Bai Fan lowered her eyes as she approached the head waiter at the club entrance.
“Hello,” she said timidly. “I’m the new waitress. Traffic was bad—I’m late… Is it still okay to go in?”
The head waiter paused.
His gaze swept over her, a slight frown creasing his brow as if trying to match her face with a vaguely familiar one.
He picked up his earpiece and muttered a few low words.
“Yeah, white hair, blue contacts… dressed up like that princess from the movie.”
Bai Fan kept her eyes down, motionless.
She looked like a young girl who was late and feeling guilty, waiting for the head waiter to confirm her identity.
‘If I can’t sneak in this time, I’ll have to force my way in.’
“Got it, understood.” The head waiter’s voice suddenly became clear, his brows tightening.
“So it’s you. Late again? Madam Wang is already annoyed.” He jerked his chin toward the door behind him. “Hurry up and go in—remember to use the staff entrance.”
Bai Fan let her expression show a hint of fluster.
“S-Sorry. I’ll go right now.”
She quickly walked into the corridor behind him.
“Wait!”
Bai Fan’s steps halted. Her back stiffened, every muscle tensing in that instant.
“…Is there something else?” She turned her head, her voice carrying just the right amount of confusion.
“There’s an important guest in the Queen’s Hall today.” The head waiter lowered his voice. “Newbies like you—don’t gawk, don’t run around, and don’t see anything you shouldn’t see from the guests.”
He warned in a low tone. “You might vanish without a trace and never know what happened.”
Bai Fan silently relaxed.
“I understand.”
“Good.” The head waiter nodded with satisfaction. “Some big shots aren’t to be messed with. Madam Wang will arrange an extra training session for you later.”
“Okay.”
Bai Fan turned around.
At the end of the staff corridor was a fire door. When she pushed it open, golden light flooded out like a tide.
Opulent.
This wasn’t a place just anyone could enter.
While changing clothes in the locker room, she had already gone through the handbag of the woman she’d knocked out.
The employee ID badge had three characters: Chen Yuanyuan.
A recently hired waitress.
Bai Fan clipped the badge to her waist and silently repeated that name in her mind.
Chen Yuanyuan.
I’m sorry.
“Chen Yuanyuan!”
A sharp female voice rang out from the other end of the hall.
A middle-aged woman in a cheongsam came over. Her features were sharp and snobbish, and her high heels clicked loudly.
This must be the Madam Wang the head waiter mentioned.
Bai Fan instinctively lowered her face.
“Why are you only arriving now? Don’t you know you’re late?” Madam Wang stopped in front of her, arms crossed over her chest.
“Sorry, traffic was bad.”
“Don’t give me excuses.” Madam Wang’s voice rose a few notes, drawing stares from several nearby waitresses. “Being late means poor service. The guests don’t care about your reasons!”
“I won’t let it happen again.”
“Huh?” Madam Wang’s brow suddenly furrowed, her eyes scanning Bai Fan’s face back and forth a few times. “Something feels different about you today.”
Bai Fan’s heart skipped a beat.
Her hand instinctively touched her skirt.
“Well… I put on makeup to match the guest’s request, trying to look like the Tianyu Princess.”
Madam Wang’s doubt flickered past, then quickly eased.
With so many girls under her, she couldn’t remember every face.
Plus, in this line of work, they changed makeup and outfits daily to serve different guests, so it was common for faces and names not to match.
Besides, this girl had only been here a short while—Madam Wang didn’t have a strong impression of her anyway.
“Hmph.” Madam Wang snorted coldly, but most of the anger had drained from her voice. “Normally, I’d slap some sense into you. But since we have a VIP today, I’ll let it slide.”
She planted her hands on her hips and stared at Bai Fan, her gaze like a measuring ruler.
“Don’t keep your head down. Chin up, chest out—look alive.”
Bai Fan raised her head.
Madam Wang froze.
Why did this Chen Yuanyuan look so stunningly different today?
But time was tight—the VIP was waiting in the Queen’s Hall, and she couldn’t keep them waiting long.
Madam Wang grabbed Bai Fan by the wrist, her grip firm as if afraid she’d run off.
