Chapter 12

Bo Li finally ate a proper meal.
This body had never eaten chili before. By the time she got to the end, she was basically crying and sniffling, blowing her nose with one hand while shoveling food in with the other.
Eric, on the other hand, didn’t react at all—as if he’d eaten things far more punishing than this.
Bo Li didn’t think too hard about it. Chili peppers had originated in the Americas, after all.
In the original story, he traveled all over Europe and eventually learned terrifying rope techniques in India. With a life like that, it wasn’t strange if he’d been to the Americas too—
Maybe they were in the Americas right now.
Bo Li wasn’t great at geography, but she vaguely remembered that France didn’t have crocodiles. Or coyotes.
Coyotes lived only in North America.
Earlier, she’d heard French accents and automatically assumed France, completely forgetting that nineteenth‑century America also had French‑speaking cities—New Orleans, for example, once a French and Spanish colony.
That also explained why Richard hadn’t tried to run off with her backpack.
New Orleans was far too far from Paris. Rather than trekking across half the world to collect a Louis Vuitton reward, it made more sense for him to cooperate with the manager.
Bo Li forced herself to carve that lesson into her bones.
—From now on, think three times before acting.
She’d assumed these people were inexperienced and simple‑minded, that with a little push she could make them move the way she wanted.
But they were living, breathing human beings. Nobody became someone else’s chess piece that easily.
If Eric hadn’t been inhumanly strong, she would probably have died at the manager’s hands.
Eric wouldn’t always help her. He might not help her at all.
If she wanted to live, she had to be cautious—cautious, and then cautious again.
There was too much in the hot pot tin. Bo Li ate a third and couldn’t take another bite.
Eric’s appetite, however, seemed quite good. His chopsticks barely paused.
His fingers were long—flexible and powerful to an almost startling degree. Many foreigners fumbled the first time they tried chopsticks, but he looked completely at ease, moving just like her.
Only then did Bo Li remember: he wasn’t just a first‑rate magician, but a rare musical genius too—two talents that both demanded extreme dexterity.
If he couldn’t learn chopsticks, *that* would be the strange thing.
Come to think of it, this was the first time she’d ever really watched him eat. The energy‑bar incident didn’t count.
Just like then, he only lifted the mask slightly, revealing a sliver of that sharp‑lined jaw. His chewing was small, slow, and elegant, like he’d been trained.
Considering he’d once served a king—and even planned political assassinations—maybe it wasn’t surprising.
Bo Li didn’t dare stare at his face. She looked away and made small talk. “…You’re too thin. Eat more.”
No answer.
And he didn’t stop eating.
Which probably meant she was allowed to keep talking.
Bo Li thought this was a good chance to get closer.
Since they weren’t in Paris, he hadn’t met the heroine, and his personality hadn’t yet slid all the way into madness, trying to befriend him couldn’t hurt.
After thinking for a moment, she picked a topic that made it easy to keep talking even if he stayed silent. “Do you know how to build a circus troupe?”
No response.
She hadn’t expected one. She kept going. “No matter how you build it, you can’t treat performers the way the manager does—like disposable exhibits. Once the audience has seen them once, they won’t want to see them again. It’s bad for the performer’s future, and for the circus it’s a burden.”
Eric didn’t lift his head. He kept eating.
“People get tired of deformity,” she said. “If Emily were my performer, I wouldn’t sell her, and I wouldn’t turn her into a specimen. That’s a crime—and it’s short‑sighted. I’d give her a devout backstory, so the audience understands she isn’t just a ‘four‑legged girl.’ She’s a living person.”
Eric finally looked up at her.
Bo Li smiled slightly. “You might think it’s pointless. Learning her backstory won’t change how she looks. People will still fear her, reject her, treat her like the circus clown.”
“But what if people discovered,” she tilted her head, “that beneath that unusual appearance, she’s a devout Christian—someone who needs love, and can love others too?”
“I’d tailor a script for her—make her as tragic, pitiful, and sympathy‑worthy as possible.”
“People will feel sorry for her. Everyone has sympathy with nowhere to put it—rich people pity the poor, the poor pity beggars, able‑bodied beggars pity crippled beggars—”
“Sympathy isn’t just a virtue,” she said softly. “It’s a privilege.”
“The fortunate look at the unfortunate and feel more fortunate. The whole look at the broken and feel more whole. They’ll pay huge sums of money and time for that experience.”
“Most importantly, Emily was pregnant.” Bo Li frowned. “The manager is stupid and vicious. He could have used that and spun a better, sadder, more sympathetic story—but instead he chose to make her miscarry and turn the fetus into a specimen…”
A voice sounded by her ear. “What story.”
