Narcissus Street. The inn.
Late at night, He Ye returned to the inn exhausted. The woman on duty behind the counter looked up from her book and offered a polite greeting to the English gentleman.
“Welcome back, sir.”
He Ye gave a feeble wave in response, lacking even the strength to speak. In contrast, the filthy stray trailing behind him was bursting with energy, waving enthusiastically.
“Hello, ma’am!” the girl chirped.
“Goodness…”
The moment the vagrant stepped into view, horror flickered across the woman’s face, and she nearly dropped her book to the floor.
Fortunately, He Ye spoke up to explain. Amid soft gasps of astonishment, the two made their way upstairs, leaving a trail of muddy footprints that made the woman lament the extra work in store for the maid tomorrow.
The key turned in the lock, and the door swung open.
“You actually live in a place like this, sir? I thought a man like you would have his own house.”
The girl walked into He Ye’s room, looking around with open curiosity while secretly worrying she had misjudged her mark.
“You… Sigh. Must you bring up sore subjects?”
He Ye turned around in exasperation, eyed her up and down, and pinched his nose in despair. “And another thing! I knew something smelled the moment we walked in! You’re filthy, go take a damn shower!!”
The girl knew she was being treated with disgust, but having prepared an excuse long beforehand, she shook her head earnestly:
“I don’t have spare clothes. Just let me sleep on the floor tonight… Unless~ you have other plans, sir!”
“Look in a mirror,” He Ye rolled his eyes.
“Haha,” the girl chuckled playfully.
She stood to the side, tilting her head as she watched He Ye approach his suitcase. With a resigned sigh, he rummaged out a shirt and trousers and tossed them onto the bed, his intention unmistakable.
He Ye: “Change into these.”
“Oh…” She covered her mouth.
Clean men’s clothes. Though ill-fitting for a young girl, they were at least clean and wouldn’t stick to her skin. Seeing this, she found herself in a slight bind. While this wasn’t the first time she had encountered such a scenario, her goal was never truly a night’s rest, but theft.
“Alright then. You really are a wonderful person, sir,” the girl bowed. “I haven’t asked for your name yet.”
“Leon.”
He Ye gave her the dead name.
“Okay. I’m Nicole. Nicole Griffith. Mr. Leon, once I strike it rich, I will definitely, absolutely frame your name in a painting and hang it in the most prominent spot in my home.”
She placed a hand over her heart, her delivery theatrical and solemn.
Exhausted as he was, He Ye felt an odd sense of comfort, his irritated mood settling slightly.
Looking at the filthy little mouse before him, He Ye knew her promise was nothing more than an empty check. Still, he couldn’t be bothered to puncture her goodwill; promising repayment for kindness she couldn’t afford to return was the only comfort she could offer.
“Just go wash up. My nose is about to stop working.”
He Ye gave a dismissive wave. The inn room was modest, and having Nicole standing there like a mobile sewer was genuinely unbearable.
“Right away!” Her energy was baffling.
Before long, the rushing sound of water echoed from the bathroom, accompanied by gasps of unbridled joy, like a Borussiaumpkin seeing soap bubbles for the first time.
“Whoa, hot water!”
Warm white steam seeped through the cracks around the door.
He Ye naturally harbored no untoward thoughts. He sat at the brown writing desk, looking distant. Pulling out the diary he had carried for years, he prepared to record the day’s mood.
Beneath the hazy moonlight, he wrote.
Keeping a diary was a peculiar habit; one could never tell if it was meant to vent bitterness or written for one’s future self—for a version of himself who, on some distant afternoon, might fondly look back upon these pages.
Though today was unlikely to ever be remembered fondly.
He Ye set pen to paper with aggressive fervor, pouring out his tangled mess of joy, sorrow, and strange sense of redemption!
Damn it all.
I truly cannot understand. When everything was supposed to be a brand-new start, why mock me with an opening like this? Fate, oh Fate! I cannot shake your clutches!
He Ye wrote furiously, the words forged by this indescribable tragic pathos turning razor-sharp!
He lamented that his new life had lacked a proper beginning, acutely aware that the bright, leisurely sunlight of that morning might never grace his life a second time.
Then came the night’s encounter—stumbling upon someone even more miserable than himself while dwelling in his own despair… Fuck’s sake.
“I’m done washing!”
The bathroom door swung open.
Dressed in the white shirt, Nicole stepped out, her cheeks flushed from the steam, droplets of water clinging to the ends of her dark hair.
“Hehe, how do I look now? I’ll have you know, I’m quite confident in my looks!”
She placed her hands on her hips, striking a proud pose before He Ye.
With the grime washed away, Nicole’s skin revealed its natural fair tenderness. She looked sixteen or seventeen, though her frame was clearly malnourished.
