This time, it was Islam who fell before his very eyes.
“Isri…” Ceshir was startled when he spoke, his voice hoarse and unpleasant.
Scenes before my eyes overlapped with the shimmering water, slipped from the corners of my eyes, fell into the crimson roses on the ground, and vanished into nothingness.
Chapter Fourteen
Isri did not respond and just lay there on the cold ground. The madman was shot in the head by the police officer, and Philip was also taken into the car.
The officer looked at Isri, who was lying on the ground, pale and barely breathing, shook his head helplessly, and walked over to gently pat Cecil on the shoulder.
My condolences...
In the silent open space, the stench of blood relentlessly assaulted Ceshir's mind. Ceshir trembled violently, his knees buckling as he crouched down in front of Isri.
“Isri?” Ceshir called out, his fingertips almost numb from the cold.
He was afraid, terrified. He was afraid of blood, afraid of death, but this was Islam, the one who had shielded him from a bullet, and he couldn't run away.
When the fingertips gently touched the side of Isri's face, his porcelain-like face finally stirred.
Isri's brow twitched slightly, his long eyelashes fluttered, and his bloodless lips opened and closed: "I'm sorry, young master, I startled you."
As he spoke, Isri finally opened his eyes completely, the color of his pupils almost completely faded.
"Young master, please stay away from me." Isri spoke again.
Upon hearing Isri's words, Sehir stood up and took two steps back.
Seeing this, Isri smiled slightly and chuckled to himself as he slowly sat up, supporting himself with one hand on the ground.
Young master is so cute.
Isri removed his blood-stained white gloves and threw them on the ground, then turned to look at his wound.
Fortunately, only his shoulder was pierced by the bullet, and no bone was broken. When Islam moved his arm, the excruciating pain made him shudder.
Unable to contain his annoyance, Isri clicked his tongue. If that madman were still alive, he'd probably be a corpse by now.
My arm is injured, what a pity... I can't hold the young master anymore.
Upon seeing Isri stand up, Cehir wanted to step forward, but Isri stopped him.
“Young Master, please don’t come any closer, it’s dirty here.” Isri said, “Young Master, I’m so sorry, you’ll have to get in the car by yourself today.”
Islam tried to bow, but his right arm was too injured to lift.
"I understand. Go treat your wound first." Cecil said, then turned and walked outside.
He was being tortured to the point of madness; the bright red blood stung his eyes terribly, and his nasal cavity was filled with that utterly disgusting smell.
This time, Isri consciously kept a distance of three meters from Ceshir. He felt unworthy to stand beside the young master; he was too filthy.
After Ceshir got into the carriage and closed the windows, Isri then got in and sat in the front to drive the carriage.
They thought they would go straight to the hospital, but the route became more and more familiar. Finally, Cecil knocked on the window and asked, "Aren't you going to get bandaged up?"
Isri instinctively moved to the side, his voice so soft it seemed a gust of wind could dissipate it: "No need, young master, I'll bandage myself when I get home."
Sehir did not force Isri to comply; after receiving the answer, he sat in the back without saying a word.
The carriage quickly stopped at the entrance of the mansion. Isri got off the carriage first, walked a little further away, and then signaled to Sehir.
Sure enough, after getting off the bus, all that remained was a faint smell of blood from the seat in front of him, but it was much better. Cecil just frowned slightly and didn't say anything.
However, as he passed by Isri, Cesil opened his lips and said, "Remember to bandage it, don't let it get infected."
Isri smiled and said, "I understand, young master."
After Ceshir entered the room, Isri dragged himself back to his little attic. Sunlight streamed in through the window, dappling the bed, but it didn't attract Isri's attention at all.
Isri removed his butler's uniform, revealing a clean, white upper body with only a glaring bullet hole and some faint scars on his back.
Sehir had asked, but Isri remained silent about the past, as if he had come from hell.
Islam sat on the edge of the bed, brushed the stray hairs from his neck to one side, tore off a wad of gauze, stuffed it into his mouth, and bit down hard.
Isri took a brown bottle out of the box, and as soon as the cap was opened, the whole room was filled with a strong smell of alcohol.
He gasped, biting down on the gauze in his mouth again. With a few muffled groans, white liquid mixed with blood slid down his chest and dripped onto the floor.
The bullet burn wound resembled a blooming rose on the shoulder, its red color dazzling, while the flowing blood, like thorns, coiled around the chest, creating a striking beauty.
After the wound was treated, Islam's forehead was soaked with sweat, a few strands of hair were stuck to it, and his eyelashes were trembling violently.
Islam exhaled a breath of stale air and wrapped the gauze around and around, finally tying a perfect knot.
The clothes he was wearing were beyond repair. Isri got up, pulled a set of clothes out of the closet, and hurriedly put them on, even buttoning the shirt wrong several times.
It was getting late, lunchtime. Islam frowned, and without even putting on his coat, he tried to leave. But as soon as he took a step, it felt like his feet lost their weight, and he collapsed, completely losing consciousness.
