Chapter 19

Something subtle seemed to shift in the air.
Bo Li didn’t know if it was good or bad—he was becoming more and more aware that she was a woman.
It should be a good thing.
He was cold-blooded enough to rip a man’s head off with a rope without blinking, yet around women he carried a strange kind of gentlemanly restraint.
After she started dressing as a woman, he never yanked her hair roughly again, never grabbed her throat. Sometimes he even helped her into a carriage.
Bo Li deeply regretted not wearing dresses from the start.
She’d suffered for nothing.
She wasn’t worried that once he fully grasped the difference between men and women, he’d start having “other thoughts” about her.
He was too young.
Though when she was with him, she rarely felt the presence of age at all.
That inhuman chill in him, that terrifying intelligence—no age could explain it.
Bo Li even suspected that with his personality, he might not experience any adolescent hormonal impulses at all until he met the heroine.
And it wasn’t as if he treated every woman differently.
—In every version, original or horror film, he was brutally cruel to Carlotta for one simple reason: her singing failed his standards.
Bo Li knew herself clearly.
She could sing. She’d been to musical-theater camps. Occasionally she took small supporting roles in stadium-sized shows.
She was decent—but nowhere near the level that would make a true music master look twice.
Besides, Eric’s talent was far beyond “music master.”
In the original story, Garnier had invited him to participate in the Paris Opera’s foundation work. Between two layers of the retaining wall, he built himself a lakeside dwelling—water outside as a natural barrier, a torture chamber inside that could change endlessly.
People tried to break in out of curiosity. None survived.
He was not only the greatest musician in the world, but also a rare master architect and master magician… Bo Li didn’t even know what other “master” titles he carried. She only knew that the odds of someone like that falling for her were microscopic.
If he didn’t kill her, she should thank heaven.
Making him fall in love with her was too hard.
Eric was still looking at her legs.
He didn’t seem to realize it was an invasive, rude thing to do. He didn’t seem to realize his gaze had turned into something like a cat staring at a bird—making her uneasy.
Bo Li couldn’t help clearing her throat. “…So can I rest today?”
Only then did he seem to come back to himself. He lowered his lashes and nodded.
That unsettling look disappeared.
Bo Li thought for a moment. “Even if we can’t go to the theater today…I can still keep you company.”
“Keep me company?”
Indoor entertainment seemed limited to card games. She did have a few movies cached on her phone, but there was no way she was pulling that out for him—and it would drain the battery too fast.
“Read, listen to music, eat together…” she said. “As long as you’re happy, anything.”
Less than ten minutes later, Bo Li regretted offering.
His presence was too strong. Even silent, he was impossible to ignore.
He sat beside her with his legs crossed, head lowered over a book.
Bo Li lay in bed under the blanket. Even though he never once looked at her and stayed absorbed in his pages, she still felt as if his aura seeped into the room and soaked into her skin.
She couldn’t get comfortable. Finally she sat up and made small talk. “Chat?”
His eyes stayed on the page. His voice was flat. “You talk.”
“You’ve never asked where I’m from.”
He didn’t answer, as if it wasn’t worth speaking about.
“I know so much. Aren’t you curious?”
He turned a page.
Bo Li had only wanted to break the awkward silence, but his indifference lit a stubborn spark in her. “Don’t you think I’m very knowledgeable?”
He finally spoke. “Very?”
Bo Li: “...”
She wanted to drop some knowledge he didn’t have and startle him—but the nineteenth century was too close to modernity. Two industrial revolutions in, most inventions already existed, and even Einstein had been born.
What was she supposed to say, \(E = mc^2\)?
It looked simple, but the simpler a formula, the more complex theory and experiment it took to hold it up.
Before she could impress him, she’d burn through every brain cell she had.
Bo Li flopped back down. “…Forget I said anything.”
Then Eric’s low, cold voice sounded again. “Your knowledge is broad, yes. But broad and shallow. It’s hard to imagine what kind of education you received.”
Bo Li: “...”
Compulsory education.
Well done. That was a lot of words at once.
Maybe it was her imagination, but she felt the air between them wasn’t quite as tight as before.
She desperately wanted to ask: do you still want to kill me?
But she was afraid of breaking this fragile peace.
As if sensing her gaze, Eric lifted his head and looked at her.
Compared to the beginning, his eyes no longer looked so blank and dulled. There was a strange warmth there now—yet if you stared too long, the sense of something inhuman still crept up.
Should she ask?
The mood was rare, almost harmonious.
