Chapter 4819

The cleaning agents quickly finished their work. The entire house was spotless inside and out, though the exterior still looked somewhat desolate and gloomy, yet it appeared very tidy. That melancholic air lent the manor a touch of artistic color, like certain cold-toned films always shrouded in a faint leaden haze, as the now-grown male and female leads returned to the old family home, recalling their grandparents' wartime love story through a photograph.

The agents departed silently. When Arrogance returned from the back garden, the house was empty. He stood at the rear door, scanning the entire hall, as if waiting for something.

Suddenly, the kitchen cup rack emitted a tinkling, ethereal sound, the curtains fluttered slightly, as if a gust of wind had suddenly blown in. Gradually, those irregular sounds wove into a slightly sorrowful melody.

Arrogance looked in that direction, but he neither moved nor spoke, simply standing there silently listening to the end of the piece. He was certain this was not classical music, nor did its style resemble background pop music. The tune was simple, somewhat like a child just learning arrangement practicing, the chords not so sorrowful, only the cup-tapping sounds were too ethereal, echoing in the manor's vast living room, revealing a hint of mournful horror and eeriness.

"Are you alright?" Arrogance asked.

No one answered him. The music had also vanished. Yet Arrogance remained standing there, waiting until the sky grew darker. On the display shelf in the living room, the decorative phonograph began playing a tune, though there was no record on it.

This melody was similar to the previous one, only more complex, clearly revealing increased professionalism, with many decorative chords added, sounding more mature, yet the sorrowful meaning was stronger. This time it was not the instrument producing it, but rather what the creator wished to express—a certain oppressive atmosphere.

Arrogance listened silently to the end of the piece again, then the room fell quiet once more. He asked again: "Can we talk?"

Still no one answered him. After a while, the piano upstairs played. The piano placed beside the courtyard had unmoving keys, yet it produced sound. This time it was a very complete and beautiful piece, but unfortunately, the performance stopped midway.

At the moment the music stopped, bang, bang, bang, bang—the upstairs doors slammed shut one after another, drawing nearer and nearer...

Until with a creak, the door behind Arrogance leading to the garden was also closed. The room fell silent again.

"I'm sorry, I cannot communicate with you through music, for I am not skilled in this. If you have a better way to communicate, I would very much like to hear your story. Can you tell me?"

The room fell utterly silent again. This silence lasted over an hour, until Arrogance began to feel drowsy, when the cups in the kitchen rang again. Again the same tune, and the subsequent process was no different from before, yet Arrogance's vision gradually revealed something.

A short-haired child stood on tiptoe, tapping the cups hanging on the kitchen cup rack with a spoon. At first just a few simple notes, gradually becoming richer. Later, he enjoyed listening to all kinds of records, even recording his own compositions onto discs to play repeatedly. Then he pursued professional study, refining his compositions and learning to play them himself. But for some unknown reason, it all came to an abrupt halt, with no further movement or sound.

The gradually perfected melody was like a person's life. But sadly, this life was too short—even if already seated before the piano, he was no more than a youth. He did not become a performer or composer, but became part of this house's soul.

Arrogance now understood: the manor's ghost was not merely a spirit wandering the material world, but a fragment of a person's spirit. For he and Greed had seen entirely different appearances of the ghost.

When the two of them stayed together in the manor, that ghost was like a spoiled child, fiddling with this and poking that. If people paid attention to it, it would be happy; if not, it would keep causing trouble, seeking to draw others' notice. Its methods were crude, even tinged with foolishness.

But when Arrogance was alone in the manor, what he felt was a young man's brief and sorrowful life. The mode of expression was equally restrained, utterly different from before.

Everyone in the manor sees different hallucinations, because their spiritual worlds differ, and the spirits they can resonate with also differ. Now Arrogance only wants to know: who is the person resonating with him, and what happened?

Hampton must still have secrets.

Arrogance began searching online for information about this manor. This manor is so unique, there should be many records online. Unfortunately, aside from a few photos, Arrogance found nothing.

Like the haunted mansions common in horror films, the ghost seems to possess some miraculous power, making this manor visible only to certain specific people. Otherwise, paranormal bloggers alone could have trampled the manor flat. This manor appears to be the same—online, traces are truly hard to find.

Afterwards, Arrogance began investigating Hampton. This information is abundant, for on a single street in East Hampton live more than ten billionaires worth tens of billions each, all prominent figures, their life stories filling an entire page, autobiographies numbering several.

