novellhall Chapter 3: Blessed by Three Dragons
Chapter 3: Blessed by Three Dragons
Evan leaned against the cupboard, panting heavily, his mouth and chin covered in crumbs of brown sugar.
What are you doing?
An impatient female voice sounded from behind, with a heavy nasal tone and a smell of cheap perfume mixed with tobacco.
Ivan looked up.
A woman stood at the kitchen doorway, one hand lifting the floral curtain, the other holding a cigarette.
She was wearing a cheap nightgown with the neckline cut off to her sternum; the fabric was so thin that the outline of her dark slip underneath was visible.
Her makeup was heavy and vibrant, but her eyeliner had smudged, leaving two black streaks at the corners of her eyes.
The rouge on her lips was also patchy and uneven, as if someone had smeared it on.
She tilted her head to look at Evan, who was sitting on the ground looking disheveled. There was no concern in her eyes, only naked disgust and meanness.
Smoke billowed from her lips, which were painted with cheap lipstick, and swirled lazily in the dim light of the kerosene lamp.
Ivan leaned against the cupboard to stand up, brushing the dust off his pants: "Didn't I say no smoking in my house?"
The woman sneered and flicked her cigarette ash onto the ground: "I told you not to interfere with my evening clientele."
She took a step forward, the hem of her robe brushing against the doorframe, her tone carrying a deliberate sarcasm:
"Your flustered state just now scared my customer to death. I'm already being kind by not making you pay compensation."
Ivan's face turned cold.
But he did nothing.
Because he knew very well that, given the current state of his body, he might not even be able to defeat this woman.
Mary. A very common name.
Irish immigrants, their accents were so thick it sounded like they had a piece of wet peat in their mouths.
Her profession was prostitute, and her workplace was the rented room next to his.
When Evan was so destitute, he considered finding a tenant to alleviate his financial burden.
He posted a handwritten "For Rent" sign on the grocery store's notice board.
Then the plague god came knocking.
The man who brought Mary to see the house was a short, stocky man named Zack, the leader of the Gus gang who collected protection money in this neighborhood.
He has a distorted snake tattooed on his neck, and he likes to twirl a switchblade between his fingers when he talks.
He stood in the doorway, grinning, and patted Ivan on the shoulder so hard that Ivan stumbled, saying:
"This is my friend. He'll be living here from now on. It'll be two dollars a week. We can waive the deposit."
Ivan had no right to refuse.
In this neighborhood, the words of the Gus gang are law, a million times more effective than the city hall's regulations.
The rent was paid on time for the first few weeks.
Two dollars. Every Monday evening, Mary would throw the money on the table and walk away without looking back.
But later, as Ivan's body grew weaker day by day and his complexion became more and more ashen, the woman began to renege on her debts.
First they would delay it for a day, then for two days, and then they simply stopped mentioning it altogether.
Evan could clearly sense what the woman was waiting for.
She was waiting for him to die.
Once he passes away, the apartment can be transferred to her name through the Gus gang's channels.
In this neighborhood, the house left behind by a poor student who died is so desolate that not even a fly would utter a sound in his defense.
Starting about two weeks ago, Mary became increasingly outrageous.
She brought all sorts of men home, and in the dead of night, the sound of a bed hitting the wall and rough laughter and cursing could be heard from next door.
He smoked in the living room, and cigarette ash was scattered everywhere.
He drank alcohol and left the empty bottle in the hallway. When Evan got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, he almost tripped and broke his neck.
Ivan was furious.
But anger is worthless in the face of absolute weakness.
He silently stood up from the ground, lowered his head, and muttered, "I'm sorry."
He then put the tin can back in the cupboard and turned to leave the kitchen.
First, pretend to be sweet, then trick her.
He's probably too weak to even beat this woman, let alone the Zach and Gus gang behind her.
He needs time and to build up his strength.
Mary gave a cold laugh behind him and said nothing more.
The floral curtain swayed twice as she turned around, and then the sound of a faucet being turned on came from the direction of the kitchen, the rushing water mixed with a tuned Irish humming off-key.
Ivan walked silently down the corridor back to the master bedroom where his parents had once lived.
The room is small; a double bed with a metal frame takes up most of the space, leaving only enough room for a table and a chair.
There was a picture frame hanging on the wall, with a broken corner of the glass. Inside was a family photo, which had yellowed and the faces of the three people were blurry under the kerosene lamp.
He sat back down in the wooden chair, which groaned familiarly under his weight.
"It seems the most urgent thing now is to deal with this stinky woman."
Ivan's eyes gleamed with a cold, deep light in the dim light.
He suppressed the thought for the moment and turned his gaze back to the remaining medicine bottles on the table.
After dealing with the side effects of the Night Demon Potion, there were still two things waiting for him.
Both of these are leftovers from previous drug trials.
