Chapter 1: You must watch their performance

“Miss Adler, this circus comes from Paris,” he said. “You must watch their performance.”

This is the third time the man has mentioned Paris.

The first two times were:

“Miss Adler, I heard that although New Orleans is already an American city, it still retains the colonial style. People are as cultured as Parisians, and in restaurants—especially upscale ones—all menus are in French, and the cuisine is French. Is it true or not?”

“Miss Adler, please forgive my rudeness. I don’t know what the fashion is like in New Orleans, but in our Paris, only the lowliest female workers would wear such ankle-revealing skirts. I don’t want to criticize a lady’s attire, but you really shouldn’t expose your beautiful ankles.”

Miss Lizzie Adler replied gently, “Yes, you’re right.”

The man was satisfied with Lizzie’s response.

There was no girl more suitable for marriage than her.

Being the daughter of an oil tycoon and a renowned beauty, she had a gentle and serene temperament while maintaining the innocence and cleverness of a young girl.

Of course, the most commendable thing was her exquisite face. Despite being a rough northerner, her skin was as fair and flawless as that of southern nobility, devoid of any freckles or blemishes, smooth and radiant like solidified cream. The corners of her mouth naturally curled upwards, with a small, pomegranate-like lip bead in the center of her upper lip, giving her face a hazy and glamorous fleshy beauty.

Though her background wasn’t impeccable, the man thought her father, despite being incredibly wealthy, was ultimately a speculator who amassed his fortune through war, railways, and oil. He lacked the noble blood and rich heritage like theirs.

But when he thought about her almost one million dowries, he was filled with tender affection for her.

Clearing his throat, the man was about to speak sweet words to please her when Lizzie gently said, “When does the circus start? Let’s skip the movie tonight and watch this instead.”

The man immediately agreed and went to the theater ticket booth to buy tickets.

Watching the man’s back, Lizzie’s gentle expression gradually cooled.

She didn’t want to date this man at all—what was his title, a count or a viscount? There were several counts who courted her, and she couldn’t distinguish the differences among them. Only one count named “Lance” left an impression because he was handsome, highly cultured, and not as arrogant as the others.

With the rise of film art, the business of the opera house declined, and good seats like those in the front row, which used to require connections to obtain, now only required a visit to the theater’s ticket booth.

According to the man, the back seats were occupied by “commoners.”

But as they passed those “commoners,” he didn’t show a disdainful look. Lizzie was about to look up to him when he sat down and commented, “I wonder if those commoners can understand the Parisian circus.”

Lizzie lowered her eyes, opened her mother-of-pearl fan, and shook it in silence, feeling somewhat desperate at the thought that no matter whom she married, she would inevitably move to Paris. Ten minutes later, the performance began.

As it wasn’t the premiere night, the audience’s response wasn’t enthusiastic. This phenomenon naturally drew mockery from the man: “A bunch of bumpkins.”

Lizzie quietly enjoyed the show.

The first two acts were indeed performed by actors from Paris.

The first act’s performer was from the Garnier Palace, also known as the famous Paris Opera House. She wore a sparkling dance dress and performed the “whip turn” visible only in St. Petersburg, spinning like a spinning top for sixteen full turns. Then, in a light and cheerful melody, she did five or six somersaults, deliberately revealing the white bloomers beneath her skirt.

This kind of performance, appreciated by both the refined and the common, ignited the audience’s enthusiasm. Cheers and applause erupted.

Lizzie also smiled and applauded; she liked the girl’s confident and charming demeanor.

However, the man furrowed his brow, as if the girl were his relative. “Clearly, she’s an actress from the Paris Opera House, yet she performs such vulgar and cheap dance. It’s really embarrassing.”

The second act featured a glamorous lady performing fire-breathing. Dressed in a peach-colored long dress, she held torches in her hands, kissing the flames, spewing and swallowing fire, and finally, after taking a sip of strong liquor, she tilted her head and spewed a three-foot-high flame, stunning the audience. Applause continued, and some even stood up to throw hats and handkerchiefs onto the stage.

