The image of him taking bullets, and the blade wounds on his back, flashed through my mind.
His chance at rebirth was hard-won. I couldn't let him risk himself because of my mistake.
So I quickly cut him off: "If going back means hurting you, then I'd rather not go back!"
Jay and Dan had already dealt with those three. They opened the door and got in, and I fell silent.
The car headed toward the Cathay Hotel.
He looked out the window, lost in thought.
After a long silence, a single sentence fell from his lips: "Those are your words."
We drove in silence.
The car passed a luxurious European-style building and stopped at a distance in an alley. He didn't rush to get out. Instead, quite naturally, he lifted my wrist—where the watch sat—and adjusted it.
I looked up, confused, and realized he was checking the time on my watch.
"You should keep wearing it. It doesn't suit me."
Such a valuable watch—I felt unworthy. I tried to take it off and return it, but he stopped me.
He smiled: "This is my apology to you. It's yours now. And you wear it better than I do."
I wear it better than he does?
I looked doubtfully at the smooth, gleaming watch face, sitting rather awkwardly on my wrist.
Until the time on the watch reached 8:55.
He looked down and said the timing was perfect, then carried me out of the car, across the sidewalk, into the first-floor restaurant.
He set me down in a seat by the window, and propped my injured ankle on the chair opposite.
An alert waiter already brought tea.
Victor bent down, his eyes catching the light: "Wait for me here. I'll come get you after the meeting."
Then he stood, not lingering, striding into the elevator.
I belatedly nodded: "I'll wait."
13.
Two bodyguards stood behind me with crossed arms. I wore Victor's cloak, my silk-stockinged legs propped on a velvet-cushioned high-backed chair.
I looked nothing like a lady.
More like a mob boss's woman—clearly not to be trifled with.
Before me sat a pot of Earl Grey with fresh milk, soon joined by a three-tier dessert stand and some Chinese snacks.
"We're not sure of your preferences. These pastries are freshly made. Please let us know if you'd like anything else."
The floor manager and waiter bowed at the table's edge, then withdrew.
I mixed a cup of milk tea, drained it, and finally felt human again.
This seemed to be a private restaurant. People trying to enter from outside were screened out. Only hotel guests or certain VIPs could enjoy coffee and pastries here.
So the atmosphere was very quiet. A faint aroma of pastries hung in the air, like the waiters—present, but unobtrusive.
The most conspicuous things were the two bodyguards behind me, Jay and Dan.
At an open-seating area nearby, a lady and two young women had been sneaking glances at me for a while.
I thought about asking Jay and Dan to sit down and eat normally like me.
They ignored my request, remaining tense and refusing to sit no matter how I tried.
They were Oliver's bodyguards, serious like him.
"Adjutant Shaw said the situation was unusual yesterday, so he knocked out Miss Rose. Today, we must protect her and not let her come to any harm."
Jay was very by-the-book.
I rubbed my forehead, understanding that good subordinates only followed orders. I was merely the protectee—I couldn't command them.
So I picked up the dessert plate and handed two chocolate brownies to them: "Have something. Your work is hard."
I held my hand out until they hesitantly accepted, turned slightly away, stuffed the brownies in their mouths in one bite, then resumed their serious expressions, hands crossed, mouths rapidly crushing sugar.
I picked up a butterfly pastry and was about to bite into it when I noticed a soot-faced child outside the large glass window, clasping newspapers, staring longingly at the pastries on my table, licking his lips.
My hand froze, but before even a second passed, the hotel security guard barked at the child from nearby.
The child bolted.
Only when he'd run far did I see he wasn't even wearing shoes.
A cleaner quickly came with bucket and brush to scrub the spot where the child had pressed against the glass.
Then another round of deep-bowing apologies from the manager and waiters.
I couldn't handle such reverent service.
I just kept saying: "It's okay, no one did anything wrong, it's fine."
I was an orphan myself. I grew up in an orphanage. Because of my heart condition, no one ever adopted me.
The orphanage celebrated monthly birthdays for all the children, but that was no substitute for the warmth of a real family.
I'd once stood outside a restaurant window, watching a family of three enjoy a birthday cake.
Back then, I thought seeing something I couldn't have was painful enough.
Who could have imagined that children a hundred years ago not only couldn't have those things, but would be shouted at—barefoot, in rags, trudging through icy puddled streets.
After the apologetic staff left, I stared at the table of desserts, entirely appetite-less.
It was probably empathy. Or maybe an excess of compassion.
I grabbed my small purse and limped out the door, calling to the child who was still hovering at a distance:
"Young man, I'll buy your newspaper!"
When I limped out through the revolving door, I hadn't told the bodyguards what I was doing.
They probably assumed I just wanted to stretch my legs.
But when I pulled out a silver coin and loudly announced I wanted to buy a newspaper, one of the bodyguards immediately grew alert and tried to stop me—but it was too late.
The child ran over, accepted the silver coin in disbelief, and handed me a newspaper.
At that, seven or eight more children of similar age materialized from nowhere, shouting: "Ma'am, buy my newspaper!"
"Ma'am, my newspaper is ironed, it won't dirty your hands!"
I also learned from the bodyguards the true value of a silver coin.
So that wasn't just one dollar...
14.
This morning, when Victor carried me to the car, he'd accidentally brushed my small handbag. He'd asked: "Why bring an empty bag?"
"Grace gave it to me. A whole outfit. I just took it as is. I figured it makes me look more like someone from this era."
I struck a pose, and he smiled.
Then he'd emptied his own money into my little handbag—bills and silver coins filling it to the brim.
"I don't need it." I tried to give it back.
But he held my hand with the bag, and told me quite seriously: "Rose, in this era, you either need a gun or money to go out."
After seeing that shoeless child, I remembered this bag full of money. I thought I could use Victor's money to help this child a little.
I casually pulled out what looked like a one-dollar coin, ready to buy a newspaper.
The child couldn't fathom why anyone would spend a whole silver dollar on a newspaper, but they wanted to seize this rare chance.
Blackened little hands grabbed at my clothes, tugging my arms.
The cloak was pulled off, the qipao was rumpled, my shoe tips were scuffed black.
The bodyguards were ordered to protect me, but I shouted at them not to draw their guns or harm the children.
It was chaos.
Until my bag burst open, spilling several silver coins and sending bills flying in the wind.
That finally freed me.
Disheveled and flustered, the bodyguards helped me back to my seat in the restaurant.
In the distance, a few socialites tittered softly.
I'd made a spectacle of myself.
I recalled those time-travel dramas where the heroine shows kindness to suffering children and gains a loyal follower for life.
Instead, I'd scattered feed like a chicken farmer—and nearly got pecked.
Beyond the glass, those newspaper children, despite their hard lives, were far from weak.
Their eyes were sharp, trouser legs rolled up, bare feet racing through alleys and streets.
They rapidly scooped up all the scattered coins and bills, then scattered.
Hiding in corners, alertly waiting for the next opportunity.
These children, most in need of protection, were better adapted to this era than I, an adult from a hundred years later.
This era had its own rules.
Everything here unsettled me.
The constant discomfort of being watched by invisible eyes.
The jarring contrast of paradise and hell existing side by side.
I regretted how confidently I'd told Victor I wouldn't go back.
How long would I have to stay in a place like this?
I slumped in my chair, trying to recover. The frustration wouldn't fade.
A young woman glided over and sat down across from me: