Ch8 - Despite himself, he bent over and pressed his lips against Morel’s forehead.

With light footsteps, the Earl walked to the side of the sofa.

When the cautious black cat discovered its master’s return, it meowed and the Earl placed a black-gloved finger onto his thin lips, signaling for the cat to be quiet. The cat’s perky tail drooped gloomily, but still, it leaped onto its master’s shoulder and nuzzled against him, acting spoiled. 

The Earl half-knelt beside the sofa and quietly observed Morel’s sleeping visage.

Morel seemed to be having a bad dream. His brows were slightly creased, and from time to time, his pale lashes would tremble. His hair hadn’t been trimmed in a long time, and it was slightly long, covering one of his eyes.

The Earl reached out and gently brushed Morel’s hair to the back of his ear, revealing Morel’s clean and young face.

Looking at Morel’s empty neck, Earl remembered something and took out a necklace from his bag. It was the pendant that Morel had sold to the hawk-nosed old man! The green gem shone faintly in the dim room. 

The Earl carefully placed the necklace back onto Morel’s neck, muttering, “Selling such a precious thing and at that kind of price too…what a little idiot.”

Although he criticized the other, his tone was full of indulgence.

The cold gaze he normally had on was all but melted. In the darkness, dark purple crawled up in his eyes, like a veil of mist.

Really, Bill couldn’t understand.

He tried all sorts of ways to be cold to Morel so the other would hate him.

He never went to visit him once and only had people situate and deliver money to Morel.

Then on the ship, even though the other was shaking from crying so hard, he still pretended not to know him.

Even when he saw how difficult things were for him as he lived with another child, he squashed the urge to bring him back home. 

He even took great pains to remain unnoticed when he got rid of the crooks that coveted their money, making sure not an extra peep came out from the scoundrels…he also knew how unsettled a 12-year-old would feel being left alone at home, yet he pretended not to notice; he knew that the other wanted to talk to him, so he ignored him on purpose and even said disagreeable things.

He was so loathsome, so why did the child persist in waiting for his return to eat with him?

It was just like a few years ago. He should’ve hated him.

He never should’ve appeared in his dark, grim life. 

But little Morel was nothing but fearless and held his hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

The Earl didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Morel, he had always been so cute.

But things were no longer the same. 

It was no longer appropriate for him to involve himself with Morel. Bill had already died. The current him was mired in a vicious game and would only bring Morel grief.

At this moment, the Earl’s eyes cooled again.

He gently lifted Morel, carried him upstairs, and laid him on the bed.

We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.

He carefully took off Morel’s jacket, sweater, and trousers, then covered him with the blanket and lowered the drapes. 

Ktfc tf ibbxfv ja Zbgfi’r ktlaf obgftfjv. Gfrqlaf tlwrfio, tf qgfrrfv tlr ilqr jujlcra la jcv ktlrqfgfv, “Ktjcx sbe obg vlccfg.”

Ktja cluta, Zbgfi tjv j kbcvfgoei vgfjw.

Yg wbgf jmmegjafis ab rjs, la kjr j wfwbgs.

5-sfjg-biv Zbgfi, rqgjkifv bea bc atf ajyif, qijslcu klat atf abs rbivlfgr tlr qjqj tjv ygbeuta yjmx obg tlw. Ktf mbibg bo akliluta kjr ugbklcu vffqfg, atf rlinfg obbarafqr mtjrlcu atf vjgxcfrr jcv rqgfjvlcu ogbw atf ujgvfc ab atf gbbw rbecvifrris, mbnfglcu fnfgsatlcu lc fatfgfji iluta. 

More than once, he ran to the big entrance or asked the Housekeeper Uncle when his papa was coming home, but the housekeeper only shook his head helplessly.

His papa was extremely busy at work and he didn’t know where his mama was. Papa had clearly sent a telegram today promising to be back for dinner. Thinking of this, Morel’s nose soured, he hadn’t seen his mama and papa for an entire week!

He waited with an empty stomach, but when the clock struck 10, Morel gave up.

The housekeeper finished cleaning and went to sleep. Morel stealthily picked up the candlestick, retrieved the pouch he had prepared from underneath the bed, and put on his jacket. He carefully opened the door to the basement and slipped inside. 

The pitch-black basement was cold, somber, and was wet year-round with moss growing in it. From time to time Morel would cry out in fright from a scurrying rat.

Following the path in his memory, Morel descended 5 flights of stairs, turned left, and turned right…then finally, he fished out the stolen key from his pocket and unlocked a door. The bright light inside blinded Morel.

“Bill gege, I have the poppies!”

Saying this, Morel set down the candlestick and opened his pouch, showing the red poppies inside, and releasing the heavy fragrance. 

Bill looked up, his hand brushing back his long, golden hair that covered his eyes and tucked it behind his ears. He smiled, quietly said “thank you”, and his hands continued with what they were doing.

But unlike usual, the smile from Bill didn’t leave Morel smiling foolishly for half a day.