“The guest today is in the Queen’s Hall. You know what kind of person can get in there.”
Bai Fan said nothing, following Madam Wang’s pace.
“Watch your words when you’re inside. Whatever they ask, just go along with it—don’t feel wronged. Plenty of girls would kill for a chance to serve the Queen’s Hall guests. As a newbie, you’re already lucky. They’re all green with envy behind your back.”
Bai Fan hid the chill in her eyes and stepped into the VIP elevator with her.
At that moment, a girl with wine-red hair also entered the door.
Her gaze stopped.
A snow-white figure was disappearing around a corner at the far end of the hall.
That flash of white—she’d seen it before. It felt so familiar.
“Where is that area?”
The head waiter bowed respectfully. “Miss Ruan Mingxi, that’s the club’s Queen’s Hall.”
His tone carried professional deference. “One of the most prestigious VIP rooms in the entire Lincheng Golden Sand Club.”
Ruan Mingxi turned around, revealing an ambiguous smile.
“The Queen’s Hall—I like that name.”
Before the head waiter could respond, she added, “Can I… book every girl in there?”
The head waiter was stunned.
His mouth opened and closed, then opened again.
Ruan Mingxi tilted her head, her wine-red hair slipping over her shoulder.
“What?” she said. “Is that not allowed?”
—
Inside the Queen’s Hall.
Master Mo sat alone on the sofa, a glass of red wine in his hand.
He didn’t drink it. Instead, he held it up to examine it.
Good wine. The deep red color pleased him.
But compared to real blood… something was missing.
Still, it had to be…
He turned his head.
The girl beside him wore an elegant cheongsam, her makeup delicate and her smile proper.
“Do you think I’m old?” Master Mo asked.
The girl’s smile was beautiful.
“Not at all, sir. From what I see, you look no older than forty.”
Master Mo’s lips curled slightly.
He was nearly seventy, but the face in the mirror didn’t look anywhere near that.
The crow’s feet at his eyes were faint, the white hair on his forehead was thinning, and even the liver spots from years of socializing had faded.
“A few days ago,” he said, his gaze falling on the red wine in his glass, “my son… had a falling out with me.”
The woman might not even have been older than Master Mo’s son.
“Maybe it’s his rebellious phase,” she offered.
She immediately regretted it. You weren’t supposed to comment on a guest’s family matters, even as idle flattery.
Master Mo didn’t get angry. He didn’t even look at her.
“I’m already old. My body is no longer healthy.”
“When an opportunity to reclaim a youthful body is right in front of me, why would I refuse?”
“After all, he’s my son. I wanted to share that chance with him. But he told me… not to go down the wrong path, that it wouldn’t end well.”
“To stop me… he even said he’d go to the Security Bureau and turn himself in if I kept going, just to drag me back.”
Silence.
Amber light fell between them.
“So I took back… the flesh and blood I gave him.”
Master Mo turned to look at the woman beside him.
His hand rested on her thigh.
“Tell me,” he said, his eyes empty, “was I wrong?”
At that moment, every hair on the woman’s body stood on end.
“Of course… you couldn’t possibly be wrong.”
Master Mo looked at her and nodded.
His hand moved upward from her thigh, his fingers brushing her neck—where the carotid artery pulsed.
The woman began to tremble. Her body instinctively tried to flee.
But Master Mo’s hand was like an iron vise. His face was already close to hers.
His mouth opened.
Fangs.
The woman’s body slowly went limp in the throes of trembling.
Her complexion went from pale to ashen, then to paper-white.
Master Mo released his grip.
The woman’s body slid onto the sofa like a discarded garment.
Master Mo tapped the table.
The door opened, and a suited attendant walked in.
He bent down and lifted the woman’s shriveled body from the sofa.
“Be careful,” Master Mo said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Carry her out. Send the next one in.”
The attendant nodded and exited the room with the woman.
Master Mo picked up the wine glass again.
He took a sip.
Indeed, blood tasted far better than red wine.
He leaned back on the sofa, his gaze fixed on the enormous crystal chandelier above.
He was deep in thought.
