The Rich Cultivator-Chapter 397. Beginning of the Circus

The Clown had activated one of his earliest inventions—a vision relay array embedded within the eyes of a seemingly harmless toy clown.

From the safety of his own cabin, he could observe everything happening in the room across the narrow corridor of the ship.

Laughter and muffled moans seeped through the paper-thin wooden walls, but he didn’t need to rely on his ears. Through those glassy artificial eyes, he saw everything.

His younger brother and the young miss lay tangled together on the modest cot. The girl’s delicate fingers clutched at the sheets, her breath ragged as her body trembled beneath the touch of the man she had defied her family for.

The Clown’s brother, usually reserved and composed, now wore a look of pure affection and passion as he whispered into her ear, comforting and claiming her.

The Clown watched it all with an unsettling stillness. His pale face showed no emotion—expressionless, as though it were carved from wax. Yet in the depths of his dark, unblinking eyes, a strange glimmer flickered. It wasn’t rage. It wasn’t sorrow. It was something else.

Something twisted.

Something possessive.

"Whatever belongs to my brother," he whispered, voice like wind passing through hollow wood, "belongs to me too."

Beside him sat a small wooden box, carved with strange runes and lined with velvet. He opened it slowly, reverently. Inside were several vials filled with glowing, alchemical liquid—each shimmering with a different hue.

The aroma rising from them was pungent, sour, yet oddly enticing. He had purchased these from the shady alchemist Dr. Juggler.

The Clown picked up one vial, twirling it between his long fingers, and muttered, "Hmmm... Let’s ask my brother first."

At that moment, Tyler and Mana, who were observing the memory through the diary , felt the scenery around them shift like a dream dissolving into another. The world blurred and reshaped itself.

It was nighttime now.

A torrential downpour hammered the ship’s deck, and flashes of lightning danced over the churning sea like restless spirits. Thunder cracked the sky open as if the heavens were warning of something dreadful. The silhouette of other ships flickered in and out of view amid the storm clouds, their sails shredded and bodies ominously still.

Inside a cramped, dimly lit room, chaos of another kind unfolded.

The young miss stood upright, her face flushed with fury and disbelief. Her voice trembled as she screamed at the Clown, whose eerie calm only infuriated her more.

"You’re insane! How could you even suggest something like this? I trusted your brother—I followed him here—and now you want to sleep with you?!"

The Clown didn’t react to her words. He simply turned toward his brother with a faint, expectant smile. His brother, caught between conflict and devotion, stood silent for several seconds. Then he nodded.

"I understand, brother," he said flatly, then turned and walked out of the room.

The door shut behind him with a hollow thud.

The young miss stood frozen, her eyes wide, her breath hitching in her throat. Her heart shattered not from fear, but betrayal. She had believed in love. She had believed in him.

Now, she was nothing more than a bargaining chip in a strange sibling bond.

"NO! You’re monsters!" she screamed, pounding on the door. "You lied to me! How could you do this to me."

There was no response.

Soon, the Clown approached her with two of the alchemist’s vials in hand. His smile didn’t fade. "I will be gentle," he said softly, before forcing the liquid past her lips.

As the concoction slid down her throat, she coughed and gagged. Something inside her began to shift—emotionally, mentally, physically. Her limbs weakened. Her anger dulled, then blurred. Regret settled into her chest like a cold weight.

She had given up everything for love: a luxurious life, a powerful father, comfort, and status.

And now, she had become a sex toy for a crazy siblings.

Hours later, she lay on the same bed, eyes glazed and body numb. The Clown sat beside her, calmly peeling a fruit with a curved blade. He fed her each slice with gentle hands, as if nothing had happened.

"Don’t worry," he said, almost sweetly, "This is also a form of love. Haah..."

But even as he spoke, his head suddenly ached. A burning sensation shot through his skull, and with it, a vision of the future emerged—one so vivid, he gasped aloud.

In the vision, the young miss stood over him, with indifferent gaze in her eyes. In her hands was the same knife—now plunged deep into his chest.

He clutched his temples, reeling.

Meanwhile, the girl, regaining a flicker of strength, noticed the knife lying within reach. For a fleeting moment, her fingers inched toward it. The image of stabbing the Clown—of ending her nightmare—danced in her mind.

But she stopped.

She was too weak. Too confused.

