After their gazes met and held, Marcus found his attention lingering with an almost involuntary quality. At this proximity, Elena Nightshade's beauty carried genuine impact—the kind that couldn't be dismissed or ignored.
Even at home with no outside visitors to impress, she'd applied extremely natural, subtle makeup. Her porcelain-fine skin showed faint traces of healthy color—a delicate flush that made her appear more alive, less like a beautiful corpse animated by sheer willpower.
His gaze drifted downward almost against his conscious control. Today she wore a simple black dress with clean, elegant lines that accentuated her slender yet graceful figure. The overall effect radiated cool detachment, an aura of untouchable distance. Beneath the hem, her pale, delicate legs hung motionless—appearing and disappearing in shifting shadows as the fabric moved.
They looked so perfect from an aesthetic standpoint. The skin appeared flawless, smooth and symmetrical, muscle definition visible beneath the surface. Yet fate had passed sentence on them, declaring them functionally dead. Marcus couldn't suppress the wave of genuine pity that washed through him.
Elena registered the exact location of his attention with keen awareness. Her slender white fingers moved unconsciously to press against her thigh, knees drawing back fractionally as though attempting to conceal that incomplete part of herself from scrutiny.
Marcus's meal was served and placed before him. He'd barely taken his first bite when the blue interface screen materialized in his consciousness with obvious enthusiasm:
[Ding! Congratulations, Host! The target has developed positive emotional response to the "tattoo removal" action. "Positive Value" +10 points! Current cumulative score: 1 point!]
"...System, you didn't miscalculate, did you? I endured a full day of excruciating pain, and it's only worth 10 points?" Marcus nearly choked on his food, genuinely outraged by what seemed like a grossly insufficient reward.
[Fortune: "Ahem, Host, please understand that favorability increases occur gradually and incrementally, particularly when initial negative values are severely depressed. I must ask for your patience. Proceed step by systematic step. Face the future with positive determination!"]
Fine. Ten points is ten points. At least I've finally turned negative into positive territory! Marcus consoled himself, trying to find the silver lining.
But a new problem immediately presented itself: at this glacial rate of progress, when would he ever accumulate the full 10,000 points required for mission completion?!
After dinner concluded, Elena was wheeled away by household manager Sophia to wash up and prepare for bed, while Marcus decided to explore the villa more thoroughly. Yesterday's chaos had left him no opportunity to properly examine this place he was obligated to call "home."
The lives of wealthy people are truly simple and unadorned... yet absolutely terrifying.
Marcus walked across gleaming floors, acutely aware that each individual tile reportedly cost a small fortune. He trod carefully, genuinely worried that stepping too hard might result in damage he'd spend his next lifetime's wages trying to repair.
His fingers drifted almost unconsciously to trace the white marble relief inlaid along the corridor wall—intricate carvings depicting orchids and bamboo rendered with astonishing lifelike detail. "System, this thing must be expensive, right?"
[Fortune: "That is premium-grade white marble relief work. Substantially more expensive than the floor tiles you're currently standing on, in fact."]
Marcus immediately withdrew his hand as though he'd touched something scalding hot. He took several steps toward a uniquely shaped pine tree positioned in the courtyard, casually snapped off a small pine needle, and placed it between his teeth with affected casualness. "Tsk. The lifestyle of the wealthy is certainly... different."
[Fortune: "It's not merely what you can see with your eyes. The crystal chandelier in the living room, the rosewood table and chairs you use for meals, even the bowls and utensils you eat from—all crafted from top-quality, exceptionally rare materials."]
The system continued its relentless infusion of money consciousness: ["Therefore, isn't it actually your profound good fortune that I selected you specifically to transmigrate into this world and experience this lifestyle?"]
"Good fortune?" Marcus scoffed bitterly. "Would you want this supposed blessing? I'd have to survive long enough to actually enjoy it."
[Fortune: "Host, don't lose sight of your small goal—100 million yuan! Upon successful mission completion, vast wealth will be yours to spend however you desire. What's a little temporary hardship compared to that reward?"]
Marcus considered this perspective and nodded slowly. "That's... actually a fair point. When I return to my original world, I'll be able to purchase a house like this one, right?"
[Fortune: "Ahem... Host, I must speak frankly. This villa's estimated value approaches ten figures—meaning billions of yuan. Your hundred million reward... would unfortunately prove insufficient for this specific property."]
