Meng Yiran had to admit that she was a little scared.
Unlike the others, the fat boy gazed at her with blatant, morbid fanaticism. Back in the restaurant, she had been able to hide in the corner by the vase, but now in the garden, the only one beside her was Tong Yuwu, whose fighting prowess might not even match her own. Meng Yiran felt there was nowhere to hide. She meowed anxiously, her voice noticeably sharper than usual.
Tong Yuwu also noticed the boy not far away, but she paid no attention to irrelevant people. She merely glanced at him before looking away. She reached up to scratch the little white cat under the chin, then lifted her onto her shoulder.
The Doll Lady’s calm demeanor gave Meng Yiran a burst of courage. She forced herself not to focus on the boy and instead imitated Tong Yuwu by turning her attention to the book.
Ever since crossing over to this world, Meng Yiran had instinctively understood the language here, but she still couldn’t read the writing. This black-covered book was uniquely thick even among those in Tong Yuwu’s study, and its contents were incredibly complex. Meng Yiran couldn’t make sense of any of it, but Tong Yuwu read it with utter absorption, as if it contained some unbreakable heavenly law.
Fortunately, after Tong Yuwu turned the page, an illustration appeared. Meng Yiran felt a wave of relief and eagerly studied the picture.
The illustration depicted a simple black outline of a human figure, but strangely, it was covered in irregular red patterns scattered across the body—for instance, each wrist bore an odd triangular shape.
Meng Yiran guessed that the strange markings might be some kind of tattoos, but the blood-red lines formed no aesthetic appeal. Instead, they seemed to serve some purpose she couldn’t comprehend.
As she pondered, footsteps approached. She looked up to see the fat boy walking toward them.
They had no intention of acknowledging him, but he clearly had no plans to let them off.
“What are you looking at?” the boy broke the silence. He didn’t bother lowering his voice or using any polite address.
Tong Yuwu said nothing. She simply looked up at him, her gaze questioning his intentions.
The fat boy glanced at the little white cat on her shoulder. “That’s a rare pet, isn’t it? I’ve never seen one before.” He added a compliment: “Very cute.”
Tong Yuwu stroked the yellowed page, her pale fingertips taking on an eerie pink hue in the sunlight.
She appeared innocent and naive, yet she always saw right through to people’s hearts. In response to the boy’s pleasantries, she shattered his illusions outright. “Don’t get any ideas about her.”
“Why not?” the boy asked, utterly oblivious to how unwelcome he was. He took two steps closer. “You clearly promised to let me play with her earlier, but then you went back on your word. You know adults aren’t supposed to deceive children.”
Tong Yuwu lowered her head and stopped looking at him. Meng Yiran noticed that she had returned to studying the book on her lap, intently examining the very human illustration that Meng Yiran had just been puzzling over.
The fat boy clasped his hands behind his back. “You’ve raised her well enough, but don’t you think she could be even cuter?”
That finally piqued Tong Yuwu’s interest. She turned her gaze back to the boy, a faint trace of puzzlement in her eyes.
The boy grinned widely. Meng Yiran could even see the raw red of his gums.
“Little things like that—weak but nimble—are the most fun to play with,” he said. “I usually start by tying them up. They struggle at first, but once they realize they can’t escape or their strength runs out, they go quiet for a bit. That’s when I step in and pet them gently. They start thinking of us as their saviors, groveling pathetically, even sticking out that disgusting tongue to lick my hand.
“And while they’re letting their guard down, I—”
The boy lunged forward a big step, raising both hands in a choking gesture, his eyes gleaming. “—grab them by the neck like this and slam them to the ground!” He let out a “heh heh” chuckle, his expression one of fond reminiscence. “You have no idea what a beautiful sound they make. After a few slams, it changes from shrill to all soft and mushy. It’s especially delightful.”
Meng Yiran’s fur stood on end. She arched her back instinctively, bared her sharp teeth at the fat boy, and let out a warning growl from deep in her throat.
She had still underestimated just how twisted the boy was. Before today, she never would have imagined that words so repulsive could come from the mouth of a ten-year-old child.
In response to Meng Yiran’s instinctive reaction, the little boy showed no fear at all. Instead, he looked positively delighted.
“You can’t kill them right at the start,” he continued, “or you’d miss out on all the fun. After slamming them unconscious, I give them a little time to recover, and then…”
He turned to Tong Yuwu. “Have you, the delicate Castle Lady, ever seen a razor blade? I mean the kind from the kitchen for slicing meat—nice and sharp, of course, though a dull one is better. Lets you play for longer.”
To Meng Yiran’s shock, Tong Yuwu actually nodded. “Mm,” she replied.
Meng Yiran felt as if she’d been struck by lightning.
She suddenly realized that Tong Yuwu had been listening with utmost seriousness from start to finish. Her attention seemed to have fully shifted from the book to the boy’s tale, leaving only one finger still tapping unconsciously on the anatomical illustration of the human body. The black-red lines stood in stark contrast to her porcelain-pale skin, yet they blended together in a strangely harmonious way. For a fleeting moment, Meng Yiran even imagined the red ink spreading, etching itself into her fingertip.
