Act Three: The Laws of Engaging with the World (Part Two)
two
Yubi woke up abruptly, his vision filled with a vast expanse of white snow and dark tree trunks. He was swaying as he mounted his horse when the back of his head hit a cold, sharp metal object, causing him pain.
“Stop dozing off during the day,” Yakov said. “We’re on the road, not on vacation.”
“I used to sleep during the day. I’ve been trying really hard,” Yubi said, her face dark with dissatisfaction. “I had a dream.”
Yakov remained silent, as if he hadn't heard a word. Behind them, Schumer spurred his donkey closer. "What dream?" His mustache swayed like a carrying pole with each bounce on the donkey's back. "No need to tell this savage, Yubi. Look at him, all stony."
Yubi smiled, his smile shining brightly in the gloomy forest. "I dreamt of the past, of bathing with my mother," he recalled. "That was the first time we used ambergris."
“Oh? Some heartwarming childhood memories.” Schumeer held the reins, looking ahead. “Do you remember things from that long ago?”
“Not long ago,” Yubi said. “Just two years ago.”
Schumeer's expression changed; he glanced at Yubi, then looked away. "I didn't hear anything," he said, clearing his throat dramatically. "Yubi, you can't tell anyone about this."
"Why?" Yubi asked, "Don't you bathe with your mothers?"
Yakov suddenly burst out laughing, a laugh that made Schumer scratch his head in embarrassment.
Transylvania in winter is breathtakingly beautiful. They traveled for three days through mountains and wilderness along a river valley, witnessing the towering black mountains and white snow, and the mist enveloping the forests and giant rocks—it felt like walking in a divine realm. At sunrise, golden sunlight streamed down, casting azure shadows on the ground; at sunset, red sunset clouds pierced through the rime ice, spreading softly and smoothly like silk across the snow.
At first, these things could keep Yubi occupied for a whole day. But after the initial excitement and trepidation faded, he was eventually forced to confront the unpleasant side of travel life—Yakov didn't give him elegant glass or silver cups, but a leather wine flask. Fresh blood was poured into it through a funnel, and it immediately became rotten and had a strange taste, tasting like water infused with moldy tea leaves. "Leather won't break," Yakov would say; every night when sleeping, Yubi could only squeeze under a tree root with Yakov, using his luggage as a cushion behind him. If bugs crawled on him and he jumped up to wake the other person, he would get a scolding from Yakov.
But Yubi didn't want to complain about these things. He thought that if he kept complaining, Yakov and Shumel would laugh at him and think he was spoiled. He thought that he had finally come out to see the world, and he couldn't back down in the face of difficulties.
But not being able to shower was unbearable. Yubi felt sticky and itchy all over, and couldn't even change his clothes. He had long disliked Yakov's flea-infested, greasy hair, and the white cloak over his chainmail was so dirty that its original color was unrecognizable. Now even Schumeer was giving off a strange smell, not much different from the Muse.
“We need to take a shower! Not for appearances, but for our health!” Yubi insisted.
Yakov was making a rabbit trap, his brow furrowed. "The river is frozen, don't mess around!" His hands, blackened under his fingernails, stuck twigs into the ground near the entrance of the hole, carefully securing the knot of rope at the edge.
Yubi was unconvinced, so he went to find Schumacher again. "We really should take a bath!" he said. He saw Schumacher huddled by the fire, a small, lightweight pot bubbling away on it, cooking porridge.
"Sigh, I'd like to take a bath too." Schumeer stirred the porridge with a small spoon. "No way before we get to Brasov!"
Yubi sat by the fire for a while, disappointed, then, feeling bored, got up to find Yakov. The sun was setting, the sky was darkening, and the woods were becoming eerily gloomy. Yubi walked forward, stepping on broken branches and fallen leaves. He was astonished to find that in just a short time, Yakov had already caught two large, grey-furred rabbits and was skinning and bleeding them. "They really do catch rabbits!" Yubi poked at the knot in the trap with his sharp fingernails. "How did they do that?"
