Moth Chasing the Sun 11

The Bolov family headquarters stood in Kurtzli City, across a strait from the continent where Dingyang City lay. The airship flew with its back to the rising sun, as if casting time behind it.

Her father, the late head of the Bolov family, had been a suspicious, paranoid schemer. His ambitions, like his mind, were a spring stretched to its breaking point, perpetually on the verge of snapping.

Erraticism was the true portrait of this ruler. Like the tyrants of history who toyed with human lives for sport and soothed their moods with the slaughter and screams of the arena, he was no different.

What made a madman more terrifying was when that madman held absolute power, with a will that brooked no dissent. Whomever he wished dead would never see the next day's sun.

The castle's servants were replaced nearly every month. Without even a reason, a mere trifle of displeasure would send him into a killing rage to vent his fury.

As for who was killed, that depended on who was unlucky enough to be within his line of sight at that moment.

Of course, there was another possibility: the chosen one might not meet death but instead receive a night of vigorous pleasure. After all, rage and lust often walked hand in hand, as did death and ecstasy.

Moreover, the servants' wages were generous, so despite knowing the master's volatile temper, applicants continued to flock in droves.

After all, the most painful thing in this world isn't death, but living without money or dignity. Death is but an instant; everyone dies. How to live, whether one can live—that is life's hardest question.

And besides, surely one's luck couldn't be that bad? What if I were the lucky one, becoming the master's lover? Wouldn't that be the fastest path to success? Those seeking shortcuts always harbor unnecessary delusions, and the unfortunate cling most desperately to their last shred of hope for fortune.

When they chose this path, their fate was already sealed.

Everyone lived in trembling fear under the master's tyranny, while letting their minds run wild with fantasies.

But Azbeto was a lively one, seemingly oblivious to the yoke at his neck and the sword over his head. He even said things like, "My father is the best father in the world."

He spoke with utter sincerity, radiating earnestness from within—he truly meant it.

Others thought he was putting on an act to curry favor with the master, but Lu Mingqiu knew he was genuine.

As for why, the reason was simple—one madman naturally recognizes another.

Nor was it surprising that they understood each other.

Lu Mingqiu spent a day traveling and landed still in daylight, though it was probably evening in Yan Xianchuan's timezone.

Taking the car sent to fetch her from the bustling airport, she journeyed to the outskirts, where the scenery grew increasingly desolate.

The leaves here had already turned gold, fluttering down with each gust of wind, heralding their end.

The buildings of the Jeria Dynasty were distinctly Gothic—spires piercing the clouds, dark facades, and iron gates that creaked open slowly like the maw of an abyss.

Crows circled the sky, letting out hoarse cries.

It was high noon, yet the sunlight seemed deliberately to avoid this place. The garden bushes were lush, flowers in riotous bloom, but still an inexplicable bleakness and gloom hung in the air. More than that, those splashes of bright color only made the gray despondency shrouding the ancient castle all the more stark.

As Lu Mingqiu got out of the car, a servant took her luggage to her usual room.

In the past, when she returned home, over a dozen people would greet her, fussing over her comfort with attentive service. Now there was but one.

Perhaps the somber mood was due to the old master's passing, or perhaps her status had plummeted, no longer meriting such attention.

She entered the castle, where Butler Bennett was directing the household staff in redecorating, removing all bright-colored items. Fortunately, thanks to the original decor, there hadn't been many colorful objects anyway.

Seeing Lu Mingqiu, he waved the servants off to their tasks and descended the stairs to meet her. His deeply lined face showed a trace of nostalgia. "Miss, you've returned."

This was not an appropriate place for heart-to-heart talk. Butler Bennett made a gesture of escort, leading her toward the bedrooms.

This castle, along with the hill it stood on, covered over two thousand square meters—so vast that one could race horses down the corridors.

But since the Bolov family wasn't populous, few descendants resided here. The servants and guards all had their duties, leaving many spots as hidden meeting places.

"The master passed away last night," Bennett said in a low voice. "He instructed me before bed to wake him before dinner. When I knocked on his door at the appointed time, he was already gone."

"The doctor examined him and said it was acute sudden death. There were traces of 'Dandelion'—the medicine he habitually took—on the floor, and his body had residual high amounts of the drug."

