Noon came.
Marcus woke. Every muscle protested. His body felt like it had been beaten with hammers.
He lay there. Stared at the ceiling. Tried to move.
Pain everywhere. Sharp. Constant. The kind that made thinking difficult.
He forced himself up. Inch by inch. Each movement was agony.
The room spun. He waited for it to settle.
His legs barely held him. Every step hurt.
He stumbled to the bath. Turned the water cold. Couldn't handle heat right now.
The cold hit like knives. Made the bite marks sting. Made him gasp.
Blood in the water. From wounds reopened. From scratches too deep to have healed overnight.
The Yang Physique evolution helped. But it couldn't fix everything. Just made him survive what should have killed him.
Marcus scrubbed. Methodical. Removed the dried blood. The sweat. The evidence.
When he stood before the mirror he barely recognized himself.
Red marks covered his neck. His chest. His shoulders. Bite marks. Deep. Some had bled. Some would scar.
Bruises bloomed across his ribs. His hips. Purple and black. Shaped like fingers. Like hands that had gripped too hard.
His face looked hollow. Sunken cheeks. Dark circles under his eyes. Like someone had drained him and left only the husk.
Two nights. Just two nights. And he looked like this.
He had five more to go. Maybe six. Until eighty percent favorability.
Marcus wondered if he'd survive that long.
He picked up a scarf. Wrapped it around his neck. Covered the worst marks.
The look was wrong. Mismatched. A scarf indoors in summer. But better than the alternative.
He grabbed the coin pouch. Left the room.
The dining hall was full of maids. Twenty at least. All noticed him immediately.
Saw the scarf. The way he moved. Stiff. Careful. Like every step hurt.
Whispers started. Giggles behind hands. They knew.
Of course they knew. Sound carried in these halls. And last night had been loud.
Marcus sat at a small table. Away from them. Tried to ignore the stares.
A young maid brought food. Rice. Vegetables. Soup. Simple fare.
She set the dishes down. Met his eyes. Blushed. Giggled. Ran back to the others.
More whispers. More giggles.
Marcus ate quickly. Wanted to leave. Escape their stares and their knowing smiles.
He choked twice. Food going down wrong. Eating too fast.
The head maid's voice cut through the whispers.
"Slow down."
Marcus looked up. Orange hair. Grey eyes. She stood at the head of the room. Arms crossed.
Her gaze was sharp. Clinical. Assessing.
She saw the scarf. Saw the way he favored his left side. Saw the tremor in his hands.
Knew exactly what the scarf was hiding. What had happened. What would happen again tonight.
Her expression didn't change. Professional. Neutral.
But her eyes held something. Pity? Contempt? He couldn't tell.
"You'll make yourself sick." She said. Voice level. "Eat properly. You need your strength."
The words were practical. But the implication was clear.
You'll need strength for tonight. And tomorrow night. And every night after.
Marcus set his chopsticks down. Ate slower. Each bite deliberately.
The maids watched. Some sympathetic. Some curious. Some amused.
He finished. Left without meeting anyone's gaze. Especially not the head maid's.
Outside Xuan Ao waited. Saw the scarf. Said nothing. Didn't judge.
When Marcus got close Xuan Ao flicked his hand. Qi yanked the scarf away.
Marcus lunged for it. Too late.
Xuan Ao's grin died. His eyes found the marks. The bruises. The bite wounds covering Marcus's neck.
Silence stretched.
"Brother Lin Mo." Xuan Ao's voice was careful. "What happened? Were you attacked by a blood-sucking demon?"
Marcus snatched the scarf from the ground. Wrapped it back around his neck. Tight.
Didn't answer.
Xuan Ao's slow brain caught up. His eyes widened. "Oh. OH. Brother you're quite popular with the ladies aren't you?"
Xuan Ao blinks twice, then blurts:
"Brother Lin Mo… did she use your throat as a spirit herb grinder? Because it looks like she pounded you until the essence came out both ends!"
If he knew it was their association head who'd done this he'd be on his knees begging forgiveness.
Marcus just laughed. Let him think what he wanted.
"Let's talk business. I spoke with Lady Xue. She agreed to help. The shop will take seven days. Main square location. Everything handled."
Xuan Ao nodded. "So what's the plan?"
"Change of plan. We have a week. First we need packaging. Then production setup."
Marcus pulled out the coin pouch. "Do you know a good printing shop? Someone who can make custom packaging?"
"Black Quill Press. Southern district. Best in the city."
"Let's go."
Xuan Ao carried him. They flew south.
The Black Quill Press sign appeared below. Large building. Four stories. People flowing in and out.
Cultivators. Mortals. Scholars. Merchants. All seeking books. Documents. Custom work.
They landed. Entered.
The reception hall was luxurious. Marble floors. High ceilings. Rows of books lined the walls. Cultivation manuals. History texts. Fiction. Poetry.
Cultivators browsed. Carried purchases. The smell of ink and paper filled the air. Rich. Almost intoxicating.
Marcus saw the operation. Efficient. Professional. This was a successful business. He could learn from it.
They waited in line. Ten people ahead of them. Marcus watched how the receptionists worked. Smooth. Practiced. Good customer service.
Finally their turn came.
A tall bald man. Well-built. Formidable looking. But his smile was genuine. "How can I help you gentlemen?"
"Can you make custom packaging? For food products?"
The man's smile widened. "Of course. We handle everything from simple wrapping to complex formation-sealed containers. Let me get our design specialist."
He rang a small bell. A woman appeared from a side door.
Pink robes. Professional demeanor. Late twenties. Curvy but all business. Her movements were precise. Confident.
"Follow me please."
She led them through corridors. Past rooms where workers bent over desks. Cutting. Folding. Printing. Assembly line efficiency.
They entered a private consultation room. Well-furnished. Comfortable. Designed to make clients feel important.
They sat on a plush sofa.
"I'm Fang Yue. Senior design consultant. What are your requirements?"
Marcus described the packaging. Dimensions. Material needs. Seal requirements for food safety. Moisture protection. Temperature resistance.
Fang Yue wrote everything down. Precise notes. Asked clarifying questions. Professional.
She pulled out samples. Different materials. Papers. Treated fabrics. Formation-enhanced wrapping that could preserve freshness for weeks.
"This one." Marcus pointed. Waxed paper. Simple. Elegant. Eye-catching. Affordable to produce at scale.
"Color?"
"Deep brown. Like the product inside. And I need the brand name printed. Velamore."
She wrote it down. "Velamore. Good name. Memorable."
"How many units for initial order?"
"Let's make a long-term agreement." Marcus leaned forward. "I'll deposit two hundred spirit coins now. You supply packaging starting seven days from now. I'll provide delivery address and quantities weekly. Minimum one thousand units per week. Maximum ten thousand."
Fang Yue's eyes lit up. Big contract. Recurring revenue. Her commission would be substantial.
"That's very acceptable Mr...?"
"Lin Mo." Marcus extended his hand by habit. Earth habit.
She looked confused. Stared at his hand.
Then clever. Shook it anyway. Firm grip. Professional.
"I'm Fang Yue. Pleasure doing business with you."
Xuan Ao watched quietly from the side. Learning. Marcus's communication skills were smooth. Professional. Natural. Like he'd done this a thousand times.
Which he had. Just in a different world.
"One more thing." Marcus said. "Writing supplies. High quality paper. A thousand sheets. Ink bottle. Good pen. Not cheap student supplies. Professional grade."
"Of course Mr. Lin. Follow me."
They met with the owner. Signed contracts. Marcus deposited two hundred medium grade spirit coins.
Left with paper and pen bundled under his arm.
Outside Marcus turned to Xuan Ao. Pulled out a list he'd written.
"I need you to source these. Utensils. Ingredients. Dryer. Oven. Everything for chocolate production."
Xuan Ao studied the list. Nodded.
"Also lease a bakery. One week. Until our shop opens. And hire a professional cook. Someone who can follow instructions exactly."
"How much can I spend?"
Marcus pulled coins from the pouch. Counted. "One hundred spirit coins. Should be enough based on market prices."
Xuan Ao took the coins. "I'll handle it."
