a middleman who traffics in people like us.”
The words “freak hunter” at last brought the faintest change to his eyes.
His gaze shifted downward, heavy and coarse as a stone grinding against her face, rubbing, scraping—
Bo Li’s scalp tingled under his stare, her cheeks burned with stinging heat, yet she strove to keep calm and went on:
“The manager turned Emily’s fetus into a specimen. Perhaps he tasted profit from it and now intends to make a specimen of Emily herself.”
“Have you never considered—if he finds that Emily’s specimen is worth more than Emily herself, what will happen?”
Bo Li drew in a deep breath, lifted her head, and met his eyes without flinching: “—You, I—we will all become specimens. Specimens in an exhibition hall.”
For a moment, his gaze was so chilling it felt as though it would rip her skin apart.
She was about to move him.
This was a perilous gamble, but fortunately, she still had more than one card to play.
Bo Li heard her own breathing quicken; blood rushed to her cheeks and roared in her ears.
She could not tell whether it was fear or the exhilaration of staking everything on a single throw.
“Think about it—your mask being torn away—”
Before the words were finished, a shadow had already fallen over her.
Erik bent down, and behind the eyeholes his gaze no longer appeared indifferent or vacant, but surged with terrifying rage.
Within the white mask, his breath was muffled and heavy, hissing like a snake threatened.
His hand clamped around her neck, forbidding her to continue.
Bo Li’s heartbeat quickened further. A powerful sense of crisis rushed at her, blackening her vision, cold sweat streaming down her back.
But she had to press on: “Think about it—your mask torn away—your head sealed in a specimen jar, displayed in an exhibition hall—all watching you, watching your face without the mask—”
Before her words were finished, the force of his grip abruptly increased.
Bo Li could almost hear the fragile crackle of her neck buckling under the strain.
His breathing grew harsher still, like a storm wind raging in fury, battering against the white mask in violent gusts.
“I know you don’t want to see such a sight—” Oxygen was growing scarce; Bo Li strained to breathe, forcing her voice to remain steady. “Nor do I want to see such a sight. You are the most talented person I have ever met… I have never envied anyone’s talent before—you are the first to make me feel envy…”
“I do not want to see you turned into a specimen. I want people to hear your talent…”
Yet Erik did not release her throat.
He stared at her coldly, utterly disbelieving of her words.
Though she knew he was not so easily deceived, his stare still froze her blood.
Bo Li did not doubt in the least—if she went on describing the scene of him being displayed, he would snap her neck without hesitation.
Fortunately, she still had two cards left unplayed.
“In truth, I’m the same as you…” She fought against dizziness, gasping as she continued, “My mother hated that I wasn’t a boy—she nearly drove a pen into my eye…”
This she had made up, based on the manager’s words.
—“Polly’s mother was mad—she nearly drove a pen into his eye.”
“She would not allow me to wear skirts, would not allow me to live like a girl—she shaved my hair off like one would shear a dog… Sometimes I wonder, if I were you, a boy with such overflowing talent… would she have loved me more…”
The iron clamp on her throat vanished in an instant.
She had won the gamble.
Air flooded into her lungs; Bo Li choked and coughed violently, like a drowning person snatched back to life.
But it was not enough.
She wanted him to stand on her side—not merely to spare her life.
“Work with me… Let’s leave here and start a new circus together.” She raised her hand to wipe the sweat and tears from her face. “You are so talented, you have everything… Why remain here to be bullied?”
Still, there was no response.
He stood unmoving, as though he had slipped back into that state of indifference, vacant and unfeeling.
Fortunately, she still had her final card to play.
Bo Li stepped forward, straining on tiptoe, and under his gaze of bewilderment, rejection, and fear, she pressed a kiss to his mask.
For several seconds, all aggression drained from him. He looked like a dog struck by a whip, his eyes almost dazed, incomprehending.
And at that moment, Bo Li realized—he, like her, was a living human being, not merely a shadow, a threat, a dagger poised to strike.
She parted her lips, wanting to say something. But when she lifted her head, he had already vanished without a trace.