fashion show
The cruise ship's butler, Ms. Beverly, made a special trip to Milo's room that morning to offer her thoughtful greetings and attentive service.
Milo answered each question, but finally asked the same one: "Is there a show here? I didn't see it on the program schedule."
Beverly shook her head in confusion. Milo probed a couple more times but didn't ask any more questions, simply making up an excuse to avoid the question.
Ms. Beverly is a naive and devout believer who spends her time serving God and being a tourist. She is the butler on the cruise ship and is familiar with everything, but the so-called gray areas are outside her comprehension.
Milo met with Miles and handed over the categorized and refined documents he had prepared. Miles reviewed them and said he had done a good job. Milo didn't ask about the show, because Steven's words were indeed reasonable, and Milo had a feeling that Miles would never allow it.
He didn't intend to ask, but he also didn't intend to give up looking.
The cruise ship was huge. Milo took a look around and found that the only lively places during the day were the bar and entertainment area, and the church.
The Bethlehem departed from Wudong Port, carrying a diverse crew, but without exception, the majority were believers. Therefore, the church became a popular tourist attraction. Father Ward, who never disembarked, was very famous, and many people came here hoping to seek wisdom from him.
A long line formed outside the small confessional, and Milo went inside.
After waiting for most of the day, he was the third to last to go in to "atone for his sins".
The door to the confessional is closed, and the only light in the small space is a white candle flickering in the darkness.
Milo glanced to the side and saw a reproduction of "The Prodigal Son Returns" hanging on the wall. The warm brushstrokes of the oil painting vividly depicted the loving image of a father forgiving his son.
Milo touched it, but couldn't move it; it wasn't a painting, but clearly embedded in the cabin wall. Milo slowly traced the edges of the painting outwards, finally finding a recessed crack. Following the crack, he realized it was a hidden door.
The mysterious show venue turned out to be a confessional room right at the entrance—ironic and ridiculous.
In the darkness, a voice, both weathered and gentle, rang out: "My child, don't you have any worries?"
Milo had intended to leave immediately, but then changed his mind and sat down, lowering his voice.
"Father, do you believe there are truly evil people in this world?"
A voice came from behind the partition: "You see others as evil, and others see you the same way. Evil is fluid. When you're in a certain position, you might have to do bad things. Even if you start with good intentions, you might end up being seen as evil by others."
Milo paused for a few seconds, then said, "According to you, good and evil should be treated the same. What kind of fairness is there in this world? Is this God's will?"
The priest's voice was gentle and compassionate: "The Lord simply does not want to see anyone perish; the Lord desires that everyone repent."
"Are we just waiting for God to forgive and change things through natural death?" Milo chuckled. "Indeed, death is the greatest and fairest end for everyone. But that's not enough, far from enough."
“My child, the Lord says: ‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay.’ The Lord will deal with all injustices in His righteous way. Endless revenge will only breed new hatred and sin, making it impossible for people to find relief.”
Milo stopped listening and stood up. Before leaving, Milo couldn't help but turn back, his gaze falling on the small window through which messages were passed, and muttered, "To hell with the Lord."
*
The bright moon hung high in the sky when a public announcement suddenly rang out—it was Ms. Beverly's gentle voice. She reminded the passengers that the Bethlehem had crossed the high seas and was about to enter the waters of another country, and then broadcast some basic safety precautions.
After the broadcast, it was late at night, and the cruise ship was shrouded in a deep tranquility, with only the waves gently lapping against the hull, making a rhythmic sound.
Miles glanced at him, gave him some basic instructions for arriving in Gangu the next day, and then left.
The robot assistant reminded him that it was already 3 a.m. Milo completely forgot Blaze's warning, changed into the patrolman's clothes he had stolen during the day, and got up to leave.
Holding a small flashlight, Milo carefully avoided the occasional patrolling crew members and slipped back into the confessional. Luckily, it wasn't locked. Relying on his memory, he found the frame of the painting and pressed down on the raised eyelet.
In an instant, a deep, muffled rumble came from the wall of the prayer room and slowly slid to one side, revealing a dark door that exuded a chilling aura.
Milo stepped inside without looking back, his body swallowed up by the hidden door, and continued along the corridor.
To his surprise, the area below was brightly lit and clean. Halfway there, he even encountered a sleepy-eyed crew member on duty who greeted him, saying, "Just wait a little longer."
Milo turned his head suspiciously and walked in the direction where the crew had come out.
To Milo's surprise, it was an operations room.
Crystal chandeliers reflected a cool light from the arched dome, where a well-dressed Chinese couple waited outside, clutching the crosses around their necks and praying incessantly.