They walked through the southern market. Browsed stalls.
One caught Marcus's eye. Floating array disc. Could carry a person up to one hundred meters. Flight capable.
But required cultivator to operate.
Marcus thought. Xuan Ao carried him everywhere. It was exhausting for both of them.
"How much?"
"One hundred fifty medium grade spirit coins."
Marcus pulled out the coins. Bought it. Handed it to Xuan Ao.
Xuan Ao stared. "Brother this is..."
"For you. So you don't have to carry me everywhere. Just control it with your qi. I'll ride."
Xuan Ao's eyes went wet. "This is the first gift anyone's given me in decades."
He moved to hug Marcus.
Marcus dodged. "Don't. You'll crush me with those arms."
Xuan Ao laughed. Wiped his eyes.
They used the disc to fly back. Much faster. More efficient.
"Tomorrow. Same time. Same place." Marcus said.
Xuan Ao nodded. Left to handle the sourcing.
Marcus returned to the mansion. His mood was better. Lighter.
He greeted maids on the way. Some giggled. He didn't care.
In his room he sat at the desk. Unwrapped the paper. Filled the pen with ink.
Time to write.
He'd remembered a novel from Earth. Romance. Wildly popular. Bound by Desire.
The story of a noblewoman and a commoner. Forbidden love. Scandal. Passion. All the elements that sold.
He could recreate it here. Change names. Adapt the setting to cultivation world. Noble lady cultivator and mortal servant. Same core story.
Romance novels sold. Always had. Always would. And in this conservative cultivation world they'd be scandalous. Profitable. Women would buy them secretly. Read them hidden.
First volume was about two hundred pages. If he wrote eight hours a day he could finish in a week.
The pen moved across paper. Words flowed.
Chapter one. The first meeting. Eyes across a crowded hall.
Chapter two. The forbidden conversation. The spark of attraction.
Marcus wrote. Hours passed. His hand cramped. He switched hands. Kept writing.
The story poured out. He knew it by heart. Had read it three times on Earth. Could recite whole passages.
He changed details. Made it fresh. But kept the core.
The seduction. The tension. The inevitable fall.
Words that would make conservative ladies blush. Scenes that would make them imagine. Want.
Marcus wrote faster. Lost in the work. In creation. In building something that was his.
Not Xue Lian's. Not the system's. His.
The light outside faded. Afternoon became evening. Evening became dusk.
Darkness fell outside the window.
Marcus stopped writing. Set the pen down.
Night had come.
His body tensed automatically. Pavlovian response. Night meant pain. Meant being used. Meant losing pieces of himself.
But underneath the dread something else stirred.
Not just anticipation.
Want.
Real want.
His hands shook. He stared at them.
Not from fear. Not anymore.
From desire.
The thought should have horrified him. Should have made him sick.
It didn't.
Something was changing inside him. Slowly. Inexorably. Against his will.
Or maybe not against his will anymore.
Maybe that was the most terrifying part.
He'd spent two nights being broken. Used. Reduced to a thing.
And part of him had started to crave it.
The pain. The loss of control. The complete surrender.
Marcus stood. Walked to the mirror. Looked at his reflection.
Hollow face. Sunken cheeks. Marks covering his neck.
He looked like a victim.
But his eyes. His eyes held something else.
Hunger.
Stockholm syndrome. That's what they called it on Earth. When captives started to identify with their captors. Started to want what hurt them.
He was becoming dependent. Addicted. To her. To the cycle. To the pattern.
Two nights and he was already changing.
What would he be after five more? After ten? After eighty percent favorability?
Would there be anything left of Marcus Rhineheart?
Or would he just be Lin Mo? The adequate tool. The useful slave. The thing that performed when commanded.
He didn't know.
And the fact that he didn't know. That he couldn't be sure he'd resist.
That terrified him more than anything Xue Lian had done to his body.
Marcus turned away from the mirror. Couldn't look anymore.
Tonight would come. Like every night. And he'd go to her.
Because he had to.
Because the seal demanded it.
Because the business required it.
And because part of him. The part growing stronger. The part he hated and feared.
Wanted to.