If she didn’t ask for a guarantee now, it would be hard to ask later.
Bo Li’s heartbeat slowed, heavy and loud.
She took a deep breath. “…Are we friends now?”
No answer.
He looked at her. The white mask hid every expression.
Not knowing what he meant—what he felt—made Bo Li afraid.
“…Forget it.”
He cut her off. “Continue.”
Bo Li could only force herself on. “If we’re friends…could you stop wanting to kill me every other minute?”
Were they friends?
She didn’t know.
All he knew was that every time he looked at her, a dull ache bloomed behind his eyes, as if something had stabbed him.
And yet he also began to see more—more detail.
Her skin wasn’t one flat shade of white. Sometimes it was white as milk. Sometimes it was white as plaster.
She was soft, fragile, thin enough that he could see the fine veins under her skin—enough to make his heartbeat speed and his throat go dry.
The last time he’d felt that sensation was in the arena, fighting condemned men with nothing but rope.
His patience was excellent, especially when hunting. He never did things by halves.
But like most predators, he liked to manipulate a prey’s emotions—closing in slowly, then delivering the kill.
After the death match, the arena was a wreck, thick with the rank stench of slaughtered livestock.
It was the kind of scene that made your skin crawl—yet the king had rewarded him heavily.
That was the first time he’d ever been “valued.”
Maybe the blood smell had sharpened his nerves. He’d felt his temples pulsing, his heart pounding, his ears filled with the rush of blood.
Excitement to that degree was like a disease.
So why was he excited now?
Was it because his urge to kill her hadn’t faded?
Without warning, Eric drew his dagger. The blade looked viciously cold.
Bo Li shrank back on instinct.
He leaned in, braced one hand beside her, and drove the dagger down into the bed by her side.
Bo Li reacted as if she’d been whipped. Her breath went sharp and fast.
Not killing intent.
In that instant, he understood clearly: he didn’t want to kill her.
He wanted to toy with her.
Like a cat playing with a bird—watching it flutter, watching cold sweat run down its skin.
Bo Li really was frightened.
Trembling, she stared up at him, black and white of her eyes stark as a mirror dipped in water, reflecting his white mask.
He stared back without blinking, wanting more. He lifted the dagger and set the edge gently against her abdomen.
The fabric sank inward a little.
She was so soft, so fragile. With the smallest pressure, she would become softer, weaker—
Like a slab of butter under a knife.
Bo Li locked up completely. Fear was cold water at her temples. Her heartbeat nearly burst out of her throat.
…She didn’t sense killing intent.
He didn’t want to kill her.
But maybe she was too tense. For a moment, the way he stared at her belly made her think he wanted to push the blade in—
A strange, warped urge to attack.
It made her shiver—and made her legs go weak.
Bo Li regretted it so much. Why couldn’t she just let him sit there and read? Why did she have to open her mouth?
The next second, the pressure on her abdomen vanished. The blade lifted away.
He tossed the dagger aside and went back to reading, never answering her question.
Bo Li looked at the dagger and swallowed, her stomach still chilled.
After emotional whiplash like that, the mind got chaotic.
Like now—an idea flashed through her head without warning: getting close to a beast was dangerous, but once you tamed it, the sense of accomplishment would be immeasurable.
After all, the first few times, he had truly wanted to kill her.
This time felt more like…
Play.
Even through her fear, Bo Li couldn’t help feeling a flicker of achievement.
Like leveling up in a game.
Like unlocking new dialogue for a character.
It made her want to keep going, to see what else she could unlock.
Bo Li thought she was going insane.
She was in danger. She’d finally found a way to survive—yet for the sake of some intangible “achievement,” she wanted to move closer to him.
Even thought she could tame him.
But that adrenaline rush he gave her…felt so good.
Wiping cold sweat away, her whole body hot and sticky, Bo Li decided to throw those thoughts aside for now and go ask for some hot water to wipe herself down.
At the door, something occurred to her. She turned back. “Eric—did you bathe earlier?”
He paused and looked up from his book.
Bo Li put on her coat and only finished the rest as she reached the door. “…Your body produces a lot of oil and sweat every day. You have to bathe often!”
There wasn’t even a concept of “metabolism” yet; he probably didn’t understand.
She only wanted to fire back at his “Very?” She said it and slipped away.
Only after a full quarter hour did Eric tilt his head and smell his collar.
Since coming into the city, he had been bathing every day—but just now, he really had sweated a little, excitement running too hot under his skin.