The white-haired old man let out a long sigh, not wishing to judge his master—besides, the previous head had been someone he'd watched grow up. He merely remarked, "I hope the master finds peace."

"Dandelion" was a drug that induced a euphoric sensation, as if one were a dandelion swaying freely in the sky—carefree, boundless, and free. That was the origin of its name.

This drug was not illegal in Kurtzli City. The previous head had a history of drug use, and with age, his mental state had deteriorated and his dosage had increased. His death from an overdose was hardly unexpected.

Due to the former master's controlling nature, the castle was riddled with surveillance cameras, so Butler Bennett said nothing that couldn't be spoken aloud.

Only when they reached Lu Mingqiu's bedroom did he, setting aside propriety, ask with deep concern, "Miss Inola, how... how have you been doing?"

"I'm well," Lu Mingqiu said. "A-chuan is a good person and treats me well. Rest assured."

Facing this old butler, she couldn't help but show a touched expression. Throughout her upbringing, it was Bennett, not the volatile former master, who had played the fatherly role.

His care was meticulous, his concern sincere.

The day the tragic news arrived, only he had come to check on her emotional state and comfort her.

Her biological father cared only about her reproductive capacity, not her as a person. What he cared about was her womb. As for her, she was but the vessel of that womb, an infant-rearing machine—that was her entire value as an omega.

An omega who couldn't bear children was like a refrigerator that couldn't cool, an air conditioner that couldn't blow wind, a television that couldn't display images—a complete defective product.

"Azbeto..." Lu Mingqiu trailed off hesitantly.

Butler Bennett naturally completed the sentence. "In his will, the master named Lord Azbeto to inherit the estate. As for other property distribution, he didn't specify, but the young lord said it would remain as before."

Speaking of the new head, a complex look appeared in his eyes—some worry, some melancholy, and even a hint of fear. But he said none of this to Lu Mingqiu.

Even if he voiced his concerns, what use would it be? She, too, was a pitiful soul, already overwhelmed by life's hardships and upheavals. Why burden her further?

Telling her would only add another person's fear.

"The master's body is still in the bedroom. The funeral will be held tomorrow." The butler spoke in a slow cadence. "You've traveled far. Please rest for now. I'll send someone to fetch you for dinner."

With a slight nod, he left. This stalwart old man, unbeknownst to anyone, had begun to stoop.

The bedroom was exactly as it had always been. Lu Mingqiu had spent her girlhood here, her character shaped within these walls, her life goals determined in this very room.

After graduating high school, she rarely came home.

Her fingers glided over the black-and-white piano keys, leaving a cascade of glissando. They passed over a sketchpad, a vanity, the mirror in the dance studio, and a dress form wrapped in binding.

Sunlight filtered through the gap in the curtains, and dust floated in the air. Standing amid a room filled with memories, she felt no nostalgia.

People say missing a place isn't really about the location but the experiences you had there—longing for what was and what used to be. Without those memories, even the most beautiful scenery is just a cold patch of land.

What was there to miss about this bedroom?

The ideas forced onto her? The shackled thoughts, the personality sculpted by others, the learning without self, the slow murder of individuality?

In this resplendent castle, lush as spring flowers, they killed soul after soul, turning omegas into identical dolls.

Would a prisoner love their jail cell?

Lu Mingqiu left the bedroom and climbed the stairs to see her father.

The bedroom door was wide open. She walked in. Her father lay on the bed, eyes closed, lips pressed tightly together. High cheekbones and a high nose, with the hollow between them deep enough to serve as a small artificial lake.

The body had evidently been prepared for viewing—his complexion seemed somewhat rosy, even healthier than in life. Ironic.

Several maids bowed and withdrew.

A crow landed on the windowsill, then hopped to a birdcage on the desk to drink water.

The crows in the castle were all pets her father had raised. He fed them, watered them, and took them for walks—treating them with more care than he ever did his own children.

"I knew you'd come back." A voice sounded from behind her.

Lu Mingqiu turned. A young man with short, curly blond hair lounged against the doorframe, a smirk curving his lips. His deep green eyes held undisguised interest.

"Inola, you haven't been home in ages. Work going well?" He blinked, as if sharing a secret, a crafty glint in his eyes.

"Javier," Lu Mingqiu said flatly. "Long time no see."

"Ah, our father has died. What a joyful occasion, isn't it?" The youth sighed, sounding regretful, but his words belied the tone entirely.

