Chapter 71

Chapter 71

Getting the better of Ludwig was no easy feat. Perhaps sensing Eve's cunning and unpredictability, the family's in-house alchemist had barely left when Ludwig forcibly made her draft the contract on the spot.

For the paper contract, both parties met halfway: the term was reduced from three years to one, and they affixed their signatures. However, regarding the alchemical pact, Eve adamantly refused annual renewals. Ludwig conceded to monthly signings, provided she personally transcribed all copies and kept this arrangement secret from everyone, including the family head and Mrs. Luo.

"So, is this what you'd call a shadow contract?" Eve asked, flexing her wrist, which was a little sore from writing. "One for show, one behind the scenes. It seems your Oliver family isn't so proper after all."

She recalled Ludwig's recent disparagement of the Medicis' lack of decorum—not out of loyalty, but from a genuine belief that all crows are equally black.

"..."

What was the difference between this and deliberately provoking him? Ludwig resolved not to fall for her tricks again.

Besides, signing a contract every month was troublesome enough, but he certainly wouldn't present a stack of a dozen contracts to HR; his subordinates would surely think he'd lost his mind.

He couldn't afford such embarrassment.

Once the paper contract was signed, Ludwig collected it, intending to hand it to the steward for safekeeping later. He then organized the stack of alchemical pacts, set a monthly renewal date with Eve, and promptly ushered her out.

"So easily ruffled, and I thought he was some formidable character."

Leaning against the door, Eve stretched languidly, completely unperturbed.

She remembered her earlier arrangement with Lorca. She had expected to finish everything that afternoon, but it had dragged on until after dinner, with Ludwig prolonging the contract negotiations.

Now, with the contract signed, she had finally completed all the preliminary procedures.

The Oliver family's ancient castle, a quintessential Gothic structure, was characterized by its ubiquitous bridges and corridors. Under the night sky, these dark-gray stone pillars stood scattered like silent specters, with pale moonlight filtering through their crevices.

The journey back involved several corridors. Just beyond lay the silently swirling air, while in the distance, the artificial moon, forests, and soaring birds collectively painted the nocturnal landscape of this domain.

Moonlight draped over Eve’s shoulders like a thin veil. Her gaze swept briefly across the tranquil peaks and spires before she turned and calmly ascended the stairs.

Lorca’s door was quietly ajar, neither locked nor fully closed.

Eve was unaware of this. She had merely intended to knock, but as her bent knuckles barely brushed the dark door, it swung silently inward. Simultaneously, a "whoosh" sound echoed—the fully automated bathroom, sensitive to its owner's approach, slid open automatically. Thus, the two found themselves abruptly face-to-face.

Lorca wore only a loose, mid-length bathrobe, his damp, long hair coiled up with a pearl clasp, revealing a handsome face still flushed from his bath. The V-neck exposed a considerable portion of his chest, and his physique, defined by his bone structure, was surprisingly well-proportioned.

Eve’s gaze instinctively drifted over that pale, marble-like chest, and then she watched as a faint blush slowly spread across that pristine skin.

"......"

Eve was the first to recover. She cleared her throat awkwardly, quickly averted her eyes, and turned her back to the damp-haired young man. "Sorry, the door wasn't properly closed. I didn't realize you were bathing..."

Lorca remained silent, likely quite startled, as Eve heard a flurry of hurried footsteps before the bathroom door closed again.

After a considerable pause, she heard the young man's feigned calm voice, its tail end still trembling slightly: "It's fine now, you can turn around."

Eve complied.

Perhaps having never experienced such a situation, Lorca, despite attempting to maintain his usual composure, couldn't conceal the lingering blush on his face. He hastily half-dried his hair and changed into a neater, more presentable nightshirt before reappearing.

Eve had initially suspected he might have intentionally left the door open, but seeing his flustered demeanor, she dismissed the thought.

She had no particular interest in the human body, and encountering such a scene of a beauty emerging from a bath merely made her feel a little awkward. However, Lorca seemed deeply shaken, his responses noticeably slower than usual.

Eve pondered, concluding it was likely due to his limited social interaction; being caught off guard in such a state naturally left him stunned.

Lorca retrieved two glasses from the room's minibar, poured water, and placed one before Eve. She glanced at his still-damp black hair, which clung to his neck like a sticky serpent, and asked, "Shouldn't you dry your hair properly? Wet hair can cause headaches."

"No need—what did you come here for tonight?"

To deliver medicine. Eve instinctively reached into her pocket, only to find it empty. She then remembered that she had rushed straight to Lorca's after finishing her tasks, without even having time to prepare the potion. Her expression froze: "I forgot the medicine."

