Chapter 1: The Beginning Of Tragedy

The light in the house was too dim.

The boy stood in front of the dilapidated wooden door.

Through a narrow crack, he could barely see what was inside.

The boy widened his eyes.

After a long while, he finally made out the appearance of the person before him.

‘He’ was short.

With chubby cheeks, ‘he’ gave off an adorable vibe.

But those dark, gloomy eyes clashed with ‘his’ face, creating a jarring contrast.

‘His’ hair was blackish-red, a color unique in the dark world.

Only the great one and this child, who resembled him, had such hair.

‘He’ looked strikingly like that merchant, almost a miniature version.

But compared to him, that man seemed more mature.

‘He’ was very good-looking.

The boy couldn’t help but stare a little longer.

After all, ‘he’ was just a child—even when ‘he’ tried to act fierce, it wasn’t intimidating.

‘His’ fierceness only gave off a ‘cute but trying to be scary’ vibe.

‘He’ spoke, voice soft like a cat gently scratching his face: “What do you want with me?”

The boy was injured, his head dizzy.

The child’s gaze shifted downward, eyeing the wound on his chest.

“This little injury, and you come to me?”

“You’re not dead yet, are you?” ‘he’ said lightly, tone icy.

‘He’ turned, walked into the house, and pulled a bandage from a drawer by the table.

‘He’ returned to the door and handed it to the boy.

The boy felt everything spinning.

Just wrapping the wound with a bandage—how could that heal it?

He placed a hand on the door, trying to push it open while pleading: “Can… can you let me in?”

The child coldly blocked the door with a hand.

‘He’ stared at the boy for a moment before saying icily: “What’s in it for me if I save you? One more corpse in the Black Forest won’t make a difference. What value do you have that’s worth saving?”

As ‘he’ spoke, ‘he’ thought of the plan in the notebook.

Soon, ‘he’ guessed the boy’s identity.

From his clothing, he was clearly from the demon race.

Demon attire typically featured tops reaching the knees, long enough to rival a girl’s dress.

Judging by the brand of his top and pants, he must be a demon prince.

Rich, and with his status, he might have some use.

That’s what she thought.

The boy, thinking she was unwilling to help, felt so desperate he wanted to cry:

“I came here because I heard the Nature God of the Black Forest lives here. They say you’re powerful. If even you won’t save me, I’ll die here today! I have money—however much you want, I’ll give you!”

“Why would you risk your life to come here?” she asked coldly.

He froze, then after a pause said: “Because I’m being hunted. I’m a prince. You know how palace politics work.”

He didn’t want to talk about his family’s messy affairs.

On his way here, he only made it thanks to his loyal subordinates.

They ‘sacrificed’ themselves to ‘save’ him.

He only had one mage with him, but even that mage was fed to the forest beasts to ensure his survival.

“You made it here, so you must have some skill,” she said.

Her words made him feel uneasy.

He’d remember those who died.

He’d pray for them.

To survive, he had to beg ‘him’: “Please, save me. You’re great and just—you won’t abandon me, right?”

He looked at her pitifully, an expression she loathed.

She squinted, but ultimately let him in.

Inside, the boy felt the house’s atmosphere was heavy.

The dim light was unsettlingly eerie.

Everything was neatly arranged, yet something felt off.

Blood-red flowers bloomed on strange-colored vines in the corner.

Eyes in the flowers’ centers seemed to stare at ‘him.’

Nearby, the wardrobe door was open.

He glimpsed a few clothes inside, not noticing one or two dresses among them.

He saw a black-and-white photo on the table, showing a small animal.

In the kitchen, ingredients bared their teeth at him, acting as if they’d devour him.

In contrast, the kitchen utensils sat quietly in place.

He walked to the dining table.

There was a jar of biscuits.

Too hungry to think, he sat on a random chair, opened the jar, and bit into a biscuit.

Crunch—a sharp sound.

One of his teeth stuck to the biscuit—it had broken off!

“This tastes awful,” he said, instantly in a bad mood.

He threw the biscuit, tooth and all, into a nearby trash bin.

After biting the biscuit, he felt worse.

With no other choice, he used the bandage to wrap his wound.

