Chương 141: A frog? Or a prince?

Or a prince?

Or a prince? Joe awoke to a blinding headache and gagged as a foul-tasting liquid was poured into his mouth.

"Ack! What was that?" he croaked, blinking rapidly as he tried to piece together where he was. A beige ceiling swam into focus above him. He shifted and noticed he was lying on a couch, or perhaps a long chair, and groaned as he pushed himself upright. His fingers brushed against dried blood along his temple, and pain flared sharply. He turned toward the person who had fed him the bitter concoction. Dances stood nearby, eyes carefully averted, her posture stiff as if she might bolt at any moment.

"What happened? Where am I?" he asked, softening his voice despite the pounding in his skull.

"You are in my front room, and you missed our first appointment," came a calm, musical reply from across the room. Joe squinted as Cere came into focus. She sat at a small desk, knitting needles paused mid-stitch. She set her work aside and rose, crossing the room with measured steps. As she did, Dances slipped away without a word, vanishing deeper into the house.

"Thank you!" Joe called after her. She hesitated for just a heartbeat, then disappeared without looking back.

"Does she not like me?" Joe asked before he could stop himself.

"Oh, don't be silly," Cere said lightly as she retrieved a damp cloth and began dabbing at the blood on his face.

"She simply does not communicate with boys. Her father is protective to the point we worry he might kill any young man who so much as looks at her." Joe felt a sudden, urgent desire to flee the village entirely. Cere laughed softly and steadied his head as she continued wiping his face, while Joe glanced around the room in wary expectation. Was this really what survival here meant? Dodging beatings, rules, and potentially murderous fathers?

"Relax," Cere said, reading his thoughts with unsettling ease.

"He rarely returns before dark. Being village chief keeps him busy."

"That's… reassuring," Joe muttered. She rinsed the bloodied cloth in a bowl of water, and Joe stared in mild horror at how much red bled out into it.

"Thank you," he said, voice rough.

"They really worked me over."

"You're welcome," Cere replied with a smile as she handed him the clean cloth and straightened.

"And I was only half joking about the missed appointment. Being beaten unconscious is a reasonable excuse." She gave him a knowing wink. Joe tried not to sigh as he finished wiping his face. When was the last time he had been beaten this badly? The question surfaced unbidden, only to be answered a heartbeat later by the memory of PJ. His jaw tightened. Where the hell was she now? He was still lost in thought when Dances reappeared, silent as a ghost. She handed her mother a small vial, then turned to leave.

This time, she glanced at Joe. Just once. There was something unreadable in her eyes, and a faint, almost shy half smile touched her lips before she vanished again.

"See," Cere said lightly.

"She likes you. Just not in the way you seem to like her. At least, according to what I've heard from Twirling." She chuckled.

"Please," Joe muttered.

"Don't believe anything Twirling tells you. She's a demon behind that smile." He shook his head. Cee raised an eyebrow.

"How many kisses has she stolen from you now?"

"How does everyone know about that?" Joe blurted. He seriously needed to hunt down whatever little birdy was spreading gossip faster than wildfire. Cere ignored him. His stomach chose that moment to churn violently. Joe groaned as he tried to suppress the rising pressure, but before he could manage it, Cere was already beside him, one hand resting against his forehead.

"Don't force it down," she said quietly.

"If your body wants to expel the excess, listen to it. You're fortunate to be alive at all." Her other hand rubbed his stomach in a slow, coaxing motion. Joe belched, loud and unmistakable, like an embarrassed child. A cloud of red vapour escaped his lips, and Cere moved like a snake. Her mouth met his, drawing the energy away in a smooth, seductive motion. This time, her lips lingered a fraction longer before she pulled back. Joe stared at her, stunned.

"Delicious," Cere whispered, smiling as she straightened and stepped away.

"That is what I ask of you. Every hour, on the hour." It took Joe several seconds to fully process that. Every hour? That meant she wanted to siphon off the excess energy regularly. He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. There were certainly worse bargains. He nodded instead, deciding silence was the wiser option. He would explain it to Corel later. Hopefully, it would not count as cheating, given he had no real choice in the matter. Besides, this was not even his body. And was Cere truly real?

Was any of this real? The questions piled quickly. It all felt real enough. That would have to be good enough for now. Joe looked up to find Cere watching him with an amused glint in her eyes.

"You would also be wise not to mention these kisses around my husband," she added lightly.