"Then let's do the check-up first. You said you weren't feeling well this morning," she said, not dwelling on it for long. She sat down and beckoned Lorca over, adding, "Besides, the potion you're taking might need adjustments."

"What kind of adjustments?"

"Well, I discussed it with another High Alchemist. We think the potion's potency might be harming your body, so we're switching to an external inscription approach."

She paused mid-sentence, seemingly recalling Lorca’s earlier embarrassment, and turned away—only to meet his calm green eyes, which seemed to see right through her verbal pretense.

"So what needs to be done?"

Eve averted her gaze. "Just... using potion to write on your skin. I'm your Chief Alchemist, so there's no need to feel embarrassed around me."

Lorca’s expression shifted from surprise to something peculiar, even subtly suggestive. Unable to bear the change in his eyes and unsure where his thoughts had wandered, she pressed her fingers lightning-fast against the young man’s forehead. With a soft thud, his warm body went limp in Eve’s waiting arms.

She looked down to see the black-haired young man with his eyes closed, fallen into a deep sleep.

"Whew," Eve sighed in relief. A wave of embarrassment washed over her but quickly passed. Without further delay, she deftly channeled her mental energy into Lorca’s mind.

With each use of this mental control technique, Eve felt her mastery over mental energy improving significantly.

Her mental energy acted like a small searchlight, thoroughly scanning every part of Lorca’s body. Aside from his existing poisoning, she found no other abnormalities. To avoid any oversight, she double-checked meticulously—indeed, nothing seemed amiss.

Alright, now Eve understood: he had most likely been faking illness earlier.

"What were you trying to achieve by pretending to be sick?" Puzzled, she gave Lorca’s forehead a light flick, unable to fathom what went through his mind sometimes.

The handsome young man remained completely unaware, still resting quietly on her lap. His still-damp black hair had soaked a small dark patch on the thin fabric of his sleepwear at the nape of his neck.

Eve murmured to herself, "Such an incomprehensible little viper."

A rustling sound came from her sleeve, followed by a red-striped black creature slithering out—it was the Wall-Imprisoned Serpent, finally awake after pretending to be dead. It likely thought the "little viper" remark was directed at it and flickered its forked tongue, hissing twice ingratiatingly.

Eve ignored it. She touched Lorca’s damp hair, slightly concerned that her delicate employer might have made himself unwell again—which would ultimately become her responsibility.

She got up and fetched a handheld dryer from the bathroom. Shaped like a comb, it emitted a gentle stream of warm air from its slots when switched on.

Her slender fingers casually combed through the smooth black hair. Even under the warm airflow, his hair remained cool to the touch, making Eve unable to resist stroking it a few more times. Her mask hid her expression, but inwardly she admitted the texture was pleasant.

The efficiency of Interstellar Era technology exceeded expectations. From preheating to completely drying his hair, the entire process took just two minutes. As she put the device away, a faint doubt arose in Eve’s mind:

It didn't take long to dry at all. Why had he come out with wet hair earlier then?

She grew increasingly convinced of Lorca’s inscrutable nature. As she returned the handheld dryer to the bathroom, another thought suddenly struck her:

—Was it possible Lorca had done it on purpose?

It wasn’t impossible. He had faked illness during the day, and now he deliberately came out with wet hair at night—consistent with his usual behavior.

But what could his goal be?

Eve turned back, studying thoughtfully at the peacefully sleeping black-haired young man.

The warm, orange-tinged light had been deliberately dimmed. When Lorca awoke, his mind felt clearer than ever, and the headaches that plagued him daily had completely vanished.

He lay on the couch, savoring a rare moment of tranquility, then turned his head and happened to meet the gaze of Eve, who had been observing him all along.

The room was bathed in a soft, dim light, and the gentle glow cast upon the blank silver mask seemed to make the lifeless object appear almost warm.

Lorca knew it wasn't just his imagination, for the person beneath the mask was far gentler and warmer than this artificial light could ever be.

His heart softened, and he lowered his voice, asking tenderly, "Why are you staring at me like that?"

Eve’s gaze was complex. Deep down, she hated to believe that someone like Lorca would resort to self-harm to gain others’ concern. But considering his past experiences—how he had received extra care due to his illness—she couldn’t help but feel it was somewhat understandable for him to think this way.

After a moment of silence, she reluctantly replied, "It’s nothing. I just thought of something suddenly."

"What is it?"

"I was wondering what plans you have after you recover."

Lorca’s eyes widened in surprise, as if stumped by the question. A rare trace of confusion clouded his beautiful green eyes. After a long, thoughtful pause, he slowly said, "I don’t know either."

