The moment the thought crossed her mind, a chill rose up her spine.
She hurriedly put down the scripture and didn’t dare look any further.
Better to practice singing.
She moved back to the center of the room, closed her eyes, and forced herself to calm down.
Imagining herself standing on stage, the lights dazzling, the audience entranced.
She would conquer them with her voice, make them go wild for her.
Slowly, she began to hum.
This time, her voice was a little smoother, though still tinged with a slight hoarseness.
Unsatisfied, she repeated it over and over until her throat began to ache and she had no choice but to stop.
After resting a moment, a sudden whim struck her—she wanted to dance.
She couldn’t dance; she had never learned.
But looking at herself in the mirror, dressed in such a revealing dress, wouldn’t it be a waste not to dance?
She swayed her body casually, mimicking the moves of those actresses she had seen in the video room.
At first, awkward and stiff, but gradually, she seemed to find the rhythm.
Her body moved with the beat, the hem of her skirt fluttering, the sequins sparkling; the reflection in the mirror even gained a hint of allure.
She danced with growing enthusiasm, even improvising some unique moves.
She twisted her waist, swung her hips, flicked her long hair; every movement full of teasing and suggestion.
She seemed to become a temptress, freely displaying her charm before the mirror.
Suddenly, she stopped.
The reflection, though seductive and captivating, held a hollow, numb gaze.
Is this really what she wanted?
To escape here, did she have to become like this?
She stared at herself in the mirror, her expression complicated and unreadable.
To survive, it seemed she had to pay some price.
Even if it meant selling her soul.
But, would she still be herself after that?
Mu Xi tapped her cheek, thinking she was just overthinking.
Better to stop worrying about nonsense and focus on improving herself—that was the true path.
She picked up a throat lozenge and popped one into her mouth; the sweet fragrance spread through her mouth, stirring something deep inside.
Ignoring it, she returned to the center of the room and continued practicing her singing.
The soundproofing on the Seventh Floor was excellent, but when the Manor grew noisy, it felt as though the earth itself trembled.
Mu Xi could still faintly hear the clamor from downstairs—the Guests had arrived.
Those strange creatures, the rustling of velvet, leather, and metal clashing together, mixed with low murmurs like countless insects crawling in the dark.
The footsteps of the Butlers quickened; the hallway turned into a chaotic scene of crashing porcelain and sharp reprimands, all woven into a dissonant symphony.
The sunset’s afterglow stained the sky red outside the window, and the light in the room dimmed.
Mu Xi was just about to take a break when the door was knocked, and a maid’s respectful voice sounded, “Miss Mu Xi, Lord Ye Lan requests your presence in the banquet hall on the Sixth Floor.”
The gilded elevator descended slowly and stopped at the Sixth Floor.
The doors opened, and a wave of heat and perfume washed over her.
The banquet hall was brilliantly illuminated, lavish to the extreme.
A huge crystal chandelier hung down, its light dazzling, almost blinding.
The dome’s fresco depicted some unknown myth, painted with intense colors and twisted lines, exuding a strange beauty.
At the center of the hall stood a massive circular stage, covered with a scarlet velvet carpet.
Surrounding the stage were seats of various designs—velvet sofas, animal hide chairs, and even grotesque thrones built from skulls.
The Guests were already seated, wearing all kinds of masks—beastly, metallic, skeletal—that concealed their true faces but revealed a sickly excitement.
The air was thick with perfume, alcohol, and a faint indescribable scent of decay.
On stage, a man dressed as a ridiculous clown was performing acrobatics, tossing several burning torches into the air and catching them skillfully, drawing cheers from the stands.
Mu Xi stood at the entrance of the banquet hall, watching with interest.
The clown’s movements grew faster, the torches seeming almost alive in his hands, darting up and down, dizzying to watch.
Just as Mu Xi was captivated, a Guest wearing a Metal Mask below the stage sneered with contempt, “Pathetic, and they actually have the nerve to show off such tricks.”
Before the words had even finished, a cold glint flashed.
Almost no one saw what happened, but a muffled “phut” sound echoed.
The clown’s body jerked violently, and his once nimble act came to an abrupt halt.
He stood rigid in place as the torches clattered to the ground, flames immediately spreading across the carpet.
Slowly, he lowered his head.
In his chest, a Blood Ruby Dagger had been thrust in without a hilt.
The ruby on the dagger’s handle glowed eerily under the lights.
Blood gushed out like a fountain, staining his ridiculous costume and the scarlet carpet.
He opened his mouth as if to say something but instead collapsed weakly, twitching a few times before falling silent forever.
The banquet hall instantly fell silent; one could hear a pin drop.
Mu Xi’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth as a chill surged from her feet to her back.
She had never seen such a bloody scene before.
Even knowing that Ye Lan’s Manor was no place of kindness, this brazen slaughter still shocked and terrified her.
After a brief silence, the Guests erupted into low laughter—like the screeches of night owls, chilling to the bone.
They were not scared; on the contrary, their excitement grew as if they had just witnessed a thrilling warm-up act.
“Interesting, very interesting.” The Guest in the Metal Mask clapped slowly, a twisted delight in his tone.
“Looks like tonight’s banquet will not be boring.”
Mu Xi’s stomach churned violently, and she struggled to hold back the urge to vomit.
She glanced around.
Though masked, their trembling bodies betrayed their excitement.
These people were not human but a pack of bloodthirsty beasts.
Suddenly, Mu Xi felt a profound helplessness.
She was trapped in this world of madness and slaughter, and she, nothing more than a Golden Canary in a cage, always on the verge of being devoured.
Her gaze returned to the center of the stage.
The clown’s corpse still lay there, blood slowly pooling—like a dazzling flower blooming in hell.
Several figures rushed onto the stage and dragged the body away like a dead dog, leaving a glaring bloodstain on the scarlet carpet, which was quickly covered by fresh velvet.
Everything had happened too fast, as if it were a clumsy magic trick gone wrong.
The next performer hurried onstage—a Stand-up Comedian.
His face was pale, forcing a smile as he tried to ease the tension with jokes.
But the shadow of death hung like a heavy curtain, suffocating everyone.
His jokes were dry and tasteless, like chewing wax; the audience responded only with a deathly silence.
As expected, silence gave way to more brutal violence.
This time, another Guest, wearing a feathered mask, didn’t bother to taunt.
He simply raised a hand, a ring on his fingertip flashing with a faint light.
The comedian’s forehead instantly bloomed with a spray of blood.
His body stiffened and collapsed to the ground.
His dying smile lingered—a tragic, absurd sight.
The burst blood droplets splattered across the stage, a grim footnote to the black comedy unfolding.
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