After a hurried dinner, everyone began to prepare.
An hour later, Ye Cheng was ready; the children had changed into neat, finely tailored clothes, sitting side by side on the sofa without speaking. She had given them a simplified explanation of what might happen. The children were clever—far quieter than usual—and Ye Cheng held them close, her own confidence fragile at best.
Yang Yu already stood behind her, dressed immaculately in a black formal suit.
Then came a soft sound from the hallway—Suo‑Luo had returned.
When Ye Cheng turned around, her breath caught.
He was stunning.
Almost entirely bare, his body was veiled by a sheer layer of white gauze.
A single blood‑red gemstone hung between his brows, casting a subtle flame along his mismatched eyes, turning them into twin lures of danger and seduction. Gold‑silver chains—etched with delicate metal filigree—coiled loosely around his neck, waist, wrists, and ankles, tracing decadent patterns. He knelt gracefully on the floor—his pose identical to the messenger girl's that afternoon, yet infused with years of tempered sensuality.
"You… you—" Ye Cheng stammered, rising instinctively.
Suo‑Luo moved like a pampered Persian cat, lithe and fluid, the faint shimmer of metal and skin flashing beneath the gauze. She didn't even see how he vaulted lightly over the sofa; a heartbeat later, he was before her, bowing low to catch the hem of her dress gently between his lips, guiding her back down onto the sofa. Resting his head on her lap, he looked for all the world like an affectionate pet begging for touch.
Ye Cheng froze. Her blood ran cold from crown to heel. Her face, pale beneath the careful makeup, would have sent paramedics running had anyone seen it.
Yang Yu exhaled quietly.
"Please, Master. Play along. Don't show that expression."
Reality hit her—Suo‑Luo was deliberately drawing Prand's eyes to himself.
Kayrald's response during earlier communication had been ambiguous. He was far away on Fountain Star, hours out of reach, but his tone carried thinly veiled contempt toward Prand. Ye Cheng could only hope Kayrald still had loyal subordinates on Elan to stall him—to buy her time.
Yet Yang Yu's calm logic had cut through those hopes: why should Prand and Kayrald be enemies at all? Men like them could easily strike a deal—divide the "spoils."
Kayrald had no interest in children, but Prand certainly did. His own slave was an eight‑year‑old girl. He could simply offer a high price for the twins, avoiding conflict with Kayrald altogether.
That was why Suo‑Luo had to do this — to tilt Prand's obsession away from the kids and toward himself.
If he stood next to Prand, he'd be taller; his age and physique made him less "desirable" than a girl or child in the eyes of such men. But on his knees, glimmering beneath gossamer cloth, he radiated a different kind of power — a more mature temptation.
A voice from outside cut through their silence.
"Miss Ye Cheng, good evening. I'm the driver sent by Governor Prand."
Ye Cheng took a deep breath, stood, and murmured,
"How do I play this?"
"Pretend we don't exist," Yang Yu replied softly. "We know what to do."
He fell two steps back as she opened the door.
Outside stood a uniformed man, posture perfect.
"Let's go," she said coolly.
Arrival at the Exchange Gala
Dozens of luxury mag‑track cars already lined the parking plaza, and more were arriving by the minute. The place overflowed with wealth. The invitation had called it a Slave Exchange Gala — Prand's stage to flaunt his "legitimate" methods of acquisition and his coveted Senluo slave.
But judging by the crowds, word had spread far beyond his guest list; even people he couldn't turn away had come.
That thought actually soothed Ye Cheng. If uninvited spectators were piling in, Kayrald's network must already be at work. The more overcrowded the stage, the less control Prand had.
She turned, ready to help the children out, but Yang Yu's sharp look stopped her. He descended first with the twins. Behind them, Suo‑Luo remained kneeling in the car, motionless.
The chauffeur—trained and briefed in advance—bowed.
"Miss Ye Cheng, the transport for your precious companions has arrived."
A smaller, ornate vehicle glided up beside them, its rear open like a low stage lined with white fur and scattered red petals. An AI driver maneuvered it into place with robotic precision. Only then did Suo‑Luo move, gracefully crawling onto the smaller car and kneeling in display.
Ye Cheng clenched her fists—then relaxed. She could only walk forward.
The Glittering Cage
Inside the hall, gold and crystal daubed every surface. Perfume and wine hung heavy in the air. Well‑dressed guests clustered in conversation, each accompanied by half‑naked slaves—decorations and status symbols in human form.
The scene made Ye Cheng's stomach turn, but she kept her expression cold and composed.
An usher took her invitation and led her to the front. Within seconds, Prand's butler informed the Governor of her arrival.
She stood perhaps half a minute before he himself arrived—elegant as always.
His eyes swept over the shy children clutching Yang Yu's hands and the silver‑haired man kneeling beside her. Then he smiled and extended his hand.
"Good evening, Miss Ye Cheng — the future 'Flower of the Forces.' I'm Prand. Please convey my respects to Governor Kayrald."
He was older, refined in posture and tone—so much like Andreas in demeanor that Ye Cheng almost forgot the predator beneath the mask.
She matched his grip firmly, her smile polite yet distant.
"Thank you, Governor. I'll be sure to deliver your regards."
