Chapter 4 (2/2)
That made Feisha pause momentarily. “Is this the legendary recursive decimal?”
“The relationship between here and heaven is similar to how 0.9 recurring equals 1,” Isefel said.
“So it’ll never get there?” Seeing Isefel look at him, Feisha elaborated. “Despite there being proofs that prove that 0.9 recurring equals 1, recursive numbers don’t actually have an end.”
Because of that, it loses its ability to ever reach 1.
“Your room,” said Isefel.
“Ha?” His room is in a recursive decimal?
Feisha rolled his eyes at the scale-like structure. Is he going to have to spend the prime of his life climbing stairs? An unbidden image of a white-haired old man, hobbling up an endless flight of stairs one by one, surfaced in his mind.
He felt very depressed.
Click. The sound of a door being opened.
“Here.”
Feisha suddenly realised that Isefel had opened the door to the room next to them. In front of him now was a big, floor-to-ceiling window, curtains patterned with flowers the colour of rich violet and a wheat-coloured lamp style chandelier hanging overhead. The moment he stepped foot in this room, Feisha had fallen in love with the place.
Especially the big bed in the middle that had a radius of at least two metres.
“This is amazing!” Feisha screamed as he jumped onto the bed.
“Rent is three hundred dollars per month.” Isefel’s words were like a bucket of ice water thrown on his parade.
“That’s way too expensive!” Feisha exclaimed. “I work here, where are my employee benefits?”
Isefel held out a mat. “Or, you could pay thirty cents a month and sleep on the ground at the front counter.”
The front counter didn’t seem that cold, actually. Feisha seriously considered it for a moment.
“There might occasionally be rocks that get thrown in by the air flow outside though.”
Feisha decided that he hated meteors. He gritted his teeth. “You won’t charge me for meals, will you?”
“Four hundred a month.”
“Why don’t you just go rob people instead!?” What kind of meals cost four hundred dollars a month!?
“You could opt to pay forty cents a month.”
There’s that big of a difference? He might as well go for it if he can. “What will I eat?”
“The rocks that get thrown into the front counter.”
“…”
Feisha silently calculated the costs. $1700 minus $300 then minus $400; luckily, he’d still have a thousand left after expenses, so he’s not working for free at least. He resolved to follow the Three Rules of Discipline and Eight Points of Attention; other than food and shelter, he wasn’t going to touch anything in this damn place.
It’s been a long, tiring day and Feisha hasn’t eaten anything, so it was little wonder that he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow and slept like a rock. The dream world was peaceful – at least, there weren’t any weird creatures trying to say hello. When he finally opened his eyes, it took him a good half minute to recall where he was.
A pair of steely blue eyes stared at him.
“What are you doing here?” Feisha asked coolly, once his brain processes came back online.
“Heheh, I’m a vampire crouching in front of a human’s bed, what do you think I’m doing?” Gin said, licking his lips. Two sharp fangs stood out against his blood red tongue.
“I think there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Oh? What is it?” Gin’s interest was piqued.
“I’m not a morning person.”
Before Feisha’s words even registered, a pillow hurtling towards him filled Gin’s field of vision.
“You have canines, that’s fucking terrific! Does that give you the right to not knock? Didn’t your primary teacher ever teach you about manners? You motherfucker!” Feisha roared, smashing his pillow on Gin over and over.
In the quiet hallway, a door was suddenly thrown open to reveal a blond man scrambling out in panic. Behind him, a fuming individual sporting truly impressive bedhead was furiously waving about a pillow, spitting profanities as he went: “Get the fuck out of my room! There’s nothing impressive about eating raw shit – I’d eat salmon every fucking day if I had the money as well-”
Backed up against the railings, Gin blocked the attacks with his arm. “Are you done? I’m going to retaliate if you don’t stop.”
“Then why don’t you try retaliating? Just what about waking people up in the middle of the night is there worth being proud of!?” Feisha seethed, taking back his pillow and fixing Gin with a furious glare. “Slash up your face before going to scare people next time, don’t do such a half-assed job of it. Hmph!”
Rant over, Feisha picked up his pillow and fumed back to his room.
Gin stared at the doors that have been slammed shut for a long time before coming to his senses.
“Did you finally get what was coming to you?” As a faerie, Dea’s beauty was top tier even by faerie standards, so he was breathtakingly beautiful even when he was glancing sideways at Gin.
Gin was not at all appreciative of his beauty.
“It’s none of your fucking business,” he huffed.
“I’m just not used seeing the guy you try to bully wipe the floor with you.”
Gin rubbed his sharp fangs sinisterly on his lips. “Would you like to try that again?”
Dea’s face instantly darkened. Once again in a good mood, Gin raised his eyebrows playfully, suddenly transformed into a bat and flew up the staircase with a few flaps of his wings. A scathing flame lit atop Dea’s palm as he slowly approached the discarded pile of the clothes, then dripped softly like tears and set the pile alight.
The flame roared and instantly flared up. Within the flame, Gin’s clothes shrivelled up into a ball and crumbled away into ash.
The door was suddenly wrenched open as Feisha stepped out with a dark look and spoke, “Don’t you know what taking care of the environment is? Go somewhere else to self-immolate.”
“…I’m burning clothes.”
“Then go to the crematory!”
He flung the doors shut, a pair of gleaming scissors clenched in his hand. He wants to sleep, he wants to sleep, he wants to sleep!
Feisha resolved to castrate the next person who came within three metres of his room.
Translator’s notes
The faerie, Dea: sales manager.
Our beautiful fairy’s name comes from Medea, minus the ‘Me’ part.
Feisha’s thoughts: Chef’s recommendations must be barbeque, smoked meat, roast meat…
Original chef’s recommendations: 烤肉、熏肉、五花肉kǎo ròu, xūn ròu, wǔ huā ròu (lit. Barbeque, smoked meat, pork belly…)
The last one is actually pork belly, but while it fit in with the theme of having the same last character for meat in Chinese (肉, ròu), it doesn’t quite make sense in English to have raw pork belly.
He resolved to follow the Three Rules of Discipline and Eight Points of Attention
You can read all about this delightful military doctrine here:
“I’m not a morning person.”
The phrase Feisha says here is that “[he] has 起床气 qǐ chuáng qì,” which while it doesn’t have a literal translation means that he gets really irritable and grumpy when he first wakes up. The closest English interpretation for this would be that he often wakes up on the wrong side of the bed, or that he’s not a morning person.
“I’m just not used seeing the guy you try to bully wipe the floor with you.”
As usual, the original quote: 我只看不惯你每次挑软柿子欺负罢了wǒ zhǐ kàn bù guàn nǐ měi cì tiāo ruǎn shì zi qī fù bà le (lit. I’m just not used to seeing you getting bullied after picking the soft persimmon.)
To ‘pick the soft persimmon’ is to pick on/bully the ‘soft’ person, or a person who’s weaker than you/everyone else, so to speak. Basically, Dea’s mocking Gin. (You go, sassy boy)