Chapter 66 [Erika has appeared]
Has Doctor Aaron not returned yet?
As the sun set and twilight painted the sky with clusters of smoke, Mela returned to Dr. Aaron's residence.
But he received bad news from his young daughter.
"Father hasn't come back yet."
"I don't know when he'll be back."
"I see." Mela patted the little girl's head, didn't press the matter, and continued on her way back to the inn.
Perhaps because the situation had deteriorated to such an extent, Yuriel's body was barely maintaining a weak balance, meaning that apart from being too weak to lie in bed, nothing more troublesome was happening for the time being.
Before leaving, Mela entrusted the sleeping Yuriel to Silas. Silas waved his wings at her, indicating that she could leave her in his care without worry and that everything would be fine.
As Mela pondered to herself, she seemed to catch a glimpse of a familiar red color out of the corner of her eye.
She turned her head abruptly.
The body moves before the mind can even process it.
He took a step and chased after that somewhat familiar figure.
Almost the instant Mela started moving, the figure seemed to realize that it was being watched, and also started running, decisively turning into another street.
not good!
Mela quickened her pace again, running away and leaving behind a "sorry" that lingered in the wind for those who were accidentally pushed aside by her to hear.
However, the owner of that figure seemed to be very familiar with White Crystal City, at least much more so than Mela, who had only been there for two days. He kept Mela far behind, and even gradually widened the gap.
As the red hue was about to disappear from the corner of her eye, Mela gritted her teeth and strode around the corner in three quick steps. Her eyes widened slightly involuntarily at the sudden sight before her:
In the bustling market, men and women carrying wooden boxes constantly stopped passersby, trying to sell the fresh food and trinkets that filled their boxes.
There were also teenagers who stood in front of their family's wooden signboards, shouting to passersby that they had the sweetest fruits and the cheapest jams.
The figure that Mela had just tried to chase had already slipped into the crowd, disappearing like a drop of water into the ocean, and could no longer be easily found.
“…” Mela was silent for a moment, then turned around and left the area, resuming her journey back to the inn.
She was certain that the figure she had just seen was none other than Erica.
That familiar hooded outfit, and the stray strand of red hair that occasionally fell out, all looked incredibly familiar to Mela.
But if she is Erika, why would she hide herself? And why is she so wary of others paying attention to her?
Is she hiding from someone?
Mela had taken this into consideration, which was why she didn't call out Erica's name directly. She was worried that someone who was targeting Erica was nearby, and that her action would only cause trouble for Erica.
However, watching Erica escape right before her eyes naturally filled Mela with an indescribable sense of frustration.
She and Yuriel went through so much trouble to come to White Crystal City in search of Erica, only to watch her run away.
"Mera, you're back."
As soon as Mela knocked on Yuriel's door, Silas rushed in.
Mela caught Silas and looked at Yuriel, who was sitting up in bed against the pillows. "You're awake."
Even when she managed to sit up, Yuriel's condition was visibly poor, and her lips were as white as if it had just snowed, with patches of dry skin prickling up.
When she began to speak, her voice, hoarse from the friction between her skin, said, "You don't need to worry about my illness anymore. It can't get any worse than it is now. You should focus all your energy on finding my aunt. Once we find her, we can leave Baijing City, and I believe I'll get better soon."
“I’m afraid you won’t be able to hold on until I find Erica,” Mela pointedly remarked.
"Then what do you suggest we do! Are we just going to keep dragging this on like this?" Yuriel's emotions instantly surged.
At first, Yuriel didn't take this minor problem to heart, thinking that perhaps she was just new to White Crystal City and not used to the local environment, and that she would be fine after a good night's sleep.
But as she personally felt her body deteriorating, becoming so weak that she couldn't even lift her hands, and feeling as heavy as if her consciousness were filled with lead, Yuriel panicked.
As she watched Mela busy herself for her, the burden in her heart grew heavier and heavier; she didn't want to become a burden.
She wanted Mela to let go of her and focus on finding Erica; that was the purpose of their trip.
"It's not exactly a waste of time."
Despite Yuriel's loss of composure, Mela remained calm and collected as always.
“I just saw Erica,” Mela casually remarked.
"What?" Yuriel looked at Mela in surprise.
"and you……"
“But she seemed worried about being tracked and tried to shake me off,” Mela added.
She thought Erica probably didn't even recognize who was chasing her.
“What… what’s going on?” Yuriel asked with difficulty.
Although Mela hadn't said much, she had already stirred up her mind into a jumbled mess.
Mela shrugged, saying, "Perhaps I'll only know when I meet Erica again and ask her."
Now, all we can do is make wild guesses without any basis, which is pointless anyway.
As for Yuriel...
Mela didn't ask anything of her, "Just rest in bed and recover."
"I'll go out more often from now on, maybe I'll just bump into Erika again by chance?"
After all, fate is the most mysterious thing.
