3. A Melodramatic Cliché

I told Lamia about Betty’s invitation. Since last century’s melodramas often relied on such tedious misunderstandings to create conflict, I thought it better to be honest.

Lamia asked, “What does she want from you?”

I replied, “That’s what I want to know too.”

Lamia laughed, “Her book is quite entertaining—about you and Salvador vying for her attention. Haha, maybe she really likes you.”

I quickly denied, “No way. She’s just a mercenary fraud.”

Lamia pointed to her shoulder, where I was massaging her—a promising sign. Tonight might hold some potential.

She said, “I’m not worried about anything happening between you two, just don’t let Salvador see.”

I said, “What are the chances? Such tacky drama wouldn’t happen in real life. Even second-rate families don’t use that trope.”

Lamia chuckled, “Maybe third-rate ones do. Like Betty, for example.”

We chatted a bit more. Lamia gestured toward the bed—our secret signal.

Alas, I’d be leaving again in a few days, and she seemed utterly unaware of the need to cherish these moments.

Perhaps Betty’s invitation had sparked her competitive spirit, or maybe she wanted me to adopt a saintly demeanor, so I wouldn’t fall for Betty’s temptation.

The next morning, I went to the café and waited ten minutes before Betty finally arrived, fashionably late. She was made up exquisitely, looking surprisingly alluring.

But seeing her stirred anger in me. I blurted, “You’re paying today!”

Betty replied, “Naturally. How’s Lamia recently?”

I said, “Of course, she’s fine.”

Betty asked, “And Salvador?”

I snapped, “You still have the nerve to ask? Didn’t you run off with that colonel lovingly?”

Betty sighed, “That was only temporary, Lucian... The colonel is favored by Lady Tiphon. He’s undergoing training, hoping to get licensed as one of the Bloodline.”

I felt a bit smug but kept my expression neutral and asked, “Do you regret it?”

Betty said, “No, I never liked him. I only used his connections in publishing. I’ve always dreamed of becoming a House member—I must seize this era’s opportunities.”

The Black Coffin was a time of rebuilding; every industry had promise. She was right—in such harsh times, a book, a song, or an opera could deeply uplift spirits and become legendary.

I scolded, “But you’re exploiting Salvador’s and my names, using our achievements to gild your own reputation!”

Betty lit a cigarette and offered it to me. I shook my head. She inhaled and said, “I’ve heard rumors that you... helped the new governor ascend to power, is that true?”

I said, “So what if I did?”

Betty sighed, “No wonder everyone praises you as Black Coffin's hero. The papers keep highlighting your deeds. You’ve become a celebrity, a trailblazer, the protector of humanity.”

I was surprised and pleased—never realized my reputation had reached such heights.

Betty said, “You must be busy these days. If you had time to stroll through the middle district, you’d see people everywhere talking about you.”

I was so excited I felt like having a heart attack, pinching my thigh to keep from laughing aloud.

Betty continued, “I talked with an editor at the publishing house. They want me to ride the momentum of my last book. I plan to write a detective series featuring Fishbone Longinus as the protagonist, mainly based on you, revealing your secret trials in pioneering. But I need first-hand material—your personal experiences. You’re no longer a ranger, so you’re not bound by confidentiality anymore, right?”

I composed myself and said, “Why should I cooperate with you?”

Betty said, “For every book published, I’ll give you thirty percent of the profits. Here’s the proceeds from the last one.” She handed me a thick envelope, the gold coins inside glittering—at least two hundred thousand in gold.

I said, “You’re too generous. We’re close; do you think I’m that greedy?” Then I called the waiter, “Bring this young lady the biggest milkshake—the most expensive one—on my tab.”

Strangely, the envelope disappeared. Even stranger, it ended up in my pocket. This world is truly bizarre.

Betty smiled, “I like your straightforwardness.” She gave me an agreement to read. “It basically says you’ll give me exclusive confidential information. Whatever I ask, you must answer truthfully and not share with any other writer—or you’ll pay double the penalty.”

I said, “Are you sure? Some secrets could get people killed. Do you know why I was in jail recently? Because I saw things I shouldn’t have.”

Betty bit her lip. “I’ll be careful. From now on, we’ll meet quietly, keeping our agreement secret. And you, try not to tell me anything too dangerous.”

I said, “Once you have money, hire the best bodyguards and live somewhere secure.”

