Chapter 779 --779

Chapter 779: Chapter-779

Recovering her composure, Madam Su let out a forced, musical sigh and gracefully sat on a velvet stool opposite his chaise lounge.

?"You wound me, Butterfly. I only came to deliver wonderful news," Madam Su purred, unfurling a delicate silk fan. "The eldest daughter of Minister Zhang—the one who just inherited the southern silk trade routes—has requested your presence for her private autumn banquet tomorrow night. She has already paid a five-hundred-tael deposit just for you to sit behind the bamboo screen and play the guqin for two hours."

?Butterfly didn’t even blink. He reached out, delicately picking up a peeled grape from a silver bowl.

?"Minister Zhang’s daughter has sweaty palms and breathes like a dying pug when she drinks," Butterfly drawled, examining the grape. "I am not spending two hours in a stuffy room listening to a politician butcher classical poetry. Send Willow-Mist. He likes the attention."

?"Butterfly, please," Madam Su’s voice lost a fraction of its honeyed warmth, an edge of actual stress bleeding through. "She specifically requested you. If I send someone else, it will look like a slight against a ministerial family!"

?"Then tell her I caught a chill from the damp evening air," Butterfly replied, popping the grape into his mouth and leaning back into the cushions. He shot the Madam a sharp, utterly ruthless look. "Or tell her my price for leaving my chambers has increased to a thousand taels. If she is truly the heir to the southern trade routes, she can afford it. If she complains, she is too poor to be sitting in my presence anyway."

?Madam Su stared at him, her jaw tight. She knew it was useless to argue when he dug his heels in. With a heavy, exasperated sigh, she stood up, smoothing her crimson robes.

?"I will inform her steward of the... price adjustment," Madam Su said tightly. "Rest well, my sweet child."

The heavy double doors of the inner chamber clicked shut, sealing the scent of jasmine tea and Butterfly’s infuriating arrogance behind them.

The instant the latch caught, the artificial, honeyed warmth completely melted off Madam Su’s powdered face. Her jaw clamped shut so hard a muscle twitched beneath her rouge.

"Bastard," Madam Su hissed through gritted teeth, her sharp silk fingernail guards clicking against her palm. "He is getting more and more cocky with every passing month. Does he truly believe his face makes him invincible?"

A personal attendant waiting in the dim, lantern-lit corridor hurried forward, bowing his head subserviently. "What should we do, Madam? If Minister Zhang’s daughter agrees to the thousand taels... and he still refuses to step out of his chambers? We cannot afford to offend her."

Madam Su let out a low, venomous sneer, turning on her heel to march down the opulent hallway.

"Why in the heavens would we need his agreement?" she spat, the heavy gold ornaments in her hair chiming with her violent, angry steps. "If he plays the stubborn virgin tomorrow night, just slip a dose of Spring-Melting Powder into his evening wine and have the guards carry him directly to the Minister’s carriage. A haughty, unbroken stallion like him only acts like this because he hasn’t been properly broken in yet."

The attendant paled slightly, fully aware of the violent bloodbath Butterfly would cause if he woke up drugged in a strange bed, but he didn’t dare utter a word of protest.

"Once that noblewoman tosses him around for a few hours and ruins his untouchable reputation, his ridiculous pride will shatter," Madam Su continued coldly. "He will come crawling right back to my feet, begging for the pavilion’s protection just to survive the scandal. I am done playing this petty, exhausting game of giving him the illusion of respect. He is a courtesan. He is property. And property does not get to dictate its price."

With a sharp flick of her crimson silk sleeves, Madam Su swept down the corridor, already calculating exactly which vintage of wine would best mask the bitter taste of the drug.

Miles away, sitting cross-legged on the clean floorboards of her newly purchased apothecary, Heena was staring blankly at the smudged ink on her palm.

The quiet of the empty shop was absolute, broken only by the distant, muffled sounds of the East Market shutting down for the night. Yet, despite the successful day of monopolizing underworld cosmetic supplies and building her local disguise, a strange, creeping unease had been scratching at the back of her mind for hours.

She popped another piece of crystallized ginger into her mouth, her dark eyes narrowing in the dim light of a single oil lamp.

"System," Heena called out, her voice echoing slightly in the empty room.

A golden spark flared near the ceiling beams, and the digital lion cub materialized, floating down to hover at eye level. "Yes, Host? Are we reviewing the grocery store inventory plan?"

"No," Heena said flatly, leaning her elbows on her knees. "I want to talk about this mission."

The System blinked. "What about it? You’ve secured capital, a storefront, and the local mafia. You are doing fantastic!"

"That is exactly the problem," Heena replied, her raspy voice turning cold and analytical. She fixed the glowing cub with a terrifyingly sharp stare. "Do we not usually get the absolute worst, apocalyptic, highly-political nightmare assignments? The missions where the original owner wants me to butcher an entire imperial dynasty, or survive a modern corporate bloodbath where everyone has an assassin on speed dial?"

The System’s digital tail gave a small, involuntary twitch. "Uh... yes?"

"Then why in the heavens did the overarching Transmigration Authority give me this?" Heena demanded, gesturing around the quiet, dusty room. "Yes, the original Lu Heena was beaten and thrown into the slums. It was tragic. But honestly? Any standard, C-rank rookie host could have handled this. The original owner doesn’t even want revenge. She just wants to get married, sell some vegetables, and have kids. Why did an elite host like me get assigned to a completely mundane, slice-of-life grocery store simulation?"

The golden cub suddenly found the wooden floorboards incredibly fascinating. It actively avoided her gaze, floating a few inches to the left.

"Well," the System stammered, its voice pitching half an octave higher than normal. "Maybe... maybe because you have done such a good job in your past lives! Yes! The upper management reviewed your file and decided you needed a rest. Think of this as a paid vacation! A lovely, peaceful matriarchal vacation!"

Heena stared at the floating cat for a long, suffocatingly quiet moment.

She had spent lifetimes reading the microscopic micro-expressions of syndicate bosses, corrupt politicians, and trained killers. A glowing, stuttering AI was not exactly a difficult read.

"Are you hiding something from me, you little furball?" Heena asked softly, her tone dripping with deadly suspicion.

The System vigorously shook its head, its blue eyes wide with manufactured innocence. "No! No, no, no. Absolutely nothing! What you see is what you get! Just a quiet life in the East Market!"

Heena studied the digital projection for a few more seconds. She knew it was lying through its pixelated teeth. But she also knew that the Transmigration Authority bound its assigned Systems with iron-clad non-disclosure protocols. If a plot point was locked behind a time-gate or a specific trigger, she could torture this digital cat for a century and it physically wouldn’t be able to speak the words.