She raised her arms obediently, yielding to the maid’s deft movements.
The air was thick with the cloying sweetness of perfume, but the cool touch of shaving foam, laced with a faint minty scent, cut through it like a breeze.
It spread across her skin, chilling and sharp, a fleeting distraction from the moment’s strangeness.
Mu Xi stole a glance at the maid before her, noting how she, like Qing Yun, possessed an almost unreal figure—curves that strained against the tight fabric of her uniform, accentuating every provocative line.
The maids’ attire was daring, the necklines plunging just low enough that, as they leaned forward, a glimpse of pale, flawless skin teased the eye.
Mu Xi’s breath hitched, her gaze darting away as one maid leaned closer to shave her underarm, the woman’s full chest brushing perilously near her arm.
A flush of warmth crept up her cheeks, and she scolded herself to stay calm, to focus.
But the faint, elusive fragrance of the maid’s presence kept slipping into her senses, stirring a restless flutter in her chest.
When the task was finally done, Mu Xi exhaled a quiet sigh of relief, assuming the ordeal was over.
But the maids’ next words froze her in place.
“Miss Mu Xi, please remove your skirt,” the head maid said, her voice flat, unyielding, as if reciting an indisputable command.
“What?” Mu Xi blinked, her fingers brushing the soft pink tulle of her dress.
Her voice faltered.
“Remove my skirt? To shave… where?”
The maids’ faces remained impassive, but their eyes flicked downward in silent answer.
“The boss’s orders,” the head maid continued, her tone as cold as stone.
“We are to remove all hair from your private areas. Not a single one is to remain.”
Mu Xi’s face burned, her mind reeling.
Though her soul might carry the rough edges of a man, this body—this delicate, feminine shell—was undeniably a young woman’s.
To be laid bare before these expressionless maids, subjected to such intimate scrutiny, was a humiliation that seared her to the core.
She shrank back instinctively, clutching the hem of her skirt.
“Um… can we skip that part? I think it’s clean enough…”
The head maid stepped forward, her voice calm but edged with an authority that brooked no argument.
“Miss Mu Xi, this is the boss’s command. Please comply. If you resist, we will take necessary measures.”
Necessary measures?
Mu Xi’s mind conjured an image of being pinned to the bed by these tall, poised maids, their hands steady as they carried out their task.
A shiver ran down her spine.
She was a caged bird in Ye Lan’s gilded aviary, her wings clipped, her choices few.
With a resigned breath, she closed her eyes, her voice barely a whisper.
“Fine… I’ll do it.”
The pink skirt slipped to the floor, pooling like spilled cotton candy on the plush carpet.
The air felt colder now, heavy with an awkward silence that pressed against her skin.
Mu Xi bit her lip, her hands twisting together, wishing she could vanish into the floor.
The maids, however, moved with the precision of artisans handling fine porcelain, guiding her gently to the bed.
The cool touch of shaving foam returned, this time tracing a far more intimate path.
Mu Xi stiffened, her body rigid as a fish on a cutting board, utterly exposed.
The razor’s cold edge grazed her skin, each careful stroke sending a tremor through her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, her mind blank save for the faint scrape of the blade and the relentless hum in her ears.
Time stretched into an unbearable eternity, each second a crucible of shame.
She felt like a puppet under a spotlight, stripped of dignity, her vulnerability laid bare for all to see.
When it was finally over, Mu Xi sat up, her movements stiff as she reached for her skirt.
But before she could cover herself, the head maid’s hand shot out, stopping her.
“Please wait, Miss Mu Xi,” she said, her voice as neutral as ever, as if she were commenting on the weather.
Mu Xi looked up, confused, only to see the maid produce a sleek black phone from her pocket, its dark surface stark against her pale fingers.
“The boss has instructed us to take photos for documentation,” the maid explained, her tone mechanical, devoid of warmth.
‘Photos? Documentation?’
Mu Xi’s mind went blank, a surge of indignation flooding her chest.
She wasn’t some rare specimen to be cataloged, her every humiliation preserved for posterity.
“Photos?” Her voice trembled, a faint edge of defiance in its quiver.
The maid ignored her, raising the phone and aiming its lens at the freshly shaved skin.
At that moment, Mu Xi understood Ye Lan’s twisted game.
This wasn’t just about grooming—it was about control, about savoring her discomfort, her mortification.
Fury ignited within her, painting her cheeks a vivid red.
Her teeth sank into her lower lip, nearly drawing blood as she cursed Ye Lan silently.
That perverse woman was reveling in this, orchestrating her shame like a maestro.
“Please cooperate, Miss Mu Xi,” the maid said, her voice as emotionless as a machine.
Mu Xi took a shaky breath, forcing down the rage and humiliation that threatened to overwhelm her.
What choice did she have?
She closed her eyes, surrendering to the moment.
Fine, let Ye Lan have her twisted victory.
“Assume the pose,” the maid instructed.
Mu Xi’s eyes snapped open, bewildered.
“Pose?”
The maid demonstrated with clinical precision.
“Legs apart, hands above your head, eyes on the camera.” Mu Xi’s heart sank, the humiliation crashing over her like a tidal wave.
This was no mere task—it was a public execution of her pride.
Yet, with no room to resist, she complied, her movements wooden, her face burning as if it might ignite.
Her silver hair spilled across the pillow, framing a face pale with distress, delicate and pitiable.
The maid snapped photo after photo, the camera’s clicks echoing like a metronome of shame.
Mu Xi held the pose, time dragging on in agonizing slowness, each moment a fresh wound to her dignity.
When it was finally over, the maid lowered the phone.
“You may dress now, Miss Mu Xi,” she said, as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
Mu Xi scrambled for her skirt, pulling it on with trembling hands, her mind a fog of disbelief and exhaustion.
She turned away from the maids, fumbling with the ribbons as they tidied their tools with the same meticulous care they’d shown throughout.
When they left, she shut the door behind them and leaned against it, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her chest heaving.
The shame and anger churned within her, a storm that refused to subside.
Ye Lan, that wretched woman, had ground her dignity into dust, and Mu Xi could do nothing but endure.