"A walk in the garden? Coming?"

Lu Mingqiu didn't answer, simply stepping out of the room, down the stairs, and out the door.

The sky, clear just moments ago, had suddenly gathered clouds from somewhere. Leaden gray clouds draped a hazy veil over the blue, shading the sunlight and infusing the wind with the dampness of rain.

"How's your married life?" Javier began, "Oh, Inola, don't look at me like that. As your elder brother, isn't it only natural to care about my little sister?"

He put on a thoughtful air. "Mm, let me guess. That poor fool must be wrapped around your finger."

"You didn't come here for small talk," Lu Mingqiu said, brushing past the subject.

"You're still so cold." Javier clutched his chest as if heartbroken. The next moment, he dropped his hand and snapped off an iris. "Azbeto—you've been watching him, surely."

"Our brother: a genius of a devil, an emissary risen from hell." He spoke as if reciting poetry. "In his sick mind lurk many terrifying yet exquisite ideas. Even I can't help but admire them."

He chuckled lowly, his dark green eyes harboring the shadow of an entire forest.

"You know something?" Lu Mingqiu asked.

"How would I know anything?" The young man plucked a petal and chewed it, staining his lips purple. "I'm just a poet, not a detective."

"Isn't that something for you to discover, my dear sister—the great adventurer?"

Javier, her elder brother, was evidently not of sound mind either.

He called himself a poet, yet never wrote a single verse, always wandering in search of inspiration.

He had once slept in the woods with nothing on him, claiming to commune with nature. He loved the feeling of drowning, having thrown himself into lakes more than once, only to be saved by servants at the brink of death. He despised eating, insisting food was merely the fuel necessary to keep the body running—had he not needed to stay alive to pursue his muse, he'd never waste precious time on such trivialities.

He was sensitive and neurotic, appearing and disappearing like a specter.

He had discovered Lu Mingqiu's secret.

That wasn't quite accurate. Javier knew she was a bit unusual, that his sister was not like those clay-doll omegas. Beneath her slender form simmered molten lava, which, once unleashed, could burn anyone to cinders.

Inola was extraordinary.

But he had never told anyone of his discovery.

Poets relish dramatic conflicts, chaos, and the moment humanity blooms. How could he ever reveal something so entertaining?

Beneath her delicate exterior lay cold walls of ice, haughty birds of prey, cruel serpents, and venomous spiders. How could such a person exist?

"You must know something, or you wouldn't have called me out," his sister said. "Stop being cryptic."

Javier gazed at those flawless features, at those blue eyes clearer than the sky, and even her voice—crisp as a spring, graceful as moonlight.

Perfect! What a perfect person! A miracle of nature!

Yet such a person was to be married off, to be tainted by this filthy world... Javier's expression shifted from delight to rage. His fury struck sudden as a thunderclap in a storm, as unpredictable as a bolt from the blue.

"Damn it! You damnable creature!" He cursed like a madman, kicking at the healthy irises in the flowerbed, sending leaves and petals flying through the air.

"You base beast, thief of cunning, ugly, filthy wretch, revolting, low..."

Lu Mingqiu watched his outburst with a calm expression, face betraying nothing, as if used to it. "If you have nothing to say, I'll be going."

"Don't go!" Javier suddenly called out, pleading. "Don't go, Inola."

He panted a few times on the spot. A flush of unnatural crimson rose up his gaunt face. Looking at the mess around him, his composure returned as swiftly as it had left, and he picked up the thread of their earlier conversation as though nothing had happened.

"Ah, yes. You're right—I do know something."

The young man smiled faintly and spoke softly. "I know he has a plan. A formidable, grand plan."

"That's all I know, Inola."

"My sister, the great adventurer, the great sorceress. What will you do? What will you become?"

His grin grew wider, then abruptly vanished, his expression turning serious. As if reciting a poem, he declaimed: "My deeds of renown deserve to be cast in bronze, engraved in marble, carved in wood, to endure forever."

"While these feats of mine still echo through the world, the age of happiness and the time of fortune shall also come!"

Having ample experience dealing with mental patients, Lu Mingqiu simply turned and walked away.

A plan.

She didn't doubt the accuracy of Javier's words, because he was the type to enjoy watching chaos unfold. He must have thought that revealing this to her would spark more intense conflict, and so he'd gladly let it happen.

