Chapter 18: Darkness

Chapter 18: Darkness

The castle of the "Fang of Calamity."

Wen Qingshi was led into a room. The floor-to-ceiling windows were mostly covered by heavy velvet curtains, splitting the light into countless sharp, angular shards that fell across every face, casting smiles that looked like masks.

The scene before him made Wen Qingshi's heart clench.

Those young men and women, like some kind of expensive ornaments, were scattered across the sofas, the carpet, and the windowsills.

The women wore silk and lace, the boys had glossy lips and a tamed meekness in their eyes—they were all pets kept by Fu Xi.

A crowd clustered around a tall throne in the center.

Wen Qingshi was pushed inside.

Their lips curled into knowing smirks.

Wen Qingshi stood barefoot, the chain from the collar around his neck dangling down his chest, a thin line of dark red seeping through the gauze on his hand.

"Ooooh."

A woman's voice came from the sofa on the left. "Still standing, huh?"

The woman with big, bouncy curls leaned against the armrest, one leg crossed over the other, the slit of her dress riding up to her thigh.

"I thought you'd be on your knees by now," another woman chimed in, her voice sweeter, softer, with an innocent face—a total contrast to the first woman.

The pure-and-seductive type, she swirled a glass of red wine in her hand, the wine leaving dark red streaks like tears on the glass. "Wasn't he supposed to have some spine? Just look at him—"

"Doesn't he look like a dog that got its tail stepped on but is still trying to stand?"

Laughter erupted from every direction.

The women hid their smiles behind their hands, their eyes curving into mocking crescents, but the boys were bolder.

A boy with ash-blue hair got up from the carpet, walked up to the young man and circled him.

"This guy?" The ash-blue-haired boy glanced back at the others, his eyes a striking golden yellow. "This is the one who supposedly caused trouble before?"

"He did," another boy chimed in, leaning half his body out from the sofa, elbows propped on his knees, chin resting on the back of his hand like a puppy lounging by its den. "Stabbed our dear master the day he walked in."

"He stabbed him?" The ash-blue-haired boy's eyes went wide, and he cracked up, doubling over. "He stabbed him and he's still alive? Now that's guts."

Wen Qingshi stood there, the wound on his hand throbbing dully under the gauze.

"On your knees."

The ash-blue-haired boy said it suddenly.

He stood in front of Wen Qingshi, arms crossed, chin lifted slightly. "Didn't they teach you the rules? Everyone who comes in here kneels first."

Wen Qingshi looked at him.

Clothes like that, hanging loose and hollow on his frame, the cheap bones of his body showing through when the wind blew.

It reminded Wen Qingshi of something—the enslaved servants he'd seen before, dressed exactly like this.

He let out a sudden laugh.

So he was just like them.

The ash-blue-haired boy frowned.

Smack.

A palm cracked across Wen Qingshi's face.

The sound split the air.

Wen Qingshi clenched his fist. No one had dared lay a hand on him except the Wen family since he was a child. This slap shattered the composure of the once-proud second young master.

He gritted his teeth, raised his hand, and slapped the ash-blue-haired boy right back.

"Smack—"

This slap stung a thousand times worse than the one he'd taken.

Wen Qingshi hadn't expected he could stoop to violence like some common shrew.

The ash-blue-haired boy was stunned, head tilted, a bright red handprint blooming on his cheek.

The room went silent for one second.

Two.

Three.

The women screamed.

People sprang up from the sofas. Wine glasses toppled onto the coffee table, the red wine soaking into the carpet like blood.

"You're crazy—"

"How dare you—"

"Guards—!"

Wen Qingshi stood in the middle of the chaos, palm still tingling, that burning smile still on his lips.

He looked at these twisted, panicked, yet undeniably beautiful faces, and suddenly he pitied them.

They all had invisible collars around their necks, just like him.

But he was the one who bit back.

Footsteps suddenly echoed.

The ash-blue-haired boy had already backed against the wall, clutching his face, tears still clinging to his lashes, but he didn't dare make a sound.

The door was pushed open.

Fu Xi strolled in.

Still wearing the same clothes, the knife wound at his waist already forgotten.

Fu Xi was a man, yet impossibly beautiful, and impossibly cold.

The ash-blue-haired boy scurried over and dropped to his knees. "Leo, he hit me! How does a newcomer have the nerve—wooo..."

Wen Qingshi was standing in the middle of the room.

Then, out of nowhere.

Fu Xi's right leg shot up with zero warning.

The toe of his black leather shoe slammed dead-center into Wen Qingshi's gut.

Wen Qingshi flew backward, like an empty can getting booted across the floor, landing in the corner by the wall.

He hit the floor.

One staring down, the other staring up.

Fu Xi's lips moved. He didn't even glance at the gray-blue-haired kid next to him, just talked straight to Wen Qingshi.

"You still wanna go?"

Fu Xi ran his thumb across Wen Qingshi's face, like he was handling the rim of a porcelain vase.

"You've still got sharp claws."

Wen Qingshi wasn't backing down. "You don't know the whole story—are you blind?"

Fu Xi froze.

"Or are you just so bored you let them walk all over me?" Wen Qingshi doubled over, clutching his stomach.

Fu Xi let out a chuckle.

"Humiliate?" Fu Xi echoed, his voice barely above a sigh. "That's letting you off easy."

He let go of the young man's chin, slid his fingers up, and brushed the red mark on his cheek.

He yanked the young man's face closer.

"You don't belong to yourself anymore." Fu Xi's voice was soft, like he was sharing a secret. "From the day I let you in, even dying requires my say-so."

"And the right to use your body? That's mine too."

Fu Xi let go and stood up.

Wen Qingshi was still clutching his stomach. "I belong to myself. If you keep me around just to scratch your pathetic itch, one day you'll end up dead by my knife."

Fu Xi looked amused. "We'll see about that."

The woman with the big wavy hair got up and stepped forward. "Leo, want me to teach this pet some manners?"

"You think you can handle him?" Fu Xi sneered, keeping his distance from her, cold and dismissive.

"Stubborn ones just need a few days locked away, and then they're nothing but your private toy." The woman was sure of herself. "First time I've seen a guy like this. I wanna take a crack at it."

Fu Xi still had his gold-rimmed glasses on, playing the perfect gentleman, but he kept a whole stable of people.

"If he won't behave," the woman paused, a sly grin creeping across her face, "then we'll train him for the underground party."

"Fine." Fu Xi said.

Wen Qingshi couldn't follow what they were saying, but he knew something about that place was wrong.

"I don't like being the only one touching him," Fu Xi laughed darkly, like he was tossing aside a rag doll. "So let's make it a group effort. Do every job right."

"From now on, you're M-33. I'll train you myself."

The woman next to him went pale.

M-class—agents who throw themselves into the game, using their bodies to steal secrets.

Sure, it involved some shady methods.

But when it counted, they always managed to swipe the intel.

Low risk, big payoff.

And that role was way better than being Fu Xi's secret toy.

The others were a little jealous at first, but then they felt bad for Wen Qingshi. With a frame like that, could he even pull off a mission? And if he died, he'd just get scratched off the list.