Chapter 10

At the same moment, another shrill whistle screamed from the direction of camp. Then dense points of fire flared up one after another, as if the whole place had caught.
The circus had realized they were gone. People were raising torches, searching for their trail.
The fog thickened, a gray-white mass that seemed almost solid as it drifted between the tall cypresses.
In less than a minute, the torchlight from camp was swallowed, leaving only a thin, weak line of glow.
But that still wasn’t a good sign.
The heavier the fog, the closer it was to dawn.
Bo Li regretted letting Nanny return the pocket watch to Mike. If she still had it, at least she’d know the time.
And after giving the watch back, Eric still hadn’t received any apology—or compensation.
People still believed he was a freak.
The stables were close now. There were probably more than a dozen horses inside, but most were draft and pack animals—big, clumsy, slow, meant for pulling wagons.
The entire circus had only one truly good horse. The manager called it “Caesar.”
It was a lean, powerful white Arabian—graceful and elegant, its coat smooth as satin. Under certain light it even shimmered with an iridescent sheen, like the inside of a seashell.
Back when Bo Li had tried to get friendly with the horse trainer, she’d fed Caesar a few times. The thing was a spoiled dog in horse form—if the carrot wasn’t crisp enough, it would bare its teeth like a dog. After its main feed it even got fruit.
Bo Li hadn’t eaten fruit once since arriving at the circus.
After a few tries, she’d given up on the idea of escaping on Caesar. The horse was too pampered; in a real getaway, it might toss her the moment it got annoyed.
And yet Eric led Caesar out as if it were nothing.
Bo Li couldn’t believe her eyes.
She’d always thought Caesar was “doglike” because it would snarl whenever it didn’t like what it was fed.
The trainer once said that when Caesar went mad, it had bitten off a stablehand’s ear.
Ever since, the sight of its big, perfect teeth had made her uneasy. She hadn’t dared get close.
Now, as if it sensed danger on Eric, it didn’t even dare blow a snort. It let him use a leather strap to lash the hiking backpack to the rear of the saddle.
Bo Li saw herself in the horse—Caesar was afraid too, afraid Eric might stab it without warning.
Out of sympathy, she reached up and stroked its head.
Caesar didn’t shy away. It even rubbed its nose lightly against her palm.
Eric didn’t spare either of them a glance. He swung up into the saddle.
Bo Li hesitated, unsure how to tell him she had never ridden a horse in her life—didn’t even know how to mount properly.
Before she could shape the perfect sentence, Eric bent down, clamped both hands around her ribs, and simply lifted her up, placing her in front of him on the saddle.
He didn’t touch people often. He had no idea how to control his strength.
Her armpits burned where his grip had pinched her.
Bo Li didn’t dare cry out; she was afraid he’d make it worse.
This couldn’t go on.
If they were really going to travel together, he had to learn—at least—how hard to touch her.
She didn’t need him to talk like a normal person. But he had to learn the right amount of force.
If they got closer…she might even make him take a bath.
Just then, Eric flicked the reins lightly, and Caesar broke into a run.
Bo Li grabbed the pommel at once, terrified she’d bounce off. If she got thrown, Eric would never haul her back up.
At the same time, the circus seemed to realize they’d stolen Caesar. A few warning gunshots cracked into the sky.
Only then did Bo Li understand why people in Los Angeles were so sensitive to loud bangs.
Anyone who’s never faced being shot can’t understand what it feels like when gunfire detonates behind you.
Like a whip lashing straight across your heart.
She told herself the guns of this era were inaccurate. Even in bright light, they might not hit.
And there was fog this thick.
The thought had barely formed when several shots rang out—*bang, bang*—and a bullet struck the ground near the horse’s hooves.
Under Eric’s control, Caesar only let out a terrified whinny and didn’t rear or throw them.
But Bo Li’s back went instantly slick with cold sweat. Her heart slammed up into her throat, blood roaring in her temples, and she nearly went limp against Eric.
At this point, she didn’t care what Eric was thinking anymore. She twisted and shoved herself hard into his chest, trying to use him as a human shield.
To her surprise, Eric didn’t shove her away.
She could hear his heartbeat.
His eyes were cold and empty, but his heart beat fast and strong—like some powerful hydraulic engine, pumping scalding blood through his limbs without pause.
In his arms, she actually felt warmth and…safety.
That atmosphere shattered in the next second.
A wagon suddenly loomed ahead—no enclosed carriage, more like a flatbed for hauling goods—blocking the road completely.
On it, a guard raised his gun and aimed at them, shouting, “Stop—stop, or I’ll shoot!”
For several seconds, Bo Li’s mind went blank. It felt as if she’d been soaked in ice water from head to toe. Her hands and feet stiffened; she couldn’t react at all.
Everything in front of her had gone beyond what she could comprehend.
No matter how calm she tried to be, no matter how fast she thought—she was still only an ordinary person, with no idea how to deal with this.
