Thankfully, Lin Ke’er and Qing Yun restrained themselves.
Their clash was fierce, a whirlwind of flashing strikes, but neither aimed to kill.
Only shallow scrapes and bruises marked their skin—no one was gravely hurt.
Qing Yun’s face was a mask of ice as she shot Lin Ke’er with a venomous glare.
With a sharp flick of her sleeve, she stormed off, her high heels clacking against the floor in a staccato rhythm, each step a vent for the fury burning within her.
Lin Ke’er’s face was equally stormy, her chest heaving with barely contained rage, her breaths coming in sharp, uneven bursts.
She turned, catching sight of Mu Xi trembling beneath a blanket, her eyes softening just a fraction.
Stepping closer, her voice carried a trace of concern, laced with reassurance: “Little Xi, it’s over. Rest well tonight. Don’t be afraid.”
With one last lingering look, she turned and left the room.
The room lay in ruins, the air thick with the faint tang of blood and dust.
Mu Xi stood alone in the center, her heart still racing, her body chilled to the bone.
She remained frozen, staring blankly, until the maids began tidying the wreckage.
As if waking from a dream, she stumbled back to her bed, pulling the blanket tightly around herself.
But after such chaos, sleep was a distant hope.
Her eyes stayed wide open, staring into the dimness, until the first faint light of dawn crept in, and exhaustion finally pulled her into a fitful slumber.
Morning sunlight filtered through pink lace curtains, casting a dreamy glow over Mu Xi’s room.
She awoke on her soft bed, the lingering dread from the night before still clinging to her like a shadow.
A maid entered as usual, pushing a breakfast cart.
But today, the cart bore no towering stacks of cream cakes or delicate pastries.
Instead, there was a balanced, wholesome breakfast: a glass of milk, whole-grain bread, a perfectly fried egg, and a vibrant array of fresh fruits, their colors bright and their aroma inviting.
“Why the change in breakfast?” Mu Xi asked, a surprise flickering in her voice.
The maid replied with measured respect: “Miss Ye’s orders. After last night’s events, Miss Lin Ke’er and Miss Qing Yun have temporarily left the estate. We’ll be looking after you in the meantime.”
Mu Xi’s heart stirred.
The events of last night had clearly left their mark—Qing Yun and Lin Ke’er, both gone?
Should she feel relieved or anxious?
With Lin Ke’er absent, her dreams of escape seemed to drift even further out of reach.
A thread of worry wound through her, but she quickly dismissed it.
Worrying wouldn’t help.
For now, she could only take things one step at a time.
“I understand. Thank you,” Mu Xi said softly, picking up her knife and fork to eat slowly.
The food was surprisingly good—far healthier than the cloying sweets she’d been drowning in daily.
After breakfast, Mu Xi washed up and slipped into a light, pale pink gauze dress.
With nothing else to occupy her, she decided to head to the media room to pass the time.
Better to keep busy than to let her thoughts spiral.
The media room was as dim and cozy as ever, its massive curved screen glowing softly.
Mu Xi scrolled through the movie list, unsurprised to find it dominated by a single genre—lesbian romance, a perfect reflection of Ye Lan’s peculiar tastes.
She sighed, resigned.
With nothing better to do, she figured watching something was better than staring at the ceiling.
Her finger paused on a title that caught her eye: “The Dungeon Rose”.
‘A captivity story?’
Curiosity tugged at her, and almost without thinking, she selected the film.
The screen flickered to life.
A damp, shadowy dungeon came into view, its chains rusted, its air heavy with despair.
A frail, pure-hearted girl in tattered clothes faced a grotesque, sadistic captor.
The film’s oppressive atmosphere pulled Mu Xi into its world of desperation.
The girl, trapped deep in the dungeon, endured inhuman torments daily, yet her spirit remained unbroken.
She studied every corner of her prison, searching tirelessly for any chance of escape.
Mu Xi watched, enthralled.
The girl’s resilience and cunning set her blood aflame.
She felt herself merge with the girl onscreen, a soul trapped yet defiant, yearning to leap into the story and aid her fight.
Her eyes were glued to the screen, hoping to glean some trick, some spark of inspiration for her own escape.
But then the plot veered wildly, a dizzying three-hundred-sixty-degree turn.
The monstrous captor, once a figure of pure malice, transformed into the girl’s destined love.
The two fell into a passionate, almost absurd romance, their fervent scenes unfolding across the dungeon’s grim settings—from cold stone beds to tattered sofas, a filthy kitchen, even a dank bathroom, and, impossibly, an outdoor romp.
Mu Xi stared, dumbfounded, her cheeks flushing.
The fire in her veins snuffed out, replaced by sheer exasperation.
What kind of nonsense was this?
Where was the promised tale of captivity and resistance?
“The Dungeon Rose?” More like “The Dungeon Fling!”
As she silently roasted the film’s outrageous plot, the media room’s door creaked open.
A line of maids filed in, their voices polite but firm: “Miss Mu Xi, Miss Ye has requested you return to your room for lunch.”
Mu Xi, relieved for an excuse, quickly shut off the film and followed them back.
Lunch was a feast, a stark departure from the usual saccharine cakes and confections.
Before her sat an array of homestyle dishes: garlic-sautéed broccoli, mushroom chicken, steamed sea bass, and a steaming bowl of tomato-egg soup.
The balance of flavors, the vibrant colors, the savory aromas—it all sparked Mu Xi’s appetite instantly.
“Actual food today!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with delight.
After days of relentless sweets, these fresh, savory dishes were a godsend.
She grabbed her chopsticks and dug in.
The broccoli was crisp, bursting with garlicky flavor.
The chicken was tender, the mushrooms soft and savory, the broth rich and comforting.
Mu Xi ate with abandon, as if she hadn’t tasted food in centuries.
She polished off every dish, slurping down the last of the soup, her stomach pleasantly full.
With a satisfied burp, she felt truly alive again.
Sated and content, Mu Xi rose to stretch, but the maids approached, their faces impassive, gesturing for her to sit on the bed.
Puzzled, she complied, only to see a maid approach with a tray.
On it lay a razor, shaving foam, tweezers, moisturizer—a curious assortment that left Mu Xi bewildered.
“What’s this for?” she asked, pointing at the tray.
“Miss Ye’s orders,” the maid replied, her tone as flat as if discussing the weather.
“We’re to remove your underarm hair.”
“Underarm hair?” Mu Xi blinked, then laughed, half in disbelief, gesturing to her armpit.
“But I barely have any! Really, it’s practically nothing!”
The maid’s expression didn’t waver.
“Miss Ye’s orders are clear. Not a single hair is to remain. Please cooperate.”
With that, she squeezed a dollop of cold shaving foam under Mu Xi’s arm, the chill from the shaving foam made Mu Xi flinch.