"He might kill you for that before he kills you for looking at his daughter." Joe reconsidered several life choices all at once and decided he was never setting foot in this house again. Some time later, after enduring more merciless teasing from Cere while his body finished healing. Joe found himself outside in the garden, stretching his aching limbs. To his surprise, he was almost fully recovered. The warmth pulsing from the petal in his stomach had done its work far faster than he expected.

He belched again, waved away the faint red cloud, and continued loosening his shoulders and legs. It took him a few minutes to notice he was not alone. Joe glanced up and spotted Dances watching him from an upper window. Twirling stood beside her, leaning against the frame. Both were openly observing him. He groaned and tried to ignore the pair, but that became impossible once the commentary started. Every stretch earned a remark. Every movement drew a giggle. Eventually, Joe stopped and looked up at them.

"You're not helping," he said flatly.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you that if you don't have anything nice to say, you shouldn't say anything at all?"

"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Twirling shot back.

"The best advice is usually wrapped in criticism." Joe raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed by her words despite himself, and wondered where she had picked that up. Twirling just smiled wider.

"Do the movement you used before Alvin punched your lights out," she added, miming a fist snapping toward his face. Joe sighed.

"It's called footwork," he muttered as he settled into a starting stance.

"Did I ask what it was called?" Twirling said, glancing at Dances.

"I didn't," Dances replied sweetly.

"Maybe someone hiding in the bushes asked." They both leaned forward and peered theatrically down into the garden shrubs. Joe closed his eyes for a brief moment and groaned. Before things could spiral further, he began moving. He flowed into his footwork, letting years of repetition guide him as his body traced familiar paths. His muscles protested at first, stiff and unused to the rhythm, but he pushed through it, repeating the motions again and again.

For the next thirty minutes, he drilled the patterns until sweat clung to his skin and his breathing grew heavy. When he stopped, bent slightly at the waist and caught his breath, two loud sets of applause echoed from above. Twirling vanished from the window a moment later. Seconds after that, the door opened, and she stepped into the garden to join him, her eyes bright with interest.

"Teach me," she demanded, extending her hand toward him. Joe hesitated. The fire in her gaze left little room for refusal, and after a brief pause, he took her hand. Even with his body still thrumming with borrowed strength, there was something undeniably dangerous about Twirling. He reminded himself to be careful. A stray thought crossed his mind that perhaps her brother was not the most frightening one he should be wary of.

"For now," he mumbled inwardly, "I'll survive this."

"Follow my lead," he said aloud, slipping into the calm focus of a teacher. Unsurprisingly, Twirling proved to be an exceptional student. Her movements were fluid, instinctive, almost uncanny. She mirrored his steps with near-perfect precision, absorbing each correction as if her body already understood what was being asked of it. Within twenty minutes, she could repeat a large portion of his footwork without guidance. Joe found himself enjoying the tutelage more than he expected.

Teaching someone so naturally gifted was a rare pleasure, and he soon forgot the sharp intensity that had first unsettled him. For a while, there was only motion and rhythm, teacher and student moving as one. Another five minutes passed before Cere appeared and firmly pulled him aside. One cloud-filled kiss later, Joe returned red-faced and slightly dazed to the lesson. Not long after, Twirling finally released him and dropped down onto the grass, rubbing at her feet.

Joe followed suit, sitting beside her and massaging his own sore soles. It had been far too long since he had pushed himself like this, and the ache felt earned. As they both enjoyed the moment of rest, Dances approached and sat beside Twirling, whispering into her ear.

"Bi," Twirling said sweetly, lashes fluttering, "Could you teach Dances now? She would really appreciate it." Joe nodded. Refusal was clearly not an option. The second lesson began, and to his surprise, Dances was even more gifted than Twirling. Within minutes, she was anticipating his movements, guiding him through the steps rather than following them. It was as if she could see the next motion before it happened. The only word that fit was genius.

For the next hour, Joe alternated between teaching Twirling and working with Dances, adapting constantly as both girls absorbed everything he showed them. One final cloudy kiss with Cere later, he found himself alone in the garden at last, sitting in the fading light as both young women disappeared back into the house. As Joe sat there catching his breath, a single thought refused to be ignored. This might be the perfect moment to escape. He rose quietly and crept toward the far end of the garden.

As he reached the white picket fence, he stopped short. A small, fat frog sat perched on the rail, staring up at him with unblinking eyes.

"What are you looking at?" Joe muttered, glancing back toward the house.

"There are no swans here, Mr Frog. Only ducklings." With that, he vaulted the fence and sprinted away, quickly vanishing into the distance. The frog let out a mournful croak before hopping after him and disappearing as well. Not long after, two young women emerged into the garden, greeted by the unmistakable sight of empty space.