Just as they were about to crash into the flatbed wagon, Eric suddenly yanked the reins back hard.
Caesar reared and shrieked. The world spun violently; in panic, Bo Li could only throw her arms around Caesar’s neck and cling.
Caesar’s breathing came in frantic bursts. Sweat was already slicking the horse’s neck—just as terrified as she was.
But Eric hauled the reins tight, leaned forward, and clamped his legs around the horse’s belly, forcing it—by sheer will—back under control.
Bo Li was just about to breathe when what happened next etched itself into her life forever—
Eric snapped out a rope like lightning, looped it with impossible precision around the guard’s neck, and jerked back—
No one knew how he handled the rope. No one knew how strong he really was. But with that single pull, he tore the guard’s head clean off.
Bo Li hated her own eyesight for being so sharp. She could see the neat, severed neck, red muscle exposed, the white spine shining.
Eric’s eyes stayed calm. Slowly, he reeled the rope back in.
Bo Li saw a shred of flesh stuck to the fibers and nearly retched.
She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away, forcing herself not to look at the blood in front of her.
Yes, she’d watched plenty of horror movies—but seeing something this grotesque with her own eyes was a different kind of impact.
Especially the blood—real. Dark. Warm. Gushing. Thickening in the wind, congealing like a rancid jelly.
Eric only looked calm. In truth, his heart was beating violently; the scene seemed to stir some nameless excitement in him.
Bo Li tried to make herself as small as possible, afraid he’d remember there was still a living creature in his arms—one whose neck he could twist just as easily.
Eric didn’t look at her. His gaze dropped to the rifle lying beside the guard.
After several long seconds, Bo Li had forced her fear into something like order. “…Should we pick it up?” she managed.
Eric didn’t answer, but he swung down and grabbed it.
He knew how to use a gun. The way he cleared it and loaded it again was fast—professional.
No matter how many times she saw him do things like this, it still shocked her. His perception ran far beyond ordinary people’s; his mind was frighteningly brilliant.
Just like the original story said—if not for his strange appearance, he could have become a world‑famous inventor, a master magician.
Bo Li didn’t want to look spineless.
But she really was grateful that, the first time they met, he’d chosen to “speak” with a dagger—rather than ripping her head off.
After checking the rifle, Eric began searching the dead man’s pockets.
Bo Li didn’t know how long he’d take.
She was scared and wanted to get down from the horse and go to him.
But damn it—she didn’t know how to dismount.
She’d never trained in riding. Jumping down carelessly could spook the horse. Losing the backpack would be the least of it—she’d most likely break her neck.
She didn’t understand why Eric had left her alone on the horse.
A trust test?
Testing whether she’d turn the horse around and abandon him?
But she couldn’t even ride!
Seconds dragged by. The circus could catch up at any moment.
The sense of danger crawled up her spine. Bo Li gripped the saddle pommel, limbs stiff, not daring to move.
Thankfully, Eric finally finished looting the body and turned toward her.
But it was a beat too late.
In the dense fog, torchlight drew closer and closer, like a fire spreading fast.
The circus had arrived.
In the dark, more than a dozen unfamiliar faces appeared, expressionless, staring at them like eerie black‑and‑white photographs in a museum.
The air tightened, suffocating, ready to snap.
The leader rode a black horse. Compared to Bo Li’s terror, he looked perfectly at ease in the saddle, effortless.
—The manager.
This was the first time, since crossing over, that Bo Li saw the circus manager face to face.
He looked about forty, ordinary‑looking, with a small moustache and a dark suit. A gold watch chain hung at his belly, making him appear like a well-bred gentleman.
And yet, a cigarette was tucked behind his ear, and the holster on his saddle was open, revealing the ivory grip of a revolver.
In the dead silence, the manager spoke slowly.
“To be honest, I’m curious. How did you convince Eric to run away with you?”
Bo Li met his eyes without speaking, her palms soaked with cold sweat.
“I spent three months with him and only heard him say three sentences: ‘Not mute.’ ‘Good.’ And ‘Understood.’ He can sing, but he never sings in front of the audience. No one knows where the voice comes from—his throat, his belly, or…” The manager smiled as if telling a joke. “Maybe he hid a gramophone under the stage?”
It was a joke.
Bo Li couldn’t laugh.
The air was heavy as death.
She couldn’t help looking at Eric.
He stood between her and the manager, unreadable, impossible to read for anger or joy.
“To learn about his past, I asked around,” the manager continued. “A Persian man named Daroga told me Eric is a devil—he brings misfortune to anyone near him.”
“Daroga also said he’s cold‑blooded and cruel, that he’s killed countless people, invented a number of things that make your skin crawl…” The manager’s voice stayed even. “Most unbelievable of all—no matter if a man has a gun, a knife, a shield—Eric can still strangle him with a lasso.”