He sat quietly on the side, his brows slightly scrunched, his eyes revealing just the tiniest bit of loneliness.

There were bottles and jars of all sizes on the floor, some empty while others were filled with powders of pretty colors. And on the side, on top of the old newspapers, there was a pile of oddly-shaped stones as well as all kinds of plants for perfume such as Pleione orchids, aloe vera, peppermints, and four o’clock flowers… 

Bill wore a long black coat and sat on a small stool.

The silhouette of the fire danced on his pale skin and his long golden lashes cast two shadows resembling butterflies on his cheeks. A few drops of sweat dampened his forehead but he paid them no mind.

Half an hour quickly passed in silence.

At this moment, Bill held a small hammer and was continuously grinding a small, light red stone in the cyan porcelain bowl. From time to time, he would add in the poppies that Morel brought. 

Morel finally said his second sentence since arriving, “Are you making red?”

“En.”

“What kind of stone is this?”

“Cinnabar.” Bill’s voice was cold as always, but it was gentle, “For a deep red, it needs to be half a part calcined ocher. Such color is usually used for the dark areas of a painting, and for the lighter areas, amalgam and red lead could be mixed…” 

“Amalgam?”

Bill passed a small jar filled with silver liquid to Morel, “It’s this.”

“Don’t open it though, amalgam is extremely toxic.”

“But it’s so pretty!” 

Morel sighed in admiration! His first smile of the day blossomed brilliantly on his face that had been glum the entire time.

Shaking it gently, the silver liquid sloshed inside the jar, soft and flexible, like moon essence.

Bill smiled then continued to say, “And finally, the brightest areas can only use red lead mixed with a bit of top-quality white lead at the end.”

Morel, in order to find the things that he spoke of, looked around the room carefully. 

Then he nodded his head although he didn’t really understand.

Like this, two hours passed and Bill created red, green, and blue. None of them were monochromatic, and each had layers of depth, making them extremely beautiful.

“Bill gege, you’re so amazing…where did you learn to make paint like this? Did anyone teach you?”

“I’m just messing around, it’s not as special as you say.” 

He dismissed it and looked at Morel.

“You haven’t told me yet, why were you feeling down today?”

Morel lifted his head and finally discovered how close Bill’s face was to him. The flower-like reflection of flames flickered in his purple eyes, and for a moment, small Morel’s heartbeat seemed to have stopped.

He pulled his hair, “It’s just mama and papa didn’t come home…it’s not a big deal…” 

Bill didn’t speak. He got up and walked towards a chest, rummaging through the tin tubes and the dried paintbrushes. He picked out the paintbrushes that he needed, set up his canvas, and sat back down. He added water to the pigment and mixed it.

Small Morel didn’t know what Bill was doing, but when he asked, Bill didn’t answer.

Morel had seen Bill gege draw before and knew that he painted extremely fast as if there was no need for contemplation.

But this time was different. 

Bill painted slowly—clumsily even.

After a long while, Morel finally figured out what the thing on the canvas was, and he smiled!

“A little bear! It’s so cute!” Morel’s laughter was like bells and his body gesticulated with joy!

Bill didn’t reply, but a faint smile tugged on his tightly pursed lips. 

He had never tried drawing things that children might like, but today, he did so in earnest. He painted Santa Claus, Christmas presents, and beautiful sika deers…he painted Morel smiling brightly, his emerald eyes, the small dimple on his left cheek, his sharp little chin, and his golden hair sticking out messily…

“Is that me? Bill gege, your drawing is so realistic!”

That day, Morel played in the basement until late at night before heading back upstairs.

He even promised Bill that one day, he would take him aboveground to play. 

There was no gold paint yet, so he wanted to take Bill to the meadows to pick globe flowers!
………………

He dreamt sweetly the entire night and woke up feeling warm and fuzzy.

Then he realized he was lying on the bed! But he was on the sofa yesterday!

And the thing on his neck! 

Did Auntie Karin come back yesterday?

But how would you explain the thing on his neck?

Did an angel fly down and place it on him?

No, no… 

Did he sleepwalk?

But that was even more impossible!

Morel grabbed his head, vehemently denying the only possible answer left!

It was Bill! 

It must be him!

Did he carry him upstairs? He was the one who returned his necklace to him?

But when Morel finished cooking and sat down to eat with Bill, Morel felt like it was more probable to think it was a gift from the angels.

Because Bill had the same scary expression as ever and still spoke to him in single syllables. 

Originally, Morel thought that Bill would praise him for his cooking, or at the very least, give him a small smile!

But he was kind of different from usual. Before he left, he said a relatively long sentence to him, “There’s no need for you to cook in the future. Karin will be back today so leave the cooking to her.”

Morel digested this sentence for a long time.

What, what did he mean by that? 

Did he mean to say that his cooking was inedible? That it was no good?

That they needed Auntie Karin after all?

And so today as well, Morel felt sad.