"I told you he'd run," Twirling said triumphantly.

"I win." Dances sighed and handed her a small pouch of coins. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"Don't spend it all at once," she said, her gaze drifting toward the road Joe had taken.

"Why do you think he ran?" she asked softly.

"Is he scared of us?"

"Bi?" Twirling scoffed.

"He's rude, crude, brash, and uncouth. Handsome, yes. But scared? Never. He's always faced things head-on. Even today, acting as strange as he is, that hasn't changed." She nodded firmly.

"He's a frog." Dances sighed beside her.

"But what if there's a prince beneath that frog-like exterior?" Twirling rolled her eyes.

"You need to stop daydreaming. Princes only exist in fairy tales. He's a frog through and through." She tapped a finger against her lips, then giggled.

"Though he did taste nice." She turned and headed back inside, missing the thoughtful look on Dances's face as she wondered what Bi Luo might taste like. Elsewhere, Joe groaned as he ducked another punch and snapped his fist into Alvin's temple, dropping the boy unconscious. He barely spared the sight a glance before bolting down a side road, intent on being anywhere but there. This was the third ambush of the day, and each one had been worse than the last.

He had foolishly believed that the first brutal beating would be the end of it. He had been very wrong. Punching and his followers hounded him relentlessly for the next two hours, their numbers growing each time. He even missed two appointments with Cere, which at first he thought might be a blessing. That illusion shattered about thirty minutes earlier, when she somehow tracked him down, dragged him into a stranger's house, and siphoned another cloud of energy from his mouth.

Joe was beginning to suspect she cared far more about the petal's power than his supposed charm. Somewhere in the chaos, he forgot an important detail. That he was still trapped in the body of a teenage boy named Bi Luo. He was loath to admit that he was becoming almost completely at ease in this borrowed body. Worse, he felt disturbingly at home being a teenager. His thoughts were shifting, his tongue loosening, his jibes sharpening into something far more juvenile.

He caught himself hurling insults that belonged to another era entirely, crude barbs aimed at his attacker's mothers, siblings, and reputations, the kind only an older style youth would ever think to use. More than once, he had to physically bite his tongue as Bi Luo's instinctive urge to call Punching's mother fat surged to the surface. That alone made him deeply uncomfortable. He partially resented the body he inhabited and, in a darker moment, even wondered if Bi Luo's survival beyond this gate was a mistake.

The thought of arranging some sort of fatal accident once he left flickered briefly through his mind. He dismissed it, of course, a little embarrassed with himself. These were the subtle changes he noticed to his mind while embarking on this trial, but they weren't the only changes he noticed. He also could not deny the changes to his temporary body. After two hours of constant fighting and flight, his combat ability had sharpened noticeably.

He now fought with more confidence and cleaner technique than even Punching himself, a fact that clearly enraged the boy and only fueled his relentless pursuit. Joe did not dwell on that; he was young and hot-headed, and it was to be expected. Joe's focus remained on learning and improving his growing stamina reserves. But what truly complicated his escapades were the village guards. Their patrols had increased, and they were now actively searching for him under the polite excuse of 'questioning.'

His father had been the first to find him, quietly warning him that he was wanted and steering him away from certain streets. Joe followed the advice gladly, but it shrank his safe territory considerably. With fewer places to run, Punching and his crew found him more easily and ambushed him more often. Breathing hard, Joe slipped down a narrow alley and slowed as a familiar building came into view. Twirling's family distillery. He had noticed a pattern over the last hour.

Punching never came near this place himself. He always sent Alvin and Drogon, which usually gave Joe a crucial head start. The two boys simply did not have the stamina to keep up now. Joe tucked himself into a concealed corner near the building and rested, forcing his breathing to steady. Twenty quiet minutes passed without interruption. No footsteps. No shouting. He began to wonder if they had finally given up. The answer to his question came from an unexpected source.

"Bi Luo! Get over here!" Gretel's booming voice rang out as she stepped from the distillery and fixed him with a sharp look.

"Punching has called for a truce!" Joe scanned the area carefully before stepping out of hiding, sensing no ambush. Warily, he approached the fiery red-haired matron, bracing himself for whatever fresh disaster awaited him.

"Hi Gretel, good to see you," Joe said cautiously.