What plan?

Lu Mingqiu took a deep breath, frowned, and sank into vacant thought.

This was hard.

Whoever could divine what went on in a madman's head must also be a madman.

Lu Mingqiu considered her own mind fairly sound, but if she constantly had to be surrounded by these lunatics, even the sanest person would start losing their grip.

At dinner, she finally met the new head—Azbeto.

His curly black hair hung past his shoulders like coiled serpents resting upon them. His eyes were deeply sunken, his nose hooked like an eagle's beak. His lips were so thin they nearly vanished. His pale gray irises reflected a marble-like detachment.

His appearance was seven or eight parts similar to the previous head. And in addition to his looks, he'd inherited his father's suspicious nature.

Of this generation, only the three of them had survived to adulthood. Yet the number of lovers residing in the castle was ten times that.

No one spoke at the table. Only the faint clinks of utensils punctuated the silence.

"The funeral is at five in the morning. Do not be late."

After finishing his meal, Azbeto said this, then rose and left.

Once he was gone, Lu Mingqiu set down her knife and fork, dabbed her mouth with her napkin, and left as well.

At the long, rectangular table, only Javier remained, slowly sipping his soup with no sign of stopping anytime soon.

Lu Mingqiu returned to her room, lost in long thought. Then she sent a message to a certain number, inquiring about changes among Federation officials.

Because the deceased Bolov head had held a second role: Minister of Justice.

With his death, the position was vacant, and someone would have to fill it.

Azbeto was not in the Justice Department. He was in the military, originally a major general. Now that he had inherited the headship, he would likely be promoted again.

No political experience was needed—the Bolov name itself was the greatest backing.

The reply came quickly.

— 【The Minister of Justice's death was sudden. Many factions covet the position, but the major general shows no interest for now. We're working at full capacity. Barring any surprises, we'll slot in our own person.】

Lu Mingqiu: 【I've heard Azbeto is planning something big—very big. But the specifics are unclear. He has no fewer than four esper bodyguards; I can't get close.】

— 【Do not act rashly. We've made good progress. This is a process; be patient. You are far more important than this piece of intelligence. Ensure your safety at all costs.】

Of course she knew her own life was paramount. But perhaps it was the gloom, the stagnant atmosphere here, that left a nagging unease in Lu Mingqiu's heart.

She trusted her instincts, her sixth sense. Her mind was incredibly sharp; something must have triggered an alarm in her subconscious.

— 【Oriole, do not act. Do you understand? We cannot afford even the slightest risk.】

Lu Mingqiu closed her eyes. 【Understood.】

Early the next morning, before the sun had risen, a knocking at the door roused Lu Mingqiu. She washed, dressed, and readied herself. Still, the sun hadn't shown its face.

The sky was a hazy blue-gray. A procession carried the coffin along a dew-laden path, through a grove of pines, until they reached a clearing.

A clearing dotted with tombstones.

Here lay the generations of the Bolov family, row upon row. The gray headstones bore their names and the manner of their deaths, like a collection of absurd death jokes.

The previous head was placed into a newly dug grave. A servant handed them shovels. Lu Mingqiu and her two brothers each took one, shoveling dirt one spade at a time, flinging it onto the coffin lid.

The process was monotonous, repetitive, and tiring, but it had to be done personally by the Bolov descendants—servants couldn't substitute.

It was said this allowed the deceased elder to feel the love of family, and love would drive away the curse that never ended.

Lu Mingqiu was a steadfast materialist. She'd never believed in such superstitious nonsense, and especially after learning the Holy Healing Church was a purely man-made creation, she believed even less.

The so-called curse was nothing more than a hereditary history of mental illness, affecting each successive head. And such oppressive, top-down pressure, passed down generation after generation, would grind even a healthy person into illness under such extreme conditions—let alone the already unstable Bolov family.

People of olden times, lacking science, attributed the inexplicable to ghosts and gods. But family was, after all, a construct maintained by feudal and backward traditions.

Lu Mingqiu shoveled dirt with a blank expression.

She didn't want to be buried here when she died. She would leave, having her ashes scattered from the cliffs, every mote of dust flying to embrace endless freedom.

TL Note:

The declamation about bronze and marble refers to Don Quixote's monologue on immortal fame I think.