"The branch is stuck there." The person being questioned just kept his head down and continued working, viciously cutting off the rabbit's head with his knife. "The rabbit stepped on it and bounced up and got stuck."
"You're amazing!" Yubi exclaimed admiringly, then leaned closer to watch his technique for cleaning the internal organs. "You can do everything!"
Yakov looked away. The words made him embarrassed. He thought, even a barefoot toddler could make such a toy. But now, a descendant of a vampire was saying this to him, and he felt a surge of pride, as if he had a wealth of knowledge to teach and guide him, as if he were a seasoned and formidable figure. But soon, he snapped back to reality.
"You can do everything?" he said coldly. "That's none of your business, and you don't need to praise me."
Yubi was furious and decided not to speak to Yakov again that night. Night fell quickly, and Yakov, carrying the two prepared rabbits, walked back to the fire under the starry sky, skewered them on branches, and roasted them until they dripped with oil. Schumer didn't even glance at the meat. He simply held his bowl, lined with linen, and sipped his hot porridge, finishing it in a few bites. Then, he counted out two crisp papyrus sheets from his satchel.
"You're going to draw again!" Yubi leaned closer. "What are you going to draw?"
“To be honest, I haven’t found a subject yet today. But a day without practice makes me rusty.” Schumeer rested his charcoal pencil on his chin, smearing some black ash on it. “Yakov, would you be my model?”
Yakov, who was chewing on rabbit meat, suddenly frowned. "You're not allowed to draw me."
“What’s so special about this?” Schumeer shook the two papyrus pages. “My paintings are very valuable.”
"You still want to sell my portrait for money?" Yakov crunched on the dry meat. "I should hang you."
Schumer shrugged helplessly. "Alright. Yubi, would you like to be my model?"
"But I look so sloppy right now..."
“It’s alright, I can ‘beautify’ you!” Schumeer confidently picked up his brush. “Sit by the fire, Yubi, so I can see your face more clearly. What should this painting be called, Artemis by the campfire?”
“That’s a goddess!” Yubi stood up again as soon as he sat down. “But I’m a man!”
"Isn't that better? That way no one will recognize you." The charcoal pencil swished as it sketched. "Sit down, just like before."
Yakov couldn't understand a word of the myths they were discussing. After finishing his meal, he poured his own blood into his limp wine sac to offer to the vampire. Now all his work for the day was finally done. He took off his heavy iron boots, pulled off his wet socks, and stretched his bare feet to the fire to dry. Earlier in the day, he had crossed a snow-covered road, forcing him to dismount and walk by the reins, and only now did he have a chance to dry his toes.
The fire had enough firewood to burn until dawn; the horses and donkeys were already tethered and unbridled, munching on the dry grass nearby; he had also previously strung a rope around the camp, around the tree trunks, with bells attached. If any uninvited guests came in the dead of night, they would be heard immediately; the blood for the vampires was also safely stored in a bag, so no one would come to steal his neck in the middle of the night.
Yakov lay on his bundle, lost in self-pity. Why was he chosen to be a blood slave, and not Schumeer? Although Yubi didn't need much blood each day, not enough to weaken him daily, he thought, since Schumeer was willing to come along, couldn't he share the burden? But then Yakov reconsidered: with great responsibility comes great power. Since he was nourishing this vampire's child with his own blood, he could rightfully claim all of the vampire's possessions.
So he looked at the two chests filled with wealth, hoping for a final moment of peace. But he saw Yubi bent over, half his body buried inside, quietly, as if rummaging through something.
"What are you doing?" Yakov sat bolt upright. "Don't touch the box!"
"This is mine!" Yubi heard him and stuck her head out, frozen in place. "What's it to you what I do!"
Yakov sensed something was wrong. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the mud, and rushed to the box, grabbing Yubi. Two gold coins fell from the clean hand, and Yakov was both angry and alarmed. "What are you doing with the gold?" he asked.
"Schumelt painted my picture!" Yubi exclaimed matter-of-factly. "I paid him!"
Yakov turned to look at Schumeer. The Jew wore a strange, furtive embarrassment. “I stopped him, Yakov. It wasn’t my idea.” He stared at Yakov, narrowing his eyes like a fox caught in a chicken coop. “I didn’t mean any offense, really.”