"What was that about a truce?" He did not get an answer. Gretel lunged forward and hauled him into a headlock, laughing as she dragged him bodily into the distillery. Joe grimaced but did not panic. To his own surprise, he could now track her movements with ease, his senses sharp enough now to keep up, thanks mainly to the constant flood of power still building inside him. As they crossed the threshold, he discreetly waved away a small puff of red cloud escaping his lips. Thankfully, Gretel did not seem to notice.

"A little birdy told me you taught my daughter something called footwork," Gretel said cheerfully as she dropped him into a chair beside her.

"Where did you learn something so exotic?" Joe no longer questioned how everyone seemed to know everything he did. He chalked it up to the strange logic of the gate and smiled.

"I made it up," he lied smoothly.

"I could teach you, too, if you want a lesson." Gretel laughed and flicked him on the forehead.

"Don't you have enough older women tracking you down every hour, sneaking you off to private corners?" She gave him a pointed, knowing look. Joe stiffened. No. She could not possibly know about that. He shook the thought away and chose to ignore the implication entirely.

"So…" he said quickly, "About that truce."

"I don't know how you managed it," Gretel replied, turning her attention to a row of jugs filled with a rich, fragrant brew.

"But you've pushed my son to his limits. He's never been beaten by anyone his own age before." She paused, then snorted.

"Not counting Twirling, of course. She and that Dances girl are abominations." Joe almost missed that last part as he debated asking for a sip of whatever smelled so good. The word caught up with him a second later.

"Wait," he said slowly.

"Did you just call your own daughter an abomination?"

"Yes," Gretel said without hesitation.

"That girl is a walking calamity. Even her father knows better than to provoke her. That's why I truly don't understand why you keep rejecting her." She chuckled.

"Don't you enjoy living?" Joe did not laugh. A sudden understanding hit him like a truck. He had suspected something there, beneath the surface of that fiery red head's gaze. Maybe Twirling was the real danger. Punching was nothing more than a loud, persistent nuisance. Twirling and Dances with her were something else entirely. bottomless. Unpredictable. And far more terrifying than he had been able to see before.

"Gretel. I could kiss you! Thank you for the heads up," Joe said fervently as he sprang to his feet and turned to leave. He made it exactly one step before Gretel caught his arm. The humour drained from her face, replaced by a sharp, dangerous glint.

"Did you really swallow a petal of the Flower of Power?" she asked quietly. Joe froze. The surprise hit him too hard and too fast, and he failed to hide it.

"I knew it!" Gretel crowed, a smile that eclipsed the sun spreading across her face.

"There is no other reason that minx would be keeping such a tight leash on you. Ha!" As if summoned by her words, Joe belched, his mouth filling with that dreaded red cloud. He already knew what was coming. He barely had time to brace before Gretel leaned in and pressed her lips to his, drawing the cloud from his mouth with a seductive grace. Joe relaxed despite himself, resigned to the act. A few seconds later, it was over, but not before she gave his bottom lip a cheeky lick.

Joe jumped back, bowed sharply, and fled while Gretel absorbed the last traces of energy with a satisfied smile.

"I'll see you in an hour," she laughed. Joe groaned as he ran. He had somehow acquired a second vampire. Joe did not know how, but when he checked his timer, only seven hours remained. He slipped into a small park at the northern edge of the village, an area he chose carefully. Guards patrolled nearby, still searching for him, so he sat at the edge of a wide pond that offered multiple escape routes and plenty of trees for cover. As he rested, he tried to piece together a plan. Twirling. Dances.

Two calamities he needed to avoid at all costs. Were they his biggest threat? Maybe it was one of their fathers, like Cere had warned. Though he had yet to see any sign of either of them. His thoughts were interrupted when a small boy sprinted up to him and shoved a folded letter into his hand. Before Joe could ask a single question, the boy ran off giggling. Joe stared at the letter for a moment, considering whether ignoring it might be the smarter option. Curiosity won. He opened it and read.

Dear Bi Luo, Your adventures today have not gone unnoticed. You are hereby challenged to a duel in the fading light. Meet me at the centre of the village in thirty minutes. If you do not appear at the required time, you will be hunted down and beaten until you admit your foolishness. Anonymous He blinked. Joe read it again, searching his borrowed memories for context. Nothing surfaced.

With a shrug, he crushed the letter into a ball and tossed it neatly into the nearest rubbish bin, deciding it was not worth his attention. Thirty minutes later, and after one more stolen cloud of energy by Cere. Joe stepped onto a cobbled road on the eastern side of the village. He slowed as three figures emerged from the opposite end. They were older than him, unfamiliar, and unmistakably focused on him as they began to walk his way.

