Chapter 778 --778

Chapter 778: Chapter-778

The rhythmic tapping stopped instantly. Butterfly’s warm brown eyes snapped toward the servant, his gaze suddenly hardening into a glare so sharp and venomous it could have cut glass. Shiwan flinched, immediately regretting opening his mouth.

Before Butterfly could unleash his notorious temper, a sharp, unceremonious knock echoed at the chamber door.

Without waiting a single second for permission, the heavy wooden doors swung open. A second servant—this one dressed in finer, pale-blue silk, clearly a high-ranking personal attendant—strolled into the room carrying a steaming porcelain tea set on a silver tray.

He completely ignored the terrifying tension in the room, casually setting the tray down on the rosewood table.

"Master, calm down," the blue-robed attendant scolded lightly, pouring a fragrant cup of jasmine tea without batting an eye at the glare. "Why are you getting so angry over a simple question? You need to relax your face. You are going to get frown lines."

The threat of physical imperfection hit Butterfly faster than a physical blow.

The lethal, calculating aura of the capital’s top courtesan evaporated in an absolute instant. "Frown lines?!" Butterfly gasped, his hands flying up to press frantically against his flawless forehead. "Am I getting wrinkles?! Oh my gods, where is the mirror?! Bring me my mirror immediately!"

Shiwan scrambled backward, utterly bewildered by the sudden shift, while the blue-robed attendant casually reached onto the vanity table and handed Butterfly an ornate, silver-backed hand mirror.

Butterfly snatched it, leaning dangerously close to the lantern light as he critically examined every millimeter of his porcelain skin. "Where is it?! I don’t see anything!"

"I said you are going to get wrinkles if you continue frowning like an angry warlord," the attendant clarified smoothly, offering the steaming cup of tea. "I did not say you had them yet. Drink your tea, Master. It is bad for your complexion to stress over street encounters."

Butterfly let out a massive, dramatic exhale, the tension finally leaving his shoulders. He lowered the mirror, shooting his bold attendant a deeply annoyed look before accepting the delicate porcelain cup.

He took a slow, elegant sip of the jasmine tea, closing his eyes as the warmth settled his nerves. When he opened them again, the sharp, intelligent gleam had returned.

He looked down at the still-kneeling Shiwan.

"I want to know absolutely everything about that woman," Butterfly commanded softly, his tone leaving no room for failure. "Who she is. What she does. What her financial backing is, whether she is married or not... find out everything you can uncover without drawing the attention of the city guards."

"Yes, Master!" Shiwan bowed deeply, the floorboards digging into his forehead. "I will do it as fast as possible!"

The blue-robed attendant gave Shiwan a subtle, dismissive nod, and the terrified servant practically scrambled out of the room, pulling the heavy doors shut behind him.

With the room finally quiet, the blue-robed attendant picked up the silver teapot, his brow furrowing in genuine curiosity. "Why go to such lengths, Master? Is there something remarkably good about her? Did you find her enchanting?"

Butterfly paused, the rim of the teacup hovering just inches from his lips.

He pictured the way the woman had stood in the muddy street. Most women of the capital fell into two predictable categories: they were either arrogant, demanding noblewomen who treated men like decorative pets, or they were crude, desperate laborers who stared at his face with undisguised, vulgar hunger.

That woman had been neither. She had looked at him with cold, intelligent calculation. She had matched his sharp tongue without a single flinch of intimidation, and she had openly declared her unmarried status with a lazy, unbothered pride that bordered on absolute arrogance.

A slow, genuinely amused smile spread across Butterfly’s breathtaking face. He let out a soft, musical laugh that echoed in the quiet chamber.

"Enchanting? No," Butterfly murmured, taking another sip of his tea. "She is just... interesting."

The blue-robed attendant let out a long, long-suffering sigh, picking up the silver teapot to refill his master’s porcelain cup.

"With all due respect, Master Butterfly," the attendant murmured, his tone laced with dry, weary warning. "The last time you found someone ’interesting,’ you ended up breaking a wealthy guild leader’s arm across a banquet table, and we had to bribe the district magistrate a small fortune just to look the other way. You are a courtesan, not a spy master. Please do not invite trouble to the Crimson Pearl."

Butterfly lazily inspected his manicured nails, completely unrepentant. "She tried to touch my hair without paying the premium fee. She was lucky I only broke her arm."

Before the attendant could offer another exasperated sigh, the heavy, rhythmic sound of wooden heels clicking against the corridor floorboards approached the room.

The footsteps didn’t pause outside the threshold. Without a single knock of warning, the heavy double doors to Butterfly’s private inner chamber swung wide open.

Butterfly’s warm brown eyes instantly hardened. The lazy, amused posture vanished, replaced by a rigid line of pure irritation. He didn’t even turn his head, merely tilting his chin as he looked toward the doorway from the corner of his eye.

"How many times have I told you, Madam, that you need to knock before entering my private rooms?" Butterfly drawled, his voice losing its melodious warmth and dropping into a sharp, icy cadence.

Stepping through the doorway was a striking, heavily powdered woman in her late forties, draped in layers of extravagant gold and crimson silk. This was Madam Su, the owner and undisputed ruler of the Crimson Pearl. She wore her hair pinned high with expensive jade ornaments, and her lips were painted in a wide, perfectly calculated smile that didn’t quite reach her sharp, calculating eyes.

She waved a silk handkerchief dismissively, gliding into the room as if she owned every piece of furniture in it—which, technically, she did.

"Come now, Butterfly, my sweet child," Madam Su laughed, her voice dripping with a cloying, artificial motherly warmth. "Do we, as a family, really need to have such a stiff, formal conversation about doors? A mother does not need to knock to see her most precious son."

Butterfly didn’t rise from the chaise lounge, nor did he offer her the customary bow of respect. He simply took another slow sip of his jasmine tea, his eyes perfectly flat.

"We are not a family, Madam," Butterfly corrected smoothly, setting the teacup down on the rosewood table with a soft clink. "You are a merchant, and I am your most expensive asset. And even assets require basic maintenance—like the maintenance of their privacy. To what do I owe this sudden burst of maternal affection?"

Madam Su’s wide, painted smile stiffened for a fraction of a second, the heavy white powder around her eyes cracking ever so slightly.

?No one else in the Crimson Pearl would ever dare speak to her with such blatant, icy disrespect. But Butterfly was not just any courtesan. He was a once-in-a-generation cash cow, a terrifyingly beautiful anomaly who brought in more pure silver in a single month than the rest of the pavilion combined. He knew his worth, and he weaponized it flawlessly.