“Don’t do that, Schumeer!” Yubi shouted. “Why are you listening to him! You’ve always been paid for your paintings, haven’t you?”
Yakov felt a throbbing pain in his teeth and brain. He snatched a papyrus from Yubi's hand, the force so great that half of it tore open. Looking closely, he saw a graceful young woman, sketched with simple lines, leaning against a tree trunk. The starry sky served as the background, and a campfire as the foreground. Upon closer inspection, the woman's face bore an uncanny resemblance to Yubi's; the charcoal drawing was concise and exquisite, a few lines more expressive than many murals he had ever seen. But the crack that had broken open, slicing along the woman's neck, instantly reminded Yakov of Camilla's death.
“You’ve ruined it, you rude fellow!” Yubi exclaimed.
“This is it?” Yakov gripped Yubi’s thin arm tightly. “How much did he want from you?”
“Didn’t you understand? It’s not him who asked me for money, it’s me who should pay him!” Yubi tried to break free from him, her cloak twisted into a knot. “An artist who paints a picture should receive payment from their master! That’s always been the case!”
Thieves, swindlers, ticks sucking blood from corpses! Yakov thought, were they playing house in this cold, dilapidated forest camp? "Are you planning to keep exchanging gold for worthless paper like this, until you've stuffed all the money in the chest into his pockets?" he scolded Yubi harshly. "Your mother just died, and you're already squandering like this, acting like a young master living in a castle? What will you do if you don't have enough money for the journey?"
“Just because my mother is dead, does that mean I can’t buy any more paintings?” Those red eyes stared at him resentfully. “You don’t need that much money to go to Constantinople, do you? I looked at Schumeer’s map. We walked for three days and didn’t spend a single gold coin.”
Yakov paused, realizing he, too, was a vulture guarding carrion. But he firmly believed he had done nothing wrong. He wanted to rage more violently, yet didn't know who to vent his anger on. The anger built up in his chest, crashing against the dam of his heart like waves, shaking his beacon. He thought the mark should erupt, but he waited and waited, frozen in place, and no pain surged in his chest. This, in turn, gave his anger an outlet. Suddenly, he knew what to do.
“Tell me,” Yakov said, calming down and loosening his grip on Yubi’s hand. “How much money are you planning to give Schumeer?”
"At least one gold coin..." Yubi said softly.
Yakov took a gold coin from the box and shoved it into Yubi's hand without a word. "Go, give it to him." He shoved the vampire's thin back and pushed him out. Yubi looked back at him, and he added, "This is Schumeer's payment; go give it to him."
The pitiful Jewish artist watched with trepidation as Yubi approached him, as if he were a harbinger of death. Yubi ran over. "Look, Yakov can make sense too," he said with a smile, wondering why Schumacher didn't smile. "A gold coin! Your painting is totally worth it!"
Yubi stuffed the gold coin into the stiff hand. Until he turned to look at Yakov—the tall Slavic man in armor was walking towards him, sword in hand, his figure dark against the firelight.
“You can’t do this!” Yubi suddenly understood what Yakov was going to do. “Get out of the way, Yakov! This is going back on your word!” he shouted angrily, blocking Yakov’s way, but was grabbed by the collar and dragged away like a sack of potatoes.
"Going back on your word?" Yakov smirked. "You pay with your money, I rob with my sword. What does it matter?" He reached out and effortlessly snatched the gold coin from Schumacher's hand. "Wealth is not power, nor is wisdom. Only violence is power. Just as your mother and others did."
Yubi's face was frozen in a look of shock and resentment that Yakov had never seen before, filling him with inexplicable dread and unease. The vampire child raised his hand, slipped the sparkling ruby ring from his muddy finger, and tossed it to the ground, where it fell into the snow. The air before Yakov suddenly turned cold.
“Violence is power? Don’t drop your sword, Yakov.” His red eyes gleamed like a wild beast’s. “Let’s duel and see who truly has the power you speak of.”
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