As the cart wheels rolled by, Milo spotted that familiar pattern again: a white label with a snake entwined around a wheat stalk.
The door to the control room was pushed open, and the scene inside was not clearly visible, but Milo already understood that it was an operating room.
An operating room floating on the high seas, with a specific supply of organs, no waiting in line, and exclusively for the wealthy.
Steven harvested organs in Wudong Harbor and then transported them to Bethlehem to sell to those in need of transplants—a well-established black market operation. As for the recurring trademark, Milo already had a subtle suspicion. It was probably the organization behind Blaise. These forces were intricately intertwined, leading to an increasingly terrifying truth.
Milo turned and left without lingering. He returned to the almost identical corridor, walked to its end, only to find a crew rest room and storage rooms.
Milo secretly counted, and he had passed about fifteen rooms. He then walked backwards until he reached the tenth room, when a faint, almost inaudible sobbing sound, like a child's whimper, came from behind the door, accompanied by muffled thuds.
Milo followed the sound and stopped in front of a door.
His hand rested on the door, turning it gently; it seemed he could lock it or push it open. Suddenly, the terrifying memory of the pigeon coop flashed back, and Milo's hand on the door convulsed unconsciously. For a moment, he lost the courage to open it.
He thought he had forgotten the memory of being hunted, but a similar scene gripped his heart again.
The simple act of opening the door has become more terrifying than ever before.
Milo closed his eyes, struggling to suppress the suffocating fear that accompanied him, and pushed the door open.
The crying became clearer.
Milo slowly opened his eyes and saw a boy huddled in a corner, trembling and clutching his head. He was a very handsome mixed-race boy with blue eyes and black hair, who looked to be just an adult. However, his expression seemed to show that he was more afraid of Milo, the intruder.
Milo turned around and closed the door, then slowly squatted down in front of him, only to find that the boy was clutching an alien mask in his hand.
The main color is pure white, and the silver-gray patterns on it resemble snake scales, giving it an indescribable strange beauty.
The boy covered his head and spoke a string of rapid-fire words. It took Milo a long time to realize that it was Spanish. He responded fluently, and the boy reacted a little and quieted down.
He said, "Please let me prepare some more, I will go on stage."
Milo thought of the "show" Steven had mentioned and realized that the person in front of him must be a "performer" on the show.
Milo wanted to ask more, but the blue-eyed boy seemed to realize that the people in front of him were not the ones he thought they were, so he opened his mouth, ready to scream.
Milo reacted quickly, covering the boy's mouth with his hand. He didn't intend to try to extract any more information; it seemed that intimidation was more effective than gentleness when dealing with this child.
"Shut up! Understand? Otherwise, I'll throw you into the sea." Milo's gaze fell on the snake-scale mask in the boy's hand. "What do you need? I can trade you this."
The boy's eyes were brimming with tears, his fear mixed with an overwhelming desire, and he kept repeating one word in Spanish: "Money!"
Milo pulled out the Ganzhou Tongxing banknotes he had exchanged beforehand, but the boy's eyes clearly revealed even greater greed, as if he would scream if he didn't get more.
Milo really wanted to slap the child unconscious like a martial arts master, but that was impractical. So he could only tie the child's hands and feet, seal his mouth with tape, stuff him whole into the closet, and repeatedly promise to come back and release him.
Before he could finish comforting the boy, footsteps sounded outside the door. Milo snatched the snake-scale mask from the boy's hand, but as he tried to remove the boy's clothes, the door creaked open.
The door was opened, and the crew member who came in to bring people saw a young man standing in the room who was almost naked, wearing a mask, standing in front of the wardrobe, with clothes scattered on the ground at his feet.
"It's time for you to go on stage."
The splint was forcibly removed, and Milo's hands and feet, which were still not fully healed from the fracture, were not very flexible. Bending over to put on clothes was a painful experience, so Milo could only grab a soft, gauze-like pullover and cover herself with it.
Along the way, Milo was worried that his strange walking posture would arouse suspicion, but to his surprise, the two crew members did not find it strange.
"His arms and legs look like they've been broken; we hope he's not crippled."
"That's the kind of money they make."
The corridor eventually came to an end, but strangely, a fork in the road suddenly appeared where it should have been, as if it had happened out of nowhere.
It might be another hidden door.
As Milo entered the fork in the road, he discovered that there were more crew members leading more young men, like himself, wearing white snake scale masks, walking barefoot on the deck.
There were men and women, and without exception, they were all very young, with fair and smooth skin on their exposed skin.
