Miss Planeswalker, are you free for romance?

……

Mori Yuesha lives in the center of Cairo, where most of the residents are from the so-called upper class in the local area, and the rest are sold to foreigners - mostly British, their current father country.

The huge house was newly built, and only Mori Yuesha lived in it. In Arrietty's words, the noble elves would not be used to living anywhere else except in the Wabi-Sabi courtyard.

Mori Yuesha was too lazy to ask where this "noble" came from. Anyway, every once in a while, this little elf with long coral hair would always come up with a few new and inappropriate words.

In front of me, Miss Taiya sat with her legs closed, her hands on her knees, and only occupied a small part of the sofa, with her thick black eyelashes drooping, not saying a word.

Even the feet were tightly together.

She has been sitting here without moving for twenty minutes.

"Please use."

Mori Yuesha walked over on the carpet and two cups of hot black tea were brought to the table.

"I'm the only one here right now, so..." The girl pinched two sugar cubes and threw them into the cup: "So you're welcome to visit me anytime."

“It’s much more comfortable than a museum, right?”

Looking at the girl who was enjoying the black tea, Taiya finally relaxed his tense body a little. When he picked up the teacup, he saw the girl winking at him playfully.

The other party seemed to see her embarrassment and difficulty in speaking, and took the lead in making many "disrespectful" gestures, which made Miss Taiya feel like she was being led - at least, this place was indeed much more comfortable than the library.

The warm current slid down the tongue into the throat, and went down the esophagus into the stomach. For some reason, the heart seemed to suddenly slow down its beating. From the gurgling blood pumping out, Taya felt a warmth spreading throughout his body.

Hiss.

This was an accidental sound.

"How about it... You're welcome to visit me often. My name is Mori Yuesha."

Taiya put down the teacup, her graceful movements seemed to be the result of long and deliberate training, but her rigidity did not reveal any sense of ease, but rather... stiffness and numbness.

"I know. Thank you, Ms. Mori Tsukisa."

The corners of her mouth under the veil were raised, and even the corners of her eyes were curved into crescents. This woman, who was probably much older than Sen Yuesha, seemed to be smiling like a naive girl at this moment.

"Thank you..." The woman who has gone through a certain amount of time has a soft voice.

"Ah, I'm not sleepy yet." Mori Yuesha stretched herself and threw herself into the sofa rudely, curling up like a small dough: "If you want to talk... or just stay here for a while, it's all fine. Please."

It was like the intermittent sound of talking in a dream.

Most of the stories in the world are repetitive and boring, or boring and repetitive.

It's like a mentally ill man who married a fourteen-year-old girl out of boredom, and then used every possible means to torture her for the long sixteen years.

Mori Yuesha can see the ending of the story, which is probably an even more boring farce.

The 30-year-old Miss Taiya can be called a master of torture.

She was like an encyclopedia, knowing exactly what color, size, and pain the pus bubble would have after being burned by a soldering iron. She also knew the consequences of touching the bubble with a soldering iron again - the pus would instantly 'hiss' and produce thin wisps of smoke;

She knew the feeling of a not-so-sharp knife cutting off a whole piece of skin, and she had also tried the taste of them fried until brown and then sandwiched in toast;

There is also acupuncture, the most important and non-negligible part of torture, with the knee joint and coccyx being the most difficult areas to accept.

Whipping… no big deal.

The least common one is the hammer. The heavy hammer makes a 'dong dong dong' sound when thrown on the ground, and then it is lifted up with force and smashes the toes with a 'bang' sound - of course, the husband will give her the best medical care to ensure that this game can be played once in a while.

Mr. Sheikh is a well-known collector in Cairo. He has handled tens of millions of precious treasures that have been smuggled out of the country. In order to be worthy of Mr. Sheikh's status, his wife worked hard to learn all the things a wife should learn.

Mr. Sheikh is a rare good man who is described by everyone as being handsome, wealthy, and loving his wife dearly.

Mr. Sheikh is a devil who deserves to go to hell in Taiya's words.

Chapter 7 Mr. Sheikh and Mr. R

Miss Taiya's husband was obviously a member of the upper class, or rather, he never thought of himself as not being one.

The expensive small wool carpet was woven into a golden and black human-shaped pattern. It stood on a high platform, holding a scepter in its left hand, and above its head was a scorching sun.

Sun god.

For most locals, this main god who has always represented light, warmth and growth is being casually trampled under the feet of Mr. Sheikh.

Opposite the sofa was a circle of larger sofas for entertaining guests. On the long black table were two glasses of amber liquid, a half-full bottle of wine, and a small pile of brown Donegal tobacco.

Mr. Sheikh held up his pipe, and the lingering gray mist was filled with the rich and heavy aroma of tulips.

When the man's eyes, one large and one small, stared forward, there was a sense of deliberate seriousness. As his eyes focused, his eyebrows rose and fell, like a clown in a circus making humorous and amusing faces at the children.

At this moment, his face looked like he had swallowed a glass of very pure Scotch whisky in big gulps, with intense red and purple running down his neck and all over his face. He raised his trembling hand and pointed at the person opposite him. As his teeth chattered, he spat out incomplete words and a wisp of light smoke.

What surprised his ugly face was the information he just heard.

"Are you sure? Mr. R?" He confirmed again in a trembling voice and sat up straight subconsciously: "Do you have any news from 'there'?"

The man called Mr. R was wearing a neat suit. He had khaki hair parted in the middle, revealing a receding hairline. He wore a pair of black-framed brown sunglasses.

Even through the lenses, it still couldn't block that ambitious vision.

"Of course." Mr. R tapped the carpet with his cane. "My troops are elite."

