Chapter 5

After the搬ing was done, the little boy showed up again, grinning as he apologized.
Bo Li had too much on her mind to bother with him.
Lunch was stew and potatoes, and it was awful. The stew had only a pinch of salt and reeked of greasy gaminess. The potatoes were the only thing she could choke down, and even those still had bits of peel clinging to them.
She was close to tears by the time she finished.
Still, lunch wasn’t a total loss. At least she learned the boy’s name was John. Next time he tried to slack off, she could yell at him properly.
Just like in the morning, Eric never appeared.
Bo Li began to worry something had happened to him—if last night had just been a final burst of strength before he crashed, how was she supposed to escape this place?
After the meal, the men went off to smoke and brag, while the women cleared dishes and mended clothes. A few people were still clustered around her hiking backpack, trying to figure out how to open it.
The manager came over for a look as well. He didn’t seem very interested in the pack, though. After a few comments, he walked away.
Afternoon sun burned away the thick fog, opening up the view.
Only then did Bo Li realize they’d camped near a swamp. The air was as damp as a towel soaked in water. Not far away, a river slid past, the water a deep, unsettling green, swarming with clouds of mosquitoes.
Bo Li could swim, but jumping into a river like that would be suicide.
And the diary had mentioned crocodiles in the area.
The camp had two exits, both guarded by men with rifles. One exit also had a line of horses at a trough.
Bo Li had never spent time around horses before; she hadn’t known they were so easily spooked. A whiff of a strange scent and they’d rear and scream.
So unless she became a horse‑whisperer overnight, her only option was the exit without the trough.
Too hard.
She had thought about doing what transmigrated heroines in webnovels did—giving the manager a list of modern songs to bump up her status in the circus.
But that all assumed the manager wasn’t the type to turn fetuses into exhibits and that witch‑burning wasn’t still a thing here.
In the nineteenth century, abortion was illegal. Yet the manager had dared risk a life sentence to show off an unborn child.
Bo Li couldn’t help suspecting he’d committed worse crimes than that…like murder.
Even if negotiations with him went perfectly, all it would do was tie her tighter to the circus.
She didn’t know this body’s exact age, but it couldn’t be more than sixteen.
Would a man like the manager respect a sixteen‑year‑old, give her fair pay and decent treatment?
Obviously not.
After turning it over from every angle, her gaze drifted back to Eric’s tent.
Aside from him, she really had no other options.
—Bet it all?
But a new problem surfaced almost immediately.
Even when the evening party started, Eric didn’t appear. His tent stayed dark, not a sliver of light.
Bo Li grew anxious, though she didn’t dare show it.
Compared to lunch, the party food was a feast—beer, fruit wine, pies, smoked ham, baked potatoes, blood sausage, and meat pudding.
Bo Li wanted to try the meat pudding, but the smell of suet and kidney hit her before she even got close, and she reflexively took a big step back. Everyone else tucked in happily.
She couldn’t afford to be picky.
Forcing herself, she grabbed a pie and a baked potato, held her breath, and washed them down with fruit wine in big gulps.
One cup in, her frozen thoughts began to loosen.
She’d been too cautious—afraid to speak, afraid to meet anyone’s eyes. She knew there was something off about “four‑legged girl” Emily’s brother, but she still didn’t dare ask questions.
Outwardly she looked calm, but inside she was terrified, afraid any slip would expose how different she was and drag her before some kind of trial.
This couldn’t go on.
She had to take the initiative, do things the original Polly would never have dared, and see if she could change her situation.
Suddenly, loud applause broke out ahead.
The manager appeared, pushing Emily’s wheelchair into the circle. He waved at everyone with a beaming smile. “Emily’s about to leave us. She wants to sing one last song for you all—anyone want to join her?”
Plenty of hands shot up. The band struck up a jaunty tune. People joined hands around the campfire, dancing and singing. Bo Li didn’t recognize the melody; it was probably a local song.
While all eyes were on Emily, Bo Li turned and headed toward Eric’s tent.
She’d taken only a few steps when she saw a thin figure ahead.
In the dark, his white mask was blinding, the two eye holes as blank and empty as those of a wax doll, radiating a detached indifference.
He watched the crowd in silence, his thoughts unreadable.
As if sensing her gaze, he looked up and met Bo Li’s eyes.
It was like a bucket of ice water dumped over her head. The back of her skull tightened; cold spread from her scalp all the way down. Her first instinct was to step back.
She tightened her grip on her cup instead and forced herself not to bolt.
—She had to move first, do things the old Polly never would have done.
So what if Eric was the Phantom?