Stepping onto the white plush carpet, a mysterious and eerie atmosphere immediately greets you.
The eerie lights flickered alternately between ambiguous purple and dazzling scarlet.
A "show" appeared before his eyes.
Like a forgotten underground palace, the space is vast, with a towering dome and two rows of huge glass containers arranged neatly, each container resembling an independent otherworld.
Young men and women wearing white snake-scale masks entered the glass room, with a burly man standing next to each glass cubicle. As soon as a person entered, they went in and fastened metal neck shackles to them.
Milo accepted the metal choker without batting an eye. The moment the choker snapped shut, he heard a soft beeping sound and a flashing red light.
Milo was all too familiar with that red light. There must be a miniature time bomb embedded in the collar, extremely similar to the one that blew up old Dale's coffin.
Milo's gaze fell through the white snake scale mask onto the round table in the center.
In the center of the room was a round conference table filled with distinguished guests, about a dozen people, all of whom were middle-aged male elites.
Steven was among them. He was squinting, smiling as he spoke to a middle-aged man next to him.
The round table wasn't full; one seat was empty.
Looking around, Miles wasn't there, nor was Blaise. Milo wasn't sure for a moment which of the two carried more weight, who better represented the Daller family, and who had reserved the almost head seat for him.
All eyes were focused on a spot in the middle of the table—a huge lifting platform.
With a mechanical roar, the lifting platform slowly rose.
A huge glass display case came into view, in which a thick, brown python was flicking its tongue, its body writhing within the confined space.
Milo felt a chill run down his spine.
The snake was so huge that it gave the terrifying feeling that it might burst through the glass cabinet at any moment.
But soon, Milo spotted someone familiar.
The person who rose up with the giant python was Blaze. He had a cold expression, dressed entirely in black, his strong muscles clearly visible beneath the black clothing, and held a sharp dagger in his right hand.
"Gentlemen, this is 'Python Swallow.' It's a fine python from Apulin in Gansu, freshly killed and cooked to order, absolutely fresh," a waiter/crewman enthusiastically introduced.
The python's tail thrashed and hissed. Blaze lifted the transparent cover and guided the snake's movement with his hand. But in the blink of an eye, the dagger plunged into the triangular head, and the snake's tail coiled violently around Blaze's strong arm. Soon after, bright red blood gushed out.
Blaise skillfully bled the snake, skinned it, removed its internal organs, and began cutting the snake meat.
Under the round table, some waiters were collecting snake blood, some were lighting alcohol stoves, and some were pounding stone cups. The smell of lemon and fish sauce wafted through the room, filling it with the stench of blood.
The tender, trembling snake meat is sliced thinly, blanched in boiling water for three seconds, and then layered on ice in a porcelain plate. It is garnished with perilla leaves and drizzled with a fresh, special dipping sauce.
A plate of python meat is now ready.
For a fleeting moment, Milo felt as if the sound of flesh separating from skin being peeled off was falling on him.
Blaise, standing in the center of the stage, leisurely wiped the blood from his hands with a white cloth, looking down at the gluttons below who were completely absorbed in the moment.
"I've tasted the food." A gray-haired man licked his lips, savoring the smooth texture of the python meatball. His gaze swept across the glass display cases on either side. "I just wonder when the show starts?"
Steven, standing next to him, burst out laughing: "You old man, are you in such a hurry?"
Blaise stepped off the lift platform, filling the entire round table and transforming it into a platform that connected the diners to the circular table.
The glass cabinet door opened, and Milo looked around. One after another, barefoot men and women came out, and soft, elegant piano music slowly poured out.
In the chaotic light, the boundaries of the individual are broken in the ambiguous halo.
For a moment, Milo felt he had lost the words to describe what he was seeing.
People have become completely different from humans; it's practically an animal performance.
The people in the audience were elegant and normal, generously giving tips. Although they were all smiling, their eyes revealed undisguised contempt and disdain.
When the performance ended, only two people remained in the glass enclosure. Besides Milo, there was a tall man with brown hair.
The white-haired man sitting below slightly raised his Adam's apple. The waiter understood and directed the performers on stage to take their money and return to the glass room.
On the other side, the guards watching over the glass room opened the door and led Milo, who was wearing a metal collar, out of the glass room.
He and another tall, brown-haired man were led to the center of the platform, one on each side.
White snake scale masks covered their faces, one delicate and white, the other firm and sturdy.
"Slim waist, fair skin, and a bit of flesh, very good." The white-haired man's gaze fell on Milo, but he quickly became displeased. "Is this a bad one?"
The swelling and bruising left after the bone was set still remain on my shoulder.