*
Since Fernandez fell ill, the entire Furhorst estate seemed shrouded in a heavy cloud, and everyone was on edge, afraid of making any noise that might displease Mrs. Jones.
Even so, the day after Fernando fell ill, Mrs. Jones still arranged for the stewards to gather all the servants together to investigate the cause of Fernando's illness one by one.
"Madam, here's your tea." Mrs. Jones's personal maid brought her a cup of freshly brewed hot tea.
Mrs. Jones took the teacup, gently blew away the white mist on the surface of the tea, took a sip, and relieved the dryness in her throat.
She interrogated the servants in the manor all day long.
Even if she didn't believe what the doctors said and thought that Fernando's coma might be related to a witch, even if it wasn't a witch but someone else, it wouldn't stop Mrs. Jones from trying to find the mastermind behind it all, like peeling back layers of an onion.
At the very least, if they wanted to make a move against Fernandez, they would have to get into Furhorst Estate first.
Once they enter Furhorst Manor, they will inevitably leave behind some clues.
This was exactly the clue Mrs. Jones was looking for.
She planned to follow the clues to figure out the other party's intentions before figuring out how to counter them.
However, a whole day passed, and Mrs. Jones had not gotten the clue she wanted from any of the servants.
Faced with Mrs. Jones's question, they kept exchanging glances, but answered in unison that no strangers had tried to sneak into the manor during this time.
In fact, getting a job at Furhorst Manor is not an easy task.
In this vast manor with a history spanning over a century, most servants are recommended by relatives who have worked there for decades and are granted temporary permission by the steward to serve the noble Furhorst family.
Of course, if they were not quick enough or displeased the master, they would have to leave in disgrace that very night under the watchful eye of the steward. And if a vacancy became available in the manor later, the person who recommended them could no longer recommend anyone else, because they had lost the steward's meager trust.
Therefore, the servants who can now walk around Furhorst Manor are all old servants who have worked there for many years and rarely make mistakes. Everyone is a familiar face, and it is impossible for them to easily let a stranger in.
Thinking of this, Mrs. Jones frowned, and the doctor's words came to mind once again:
"Madam, we suspect that the lord's condition is not simply due to illness, but perhaps a witch..."
Witch, witch.
Mrs. Jones chewed over the word repeatedly. If she really was a witch, then it would be incredibly easy for her to change into a face that everyone in the manor knew, and then naturally take that person's identity and hide among the servants.
Even so, Mrs. Jones's face remained impassive; she calmly instructed her personal maid to call in the next group of servants.
The heavy, carved door was opened from the outside, and the servants guarding the door let five people into the room.
Mrs. Jones asked them the same question.
That is, have you noticed any other servants behaving strangely in the past two days?
"Strange behavior?"
Sure enough, their first reaction was to look at the other people.
Then I was engrossed in a painful memory.
"Um... does it count if Shirley, who helps in the kitchen, ate an extra piece of cheese a couple of days ago?"
The valet who had spoken felt that his words were a waste of time, and he anxiously glanced at Mrs. Jones's expression.
Surprisingly, Mrs. Jones did not blame him. Instead, she nodded with a hint of approval and said, "It's alright. I just need you to tell me what you find strange. As for whether they are useful or not, I will make my own judgment."
So that's how it is.
Encouraged by Mrs. Jones, the remaining four immediately started talking all at once, spouting a bunch of random things.
Mrs. Jones had been listening casually, but then she heard the youngest maid say weakly, "Amani, who shares a room with me, ate a small piece of bread with raspberry jam a couple of days ago, even though she said she hates the taste of raspberry jam the most."
"However, it's also possible that she took the wrong one but didn't want to waste the food."
“No,” Mrs. Jones suddenly raised her hand, interrupting the others, and looked at the timid little maid from head to toe. “Go and call this Armani you’re talking about, and while you’re at it, have the kitchen bring over a piece of bread with raspberry jam on it. I want to see for myself whether she can actually force herself to eat it.”
Soon, Amani arrived.
When Mrs. Jones told her to eat the bread on the plate, even though she could smell the raspberry jam on it, she forced herself to put it in her mouth.
The next moment, an unpleasant sound of vomiting rang out.
While everyone else frowned, Mrs. Jones finally smiled.
She questioned the maid named Amani again.
As Mrs. Jones's questions became more detailed, Amani's initially firm beliefs began to waver.
Finally, a sound as if a nerve had snapped rang in her ears, causing her mind to go completely blank.
Amani's face was pale, her lips moved, and she uttered broken syllables:
"I saw...a woman walking towards me...I...fainted..."
"What does that woman look like?"
Mrs. Jones's sharp gaze fixed on Amani's face, like a blade piercing the depths of her memory.
“I…I…” Amani recalled painfully, her mind blanker than a blank sheet of paper.
"Hair, eyes, any obvious birthmarks on your body—can't you recall any of these?" Mrs. Jones coldly pressed.
“Hair, eyes, hair, eyes…” Amani murmured, then screamed, “I remember now! She had the same red hair as me!”
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