Arrogance merely glanced at his neighbors' backgrounds, then discovered that most villa and holiday home owners were nouveaux riche—fashion designers, Hollywood stars, or certain socialite butterflies. Their homes were relatively small and located farther out, in fact not truly part of the Hampton area.

The true core lies at the northern tip of Long Island, where many large manors stand. Some manor owners bear illustrious surnames, while others seem very mysterious, unheard of by ordinary people. This is because these families' glorious era was basically just after they came ashore. Their traces must be sought in Europe, by combing through the noble surnames of various European empires, to find some clues.

America is not a place for exiling criminals. When Europeans first discovered this continent, they knew it was strewn with gold. Many then-prominent families dispatched fleets here, taking root when Hampton was still a small fishing village. During WWI, widespread immigration occurred; by WWII, they already had the surplus to reap others.

These people are the true Hamptons, and this is indeed the true Hampton center. The manor Greed bought lies on the edge of that center. Looking downward, one sees only those extremely luxurious large manors. With slightly better vision, one could even see children playing and frolicking in their courtyards.

This makes Arrogance even more doubtful. This manor simply should not exist. No wealthy person would tolerate someone prying into their privacy like this. All the large manors below live under the eyelids of this manor's owner, constantly under surveillance.

Medieval lord castles were mostly built on mountains to watch over the movements of towns below. Now the Rodriguezes' manor occupies a position equivalent to a lord's castle. Yet, how could those sky-high old-money families allow themselves to have a lord?

Arrogance gradually confirmed his suspicion. Hampton hides secrets. Dracula did not say, perhaps intending to entrap them, but more likely he himself finds it inconvenient to speak. Considering this, Arrogance has conceived a new approach.

What is Dracula's relationship with these old-money families?

It appears he is the excluded one. After all, this fellow is too strange—one person living in such a vast manor, day-sleeping night-walking, anyone knows something is off. Yet no one has come to cause him trouble, which forces Arrogance to suspect that those old-money families know what Dracula is, they share some tacit understanding, even allowing him to reside halfway up the mountain to monitor them.

Now that the manor has changed hands, this tacit understanding will surely be broken. Fearfully, not long from now, certain people will come knocking. But those sent to probe will certainly not be the main party, and more likely are the cannon fodder they hired...

Just as he thought this, Arrogance heard the honking of a car outside. A vehicle had arrived. Arrogance raised his eyebrows—it was already late, not visiting hours. Yet he immediately realized: not human visiting hours, but possibly Dracula's. Now it is morning for vampires.

Arrogance walked out from the front yard. The couple who stepped from the car froze upon seeing him, then showed slightly frightened expressions. But it was not fear directed at Arrogance; rather, they seemed to recognize this face.

Arrogance also felt doubtful. Greed's appearance looks more normal; if they mistook him for Greed, they should not be so frightened. Unless they had prior dealings.

"I didn't expect you to come first." The woman said, "Stark surely told you something, right? Mr. Dracula?"

Arrogance keenly caught the meaning in the woman's words. They were here to find Dracula, and they know Stark. These two facts are somehow connected.

"He is not here." Arrogance said, "If you have any matter, I can relay it."

"You speak as if you could stay here long." The woman had not finished speaking when the man beside her tugged at him. The man revealed an enthusiastic smile, stepped forward, shook Arrogance's hand, then said: "Saffili Afs. Call me Sal."

"Hello, Mr. Afs." Arrogance remained composed, "Hello, Mrs. Afs."

Afs rubbed his hands and said: "Did Mr. Dracula tell you when he would return?"

"I'm not sure."

"Do you know why he went out?"

"I guess he went to visit friends." Arrogance lowered his eyes and said.

Mrs. Afs suddenly became agitated, saying: "It must be you lot playing tricks. That Stark doesn't even live here, he knows nothing. Dracula cannot leave..."

"May I ask why?" Arrogance suddenly fixed his gaze on him. The instant he saw those gray eyes, Mrs. Afs felt as if her throat were being choked.

She stepped back two paces, then suddenly spoke in Italian to her husband, but being too far away, Arrogance could not hear clearly. Then Afs also stepped back two paces, scrutinizing Arrogance up and down.

Afterwards, they said nothing, got into the car and sped off. Arrogance stood in the front yard, watching their retreating figures, as if he had thought of something.

If they had previously seen Greed, and now mistook him for Greed, then in their view, it was merely that the person they had just seen moments ago had undergone a sudden change in temperament, becoming abruptly cold and eerie, as if possessed by a ghost—and coincidentally, the house behind him was haunted.