The host mentioned that although she was Parisian, she didn’t learn fire-breathing in Paris but was taught this skill by a mysterious Chinese person. The man, however, seemed not to have heard this statement, continuously telling Lizzie that this was the standard of the Parisian circus.

The following acts were more of an exhibition than a performance—no dialogue, no choreography, just a group of deformed people showcasing their ugliness and deformities.

The most enthusiastic of these acts was the host. Wiping sweat with a handkerchief, he cheerfully introduced the deformed individuals. When the audience in the rear couldn’t see the details of the deformed people, he used clever and humorous metaphors to describe scars, sores, and mutilations, delivering them into the audience’s ears.

“We found these poor sisters on a small farm… Some say that they look like this because of racial hybridization. When white and black people come together, they give birth to these conjoined monsters. But these sisters are so innocent! The ones who should be punished are their hybrid parents!”

As he finished speaking, some people clapped, some cursed, and some watched the spectacle indifferently. A black person in the back shouted disapprovingly but was quickly drowned out by the lively laughter.

The man also clapped enthusiastically.

Lizzie observed with disdain, thinking that this man was truly despicable—he not only looked down on “country people” like her but was also a racist.

The final act—also the most grand and attention-grabbing one—”Ladies and gentlemen, I bet you’ve never seen a performance like this before!” The stage lights constantly changed, and the host spoke, “I don’t know if any of you have encountered the short-snouted alligator. Ugly, terrifying, cunning, residing in damp swamps, ready to deliver a deadly blow at any moment… There is no animal more hideous and terrifying than the short-snouted alligator, and there is no one more like the short-snouted alligator than the Devil’s Son—let us welcome—”

The host took a deep breath and said, “The Devil’s Son takes the stage!”

A thunderous applause erupted from the crowd, and some even stood on their chairs, whistling, as if they had been waiting for this moment for so long.

Lizzie tilted her head, watching the stage without blinking, feeling a bit curious.

She had seen the flyer.

What kind of person could go somewhere, learn something, perform magic, sing, and shoot a gun like a lightning-fast gunslinger?

Of course, the most intriguing aspect was his appearance.

There were plenty of people with unattractive appearances, especially in the slums, where unfortunate individuals with scabies and facial scars could be found everywhere.

After the Civil War, there were also many who had been disfigured by the war, but few treated them as “monsters,” “devils,” and “demons.” No one isolated them, keeping them in circus cages for the amusement of others.

Was this person really so terrifying in appearance?

Just then, the curtain fell and the lights dimmed, leaving only the footlights burning and emitting silver-colored smoke. The lighting designer changed a filter, and a strong and cold white light shone on the curtain.

Obviously, “The Devil’s Son” was about to make an entrance.

The music played by the band gradually became eerie, like the sound of a flute coming from a swamp filled with mold, fog, and bones.

The audience, which had been talking, playing cards, buying, and delivering drinks, quieted down when the music started. Even the troublemakers who jeered and threw insults stopped their whispered conversations.

The curtain rose.

A person walked onto the stage.

He looked young, but his stature was unusually tall and upright. Wearing a black cloak, the wide brim covered most of his face, revealing only a sharply defined jawline and nearly sickly pale lips.

Just by looking at his silhouette, one couldn’t imagine that his appearance would be “terrifying like a demon.”

He wore a pair of worn-out leather gloves with slight cracks, obviously leftovers from someone else and ill-fitting, but you could still see that his fingers were very slender and well-defined.

For the first time, Lizzie realized that when a person had an overly tall stature and long fingers, it exuded an indescribable sense of oppression.

At a glance, this person wasn’t ugly at all; he was even somewhat handsome.

The audience also realized this, feeling deceived. Instead of admiration and praise, there were boos and laughter.

Amidst the wave of jeers, the performance of “The Devil’s Son” began.

He raised one hand and slowly spread it out.

A cluster of apricot-yellow flames ignited in his hand.

Unlike the glamorous lady’s performance with fire, where the audience’s attention focused on her smooth arms when she approached the flames, worried that the fire might burn along the oil on her skin, watching a woman play with fire was about seeing her give an alluring charm to the flames in the danger of the firelight.

“The Devil’s Son’s” performance, however, evoked a different feeling.

Lizzie didn’t even feel the separation between him and the fierce fire. As the fire expanded, the flames hissed like snakes, instantly engulfing the entire stage. Yet, as soon as he made a fist, the roaring flames from the previous second would all extinguish.

However, despite his close proximity to the flames, almost merging with them, there was an indifferent expression on his face from start to finish.

This strange contrast enhanced the effectiveness of the performance, creating a bizarre world that seemed only achievable by geniuses and madmen.

As the performance came to an end, “The Devil’s Son” suddenly raised his hand, extinguishing all the flames. Then he walked into the cage on the side of the stage, where two bodyguards with rifles stood.

Only at this moment did people notice that he was shackled, both hands and feet bound by heavy iron chains covered in rust and bloodstains. It was horrifying to behold.

It seemed that the circus wasn’t exaggerating; they genuinely considered him as dangerous and terrifying as a short-snouted alligator in the swamp.

Lizzie couldn’t help but take out the flyer and read it again.

The flyer didn’t mention any wrongdoings he had committed; it only stated that he was intelligent and talented. He had escaped from the jaws of a short-snouted alligator and learned all the skills of the circus members in less than half a year.

In theory, someone like him should be admired and pursued everywhere. However, because of his excessively terrifying appearance, instead of receiving admiration and pursuit, he was feared, losing his dignity and freedom.

The man was completely absorbed in the performance and didn’t notice the chains and cage: “I wonder if this ‘Devil’s Son’ is from Paris…” This could be considered quite high praise.

The next performance was a “duel.”

The host said, “Don’t be fooled by the fact that he’s a magician, playing with fire in a breathtaking way. In reality, if he wishes, he can also be a sharpshooter—everyone should have seen gentlemen dueling outside taverns. They are different from barbaric outlaws and strictly adhere to the rules on the dueling ground, following the provisions of ‘Social Etiquette’—each in their positions, guns vertical to the ground. Then, relying on their own skills, whoever draws their gun faster can survive the duel.”

The host paused. “We originally wanted to invite a gentleman to participate in the duel, but gentlemen fight for honor. Who would be willing to stake their life on a circus?”

Sparse laughter sounded from the audience.

“So, we invited Tom Bow instead, the retired sharpshooter—he is willing to bet his life and compete with our ‘Devil’s Son’!”

 The man applauded and exclaimed, “Fantastic! This is a real show! It not only respects the honor of a gentleman but also brings an unexpected performance effect! I never thought New Orleans could have such a spectacular show, completely comparable to performances in Paris. Truly amazing!”

However, Lizzie couldn’t find it exciting.

“The Devil’s Son,” as smart and composed as he might be, was just a magician.

Even if he was a rare genius who could draw and shoot as quickly as a sharpshooter, his shooting speed couldn’t surpass that of a true marksman—those gunmen who made a living with pistols; their familiarity with the firearm rivaled the magician’s understanding of playing cards.

Moreover, she believed that Tom Bow must be confident enough to shoot “The Devil’s Son” with one shot; otherwise, he wouldn’t have agreed to the duel publicly.

For the sake of the so-called performance effect, they were letting a living person go to their death.

Lizzie furrowed her brows, suddenly not wanting to watch any further.

Author’s Note:

The fifth book of Phantom, as one reader called it, should be “Bucket Five.”

“Beast and the Canary” is the musical barrel; “The Devil’s Beauty” is the embellished version of the original barrel; “To You, with Passion” is the vampire barrel; “I Love You, I Pretend” is the authentic original barrel with a stroll through “Canary”… This book should be the barrel of a thug (bushi) who struggled to survive in the American West, possessing cold rationality even if dressed in a suit.

As always, each Phantom’s background will have slight changes. Strictly speaking, they are not the same person, so please enjoy with confidence.

In these two chapters, there will be 100 random red envelopes, wishing everyone a pleasant reading.