Chapter 8
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In the garden, maids were tidying up and watering flowers. One of them, standing close to the two, paused her work respectfully and called out, “Young Master Boshi.”
Yuan Nei Boshi nodded in acknowledgment and, accompanied by the cosplayer, walked straight along the path to the villa’s front door, raising his hand to press the doorbell.
About two seconds later, the door opened. The butler, dressed in a tailcoat, his hair streaked with gray, his eyes revealing wisdom and sharpness, spoke in a gentle yet firm voice, “Welcome home, Young Master Boshi.”
After speaking, the butler’s gaze fell on the young man standing behind Yuan Nei Boshi.
“Hello, I have prepared clothes for you in advance. Would you like to change now?”
The butler had received instructions from Yuan Nei Jingyi several hours earlier, informing him that a distinguished guest would be coming to the house soon and to treat him well. He was also told that this guest had recently been discharged from the hospital due to poor health.
Yuan Nei Jingyi said no more. Having served him for seven years, the butler was well understood and trusted by Yuan Nei Jingyi for his insight and judgment.
There was never a need for lengthy explanations with the butler; his rich experience and professionalism ensured everything was handled perfectly.
“Thank you,” the cosplayer nodded gladly.
“Well then, Young Master Boshi...” the butler’s gaze returned to Yuan Nei Boshi.
“My father only asked me to escort him home. Now that there’s nothing else, I’m leaving.”
“Master will arrive shortly. Won’t you wait for him?”
“No.”
Yuan Nei Boshi said coldly, then turned and left along the way they had come.
The butler sighed in his heart and said to the cosplayer, “Please forgive the trouble. Follow me.”
Soft sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, filling the villa’s interior. The exquisite chandelier was lit even during the day.
The staircase leading to the second floor was on the right side of the villa, with the butler leading the way.
The wooden railing was intricately designed, blending modern and classical elements, adorned with delicate carvings.
The butler brought the cosplayer to the third room on the left side of the corridor. “The clothes are on the bed. I will wait outside.”
“Thank you,” the cosplayer said politely.
‘Click.’
The door closed.
Turning to face the room, the cosplayer saw a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, with curtains drawn to the edges fluttering gently in the breeze.
After a quick look around, the cosplayer approached the bed. Just as the butler said, a neatly folded set of clothes lay there.
Clutching the hem of his shirt with both hands, he pulled upward, easily removing the top.
Just as he was about to put on the new clothes, a thought struck him, and he glanced down at his body—
His skin had paled by a couple of shades, shifting from a healthy white to an unhealthy pallor.
He had noticed this before.
What mattered most to the cosplayer was whether his abdominal muscles remained intact, although he had pessimistically assumed they were lost.
But what if?
What if the real Feodor D actually had abs, just deeply hidden, unknown to the audience?
...
The pale lower abdomen showed smooth muscle lines; four clear abdominal muscles were visible, with the lowest part faintly hidden beneath the waistband.
The cosplayer inhaled slightly and tightened his lower abdomen. The outline of the muscles became even more distinct, forming a powerful line.
Holding his breath, he gently pinched his abs.
Soft yet resilient, resilient yet firm.
He felt reassured.
Exhaling the breath held in his mouth, he lowered his hands and unhurriedly changed into the new outfit. It was a black casual set, slightly loose but not bothersome.
—Time was limited, but the butler appointed by Yuan Nei Jingyi had done very well.
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It made him almost long for his own butler.
After changing, the cosplayer opened the door. The butler was waiting outside and, seeing him, led him back to the first-floor living room.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Just plain water.”
“Very well.” As the butler headed to the kitchen to fetch water, the villa door was opened from outside using a password.
Both the cosplayer and the butler turned their heads toward the entrance.
A middle-aged man with his right arm in a plaster cast hanging from his neck dragged the young man who had just left not long ago into the villa with his other healthy hand.
“You’re not leaving today. Stay at home for one day, and we will go to Asakusa Temple tomorrow,” the man said forcefully, leaving no room for refusal.
“There’s nothing for me to do at home now,” the young man frowned, suppressing his anger as his face turned icy.
“You’re always running off to that broken temple. Is there gold inside or something?!”
“Not everyone is as money-obsessed as you.”
“You...!”
“Master,” the butler interjected timely, interrupting the father and son's quarrel.
Yuan Nei Jingyi took a deep breath, his face grim. “At least stay at home and eat dinner tonight.”
Yuan Nei Boshi pursed his lips.
Both sides retreated one step and reluctantly reached an agreement.
The relationship between father and son was strained.
The cosplayer squinted thoughtfully.
Yuan Nei Jingyi forcibly made his ill-tempered son sit on the sofa, then turned to the cosplayer with a quick change of expression, speaking kindly, “Are you really well now?”
The cosplayer nodded. “Yes. But you, your hand...”
“Ah, I slipped and fell last night. When I got home, it hurt badly. I went to the hospital for an X-ray and found it was a fracture.”