He spoke smoothly—experienced, educated at the Starfield Academy like herself. He knew how to keep a conversation flowing even when she faltered, changing topics without a flicker. Against her will, she felt herself almost relax—almost.
Behind her, Suo‑Luo and Yang Yu remained kneeling as protocol demanded: two steps back for ordinary slaves, at the master's feet for a trained "companion." Suo‑Luo belonged to the latter.
Ye Cheng noticed the slave girl messenger was absent. Perhaps she was Prand's most expensive trophy, waiting for grand reveal later. But judging by the hungry eyes around her, the center of desire had already shifted —to Suo‑Luo.
The silver hair marked chieftain's blood, the gray element lock signaled formal training. He was mature now — no longer a pliant child, but a man polished by time. In the eyes of many present, ripened sweetness was far more potent than green fruit.
After a time, more guests arrived. Prand apologized gracefully and moved away to greet them.
At last, Ye Cheng could breathe. She turned her mind to strategy.
Prand still held her father's life in his fist—but he wouldn't risk publicly using that as collateral; his image mattered. He'd make his move under polished excuses. A trade? An exchange? He wasn't wealthy enough to outbid Elan's nobles for Suo‑Luo. Nor could he offer a slave of equal value. No deal he proposed would match what she had.
Which meant he had something else planned.
The Red‑Haired Temptress
"Hey there — mind telling me where you found that treasure of yours?"
A tall, curvaceous woman with flame‑red hair and porcelain skin approached, heels clicking over the marble. Behind her stood a massive hybrid slave nearly twice as broad as Suo‑Luo.
Not knowing the woman's status, Ye Cheng kept her voice neutral.
"A trusted acquaintance entrusted him to me."
The woman leaned closer, eyes bright with interest.
"His hair—it's gorgeous. Even our finest cloud‑silks don't shine like this."
Ye Cheng had no idea what she was talking about, so she just smiled politely.
In such galas, touching another person's decorative slave without permission was tantamount to violence—a public slap to the master's face. And yet this stranger was clearly tempted.
"I'd never find a Senluo like him now," the redhead sighed. "Little sister, how about this—one roll of top‑grade cloud‑silk in exchange for just a little playtime with him?"
The word no rose instantly to Ye Cheng's tongue—but Yang Yu's delicate cough from behind made her choke it back. She cast a glance down at Suo‑Luo, who met her eyes and winked imperceptibly. Grinding her teeth inside, she straightened and smiled.
"Very well."
Suo‑Luo crawled to the redhead's feet. She stroked his hair, marveling at the cool, silken texture. > "Exquisite…"
Her slave brought over a tray of gleaming crimson fruit — smooth, translucent orbs that looked like rubies on ice.
Suo‑Luo tilted his head obediently and took one between his lips, but the woman didn't let go. He lifted his gaze; those dual‑colored eyes brushed hers like a whisper — and she sucked in a breath, fingers twitching. The fruit burst.
A rich scent filled the air. Dark wine‑red juice spilled down his chin.
Without hesitation, Suo‑Luo rolled his tongue to catch the liquid, swallowing the fruit in a single motion—then let the remaining juice trace to the woman's fingertips and slowly licked them clean.
The woman half‑closed her eyes, smiling as a shiver ran through her. Her hand did not pull back.
When he was finished, she lifted an eyebrow, genuinely impressed.
"Well trained."
Ye Cheng forced her face to remain neutral. She smiled thinly and turned away, every fiber in her wanting to dig a hole and hide.
Around them the crowd had fallen hushed—soft gasps, the sound of breaths caught and forgotten. Even Prand, chatting in the distance, and his guest both turned to look, their eyes riveted.
Finally, the red‑haired lady laughed, withdrew her hand, and said lightly,
"Enough. Another minute and I'd go broke. I'll fetch food—and your cloud‑silk roll, dear. Truly — an exceptional pet."
"Heh‑heh…" Ye Cheng's smile was mechanical.
Her slave approached with a receipt manifested from his ring. Before Ye Cheng could reach, Yang Yu rose, took it first, and handed it to her, then knelt again with flawless form.
These social rules are ridiculous, Ye Cheng grumbled inwardly. Then curiosity nudged through her restraint. She whispered,
"What's 'cloud‑silk,' exactly?"
Yang Yu answered quietly, unfazed.
"A single roll of top‑grade cloud‑silk could buy a warship."
Ye Cheng nearly fell over.
The Announcement
The lights dimmed suddenly. Conversations faded to echoes as spotlights pooled on the stage. Prand stood there, smiling graciously.
"Distinguished guests, dear friends—welcome to our grand celebration…"
He began his eloquent speech, but Ye Cheng was on edge. Within minutes, he would unveil the true purpose of this event.
"For every person of taste, collecting beauty is a form of art. Thus, I— forgive me."
A flicker from his dimensional ring interrupted him — an emergency signal. Ye Cheng recognized the light pattern instantly.
Something was wrong.
"Governor Prand! Alert from Sector A — a hybrid rampage! The Twelfth Commerce Street is in chaos, and the Union Central Hospital—Elan Division — is under attack!"
Ye Cheng's ears rang. Her knees buckled. Suo‑Luo caught her subtly by the shoulder, steadying her before she fell.
Behind them, Yang Yu's eyes narrowed dangerously.
That hospital—
It was where Ye Zhiqiu was being held.