“Dear Gianna:
Please forgive my sudden departure. Please forgive my lack of honesty in concealing my true purpose for approaching you. I knew from the very beginning that the ‘he’ you mentioned was not a farmer. I always wanted to find an opportunity to be honest with you, but I feared that this cruel truth would bring you deeper harm. When I saw you struggling in pain, I was sorry I couldn’t help because I was also deeply trapped in it. Perhaps there is only one thing in this world that doesn’t need a reason, and that is love.
In the moment I embraced you, I thought perhaps I could give up my responsibilities and honors for you. You are an angel with the purest heart I have ever seen, just like your black eyes. It’s a pity that these crystal-clear eyes do not hold me.
I am not the poet or composer you imagine. I come from a martial family; my ancestors were soldiers of the Empire and took pride in it. It was you, on the little boat by the Havil River, who recited that poem about home that made me start reading poetry. When I saw the line, ‘Returning the pearl, tears fall like double dew, regretting not meeting before marriage,’ I regretted my choice. Perhaps I should have chosen another gift. Only God knows what I have missed. I’m sorry, but I cannot take back these pearl earrings because, in my understanding, love given cannot be taken back.
May God be with you.
Marcus Pearl”
At midnight, under the cold moonlight, a man in a blue trench coat stepped out from the entrance of a hotel, glancing around before walking straight toward the black Mercedes parked in the alley. The driver widened his eyes in surprise, quietly moving his hand from the steering wheel to beneath the seat. The man in the back seat remained still, shrouded in darkness, making it impossible to discern his expression. Without waiting for the driver to retrieve the gun from under the seat, several plainclothes police officers suddenly emerged from the alleys on both sides of the street, swiftly surrounding the man like a pack of wolves.
“Please deliver this letter to your master.” He calmly took a cowhide envelope from his pocket and handed it to the leading plainclothes officer.
The plainclothes officer glanced at the man in the blue trench coat, quickly moved to the back seat of the car, and handed the envelope through the partially open window.
The man in black unfolded the letter. It contained only one sentence, written in blue ink, clear and steady, signed by Marcus Pearl.
“General, what should we do?” the aide whispered in his ear.
The man in black glanced at the aide, lightly flicked his fingers, and then crumpled the letter in his palm. The aide understood the meaning and signaled to the plainclothes officers. The men immediately stepped back, clearing the way for the man in the blue trench coat. He smiled and looked directly at the windshield of the black car. Although he couldn’t see the stern-faced man in black in the back seat, their deep lake-blue gaze met the icy blue glare for a few seconds. Then, the man in blue turned gracefully and walked away.
In the midnight capital, the empty streets were silent, and under the dim yellow light of the street lamps, the hazy shadows of trees swayed slightly in the wind. Suddenly, a frail girl in a black dress ran out of the hotel door in a daze and entered a phone booth. She stuffed a few coins into the slot and dialed a familiar number.
The phone rang several times before it was finally answered, and a groggy girl’s voice came from the other end.
“Annabel, it’s me.”
The girl on the phone immediately woke up as if struck by lightning, exclaiming, “Khanyi! My God, where have you been? Why haven’t you been in touch for days! How’s it going with your Mr. Twelve O’Clock?”
“I broke up with him. I’m on the street now, and I don’t know where to go…” she murmured, somewhat lost.
“On the street? It’s the middle of the night! Are you crazy? You mean you’re wandering the streets alone?! Khanyi, listen to me, my father has a very good friend in the capital. You can go to him; he lives at…”
Before the other person could finish, the call was suddenly cut off. Khanyi looked towards the dim light of the street lamp and saw a man in black, rudely hanging up her phone. He said nothing, his face dark and terrifying.
She glared at him defiantly, tears shimmering in her eyes, and brushed past him, fleeing into the street. At that moment, there were no pedestrians on the street; even the stray cats had returned to their shelters from the rain. The only sound was the click of her high heels. Although he walked lightly, she knew he was following her closely, like a ghost in the night. Suddenly, she began to run, ignoring the pain from the thin straps of her shoes. After a while, she was gasping for breath and had to stop. He did not chase her on foot but followed in a black car. She stumbled, almost tripping over something on the ground. The car’s headlights illuminated the path beneath her feet, and she quickened her pace, panting as she ran towards the light of the central square, wiping her tears as she went, not considering the danger of her actions.
In the square, there was a patrol post, and the soldiers saw the slowly moving Mercedes and the girl running in front of it. They intended to stop her and ask what was going on. One soldier shone a spotlight on her, and she was blinded by the bright beam, raising her arm to shield her face. However, the soldiers clearly saw the license plate number of the black car and the man in military uniform driving it. He held the steering wheel with one hand and made a quick gesture to clear the way with the other. They pretended nothing had happened, allowing the girl to pass through the square’s checkpoint under everyone’s gaze, disappearing at the end of the street.
