Under Zhao Bai's inscrutable gaze, Otto suddenly burst into wild laughter. He spread open the ornate book emblazoned with a cross, then wrenched his hands apart. The pages fluttered like snowflakes, leaving the whole world in a vast white haze.
"Otto, why are you tearing up the Bible?"
"This is not the Bible. I have not read that thing in a long time. This is my script, watered with blood—a tragic love story crafted especially for Moonlit Embrace. It cost me a great deal of effort." Otto laughed madly, as if he had opened some kind of door.
"Huh?"
Zhao Bai could only feel bewildered.
The drifting pages were covered in tiny writing. Lord Bishop's English was as convoluted as if it had traveled through time from the fourteenth century. The instant these sheets touched the air, a miraculous chemical reaction occurred: the writing vanished, and the pages turned pure white again.
Writing it himself, yet still afraid of others reading it?
Lord Bishop, you really are a repressed old man.
Otto held up his umbrella and commented, "Your absurdist play was quite well written. It carried a deconstructivist deliberation that somehow made me an actor in it without my noticing. Brilliant. Truly brilliant."
"Your screenwriting skills surpass mine."
Mm, this was not reluctant resignation under threat. It was a reward born of Seeing Prey's Joy.
A reward from the Archbishop was something they had to accept, whether they wanted it or not—and something worth remembering for the rest of their lives.
Otto would never accept threats!
Moonlit Embrace's face grew even paler. Though broad leaves shielded her from the drizzle, she had inevitably been soaked by some rain. Her silver-white hair was no longer light and airy, and her eyes opened slightly, as though she wanted to see