07:00
Peeling paint on the dorm ceiling looks like a dried-up map.
The alarm never rings—044 fires a high-frequency pulse straight into her skull.
[Wake up. Main quest: charity gala tonight.]
She opens her eyes; the black T-shirt smells of last night's rain.
Phone notification flashes:
"Blank canvas torn—buyer's identity unknown."
Photo: Fei Ye straddling his bike, half a canvas in hand.
She scrolls past without tapping.
08:30
Corridor bulletin board, crowd three-deep.
Red poster: Qi Si promoted to associate professor "for outstanding research."
She brushes a fingertip across the corner—an invisible crease.
Qi Si descends the stairs; they cross.
"Resource room, ten o'clock," he murmurs.
She answers with a monosyllable that could be yes or no.
09:15
Library basement, resource-room lock already loose.
She pushes the door; dust dances in the light shaft.
Qi Si stands between shelves, holding an old file.
"Seller profile for Lot 13—interested?"
"Price?"
"Accompany me tonight."
"Role?"
"Date."
"Payment?"
"Answers."
She takes the folder—yellowed pages, a ten-year-old girl with a red dot between her brows.
Closes the file.
"Deal."
11:00
Campus café. Feng Yu bites a straw, eyes saucer-wide:
"Two male escorts in one day? Trending topic booked!"
Yanxi stirs black coffee. "Work requirement."
"Harem requirement, you mean."
She smiles without denial.
Phone buzzes—unknown number:
"Don't drink the blue champagne tonight. —Q"
She deletes the text, watches the rain return.
14:00
Styling studio, lights surgical-white.
The make-up artist's hand trembles; eyeliner strays three times.
Yanxi keeps her eyes closed, surrendering to the blade of brushes.
In the mirror the stranger is sharp enough to cut glass.
044 updates:
[Shen Yan affection: 64/100]
[Qi Si affection: 33/100]
[Fei Ye instability: 41/100]
She opens her eyes; the tear-mole looks like a live round.
17:30
Hotel back corridor, carpet thick enough to swallow footsteps.
She changes into the gown—emerald silk held up by two thin straps.
Shen Yan leans in the doorway, gaze skating over her shoulder blades.
"Ready?"
"Always."
He hands her a black-velvet mask edged with diamonds.
"Tonight you're my safe word."
She ties it; the mask is cold, another skin.
18:45
Ballroom lights dim; the chandelier hangs like a poised knife.
The host's voice booms:
"Final lot—anonymous portrait of a girl. Opening bid: one yuan."
The curtain lifts; spotlight pins her face.
Silence drops like a guillotine.
Shen Yan raises his paddle: one hundred thousand.
Qi Si follows: two hundred thousand.
Fei Ye stands at the back, paperclip pin glinting like a detonator:
"Ten million."
Yanxi remains on the small stage, mask smiling.
"Sold."