Marcus: "..." Never mind, then!
As a pragmatic individual motivated primarily by financial considerations, he genuinely could not comprehend spending hundreds of thousands of yuan to purchase a decorative tree. The world of the wealthy remained utterly beyond his imagination.
As the saying goes: Rather than standing by the water envying fish, better to go home and weave a net.
Marcus spat out the pine needle he'd been chewing and felt his determination crystallize. It was time to locate Elena Nightshade and continue grinding through his "intimacy quest" progression.
It's just skin-to-skin contact. For one hundred million yuan, I can absolutely do this!
The massive villa settled into complete silence after the day's activity concluded.
The main living room lights had been extinguished. Servants had quietly completed their cleaning duties and withdrawn to their quarters, leaving only a few dim wall sconces burning in the corridors—like the watchful eyes of night sentries.
The brightest light source in the entire building emanated from a single room positioned in a corner of the second floor, stubbornly illuminated against surrounding darkness like a lighthouse beacon on a deserted island.
According to previous comments from household manager Sophia, Elena preferred darkness. She frequently kept curtains drawn even during daylight hours, and habitually extinguished lights early each evening, immersing the entire villa in an atmosphere approaching solemn, almost religious stillness.
Marcus thought privately: No wonder she's so psychologically dark despite her young age. Spending all day interacting with literal darkness—how could her heart possibly allow light to penetrate? The environment definitely bears some responsibility for her descent into villainy.
He tiptoed up to the second floor with exaggerated stealth, following that solitary light source. He discovered it led to a Chinese-style study.
The door stood slightly ajar. Through the gap, he could observe Elena sitting in her wheelchair with her back toward the entrance, posture remarkably upright as she practiced calligraphy with focused concentration.
On the distant wall, a beautifully framed banner bearing the inscription "Great Virtue Carries All Things" hung in position of prominence—creating subtle, almost ironic contrast with the emotional reality of the room's actual occupant.
However, the study's atmosphere was far from peaceful or serene.
Household manager Sophia knelt on the floor before Elena, shoulders trembling with suppressed emotion. She covered her mouth with one hand, barely containing audible sobs: "Miss... what will you do while I'm gone these next few days..."
The voices weren't particularly quiet—clearly this wasn't intended as private whispered conversation. Marcus's pulse quickened. He immediately adjusted his facial expression, arranging his features into a carefully calibrated mask of appropriate concern, and strode purposefully inside: "What's wrong? What happened?"
Upon hearing his approach, Sophia hastily wiped tears from her cheeks with her uniform sleeve, scrambling to her feet with obvious embarrassment. She straightened her crisp household manager uniform and struggled valiantly to recover her usual composed demeanor.
At that moment, Elena's slender, bamboo-shoot-delicate fingertips made gentle contact with her wheelchair's armrest. The chair rotated slowly to face the doorway.
She'd completed her evening washing and changed into a pure white silk nightgown—long-sleeved, floor-length, covering her completely except for a brief section of fair, delicate ankle visible below the hem.
Her hair remained half-damp, hanging loose across her shoulders in casual disarray. Her face, stripped of all cosmetic enhancement, resembled cold white jade—absolutely bloodless, devoid of warmth. Her eyes appeared even more unfathomable than during daylight hours, dark wells that seemed to descend forever.
Marcus's heart performed an uncomfortable skip. He had the distinct sensation he might have said something inappropriate, inserted himself into a situation where he didn't belong.
Sophia quickly provided explanation, voice tight with genuine distress: "Young Master, news arrived from my home village. My mother has... she's passed away. I must return immediately for the funeral rites—the journey and ceremonies will require at minimum three to five days. I'm desperately worried that no one will be available to properly care for Miss's daily needs during my absence..." Her words carried unmistakable authentic concern.
In the original novel, Sophia served as Elena's most intimate household attendant. She'd cared for Elena since early childhood, managing virtually everything—dressing, bathing, and even more private matters that required careful assistance.
"Meals should be manageable," Sophia continued, wringing her hands anxiously. "The kitchen staff can prepare food and deliver it upstairs. But... but..." She hesitated, clearly struggling with how to articulate the remainder of her concern—obviously referencing more private, delicate care requirements.