Betty said, “Thanks for the advice.” We agreed on a secret meeting signal. Suddenly, she whispered in my ear, “Tell Salvador to forget me. I don’t need him to support me—I can support myself.”

We shook hands, and she hurried off.

I looked up, laughed a few times, then turned to see Salvador standing far away, his expression as if witnessing a minotaur in person.

What kind of ridiculous development was this?

I walked toward Salvador; he turned and started to leave quickly, using the Shadowstep. I became a shadow and grabbed his arm instantly. He stopped—good, still under control, at least no brawl over Betty like with her.

I said, “Nothing’s going on between me and her.”

Such a cliché line, but what else could I say? Sorry?

Salvador smiled bitterly, “Then why did you see her?”

Should I tell him about the secret agreement? Maybe I could tell Lamia, but not Salvador. He’s a powder keg now, obsessed with Betty, and would surely use the agreement to try to win her back. That would be a real mess.

I said, “I threatened to sue her for defamation. She agreed to pay compensation.” I showed him the envelope.

Salvador sighed with relief. “She’s pitiful too. Since childhood, she’s wanted to make a name for herself more than anyone.” After a pause, he added, “She’s a lot like you.”

I said, “Stop reading too much into it.”

Salvador said, “I wanted to find you, but you weren’t home. I came by the mansion to look for you, so I passed this shop.” His voice and head lowered, then suddenly raised, “I’m not stalking you.”

I said, “Don’t worry. If you were, I’d have noticed.”

Salvador said, “I’m here to tell you I’m leaving Black Coffin.”

I felt as if I had fallen into a fog. “What? You’re leaving? Where else can you go after leaving Black Coffin? I won’t agree, and neither will your sister.”

Salvador said, “When Brother Milce was here, I asked to train at the Sword and Shield Society. He promised to inquire for me. Yesterday, I got the reply—a count there is willing to take me as a disciple. I’ll start from the basics. The rangers agreed to let me go temporarily.”

I said, “The skills at the Sword and Shield Society, Master Helsing can teach you all that. Does it matter where you learn?”

Salvador’s voice trembled, “I just... want to leave here, get far from Betty. I want to climb up on my own, to recover little by little. I’m tired—your sister cares for me deeply, and you worry over me like I’m a baby. I just want to go out and make my own way in a strange place... to realize my own worth.”

I was silent for a moment. Deep down, I agreed. He was right—like me in the No-Water Village, even like Betty, all of us wanted to leave the paths others laid, leave those we once longed for, to venture out, to explore, to chase dreams.

I said, “The underdog story?”

Salvador asked, “What... underdog story?”

I said, “You arrive at an unfamiliar sect, face disdain and bullying from seniors, your foundation is weak, you learn slowly, and the masters reprimand you harshly. But one senior brother and sister show you kindness, giving you a little warmth.”

Salvador said, “Brother-in-law, are you making this up? That sounds rough.”

I continued, “Then, a master secretly teaches you martial arts at night, urging you to keep quiet. Afterwards, the sect’s leadership is murdered; you’re framed and punished. Even those who were kind don’t believe you. You fight back, injure a high-ranking official with advanced techniques, flee in haste, wandering the world. Finally, the truth is revealed— the sect leader is actually your father, your mother a female demon. Your origin straddles good and evil, destined for a lifetime of turmoil...”

Salvador seemed dizzy. “What is all this?”

I said, “The protagonist’s template.”

Salvador said, “What protagonist? My parents are ordinary people, and the Sword and Shield Society’s leader can’t be my father.”

I sighed, “Normally, the plot wouldn’t be so clichéd, but things are unfolding a bit too predictably. You’ve fallen into the ‘broken engagement’ trope, so you shouldn’t mind borrowing the ‘underdog’ flow.”

Salvador stared at me for a while. “Brother-in-law, you’re a little abnormal.”

I laughed heartily, rummaged at my waist, and took out two daggers I often use, saying, “These blades are soaked with venom from many poisonous snakes, permanently laced with lethal poison. Even a red demon would die quickly from it. You might not need them, but if you ever face real danger, they could save your life.”

Salvador cried like a child. “Brother-in-law, I’ll miss you and sister.”

I said, “We feel the same.” After a pause, I added, “Don’t forget to ask the Sword and Shield Society’s leader if he’s really your father.”

Salvador said, “I’d never ask.”

I laughed, “Then just assume he is. Good luck making your way there better than I did.”

Salvador said no more. He carefully put the daggers away and left resolutely.