The Clown’s vision faded, and he exhaled. His gaze shifted to her—calm, but sharp. The girl flinched, sensing something unnatural in his stare. For a split second, she saw the glimmer of killing intent. Then it was gone.

Was it her imagination?

The Clown had indeed considered killing her. If she would be a threat to his life, it would be logical. But then he remembered something important.

She was his brother’s favorite.

If he killed her, his brother will be upset . So instead of following the path the vision had shown, he made a new decision:

He would change the future.

Once again he laid top of the young miss. The young miss closed her eyes without any resistance.

One year later,

The young miss name is Amber, she awoke in a modest, cozy room. She was no longer chained by fear, nor weakened by potions. She had adjusted. Grown numb, perhaps. Or... maybe something deeper had happened.

Lying on either side of her were the two brothers. The Clown, once eerie and bizarre, had changed. He no longer wore his circus costume. He didn’t paint his face or whisper strange things to himself. He had reinvented himself—become calmer, more stable, even charming.

He had become a better man.

And strangely... he had fallen in love with her too.

Whether it was real love or an obsession in disguise, no one could tell.

Not even him.

But for now, the three of them remained together.

And the Clown’s haunting smile was replaced—if only for a moment—by something human.

Amber gazed at the two men lying beside her, their faces bathed in the morning sunlight. A soft smile touched her lips. She never imagined her life would take such a turn—married to two brothers, both of whom had once been complete strangers. Now, they were her world.

They had protected her, cherished her, even fought for her. Though the elder brother had been harsh and unrelenting at first, something within him had softened. Over time, the man once known as the Clown had cast off his mask—both literal and metaphorical. He had changed, tamed by love or perhaps haunted by guilt.

Amber leaned forward and kissed them both on the cheeks. "Wake up, my husbands," she whispered. She felt happy, content, even blessed.

But Tyler and Mana—watching the memory unfold through a distorted vision—twitched with discomfort.

The scene shifted.

The younger brother had fallen gravely ill. Desperate to save him, the elder brother summoned countless doctors and healers, but none could offer a cure. Each one spoke nonsense — like his brother is already dead.

Soon, the younger brother’s condition worsened. His skin blackened, his flesh decayed, and eventually, all that remained was a pile of bones. The older brother collapsed in tears, and only then did the memories come rushing back.

That night on the ship while escaping.

His brother had refused to share Amber. He had been firm, even slapping the Clown across the face. That rejection sparked something terrible. While laughing, the Clown had stabbed his brother in the throat.

Then, in a haze of madness, he turned to Amber. In front of his brother’s still body, he forced himself upon her. He fed her some shady potions and did everything.

When he was having headache and future vision, Amber reached for the fruit knife—only to stab herself in the chest. ƒгeewёbnovel.com

Yet, in the Clown’s twisted perception, neither of them died and his brother allowed him to enjoy Amber.

Detached from reality, he engraved Freshness Preserving Arrays into both bodies. In his delusion, he continued to speak to them, eat with them, sleep beside them—as if nothing had happened. To him, they were still alive. He even maintained Amber’s array subconsciously, recharging it during moments of twisted intimacy. In short, it recharged subconsciously while having sexual intercourse with Amber’s body.

But he never touched his brother’s array.

A year passed. Slowly, the preservation magic on his brother’s corpse began to falter. The body decayed, bones blackened. Still, the Clown refused to accept the truth. He believed it was a disease or some kind of curse. In his madness, he summoned more doctors and so-called curse specialists. Those who dared tell the truth met their end at his hands.

Only the Shady Alchemist survived—spinning lies to protect himself from the deranged Clown.

Eventually, as the full weight of memory returned, the Clown broke again. That mad smile—the one stained with both joy and sorrow—twisted across his face. Standing before the grave, he watched the pyre burn his brother’s remains. He took a handful of ashes and smeared them across his own face like war paint.

He turned to Amber’s motionless body—still flawless, still beautiful.

"Let’s go, Amber," he whispered, gently lifting her in his arms. "Let’s build a circus and have fun. Maybe... if I can find Eternity, I might be able to bring our brother back."

The Shady Alchemist, watching from a distance, hesitated. Then, with a sigh, he followed the Clown into the unknown.

And that day, a new pirate crew was born.

They called themselves The Circus.