Lately, he’d been busy with the tasks the Bishop assigned him, leaving the gang’s affairs to Yang Ba, the Second Leader.
He hadn’t gone back to check in for days.
But these last two days… Yang Ba hadn’t reported to him through any channel.
What was that kid up to? Having second thoughts?
At that thought, a trace of crimson surged deep within Master Mo’s pupils.
Just then, a calm voice sounded in his ear.
“How is the mission I gave you progressing?”
Master Mo jolted in shock.
Out of nowhere, a young man had appeared in the air before him.
He wore a goat mask, and behind it were blood-red pupils with a faint golden light swimming within.
Master Mo stood up and bowed his head.
“Bishop,” he said. “I have already spread the Blood Plague in the East District as planned.”
“But the information I’m receiving,” the Bishop said, “suggests that the spread of the Blood Plague in Lincheng… is showing signs of being halted.”
Master Mo’s pupils constricted sharply.
“That’s impossible! From discovering the outbreak to investigating the cause to developing a new vaccine—it would take at least three months—”
“With the Federal Agency’s efficiency,” the Bishop interrupted, “it would take them at least half a year.”
“But this time… there was an unexpected variable.”
Master Mo looked up into the Bishop’s eyes.
“A Sublimator of the Holy Star Sign has reportedly appeared in Lincheng. It was she who purified all the reserve servants in the hospital.”
“A Holy Star Sign Sublimator is our natural enemy.” The Bishop’s voice was calm, pressing down like an unshakable mountain. “Find her quickly, and then…”
He paused.
“Eliminate her.”
Master Mo lowered his head.
“Your command is my mission.”
The Bishop stared at him.
A long silence.
Something in the Bishop’s goat-masked face seemed to relax slightly.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward.
“How does it feel to become a Blood Descendant?” he asked. “Do you regret the price you paid?”
Master Mo kept his head down.
His body trembled.
“I do regret it.”
The Bishop frowned slightly—that answer was unexpected.
Master Mo looked up.
His face was flushed with an almost unsettling excitement.
“I regret…” His voice quivered. “Why I hesitated for so long.”
“I should have followed you long ago!”
“What is a small-city gang boss’s status, or a mortal’s wealth and glory, compared to a Bloodline Ascender’s lifespan and power?”
“Those are nothing!”
“Even sacrificing my own family’s lives is a trivial price!”
“This isn’t the same world.”
“Joining the Bloodline Association is the best decision of my life.”
The Bishop looked at him and slowly smiled.
“Good. Very good.”
“You joined late, but… you are more devout than the others. You understand the meaning of immortality better.”
The Bishop turned around.
His figure dissipated like smoke in the wind, growing transparent in the air.
“Continue to feed. Report to me if anything comes up.”
Master Mo knelt in place.
He didn’t move.
Only after fifteen minutes had passed did his tense body slowly relax.
He picked up the now-cold glass of red wine and took a sip.
“Bishop? Hmph… One day, I’ll take your place.”
Knock knock knock.
Someone rapped on the VIP room door.
“Master Mo!” Madam Wang’s voice came from outside, syrupy with flattery. “The girl you requested last time has arrived.”
Master Mo leaned back on the sofa without moving.
“Come in.”
The door opened.
Madam Wang sashayed in with an exaggerated sway.
Her body was starting to thicken, the love handles clearly visible beneath the cheongsam.
Behind her followed a girl.
Snow-white hair draped over her shoulders. Ice-blue eyes were lowered. Her blue skirt rippled like spring water in motion.
Master Mo’s fingers stopped.
His glass hung midair.
At that instant, his blood surged.
He recognized her at once.
This girl… was absolutely not the Chen Yuanyuan he had requested that day.
Madam Wang remained oblivious, her face plastered with a fawning smile.
“Yuanyuan,” she said, her voice sickly sweet. “Say hello to Master Mo.”
Bai Fan lifted her face slightly.
Amber light fell across her features. She offered a smile.
“Master Mo, hello.”
Her voice was very soft, as if afraid to disturb something.
But Master Mo’s eyes had already brightened.
His bloodlust was thick.