Bo Li froze.
This was the third time she’d heard him speak.
Maybe because this time he sat right beside her, she heard it with crystalline clarity.
It was like something cool and clean slipped into her ear, soaking every nerve, resonating with her mind in a strange way.
It was hard to describe.
Like suggestion. Like hypnosis. Like a half‑dream.
Bo Li’s heart sped up; her breath quickened. For a moment, she felt dazed.
It sounded so good.
So good it made her feel…afraid.
She jolted, snapping back to herself.
Too terrifying.
She’d actually gotten distracted just listening to someone’s voice.
It didn’t sound like something a human could produce. It was more like bait—something meant to lure you in and then kill you.
Earlier, she’d even hoped he would speak more. In the original story his voice was supposed to be beautiful; she’d been too tense to hear it properly and had regretted it.
Who knew that his real voice would be like this—bringing to mind dark, filthy, ill‑omened legends.
Better if he spoke less.
It took Bo Li a long time to force her voice back out.
“Of course you make the pregnancy bigger than it is,” she said hoarsely. “In many religions, creating life is sacred—untouchable. If she really were a freak, why would God allow her to conceive?”
No response.
Bo Li kept talking. “In my hometown—people will pay for any story. For example, a rich young heir gambles until he loses everything.”
“Different people get different feelings from the same story. The rich take it as a warning, grateful they haven’t gone bankrupt. The poor feel comforted—everyone is equal, even those born above others can lose everything through stupidity. Lucky gamblers think he’s an idiot. Unlucky gamblers want the story to convince themselves to stop.”
She spoke softly. “Emily being pregnant doesn’t mean anything by itself—she’s a person, and she got pregnant. That’s all. It’s complicated human nature that gives it complicated meaning.”
Still no response.
“I wonder where Emily went,” Bo Li murmured.
And that was the end of their one‑sided conversation.
Bo Li yawned. She wanted to sleep.
Eric was still eating. His appetite was abnormally large. After he finished the tin, he ate the rabbit too.
Which made sense.
If he didn’t eat a lot, it was hard to imagine what could sustain that kind of high‑intensity killing.
Bo Li told him good night and turned into the tent.
She pulled the blanket over herself and was about to close her eyes. Then she thought of something, sat up again, and called out to Eric, “…The blanket’s big. If you’re tired, you can sleep with me.”
She only said it to prevent a midnight scenario where he decided he wanted to sleep with her and used a dagger to “wake” her.
She didn’t want to get startled awake and lose her clean pants.
Eric didn’t answer.
Bo Li wasn’t reassured. She said it again, then finally lay down and closed her eyes.
She’d done what she could. The rest was up to fate.
In the middle of the night, something cold brushed her cheek.
She was so tired it took her a long time to pry her eyes open, bleary and unfocused.
The first thing she saw was a white mask—hollow as a wax figure, without a shred of emotion.
Eric was half‑kneeling beside her, staring without blinking.
There was a dagger in his hand.
The blade was icy, pressed against her face, sliding up and down.
Bo Li almost died on the spot.
She’d warned him ahead of time. Why was this still happening?
She froze where she was. Her heart pounded, blood thundering in her ears. She didn’t know if he’d finally decided to do it…or if he was just bored and toying with her.
…Probably the second.
Because she hadn’t said anything wrong before sleeping.
Everything she’d said was true. She genuinely believed Emily was no different from anyone else—that it was people’s gaze that painted the “four‑legged girl” in strange colors.
But she hadn’t been speaking casually, either.
Every word she’d said, she’d been calculating his reaction—anger, surprise, agreement, or contempt at her presuming to judge other people’s feelings.
She’d used every ounce of her acting skill to deliver one message:
—You don’t need other people’s pity. Pity is just another kind of privilege.
If he’d felt insulted, he would have killed her while she was still talking.
There was no need to wait for her to fall asleep and then use a knife to drag her awake for a midnight trial.
…So what did he mean?
Bo Li forced herself to think. Her mind ran fast, her heart beating like it would explode, adrenaline surging to its peak.
Was he testing her reaction?
Trying to see if she was worth working with—if she was prey with grit?
Or was he…asking her for something?
A sudden flash of understanding hit her. She realized what he wanted. She reached out, hugged him, and buried her face against his chest.
Sure enough, the moment she held him, he put the dagger away.
Cold sweat slid down Bo Li’s back.
Every time she hugged him before, it had been because a blade was close enough to threaten her life.
That might have taught him the wrong rule: if he wanted a hug, he had to frighten her first.
No. She couldn’t let that become a habit.
She had to build a proper reward system.
Thinking that, Bo Li hugged him even tighter, almost hanging off him.