"Well, now..."

"Now you have to give me the thing you mentioned." Mr. R interrupted, "I need to make preparations for both scenarios. According to records, there should be records left in Hamunarta from that time. If my troops can't find them, we must go to Hamunarta to check it out ourselves."

"Hamunaptra..."

"The City of the Dead..."

"The kingdom of the dead..."

Sheikh muttered to himself.

For the men who grew up here, the legend of Hamunaptra could not be more familiar.

Over the past forty years, he had seen countless treasure hunting teams confidently riding camels into the vast desert, facing the sandstorms that blocked out the sky, and then disappearing forever.

Perhaps, some lucky guys would escape from the land of death, wearing tattered clothes and selling their belongings in order to survive - if they still had them at that time.

Even in the end... they had to sell themselves.

Otherwise, the local prisons and the black market for human trafficking wouldn’t be so busy.

——Rather than saying it is the city of the dead, it is better to say that those undead come from the explorers who are tirelessly searching for treasure.

There were corpses scattered under the yellow sand.

The Sheikh took a deep breath. "I recently collected a batch of antiques. Among them were items that were sold by a treasure hunting team. Oh, according to the man, it was the treasure he found under the yellow sand of Hamunatta."

"He said he found Hamunatta," the man sneered, tapping the outside of his pipe with his stubby fingers. "Who knows. Taiya?"

Taiya, who was standing aside like a maid, walked over in small steps, holding a multi-cornered box in her hand and handed it to Sheikh. When their fingers touched.

Taiya shuddered noticeably.

Mr. R smiled even more: "Your wife really loves you, Mr. Sheikh. There are very few women who still tremble when they touch their husbands. I heard that you have been married for more than ten years?"

Sheikh looked at Taiya with a cold smile. After the woman walked away with her head lowered and bent over, the man turned around and responded to Mr. R's teasing.

"No, I am sorry to my wife. She gave me all her love, and I...I want to give some to this little thing." Sheikh said without emotion, holding up the polygonal metal box in his palm and tossing it up again and again.

Mr. R's line of sight behind his sunglasses also moved up and down along the trajectory of the iron box.

The Sheikh smiled.

Another large sum of money.

"So…"

One finger.

"No, five million at most." Mr. R shook his head. "The American expedition members under my command are all experienced guys. They recently found a guide who has been to Hamunaptra."

"So, you little box..."

Sheikh waved at Taiya with a smile, and when the woman came over, he put the polygonal box in his hand back into her palm.

"Keep it, Tayya."

Mr. R's thin eyebrows gathered together: "Sheikh, you know my price, it can't be so much this time."

"Eight million."

"Six million. I need to bring someone to verify it tomorrow."

"No problem! I'm on standby all day! Mr. R." The man narrowed his eyes, put his pipe back in his mouth, and gave a crooked military salute that was full of comedy.

"It's only now that I can see your smiling face, Sheikh." Mr. R stood up with the help of a cane. He seemed to be in a bad mood. Without waiting for Sheikh to get up and see him off, he strode away.

After the loud slam of the door, the living room fell silent.

The Sheikh sat on the sofa, holding the index finger of his left hand and stroking the gorgeous ring inlaid with rubies.

"Taya, we made another six million..."

"Will you look down on me if I sell off my country's treasures?"

Taiya stood trembling far away, at the end of the carpet. Only her white feet covered with scars were visible from under her long black robe. When she lowered her head, her messy black hair finally fell out from under her headscarf.

"No... no, Sheikh... please..."

"Please…"

"No, even though you said you wouldn't, you must be cursing me in your heart, right?" The gentleman, who had just been polite, changed his expression in an instant, and his cold pupils were empty.

The gorgeous and colorful chandelier illuminates the somewhat empty living room.

"Get down on your knees and crawl over here!"

His thick fingers tapped on his knees. In the old place, in the third drawer of the coffee table, there was a simple gun that had been modified to fire needles.

Under the bloodstained handle were several large bags of specially made needles, one inch long and extremely thin.

In Sheikh's opinion, such a weak shot would not cause completely penetrating damage - maybe?

It will only allow the needle to penetrate into the flesh, and then the woman who looks down on herself will have to go out for a walk with the needle buried deep in her flesh.

For example, spend the morning at her favorite library? Maybe even buy some cheese.

Reading?

Books are of no use, you hypocritical bitch.

"Your Majesty!"

He knelt down tremblingly, with his head lowered like a dog in a black robe, his knees as legs, his palms supporting the carpet, and crawled step by step towards Mr. Sheikh who was stretched out on the sofa.

"Good dog."

Sheikh grinned and lifted Taiya's chin with his index finger: "I'm thirty years old now. Do you hate me all these years?"

The man talking to himself did not want any answer. He looked at the woman lying at his feet like a dog with deep affection. With his rough palms, he stroked her face, her neck, her ears - every inch of skin, every inch of bulging scars.

"You are so beautiful, Taiya..."

"I want you to be my wife forever..."

The woman held back tears and shook her head frantically: "No, no... don't do this..."

She saw the man's hand reaching for the gun.

Chapter8 Octagonal Box

Later one night, Miss Taiya came again.

She was still wearing the same black robe, wrapped up tightly, and limping. Her exposed eyes were red and swollen like a frog out of water, and she was very cautious when knocking on the door.

Mori Yuesha yawned as she opened the door for Taiya, but the woman stayed at the door for a long time and refused to come in. Then, she handed Mori Yuesha a small box and stumbled away into the night.

The box looked very old, with badly worn edges and corners. When I put it next to my ear and shook it gently, I could still vaguely hear the rustling sound of gravel.