Chapter 9

Eric watched her hesitate and suddenly reached out to grab her hair.
He wasn’t rough—not compared to how he’d hauled Nanny or Richard around. This time his grip was almost gentle, like a child playing with a doll.
But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t, like a bored animal, suddenly twist and rip the doll’s head off.
No one knew what he was thinking.
Bo Li went rigid and let him turn her head.
He wanted her to look at Richard.
Why?
Was he warning her that if she crossed a line, she’d end up like Richard?
But she didn’t even know what Richard had done.
Then a flash of understanding lit up her mind, like lightning slicing through fog.
She thought she finally knew.
In the original story, even though he loved the heroine, he’d never intended to show himself to her.
He only appeared after she triumphed onstage—and promptly got engaged to a young, handsome viscount.
He hated his own face so much he never kept mirrors or reflective surfaces nearby. Even his knife blades were specially treated to blur the shine like frosted glass.
And now, after she’d gone out of her way to win him over, she was cozying up to a young, handsome magician.
Even if there was nothing romantic between her and Richard, to Eric it was a serious insult—a betrayal.
Once she saw it that way, the tightness in her chest didn’t loosen. If anything, cold sweat broke out along her spine, and she could feel her heartbeat pounding all the way in her temples.
If her guess was right, how was she going to fix this?
Would he still cooperate? Still take her away from here?
Her heart hammered so hard it felt like it would split. She didn’t even have the strength left to swallow.
In the end, she followed instinct.
Moving carefully, Bo Li got to her feet.
She didn’t dare move too fast. If he really was no different from a wild animal, any sudden motion might trigger a hunting reflex—might send him lunging for her throat.
Eric watched without moving. The eyes behind the mask didn’t change, and he didn’t try to stop her.
—Now.
Bo Li took a deep breath, turned, and threw her arms around him.
His smell hit her at once—not pleasant, all caged-animal agitation, dry hay and thick blood.
The last time she’d hugged him, he hadn’t smelled so strongly of blood.
She decided not to think about whose it was.
She shut her eyes and forced her fear down. “The original plan,” she said, “was to let Richard Simon steal the pack. Then we’d follow him and take it back. But you got it first… It doesn’t really change anything. It just means we have to leave tonight.”
No reply.
“The manager’s going to notice the pack is gone soon.” The more she talked, the calmer she felt. “The first people he’ll suspect are the guards. But the guards saw Richard go into the tent… Once he’s questioned them, the manager will send people to search Richard’s tent.”
Bo Li dropped her gaze to the unconscious man on the floor.
“Only now he’s in *my* tent. The manager will either think Richard ran off with the pack…or that he’s still hiding somewhere in the circus.”
“The pack’s heavy. If he really tried to run with it, he’d have to take a horse,” Bo Li went on. “So the manager will order a headcount on the horses first. If none are missing, they’ll start a full search.”
By then, she was utterly steady. Things had gone too far; only a clear head would get them through.
“Which means—before they start searching, we grab the pack and go. Now.”
She didn’t dare tell Eric to carry it. She braced herself to shoulder the load and run.
But this body was far weaker than she’d thought. She barely got the pack up before it nearly toppled her.
Eric caught her and took the weight off her shoulders as if it were nothing.
Bo Li let out a long breath.
Yes, this mess was his fault to begin with—but he was carrying her pack and still willing to leave with her. What more could she really complain about?
She showed him how to adjust the straps, then dug the first-aid kit out of the dirty clothes pile, lifted the tent flap, and hunched low as she slipped outside.
Eric followed.
Bo Li felt pressure like never before.
The manager could order the search at any moment.
She had neither the time nor the strength to move Richard. Once the search began, it wouldn’t take long for the manager to realize they’d taken the pack.
And Eric himself was a walking unknown.
Even if he believed her now and agreed to go with her, he could still drop her—or kill her—on a whim.
She felt like she was walking through a swamp in the dark, every step heavy, every direction uncertain.
She forced herself to stay upright and focus on the one bright thought she had—
There were two three‑pound tins of beef tallow hot pot base in the pack. Shelf life: three years. Just open and boil.
For days she’d lived on bread and potatoes, with the rare bit of meat at parties—and even then it was rank organ meat no one had bothered to soak.
Once they reached safety, she could make herself a real hot pot as a reward.
Just picturing a bubbling, salty, spicy cauldron was enough to send strength surging through her limbs and spit gathering under her tongue.
October nights were brutally cold—and tonight there was fog, thick as wool.