"Do you have any skills or hobbies?"

The young man was still lying on Eve’s lap, his long, curly hair loosely spread down. She twirled his hair between her fingers, looking down as she asked, "Haven’t you ever thought about the future? Life isn’t something to just drift through aimlessly."

She was well aware that Lorca suffered not only from physical illness but likely from mental struggles as well.

"It’s really hard to imagine, since I never thought I’d have a day when I could recover my health." Lorca covered his face with his hand, squinting through his fingers at the dim light of the overhead lamp.

He remained in that position for a long time before slowly saying, "If my body can get better…"

Eve looked down, meeting his gaze with encouragement. She felt almost like some strange deity, waiting for a helpless human to make a wish, fulfill it, and claim their faith in return.

"I’m not telling you." A smile crept into the corners of his eyes and brows. Lorca drawled his words, only to deliberately switch gears at the last moment, slyly adding, "Plans are like wishes—they lose their power once spoken aloud. So I’ll keep it a secret."

After waiting for what felt like ages, only to be met with such a tantalizing answer, Eve shot an exasperated glance at the suddenly childish Lorca. She helped him up, tucked him back into bed, and said curtly, "If you have nothing to do, go to sleep early."

Was it fun to tease people for no reason?

Buried in the soft blankets with only his face visible, Lorca looked utterly innocent. He blinked and asked, "Are you angry?"

"No." She wasn’t that petty.

"Sorry," he said, though his expression showed not a hint of apology.

He shifted slightly and suddenly brought up another topic: "There are two months left until the New Year. By then, the capital planet will be full of social balls, and the grandest of them all will be the royal New Year’s Glory Ball. Everyone of importance on the capital planet will be there—would you like to go?"

Eve pondered his words for a moment. The royal family… two important characters from the original story would likely appear: the male lead, the Crown Prince, and the antagonist, the Empire’s Fourth Princess.

Instead of answering directly, she asked, "Will Alice be there?"

"You’ll have to ask my brother about that."

Which likely meant yes. Eve nodded. "If she goes, I’ll go."

Wherever the female lead went, she would follow, determined to control any potential problems at their source.

She had a rough idea of what Lorca was worried about. As the eldest son of the Oliver Family, he would undoubtedly be expected to attend such a high-ranking royal banquet.

He was probably concerned she might cause a scene at the event.

With two months to go, Eve calculated that it would be enough time to complete the second phase of his treatment: toxin removal. She gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze. "Don’t worry. Two months is plenty of time for me to help you make a complete recovery. Cooperate with me, and I won’t let you embarrass yourself at the ball."

"Ah, no, that’s not what I’m worried about. I trust you."

Lorca pursed his lips shyly, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth. He gazed intently at Eve, half expectant and half timid, as he asked, "If you do go… may I invite you to be my dance partner?"

"Huh?"

Eve stared at him blankly for a long moment before saying, "I don’t know how to dance."

She truly didn’t—not even a little. Before transmigrating, she had been busy with studies and work. Aside from learning a bit of drawing for her job, she had never cultivated any artistic skills. After transmigrating, she had even more to do. She had studied various profound subjects but never those elegant arts that adorned noble society.

…Eve almost felt like she was capable of anything, yet somehow, this guy had managed to pinpoint her weakness.

Whether it was her imagination or not, Lorca seemed even happier after hearing she couldn’t dance.

He hid most of his face under the blankets, leaving only his smiling, crescent eyes visible, and whispered, "It’s alright. I’m very good at these things. I can teach you."

"……" Eve said nothing, but her eyes were full of doubt.

From what she recalled, dancing seemed like a physically demanding activity. Given his current condition, she was skeptical about his claimed proficiency.

As if guessing her thoughts from her expression, Lorca’s voice grew even softer, so light it seemed it might dissipate with a breath of wind.

"My memory is excellent. I can perfectly remember any dance move after seeing it just once. So I’ve mastered all those flashy social skills quite well."

His words were gentle, slow, almost pleading: "Let me teach you. I just want to do something that proves my worth."

He sounded so pitiful that Eve’s eyes flickered with hesitation.

She felt that Lorca’s eagerness to teach her to dance was, at its core, a psychological need to validate himself—he needed to do something within his capabilities to convince himself that he had value.

"Alright," Eve finally relented. "If you can really teach me to dance, and you don’t feel embarrassed inviting a nobody as your dance partner, then I’ll agree."

Although she still felt there was no real need to learn such a thing, out of a healer’s compassion, she ultimately granted Lorca’s wish.