Sehir stayed in his room, taking stock of his stored items. It was still far from enough; he needed many more things to leave the West Asian continent.
After taking inventory several times, when he felt a little hungry, Sessil looked up and realized it was almost afternoon.
What was Isri doing? Sehir had to frown and leave his room to walk toward Isri's room.
Sehir moved very lightly, feeling like a thief when he was clearly the master.
Realizing his actions, Sehir immediately straightened up and went straight to push open Isri's door.
For a moment he was stunned. Isri was lying face down in front of him, his clothes disheveled, and the things on the table were scattered around.
This was the first time Sehir had ever seen Isri in such a disheveled state.
“Isri,” Sehir called out.
There was no reply.
"Isri!" came again, but there was still no reply.
In an instant, a seed sprouted in Sehir's heart. Just as he was about to turn and leave, he seemed to suddenly remember something, tiptoed and pulled the blanket from Isri's bed to cover Isri.
After finishing these things, Sehir hurriedly returned to his room, took out the money he had saved, and rushed downstairs.
Sehir tried to regulate his breathing and slow his pace; he had never imagined that his home was so big.
Sehir hurriedly started running, deliberately slowing his pace as he passed Isri's room.
He was extremely excited, and he gripped the money in his hand even tighter, but while excited, he didn't forget to glance back at the commotion at the door of Isri's room.
After coming down from the second floor, passing the restaurant, and then the lobby, the main entrance is finally in front of you.
Cecil steadied his steps, the heels of his shoes echoing on the polished marble slabs, each sound striking the depths of his soul.
They were almost there, almost at the door. Cecil raised his hand and placed it on the doorknob.
"Young Master, where are you going?"
The icy, piercing voice penetrated the eardrums and reached the scalp, seemingly questioning with an unquestionable command.
Chapter Fifteen
Sehir froze, his entire body stiffening on the spot, his bones feeling dry and taut, as if they had lost their lubricant.
"Young Master?" Isri's voice was calm, but his tone was as cold as if he had fallen into an ice cellar.
Sehir turned around, trying his best to keep his voice steady and suppress the fear in his eyes, and looked up to meet Isri's gaze: "Go out for some fresh air."
Isri raised his eyebrows slightly, said nothing, turned and walked into the corridor behind him. Only then did Ceshir breathe a sigh of relief and quickly put the money into his pocket.
After a while, Isri came down the stairs, already dressed, and showed no signs of injury.
His slightly pale lips and the fine beads of sweat on his forehead gave Isri a sickly beauty.
Islam walked to Ceshir's side, bowed forward, and handed the thick shawl draped over his arm to Ceshir.
"Young master, remember to bring it, it's cold outside."
Cecil took a deep breath, took off his shawl, and asked casually, "Why are you awake? Why don't you rest a little longer?"
Isri took a step back and bowed again: "I woke up when the young master draped the blanket over me. Thank you for your concern, young master."
Sehir glanced at Isri and said in a harsher tone, “No one cares. You’re going to die. No one will take care of your room.”
Isri's smile remained unchanged, but a hint of infatuation appeared in his eyes: "I understand, young master."
madman!
Just as Sesil was about to turn and leave, a sudden, guttural growl filled the silence.
Sehir froze on the spot, the blush on his cheeks instantly spreading to the tips of his ears.
Isley's expression remained calm, and his tone was gentle: "I apologize, young master. It was my mistake today. I'll go prepare lunch right away."
Only after Isri left did Sehir dare to raise his head, his ear tips so red they looked like they could bleed.
Sehir untied the strap around his neck, glanced back at the door, and walked into the restaurant.
Today's lunch was simple, unlike the usual elaborate meals, for which Islam apologized several times.
While preparing lunch, Isri was driven almost mad by his injuries in the kitchen, his eyes brimming with anger and madness.
But when they saw Cecil, the anger and madness in their eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a calm, still pool of water.
On the other side, after the police officer took the prisoner back, he came to the door of that empty room once again.
It was pitch black, and you could only see clearly by opening your eyes wide when you went inside. At first, there was no smell, but as you went a little further in, the pungent smell of blood instantly rushed into your nostrils and shattered your scalp.
Some couldn't help but turn around and run away immediately, while others held back and walked a little further. Then, a girl who had been cut in half lay down on the wet cutting board.
The blood on the cutting board, bright red and black, speckled and hanging on the outside intestines, was still dripping down, seeping into the wooden board.
Seeing this, a large number of people finally couldn't hold back and ran outside to vomit against the wall.
Only two extremely bold ones remained. After exhaling, they glanced ahead one last time.
Instantly, both of them froze on the spot. What they saw was a small tin bowl containing a steaming, overcooked little hand floating in the soup.
Their throats were terribly constricted, and their bodies were trembling violently. Just as they were about to leave, they caught a glimpse of the pile of leftover bones next to them. Instantly, one of the people next to them rolled his eyes and fainted.
After the remaining person dragged his companion out, he could almost hear cries for help and screams from inside the room, seeping into his ears inch by inch.
"Help me, help me!"