From her thighs down, her skin was bare, her calves crisscrossed with unsightly scars—burns, bruises, hints of a tragic past.
Sorrow tugged at He Ye’s heart. The values instilled in him beneath the red flag made him acutely aware that a girl her age deserved a far better life.
His expression remained placid. “Put on the trousers.”
“…Well, now it’s your turn to wash up, sir~” Nicole sidled up playfully, the loose shirt offering teasing glimpses of her collarbones. “Once you’re clean, we can have a nice, cozy sleep in bed!”
He Ye felt insulted. He had zero interest in a bean sprout like her. His eyes dimmed further.
“No need. Don’t feel like showering tonight.”
“Wh-what?!” Nicole froze in shock.
She had worked this line for sixteen months. By all rights, she had encountered at least fifty or sixty wealthy sirs, if not a hundred. A situation like this was rare among the rare!
You really can’t judge a book by its cover! Turns out he’s the thirstiest kind of all!
Nicole quietly retreated toward the pile of her old clothes, searching for the handkerchief soaked in sleeping draught, the sharp dagger… Forget it, put the dagger back. As long as she struck first, she would have plenty of time to ransack every corner of the room.
If he had simply agreed to shower, none of this trouble would have been necessary.
Just then—
“Out of ink? Whatever…”
He Ye shook the black pen in frustration. Finding it empty, he tossed it aside and turned to rummage through his suitcase for a spare.
Nicole seized the opening, slipping silently behind him!
Sorry, sir!
Just as Nicole resolved to strike, He Ye pulled open his suitcase, revealing a pitch-black pistol resting inside!
Aaaah!
She scrambled backward three full paces!
“What’s wrong?” He Ye noticed the commotion.
“A-ah, uh… I-I’m just a little cold.”
She rubbed her arms, pressing herself against the wall as she stammered, feeling sick to her stomach.
Seeing this, He Ye pulled a coat from the suitcase and tossed it to her.
Returning to the writing desk beneath the hazy moonlight, he resumed writing his melancholic diary like a middle-aged, widowed author.
Nicole remained crouched in the corner, trembling.
No way, I can’t beat him. He acts like a gentleman, but deep down he’s probably a monster… a man-eating monster… Can I even run away now?
He has a gun…
“By the way, where are your parents?”
The melancholic author He Ye paused his writing and turned to ask. He had shifted the focus of his entry—not toward the failed dawn of his new life, but toward this mouse from the sewer.
He thought he ought to do something meaningful, like finding shelter for this homeless, downtrodden child. That felt meaningful to him.
A bit of food and a bed that wasn’t hers could only help for a moment; it couldn’t grant her a new life like the one he sought.
Melancholic He Ye was like this.
“Uh… they died. In the war.”
Nicole spoke stiffly, sitting on the floor and twiddling her thumbs.
She had just taken a shower, after all.
Still, compared to being an orphan, a dusty floor was nothing.
He Ye realized he was terrible at chatting with strays. If she had living parents, she wouldn’t be wandering the streets—why had he even asked?
“No relatives?”
“I had a gramps, but he died three years ago… I-I couldn’t scrape together enough money, and the epidemic took him.”
“…” He Ye was struck dumb. He felt guilty for unconsciously slipping into an interrogator’s tone to map out her network.
He needed to change his approach.
“Well… what do you think of orphanages?”
“Th-they’re alright.” She sounded subdued, keeping her head down, likely weighed down by the previous questions.
“That’s good.” He Ye closed the conversation.
The bizarre exchange left Nicole on edge. She licked her lips, wondering if she should make a run for it now. Since she hadn’t been caught red-handed, leaving normally shouldn’t be an issue.
The very next second—
“Kill the lights. I want to sleep.”
He Ye snapped the diary shut.
“Eek—” Nicole whimpered, convinced she was truly about to lose her virginity. Still, she tried to resist: “I can sleep on the floor, sir!”
“Out of the question.” If she catches a cold, I’ll have to pay for the medicine.
Eek!…
Before long, with their things put away, the room fell dark, pale moonlight filtering through the windowpanes.
He Ye rested with his hands cradled behind his head, his thoughts drifting. Beside him, Nicole lay completely stiff, clutching the blanket and staring silently at the ceiling.
Day one: met a homeless runaway.
Day one: the start of his new life had already hit a snag.
Since he could no longer have that bright, leisurely morning, He Ye felt the regret was worth keeping. In that case, perhaps he could bring that kind of morning to someone else…
After all, his very first dream upon arriving in this world had never been to look out only for himself, playing the idle lord sheltered in a corner.
The night was long. He Ye’s eyelids drooped, drifting into endless thoughts.