Steven, who had been showing little interest, turned his gaze to Milo. He narrowed his eyes slightly, as if he had realized something, and a smile appeared in his eyes: "Uncle Peter, it's just a toy. Isn't it normal for it to be played with and broken?"
“No, what I want to enjoy today must be perfect.” The white-haired man shook his head regretfully and turned to look for another one.
Milo was led off the stage, but Steven suddenly reached out and stopped him, saying, "Leave him here, just leave him by the stage."
The white-haired man's chest heaved with excitement as he walked onto the stage, wearing only his underwear.
Steven extended two fingers and inserted them into Milo's collar, forcing him to kneel down.
A warm breath enveloped his ear; Steven's cigarette smoke was unique, carrying a hint of orchid fragrance.
“Little cloned sheep, you’re really something,” Steven whispered.
The sweater was loose, so Steven could glimpse Milo's body through the neckline. She was indeed beautiful, whiter than a woman's, with a soft, warm glow, but unfortunately, her bones were too stiff.
Milo stubbornly resisted, but Steven knew his weakness: "Look closely, that mad dog is up there. Tell me, if he knew you dared to impersonate a male prostitute and pose here, defiling his white moonlight, wouldn't he chop you up on the spot?"
Milo didn't move.
Steven chuckled, satisfied, and released his grip. He forked a piece of python meat, dipped it in the spicy sauce, and held it to Milo's lips.
"have eaten."
Milo remained still.
Steven said softly, "You'd better behave."
Milo opened her lips and bit down, choking uncomfortably.
Steven frowned slightly.
He remembered that Theo couldn't eat spicy food and was extremely picky about food. Whenever there was a meal, he would be the one to serve him food and taste it first to check the saltiness. Calling him a friend was an understatement; he probably understood Theo's tastes better than anyone else in the world, more like a caretaker.
With the mask covering his face, Steven could more easily imagine what Theo might look like. But if it really was Theo, he dared not think about it too much; even the slightest possibility would drive him mad.
Steven pushed a plate of coconut sago pudding over.
Milo reached out to pick it up, and Steven glanced at his arm, which had been unsplinded and was swollen and trembling, probably unable to lift it.
Seeing this, Steven's eyelids twitched slightly.
Steven handed Milo a seafood fork and then asked the person next to him to loosen the collar around Milo's neck.
Milo, with his limited mobility, ate messily and in an unseemly manner.
Steven suddenly remembered that when they were children, because he was a little older than Theo and Theo loved to cling to him, the adults liked to ask him to set an example for Theo, but Theo couldn't learn well and still ate in a mess.
The adults didn't know that Theo was actually very smart; he just pretended to be stupid because it would make the competitive Steven happy. This habit continued into adulthood. Theo tried his best to hide his shortcomings, maintaining his childlike demeanor in front of Steven to preserve their friendship. From academic performance to business acumen, he willingly always put himself one step behind Steven.
The more understanding Theo showed, the angrier Steven became.
She was jealous of his extraordinary talent and undeniable brilliance, resented his innocent kindness despite being in dire straits, and was even more furious at his spreading love all over the world. He had been with him for over a decade; why couldn't he have just one friend and not have to get to know some homeless man with a nice voice?
So, let's just keep envying and hating.
He must have hated Theo so much, otherwise he wouldn't have pushed him to his grave with his own hands.
Steven took a sip of cold wine, forcibly cooling the slight surge of warmth in his heart, and stopped looking at Milo.
The brightly lit showroom was turned off, with only the faint light from the lift platform providing barely enough illumination.
A pet service owner's performance is gradually reaching its climax in front of the audience.
The elites surrounding the round table mostly had cigars dangling from their lips, the flickering light of the cigarette butts like snakes spitting their tongues, their beast-like eyes greedily gazing at the exhibitionist man's perverse tastes.
"Is this how men fuck men? It's disgusting." Steven looked at Milo, his voice barely audible, "For money, you'd be willing to let Miles fuck you like this?"
Milo suppressed his nausea and could barely bear to watch.
The white-haired man lay on the stage, panting heavily, and unable to restrain himself, reached out and ripped off the white snake scale mask from the other person's face.
When she saw the breathtakingly beautiful face beneath the mask, her voice became genuinely moved.
The man whose mask was removed frantically stopped what he was doing, desperately trying to cover his face, fearing that he would be exposed to everyone.
Milo used almost all the strength he had in his life to barely hold back from rushing forward.
The brown-haired man riding on the white man's back, sweating profusely, revealed his true face.
He wouldn't mistake that face.
It's clearly Yuuma.
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