As for why he didn’t go to the same hospital as the cosplayer, it was because after arriving home, Yuan Nei Jingyi, like a frightened bird, couldn’t calm down. After hesitating and staring out at the night for several minutes, he decided to wait until dawn.
He had a nightmare all night, and at first light, he asked the family driver to take him to the nearest hospital, where he underwent examination and surgery.
—The cosplayer had been taken to Hiyori Hospital because it had the most advanced medical equipment in the country.
Last night, the cosplayer’s coughing up blood had terrified Yuan Nei Jingyi, as if he was going to spit out all the blood in his body. It looked terrifying.
Yuan Nei Jingyi suspected his own injury was just a fracture and that any hospital would suffice; there was no need to go to Hiyori.
—The road to Hiyori was likely to be congested, and his hand hurt too much. He would have gone mad enduring that.
“Everyone probably hasn’t eaten lunch yet. Butler, please have the kitchen serve the dishes.”
After a brief chat with the cosplayer, without mentioning last night’s incident, Yuan Nei Jingyi turned to the butler with instructions.
*
After the dishes were served, the butler stepped aside.
Yuan Nei Jingyi warmly urged the cosplayer to eat more, saying he was too thin and needed to recuperate after his serious illness.
Yuan Nei Boshi seemed to have no appetite, eating mechanically.
Listening to his father’s insincere attentions, Yuan Nei Boshi unconsciously tightened his grip on his chopsticks.
Since when had this started?
On the day his mother’s illness worsened, the hospital said she might not make it through the night and advised the family to prepare themselves. At eleven, he called his father, who said, “I have a big deal to attend to; I probably won’t make it back. Tell the doctors to ask for whatever money they want to try to save your mother!”
Money. Always money.
Could money buy his mother’s life?
He wished he could return to before he was eight, when the family crammed into a thirty-square-meter home, eating plain noodles with pickles every day.
At least then, his father cared about the family, taking leave to care for his wife despite threats of being fired by his boss due to her fever. Even when he was eventually dismissed, he had no regrets.
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Not like now—
A piercing chill suddenly spread from the soles of his feet, creeping up his ankles and thighs.
Yuan Nei Boshi’s body stiffened, his pupils trembling.
That familiar feeling was...
‘Heehee, found you, found you.’
Like the clear, childish voice of a young girl, yet with an indescribable eerie and sinister tone.
Yuan Nei Boshi slowly lowered his head to look down.
A cursed spirit, its entire body bruised purple, with a head the size of a basketball but a shriveled, tiny body resembling a malnourished infant, clung to his leg. Its black, eyeless sockets wept blood, and its mouth stretched to its ears in a grin as it looked up at him, giggling.
Yuan Nei Boshi faintly smelled a nauseating stench of decay, and the food he had just eaten churned violently in his stomach.
‘Eh...?’
The cursed spirit suddenly turned its head toward the legs of Yuan Nei Jingyi, who sat beside Yuan Nei Boshi. Though it had not yet done anything, Yuan Nei Boshi’s face instantly went pale—he knew what the spirit intended.
The unaware father was still chatting with the young man.
The cursed spirit tilted its head, then turned back to Yuan Nei Boshi, emitting a piercing, bone-chilling laugh.
‘Heeheeheehee ha ha ha ha, found you, found you!’
The cursed spirit released its grip on Yuan Nei Boshi’s legs and scrambled quickly toward Yuan Nei Jingyi.
Yuan Nei Boshi sprang up abruptly, lunging toward Yuan Nei Jingyi.
...
On that evening when his mother waited in vain for his father, the gentle woman held his hand weakly and said, “Boshi, don’t hate your father. He’s afraid of poverty... In this world, money isn’t everything, but without it, you can’t take a step...”
She seemed to have more to say but had no strength left. She looked deeply at her child one last time, then reluctantly let go.
What she never told him was that if they had had money back then, his grandmother would not have taken her own life over a mere few million yen in surgery costs, fearing she would be a burden.
...
Did he hate the father who gave birth to him?
Yuan Nei Boshi finally had an answer: No.
What he hated was his younger self, who was powerless to ease the family’s hardships. If he had been able to help then, maybe his mother wouldn’t have overexerted herself to death at thirty.
*
“Dad!”
Yuan Nei Jingyi instinctively turned toward his son, who suddenly lunged at him with a look of despair, surprised.
Since his wife’s death, his son had refused to call him “Dad” and had grown distant.
A soft sigh escaped from the cosplayer’s lips.
In the stunned silence of Yuan Nei Jingyi and the despair of Yuan Nei Boshi, a slender, bony hand reached out, pressing down on the head of the cursed spirit that had leapt up, baring its bloodied maw to bite the former’s head.
‘Bang!’
Chunks of flesh and blood splattered.
A trickle of crimson dripped from the cosplayer’s mouth. He raised a thumb and gently wiped the blood from his lips, speaking slowly, “I might faint.”
Then, the next moment.
The cosplayer sank weakly into the chair, his head drooping, lashes resting on his eyelids.
“...”