This medication comes from a project at Bolton Children's Hospital.
The contract stated the purpose as "treatment of epilepsy, insomnia, and anxiety symptoms." When he signed it, the young doctor wearing gold-rimmed glasses smiled and said, "The side effects are very mild, so don't worry."
But after Evan ate it, he felt like his brain had been filled with molten lead.
He was drowsy, dizzy, and unsteady on his feet; he nearly fell down the stairs twice.
After taking it for two weeks, more serious symptoms appeared: memory began to decline, and the professor would forget what he said in class as soon as he turned his head;
His reactions became sluggish; it took two or three times for him to respond when someone called his name.
His mood remained low, as if a damp, cold gray cloth was covering his head, making him unable to muster any energy for anything.
"This thing mainly works on the mental level, let's give it a try."
Evan picked up two pale yellow pills, popped them into his mouth, and swallowed them dry with the remaining saliva.
The pill got stuck in his throat and he had to tilt his head back and swallow hard twice before it went down.
You have ingested an incomplete dose of phenobarbital. Effect lasts: 8 hours.
[Effects: Sedative effect and improved sleep quality within 4 hours.]
[Did you reverse the side effects?]
"Reversal".
You reversed the unfinished phenobarbital side effects.
Your memory has improved, and your mental strength has been permanently increased by 0.001.
Your reaction speed has improved, and your mental strength has been permanently increased by 0.001.
Your concentration increases by 300% within 4 hours after a good night's sleep.
"As expected, the attribute increases from ordinary medicines and magical potions are not on the same level."
Evan sighed, and immediately felt his eyes grow heavy.
The medicine took effect faster than expected.
I don't know if it's because of the panel, but those two phenobarbital pills were catalyzed by the magic potion.
Ivan immediately felt his eyelids begin to grow heavy, and a gentle yet irresistible drowsiness spread from the back of his head, washing over the edge of his consciousness like a tide.
Sleepiness was like a giant hand, pressing him down without warning.
He stood up from the chair, swayed a couple of times, and then turned and collapsed onto the old iron-framed double bed.
He hastily pulled the old, lint-covered blanket over himself; the blanket had an indelible smell of camphor and mildew.
The moment my head hit the pillow, it felt like my consciousness had been turned off.
dark.
Complete, whole, dreamless darkness.
……
I don't know how much time has passed.
Ivan suddenly opened his eyes.
It was still dark.
The last vestiges of the streetlights' dim yellow light shone through the gaps in the curtains.
But his eyes were unusually clear, and his pupils quickly adjusted their focus in the darkness.
He felt refreshed and energetic.
A genuine clarity that seeps through the very bones.
The brain felt like it had been rinsed with ice water, and every neural synapse was firing at high efficiency.
Even if you include all twenty-nine years of Ivan's life on Earth, he hasn't had such a good night's sleep in a very, very long time.
That feeling is like waking up naturally on the first morning of summer vacation when I was a child, with the sunlight shining on my face, and the whole world feeling new.
"You chicken~!"
He sat up abruptly in bed, and the bed springs made a strange noise.
On the bedside table sat an inexpensive brass clock, the numbers on its dial barely legible in the darkness.
The hour hand points to three, and the minute hand points to twelve.
It was exactly 3:00 AM.
"I slept...for four hours?"
"But why do I feel so refreshed all over, as if I've been given a sudden enlightenment!"
"Does that mean those four hours were all deep sleep?"
He sat on the edge of the bed, his bare feet on the cold wooden floor, feeling every signal coming from his body.
My heartbeat is steady, my breathing is smooth, and although my limbs are still thin, the feeling of weakness that I feel like I could fall apart at any moment has lessened considerably.
Bolton finally quieted down at three in the morning.
The November weather made many of the noisy things of summer disappear.
The gang members went back to their hideout, and the homeless man sank into a drunken stupor in some corner.
The whole world seemed to have been muted.
But in the silence, Ivan discovered that he could hear sounds he had never noticed before.
At the base of the wall, rats were digging in the soil with their claws, and the soft scraping sound was like someone sanding something with sandpaper.
In the living room, the wooden frame of the canvas sofa contracted slightly due to the temperature difference at night, emitting an occasional crisp creak.
Outside the window, an empty tin can was being pushed by the wind across the cobblestone pavement, clattering and rolling further and further away until it finally came to a stop after hitting something.
Every sound was crystal clear, as if someone had turned up the volume knob in his ear by two notches.
More importantly, it improves focus.
Ivan realized this, and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.
Then he looked at the status panel on his retina.
[Mercury pill: Digestion in progress, syphilis rash slowly subsiding, 2 hours remaining.]
[Phenobarbital: In effect, concentration improved by 300%, 4 hours remaining.]
[Night Demon Potion: Digesting, Constitution +0.2, 8 hours remaining.]
[Side effects reversed, complete!]