Joe straightened and moved to meet them, already certain that one of them was the author of the challenge letter.

"Afternoon, ladies, how may I help you?" Joe greeted, noticing that all three were young women. They looked no older than twenty, each wearing triple braids along the left side of their heads, and a single shaved strip on the right. All three fixed him with identical scowls, as if his mere existence had personally insulted their family names.

"Bi Luo Zuo?" the girl in the middle asked. The sound of her voice triggered a memory, and Joe felt his soul wilt. Smashing. Grabbing. Throwing. Joe tilted his head back and stared at the sky.

"Uriel," he said, "we really need to talk about your naming habits."

"Answer the question, weirdo," Smashing snapped.

"Yes. I am Bi Luo," Joe sighed, rubbing his temple.

"Let me guess. I offended one of you somehow, and now you're here to exact righteous vengeance? To smite me for my foul tongue?"

"I told you he was a moron," Grabbing said with a smirk.

"And look how small he is. I really don't see what Twirling wants with such a spindly little worm."

"Now that's just rude," Joe protested.

"Accurate, perhaps, but still rude."

"Are you going to talk all day?" Throwing asked flatly, "Or can we start beating you now?"

"Could you at least tell me why?" Joe asked as he shifted into a ready stance. The three were already advancing.

"I'll take that as a no." Joe learned very quickly that these three were on a completely different level from Punching. It felt like being a lightweight boxer suddenly shoved into the ring with seasoned champions two or three weight classes higher than him. Each girl fought exactly as her name implied. Smashing came down on him like a hammer, Grabbing locked onto limbs with terrifying precision, and Throwing turned every mistake into violent momentum. Individually, he might have managed.

Together, they were overwhelming. Every time Smashing tried to drive him into the ground, Grabbing would catch him at the worst possible angle, and Throwing would finish the job by hurling him bodily into a wall, a fence, or some unfortunate bystander who had failed to move quickly enough. Joe groaned as he slammed into stone yet again, the impact rattling his teeth.

"For the love of everything," he snapped, sliding down the wall, "Could you please stop doing that?"

"Don't get caught," Throwing laughed as she lunged for him again. Joe twisted aside, but straight into Grabbing's waiting arms. She slammed him back against the wall and held him there just long enough for Smashing to leap, her elbow crashing down onto his shoulder. Pain exploded through him as something snapped. He gasped as Grabbing swung him down and tried to drive him into the ground. Remarkably, Joe rolled with the motion, turning his weight at the last instant.

He clipped Grabbing's balance, blocked a second descending strike from Smashing, and kicked both girls away in a desperate burst of movement. He had one heartbeat of freedom. Then, Throwing was there. Slender arms locked around him, and the world spun. He hit a wall again, harder this time. He rolled with the impact, bleeding off just enough force to stay conscious. He kicked off the wall, angling toward Throwing. She raised her arms to shield herself, but she was just a fraction too slow.

Joe's fist slammed into her midsection, and she folded with a sharp cry. As he frantically fought for his survival, something clicked. All three girls were using a distorted variation of the same martial pattern he had learned from Punching, reshaped to suit their individual styles. Smashing turned it into raw impact. Grabbing into control. Throwing into momentum. That understanding sparked an idea. This time, when Smashing charged him once more, he stopped retreating.

Joe surged forward instead, slipping inside her reach. She reacted, but not quite fast enough. Joe wrapped his arms around her in a tight hold, pulling her close as he turned, copying a movement Grabbing had used on him multiple times earlier. Smashing shouted in outrage as he spun her, her elbows thudding uselessly against his injured shoulder while she failed to land anything clean. Then, Grabbing struck. She came from behind, reaching to tear Smashing free. If she had gone for Joe's legs, it might have worked.

Instead, she committed too high. Joe pivoted, using momentum already built, and flipped. Smashing flew from his grasp at the worst possible angle for her, crashing into Grabbing. Both hit the ground hard, cries of pain echoing off the stone. A moment later, Throwing latched onto Joe's leg. This time, he was the one who was too slow. She yanked him off his feet and spun him, the world blurring as she whirled him like a toy. Joe fought to orient himself, to twist, to recover, but it was already too late.

A gloved fist smashed into his face. Blood filled his vision, and the world tilted violently. That was the end of the fight. Joe barely registered the impact as he hit the ground. Knees and fists rained down on him, relentless and unforgiving. The last thing he felt was the weight of all three girls piling onto him as darkness closed in and claimed him once more.