That should have been a good thing; firelight couldn’t pierce the damp mist, which made it harder for the circus to track them.
But if she and Eric got separated, she’d have no way to find him either.
And the fog was wet in a way that felt malicious. Within minutes, her clothes felt heavier, clinging to her skin like they’d been soaked.
Bo Li still remembered: they’d camped by a swamp.
There were crocodiles in that swamp.
And—how could she forget—the guards had guns.
If her mental state hadn’t been as stable as it was, she’d probably have already run headfirst into a tree just to get it over with.
By this point, whether or not Eric might twist her neck no longer seemed worth worrying about. She clung to his arm and practically plastered herself against him as they walked.
Eric glanced at her, his eyes unreadable.
Without quite noticing, they reached a fork in the path. One exit led past the stables; the other did not.
Bo Li rose onto her toes, leaned toward his ear, and whispered, “…Are we taking horses? I don’t know how to ride. Will that be a problem…?”
They’d left in too much of a hurry.
If she’d known ahead of time they’d be riding, she might have stolen sugar cubes or carrots from the kitchen.
She’d never ridden before, but she’d played enough games to know that’s what you used to calm horses.
Eric suddenly grabbed her hair and yanked her head away, the motion bordering on rough.
Bo Li flinched, the sting along her scalp the last thing on her mind. For a second she was sure they’d been spotted.
But when she looked, everything was still. The night, utterly silent.
Only then did it hit her—he’d pulled her away because she was too close, because her damp breath had been hitting his face.
Sometimes he was like a dog that might bite without warning; other times, he startled more easily than a cat.
Swallowing her pride, Bo Li clapped a hand over her mouth. “So…are we riding or not?” she mumbled into her palm.
Eric didn’t answer, but he headed toward the stables.
She hurried after him.
Her luck wasn’t great. They’d barely gone a few steps when a sharp whistle split the air—followed by pounding footsteps as someone ran from tent to tent, rousing the sleepers.
“Up, up, all of you—Richard’s run off! The manager’s got something to say!”
A chill smacked Bo Li in the back like the crack of that whistle.
The circus woke fast, but no one shouted or joked. They all seemed to understand how serious this was.
Bo Li didn’t dare look back. She simply walked faster.
The next instant, a hand came down hard on her head and shoved it low.
Her heart stopped.
A moment later, she realized it was Eric’s hand. Someone with a lantern was making rounds near the stable exit.
“Damn, it’s freezing,” the man with the light grumbled, shivering. “Why’d Richard Simon run? Wasn’t he supposed to go to Paris with the manager and the bag?”
“He said he didn’t want Louis Vuitton’s reward, only the stuff inside,” another man replied. “Maybe he opened it and decided the contents weren’t worth it.”
“And who told him the bag was from Louis Vuitton?”
“Who knows. But he only talked to that kid Polly tonight. We should drag the brat in for questioning later…”
Ice crawled over Bo Li’s spine.
She’d been completely wrong.
Eric hadn’t knocked Richard out because he was jealous of his looks. He’d done it because Richard hadn’t followed her plan at all.
She’d underestimated everyone here. She’d thought the promise of Louis Vuitton money would be enough to convince Richard to risk stealing the bag.
Instead, he’d been far more cautious than she’d expected. His first instinct had been to use her information to negotiate with the manager and trade for whatever was inside.
The manager hadn’t let him touch the pack before, probably because he didn’t want Richard seeing what was in it—if it turned out to be valuable, fights over the spoils were inevitable.
Once they talked it through, of course the manager would let Richard take the bag and try to open it.
For a magician, finding the hidden clasps and locks would only be a matter of time.
If Eric hadn’t stepped in, she wouldn’t just have lost the backpack—she might have been exposed. Her ID was still inside.
She still didn’t know exactly what this body looked like, but going by standard transmigration logic, it probably resembled her original face.
Once that came out, would the manager lock her up and interrogate her about where it all came from and what it was for? Or would he treat her like “four‑legged girl” Emily and turn her into a specimen?
…Eric had just saved her life.
And she’d thought he was acting out of jealousy.
Bo Li looked up at him, wanting to apologize, and realized she had no idea what to say.
He felt her guilty stare.
He didn’t react. Didn’t seem to feel anything at all.
He was used to being misunderstood. Compared to how people had treated him before, her flinch of fear and suspicion was nothing.
Bo Li, however, didn’t look away. Her gaze lingered on his mask, carrying a strange warmth as it drifted over the blank white surface again and again.
As if her eyes were invisible hands, smoothing slowly over the mask.