The grand hall of Black Orchid Estate seemed to hold its breath.
Yè Júnhào's presence dominated the space like a living shadow. He moved with the effortless grace of someone who had walked the earth for centuries, yet every step carried an undercurrent of restrained power. The black silk of his high-collared robe whispered against the marble floor as he circled the gathered women slowly, like a wolf assessing a flock of lambs.
Xuěyáo stood perfectly still, her hands clasped tightly in front of her to hide their trembling. The air felt thicker now, heavier with that strange, spicy scent that made her head spin. She could feel the weight of his gaze even when he wasn't looking directly at her. It was as if invisible fingers were tracing the line of her throat, her collarbone, the rapid pulse beneath her skin.
One by one, he dismissed the others with a single word or a slight tilt of his head.
"Next."
A girl with porcelain skin and perfectly pinned hair stepped forward, curtsying deeply. She was beautiful—wealthy merchant's daughter, no doubt. Yè Júnhào barely glanced at her before murmuring, "The east wing will suit you."
Another was sent to the kitchens. A third to the gardens. Each selection was swift, almost mechanical.
Until he reached Xuěyáo.
He stopped directly in front of her. Up close, the details were devastating. His skin was flawless, unnaturally pale, as if moonlight had been carved into flesh. His eyes—those stormy gray irises—held flecks of crimson that seemed to flicker when the candlelight danced across them. A faint, almost imperceptible scar traced along his left jawline, the only imperfection on an otherwise godlike face.
"Your name," he said. His voice was low, rich, and dangerously intimate, as though he were speaking only to her even though the entire hall could hear.
"Lín Xuěyáo," she replied, forcing her voice to remain steady. She dropped into a graceful curtsy, the way her grandmother had taught her years ago. "From Liúshuǐ Village."
He leaned in slightly. Just enough that she caught the subtle movement of his nostrils flaring. Inhaling.
A soft, almost inaudible sound escaped him—something between a sigh and a growl.
"Xuěyáo…" He tasted her name like fine wine. "You will serve me personally."
Gasps rippled through the remaining women. Some looked envious. Others relieved. The stern woman with the clipboard nodded once, as if she had expected this outcome.
Xuěyáo's heart slammed against her ribs. "As you wish, Master."
The word "Master" felt strange on her tongue—heavy, binding. His lips curved into the faintest smile, revealing the barest hint of sharp canines that sent a fresh wave of instinctive fear through her.
"Follow me."
He turned without waiting for a response. Xuěyáo hurried after him, her simple shoes silent on the cold marble. The other women were led away in different directions by silent servants, but she was taken deeper into the heart of the manor.
They climbed a wide, winding staircase lit only by wall sconces. The portraits lining the walls depicted stern figures from centuries past, their eyes seeming to follow her every movement. At the top, a long corridor stretched into darkness, its walls draped in deep crimson velvet.
Yè Júnhào pushed open a heavy oak door at the end of the hall.
"This will be your chamber when you are not attending me," he said, stepping aside so she could enter.
The room was far more luxurious than anything Xuěyáo had ever seen. A large four-poster bed with black silk sheets dominated the space. Crystal lamps cast a soft, golden glow. A vanity table held an array of delicate combs and perfumes. Heavy curtains framed tall windows that overlooked the misty gardens below.
But it was the connecting door—slightly ajar—that caught her attention. It led directly into what could only be the Master's own chambers. She caught a glimpse of an even larger bed, dark wood, and shelves lined with ancient-looking books and strange artifacts.
"You will attend to my personal needs," he continued, voice calm yet commanding. "Bring my meals. Maintain my study. Draw my baths. And…" He paused, those stormy eyes locking onto hers once more. "You will be available whenever I require your presence. Day or night."
Xuěyáo swallowed hard. "I understand, Master."
He stepped closer, towering over her. The scent of him—dark spices, aged wine, and something metallic—wrapped around her senses. "Do you, little one? This estate holds many secrets. Some… dangerous. Serve me well, and your family's debts will be cleared within the week. Fail me…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "And the consequences will be most unpleasant."
She met his gaze without flinching, even though every instinct screamed at her to look away. "I came here to save my grandmother. I will not fail."
For a long moment, silence stretched between them. Then, unexpectedly, he reached out. His fingers—cool as marble—brushed a stray lock of her raven hair behind her ear. The touch was feather-light, yet it sent electricity racing across her skin.
"Your scent…" he murmured, almost to himself. "It is… intoxicating."
Xuěyáo's breath hitched. Before she could respond, he withdrew his hand as if burned.
"Rest tonight," he said, voice suddenly distant. "Tomorrow, your duties begin at dusk."
With that, he turned and disappeared through the connecting door, closing it behind him with a soft click.
Xuěyáo stood alone in the lavish room, heart still racing. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm the wild fluttering inside.
She had been chosen.
She was now the Master's personal maidservant.
But as she moved to the window and looked out at the mist-shrouded highlands, a strange feeling settled over her—like invisible eyes watching from the shadows.
In the adjacent room, Yè Júnhào leaned against the closed door, eyes closed, fangs aching.
The girl's scent lingered in the air like a drug.
For the first time in four hundred years, the ancient vampire felt something dangerously close to hunger… and fear.
Because he already knew he would not be able to let her go.