‘He’ entered the house, searching for healing medicine.

After finding it, ‘he’ turned and saw the boy’s actions, coldly ordering: “Stop.”

Startled, he froze, then watched as ‘he’ brought the medicine over.

‘He’ applied it to the wound, then bandaged it skillfully, earning the boy’s admiration.

Outside, beasts roared.

The sound of them fighting shook the ground.

The boy listened, terrified.

“Done,” ‘he’ said.

Only then did the boy dare open his eyes.

He saw the white bandage wrapped around his wound, then looked up and asked: “Got any food?”

‘He’ frowned, then said: “Coming right up.”

The boy watched ‘him’ head to the kitchen.

While ‘he’ dealt with the ingredients, the boy studied the house.

It was indeed eerie, making him uncomfortable.

Besides his and ‘his’ footprints, there seemed to be other traces on the floor.

This didn’t feel like a place where only ‘he’ lived.

“Is it just you here?” he asked, curiously scanning the room.

A cold voice answered: “Yes.”

“But I feel like someone else is here,” he said honestly.

“I keep feeling like someone’s watching me.”

The house felt strange.

The child didn’t respond, and he didn’t know what to say.

The atmosphere fell into a dead silence.

After a while, ‘he’ brought a steaming bowl of porridge and set it in front of him.

‘He’ noticed the opened biscuit jar and said helplessly: “The stuff on the table isn’t for you. That’s my breakfast.”

The boy was stunned.

Something he couldn’t even bite into—was that really edible?

She placed the porridge on the table for him to eat.

The boy quickly composed himself, picked up the bowl, and drank it down like water.

The porridge tasted great.

He couldn’t help but want another bowl.

Holding the bowl, he licked his lips, savoring the flavor.

She saw his desire and said coldly: “That’s it. I treated your wound and fed you. If there’s nothing else, you can leave.”

Before she finished, he immediately said, aggrieved: “But my wound isn’t healed yet!”

She retorted bluntly: “And you haven’t paid me, have you?”

So it was about money after all?

She didn’t want to keep him, mainly because she didn’t want a stranger living in her house.

The boy didn’t understand her thoughts.

After a moment’s thought, he pulled a gem from his pocket.

The stone was beautiful, stolen from his home.

Reluctantly, he handed it to her: “This stone is for you. It’s all I have left.”

She looked at the stone, then stored it in the screen.

With the item in hand, her attitude toward him softened slightly: “Remember, I saved you.”

“You traded this stone for your life. The stone is mine, but it doesn’t mean you can stay here. You’re from the demon race? I’ll take you to Crimson City later.

You can find a place to stay and try to earn money there. If you’re going to live there, you need a new look to blend in.”

She took the empty bowl from him and went to the kitchen to wash it.

While she worked, the boy sat obediently in the chair.

After washing, she went to a drawer by the table, took out some tools, and grabbed old clothes from the wardrobe.

She sat on the bed, one hand holding the clothes, the other the tools.

The boy watched her alter the clothes for him.

Once done, she took the clothes and tools to the desk, put the tools away, and grabbed some makeup supplies.

She walked toward him with the clothes and makeup.

Standing close, their proximity was almost too intimate.

Up close, he saw ‘he’ was short and adorable, even with a cold expression.

He couldn’t help but find ‘him’ cute no matter how he looked.

Since he was taller, it was hard for ‘him’ to dress him up.

Frustrated by the height difference, ‘he’ didn’t lash out at the boy.

Instead, ‘he’ tossed the clothes at him, snapped ‘his’ fingers, and summoned a chair.

It wasn’t a dining chair but a small stool.

‘He’ stood on it to apply makeup to the boy, face focused.

The boy wanted to say he didn’t need makeup but didn’t dare.

He stared at her serious expression for so long he forgot himself.

Finally, he remembered to ask: “Uh, I don’t think I know your name yet?”

She replied flatly: “Zixueta.”

The boy paused, then said cheerfully: “Bai Mingliu, my name. Nice to meet you.”

“…” She stayed silent, saying nothing.

(TN: The boy thinks the protag (F) is a guy hence the ‘he’)