Little White Cat had forgotten even the most basic caution. She reared up on her hindquarters, batting at Tong Yuwu’s cheek with her soft pink paws.
Tong Yuwu didn’t spare her a glance. She reached out with perfect precision and seized the flailing paw, giving it a gentle pinch before trapping it in her palm.
The boy fixed his gaze on Little White Cat, his face alight with excitement as he pressed on. “Then comes the best part. We take a razor blade and slice into its body, nice and slow…” He licked his lips, his face gleaming with a greasy sheen. “Start with the limbs, then the torso, and finally that slender neck. Red blood wells up, and beneath the fur, its fragile little heart pounds faster and faster. If it thrashes around, that metallic tang spreads even quicker, and the soft body shrivels up like a deflated balloon. So adorable.”
Meng Yiran’s scalp prickled with horror, her hind legs trembling beneath her.
And yet Tong Yuwu still held her fast, leaving no chance for escape. All Meng Yiran could do was watch in despair as Tong Yuwu lowered her gaze, apparently mulling over the boy’s words.
“Of course, there are other fun ways to play.” The boy’s breathing grew ragged. “Those pupils of hers look pretty nice. Wonder what it’d feel like to poke them. Don’t tell me you’re not curious?”
Tong Yuwu turned her head, locking eyes with Meng Yiran.
A cool breeze rustled through the Garden, teasing strands of her raven-black hair. But her violet pupils were serene and fathomless now, like the depths of an abyss—devoid of their usual sparkle.
Then she looked away and answered the boy. “Not curious.”
“You’re not? What, do you want to dig them out and keep them as souvenirs?” The boy sounded disappointed but backed down. “Fine, we can stick to the other stuff.”
He rubbed his hands together eagerly. “But we’ll need some tools first. My father said you’re the master of this Castle. You can get us a razor blade, right?”
Tong Yuwu shifted slightly in her seat and picked up an ornate porcelain plate from beside her—one that clearly cost a small fortune. She upended it, dumping the maidservants’ meticulously prepared desserts onto the ground. Then she smashed it down hard. With a sharp clang, the plate shattered, leaving a jagged, hand-sized shard with razor-sharp edges in her grasp.
The beautiful Doll Lady possessed no foresight for danger. She studied the fragment in her hand, as if weighing its potential uses.
The boy’s eyes sparkled. He raised his voice. “That’ll do just fine.”
His shout snapped Meng Yiran back to reality. She unleashed a piercing yowl and kicked off with her hind legs the moment Tong Yuwu’s focus lingered on the shard. She bolted from Tong Yuwu’s lap at top cat speed, streaking like an arrow toward the nearest shrub before either of them could react. She burrowed into the foliage, trembling amid the leaves and flowers.
The boy tsked in annoyance and jabbed a finger at her hiding spot. “We can’t let it get away!”
Tong Yuwu remained seated in her wheelchair, the Black-Covered Book resting on her lap. Meng Yiran’s frantic escape had crumpled its pages, creasing the illustration. The left half of the human figure jutted out awkwardly now, the wrist marked with a red triangular pattern flipped outward at an unnatural angle, dangling limply toward the ground.
The Doll Lady held her hand half-raised, revealing a sliver of wrist where faint blue veins traced delicate paths beneath the sunlight—a mark of her sunless frailty, her pallid vulnerability. Yet her face remained impassive as she watched Little White Cat, her slender fingers clenched around the porcelain shard that gleamed with icy menace, its edge keen as any blade.
Meng Yiran knew this was her best shot at escape. Her lithe body could slip away easily, using the bushes for cover and leaving behind this nightmare that set her fur on end.
But she wheeled around, took two halting steps, and froze in place.
She couldn’t abandon Tong Yuwu—the girl who could barely move on her own—with this boy!
In the end, her inner resolve proved too strong. She spun back and raced to Tong Yuwu’s side, clamping her jaws on the hem of her skirt and yanking with all her might.
No matter how desperately she pulled, though, she only managed to elicit a faint creak from the wheelchair—barely audible.
The boy erupted in a creepy haha cackle. “What a dumb cat. Talk about saving us the hassle.”
Despair washed over Meng Yiran.
She couldn’t see behind her, but her sensitive whiskers picked up the subtle shift in the air. The foul, stale reek barreling toward her had nothing to do with the Garden’s fresh breeze. It came from that blood-soaked human boy.
She refused to budge, had no will to dodge. She just kept tugging stubbornly at Tong Yuwu’s skirt, saliva soaking a dark stain into the pale yellow fabric at the corner, her teeth locked tight.
Just as the boy’s palm was about to seize the nape of her neck, she raised her head. In her daze, her gaze locked onto a vast sea of deep purple stars. Only then did she realize that Tong Yuwu had been watching her the entire time—watching her flee in panicked disarray, watching her retrace her steps, watching her futilely tug and drag at the spot. Throughout this desperate, powerless struggle, Tong Yuwu remained utterly serene, like a detached outsider who had no stake in the matter, impassively observing as Little White Cat drowned alone.
A wave of self-mocking bitterness surged in Meng Yiran’s heart. She closed her eyes in resignation. In the next instant, a fierce gust of wind arrived right on cue, whipping her small frame so hard that she nearly flew away with it.