He didn’t know she wasn’t Polly Clément anymore. She, on the other hand, knew his backstory and his wounds—that no one appreciated his talent, that no one wanted to come near him.
He didn’t even have his own mother’s love. No wonder he was so raw and rough, like a wild beast that had never been tamed.
She remembered how the original heroine had subdued him.
With a kiss.
Just one kiss, enough to make him yield and give up everything he could have had.
A bold thought slowly took shape in her mind.
Even if he really was the horror‑movie Phantom and wouldn’t cave that easily, she still wanted to see what would happen if she kissed him.
—Do something the original Polly never would have done.
Bo Li looked at him and took a step forward.
Eric watched her and tilted his head slightly—not in confusion, but more like a beast locking onto prey, angling his head to adjust his view or catch a sound.
Just thinking about how easily he could pull a knife and drive it into her throat made her knees weak. Her stomach turned to stone, cold and heavy.
She forced herself to keep moving.
One step. Then another—
By the time she stood in front of him, even the air felt thicker—sticky, sluggish, refusing to flow—making it hard to breathe.
Eric stared straight at her, a hint of wariness finally entering his eyes.
His gaze was like a hand closing around her.
Pinned beneath it, she went rigid, barely able to move. Her voice shook. “Are you feeling any better?”
Eric said nothing, his eyes still cold and guarded.
If only he really were just a beast, Bo Li thought. At least then she could hold out a hand and let him get used to her scent, instead of just standing here like an idiot while he examined her over and over.
The band was playing loudly now; couples had already started to waltz. There were more men than women in the circus, so some of them, unable to find partners, ended up dancing with the bearded guards.
Everyone was laughing, as if they lived in another world.
Bo Li gave herself one more round of mental prep and finally gathered the courage to speak. “Guess what I saw in the storage wagon today?”
No answer.
“—Emily’s baby. In a jar.”
Still nothing.
Eric’s eyes didn’t flicker. He seemed completely unmoved.
He didn’t care if Emily’s child lived or died.
Bo Li knew that already. She’d only brought it up to lead to—
“The manager was willing to commit a serious crime—abortion—for a bit of extra cash. Do you really think someone like him is going to let Emily go? Let any of us go?”
Eric remained stone‑still.
Bo Li didn’t back down. She pressed her lips together and raised the stakes.
“If I’m right, Emily’s brother is probably a ‘freak hunter.’ A middleman who makes his living selling people like us.”
The word “freak” finally caused the barest shift in his gaze.
His eyes dropped to her face, heavy and abrasive as a stone grinding against her skin.
Under that stare, Bo Li’s scalp prickled and her cheeks burned as if scraped raw. She forced herself to stay calm and pushed on.
“The manager turned Emily’s fetus into a specimen. Maybe he liked what he saw and decided he wants Emily herself as a specimen too.”
“Have you thought about what happens if he realizes Emily in a jar is worth more than Emily alive?”
Bo Li drew in a deep breath and lifted her chin, meeting his eyes head‑on. “You and I—we’ll both end up as exhibits. Jars in a cabinet.”
For a moment, his gaze was so cold it felt like it could peel her skin away.
She was close. She could feel it.
It was a dangerous gamble—but she had more than one card to play.
Her own breath came faster. Blood rushed to her face and roared in her ears.
She couldn’t tell if it was fear or excitement—the wild rush of going all in.
“Imagine it,” she said. “Your mask is taken off—”
She didn’t finish.
Shadows fell over her. Eric bent down, and the eyes behind the mask were no longer flat and dull but boiling with rage.
His breath rasped loud and harsh inside the white mask, a hiss like a snake driven into a corner.
His fingers closed around her throat, cutting her off.
Bo Li’s heart hammered faster. Instinct screamed danger; her vision darkened at the edges, cold sweat soaking her back.
But she had to get the words out. “Imagine—your mask is taken off. Your head sealed in a specimen jar in some hall—everyone staring at you, at your face without the mask—”
Before she could finish, his grip tightened sharply.
She almost heard her neck creak in protest.
His breathing grew rougher, like a gale slamming again and again against the white mask.
“I know you don’t want that,” she gasped. The air felt thinner by the second, but she fought to keep her voice steady. “I don’t want it either. You’re the most talented person I’ve ever met… I’ve never been jealous of anyone’s talent before—you’re the first…”
“I don’t want you in a jar. I want people to hear you. Hear what you can do…”
Eric didn’t loosen his hold.
He stared down at her, cold and implacable, not believing a word.
Even knowing he wasn’t so easy to manipulate, his gaze still chilled her to the bone.