Chapter 139 Chapter 137 Disappointment
The poet poured his heart and soul into writing a poem, and the caged demon girl glanced at it, politely saying, “Thank you, it’s not bad.”
After saying that, she didn’t take the paper but continued to look away, gazing at the wall, still hoping for the hero to come and rescue her. Next to the iron cage lay a piece of obsidian, intricately etched with strange patterns, emitting a faint green light.
The poet involuntarily clenched the paper; he rarely experienced such a setback and for a moment, he wanted to shout and thrust his poem in front of her. However, after seeing the beautiful profile of the demon girl, his anger quickly faded, replaced by a feeling of helplessness.
How could he expect a girl imprisoned in a cage to joyfully appreciate his futile poetry? What use is poetry? Can it cut open her cage? Can it replace war horses and the long swords that win battles? Can it grant her freedom?
At that moment, he couldn’t hold onto the paper any longer; the page filled with black ink fell, and the maid hurriedly picked it up, saying:
“Sir, your poem.”
The poet waved his hand, saying, “Throw it away, it’s useless, just scrap paper.”
He looked at Jima and sincerely said, “I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” She continued to gaze into the distance, and after a while, she realized the poet was apologizing. She said, “You don’t need to apologize; the only disappointment you gave me is that he is not the one opening the door.”
The poet couldn’t help but ask, “You believe he will come? He can save you?”
The demon girl said:
“He will ride a silver warhorse, surrounded by white light, rushing to rescue me.”
As she spoke, her eyes seemed to gain color, as if she saw a knight in silver armor riding towards her in white light. The obsidian emitted a faint green glow.
The poet felt a pang of jealousy; he wished so much that the girl in the cage would look at him with those hopeful eyes. He could no longer bear it; if this continued, he would go mad.
“Goodbye.”
He suddenly said, turning around and heading straight for the door, with the maid following closely behind. The poet had wanted to leave with a cool demeanor, but at the door, he couldn’t help but look back one last time.
He saw the demon girl still turned to the side, gazing into the distance. Her body was locked in an iron cage, but her soul had transformed into a white dove, resting on the hero’s shoulder.
The poet felt a wave of disappointment and took a deep breath to close the door.
As the door shut, his heart began to cool, gradually entering a state of reason, and he recalled what he had just seen and heard.
A sense of righteous indignation surged within him.
What a despicable city! To imprison beauty in an iron cage, defiling her with filthy gold out of possessiveness…
In that moment, the poet began to think calmly about how to rescue the demon girl.
“What’s the matter?”
As the poet stepped out of the ship’s hold, he saw the smiling face of the great benefactor. He stifled the urge to duel and said coldly:
“Your Excellency, the great benefactor, you have once again expanded my understanding of ugliness. Your city is an ugly tumor that parasitizes beauty!”
However, the great benefactor Bransi did not show the anger he expected; on the contrary, he seemed proud as he said:
“I was not wrong, right? Do you still remember your dream lover?”
The poet reflexively recalled and suddenly realized. The halo on the face of the dream lover in his memory faded, her face becoming blurry, and he no longer felt any emotional stir. Really, he was about to forget.
He remembered the preparations he made before entering, all the talk about the beauty of appearances, the elixir of sages, had all become a joke.
He had not even had any deep conversation with the demon girl; he knew nothing about her interior. Self-pretending to value inner beauty and the beauty of the soul, he had ultimately been captivated only by her outer beauty.
But what did that matter? In front of the demon girl, the poet would rather be a vulgar man who only saw the body.
The poet said, “You are not wrong.”
He thought again of the demon girl in the cage and added, “I’ve realized for the first time that confinement is a heinous crime.”
Imagining the fate of the demon girl, sold to a stranger and bound by an irrevocable slave contract to satisfy possessiveness, the poet’s heart ached faintly, as if a piece had been forcibly dug out.
The great benefactor Bransi smiled and said:
“Do you wish to save her?”
The poet looked at him, feeling he was mocking him.
The great benefactor Bransi kindly handed him a cup of wine, saying:
“We do not simply sell bodies; that would be no different than selling pork, but we sell a wonderful experience. Do you want to become the knight who rescues her? Once the slave contract is signed, in her eyes, you will be the knight on a white horse, saving her from the fire and water.”
The poet instinctively resisted, feeling it was morally wrong. But his heart stirred, recalling the demon girl’s hopeful gaze, wishing so much that she was looking at him. Guilt and desire intertwined.
Why can’t I be her hero? I am much better than the rest of the mundane people; I will treat her well. Thinking this way, the guilt in his heart lessened considerably.
He finally took the cup from the great benefactor Bransi’s hand, downing it in one gulp, saying, “Please give me a quiet room; I am very inspired right now.”
The great benefactor Bransi smiled, called for a maid, and arranged a room for him. He watched the poet leave, unable to suppress a smile.
At first, this was all a performance to ensnare the poet. He knew the poet had come looking for trouble. The various performances arranged along the way quietly lowered the poet’s expectations of the flower of Shalin City, achieving an effect of “contrast.” Of course, these schemes were merely embellishments; ultimately, it depended on how beautiful the demon girl was.
The great benefactor was glad he hadn’t crushed the demon girl’s hope for the hero George’s arrival. This hope, which could be exploited by the slave contract, greatly elevated the demon girl’s value, enhancing her charm, and easily captivated the poet.
Once the poet’s poem was released, it would certainly create a sensation.
The great benefactor thought of this as he walked up the steps, onto the deck, feeling quite pleased. He leaned against the railing, rejecting a maid who came to serve him, wanting to be alone in quiet.
The bustling round lake had already welcomed its third ship, the audience was in a frenzy, and the passionate atmosphere infected the nobles who disregarded etiquette, shouting and cheering together.
The great benefactor squinted his eyes, enjoying the prosperity and peace of Shalin City. He raised his wine glass, pouring a libation to the lake, saying:
“To peace, to prosperity, to Shalin City.”
The transparent liquid fell into the waters of the lake, with half a glass still remaining. The great benefactor Bransi turned, facing the direction of the garden, his expression sorrowful, pouring out wine to the garden, saying, “To my dearest daughter, my love.”
The wine in the cup splashed onto the deck, spraying everywhere like tears.
…
…
Outside the city, silver mine, black pit.
A quarter of the people in the pit were gone. After several days of dam repairs, there was no place to sleep, and not enough food. The water was too cold; some couldn’t stand and were swept away by the waves, and others had high fevers, and to prevent an outbreak, they were thrown into the river.
The blacksmith didn’t die; he was starving, lying at the bottom of the pit, listening to the nearby feverish people babbling nonsense, his eyes fixed on a point of light above. The guards above were eating meat, drinking wine, and shouted:
“To Shalin City, to the great benefactor!”
“Cheers!”
The blacksmith felt even hungrier; he sniffed, trying hard to catch the smell of food.
