The gilded cage had a new resident.
Stella's life was completely overturned overnight. The cramped, moldy rental was replaced by a massive, cold penthouse. The squeak of her old electric scooter was replaced by the silent hum of a private elevator. The constant worry over money was replaced by a different kind of suffocation—the loss of freedom.
Zion Chen was in charge of her daily life. He was like a precise, emotionless robot, arranging her meals, her clothes, and her schedule down to the minute. He was polite but distant, his eyes always holding a professional calm that made Stella feel like she wasn't a person, but an asset that needed to be properly managed.
Aidan, on the other hand, rarely appeared.
He treated her like a newly acquired, expensive piece of equipment. He had installed it, ensured it was functioning, and then left it to the technicians to handle.
Stella spent most of her days alone in the vast apartment. She could read, watch movies, or look out at the city below, but she couldn't leave. Every door required fingerprint and iris scanning. She was a prisoner with a magnificent view.
The only thing that gave her solace was the ancient bronze lamp.
She hid it in the deepest part of her closet, taking it out only late at night. She would hold it in her hands, its cool, metallic touch a reminder that she still possessed something that truly belonged to her—a secret that even Aidan's all-seeing "Eye" system couldn't penetrate.
This fragile peace lasted for two days.
On the third day, Zion Chen knocked on her door.
"Miss An," he said with his usual calm demeanor, "The research team is ready. Please come with me."
Stella's heart tightened. She knew this day would come. The day she would officially become Specimen 001.
She followed Zion into another elevator hidden behind a bookshelf. This one went down, not up, descending deep into the heart of the building. The elevator opened into a gleaming, white corridor that smelled of disinfectant and cold metal. It led to a laboratory that looked like something out of a sci-fi movie.
Inside, a team of researchers in white coats were busy at work, their faces illuminated by the blue light of various monitors. They glanced up when she entered, their eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and professional detachment. They weren't looking at a girl; they were looking at a living, breathing miracle, a biological anomaly.
In the center of the lab was a sterile, glass-enclosed testing area. Inside, on a stainless-steel table, sat a single potted plant.
It was a rose bush, but it was completely withered. The leaves were yellow and curled, the stem was dry and brittle, and the single flower bud was a sad, brown lump. It was dead.
"This is Dr. Elias Lin, the head of the research team," Zion introduced a middle-aged man with glasses and an intense, focused gaze.
"Miss An," Dr. Lin said, his voice crisp and business-like. "According to our preliminary data, your energy has restorative properties on biological organisms. Today, we want to conduct a controlled experiment. We need you to use your ability on this plant."
He pointed to the dead rose bush.
Stella stared at it, her hands clenched into fists.
"What if I refuse?" she asked, her voice cold.
Dr. Lin pushed his glasses up his nose. "The agreement you signed clearly states that you must cooperate with all research activities. Refusal would be a breach of contract."
His words were a polite but firm reminder of the chains that bound her.
Stella took a deep breath. She walked into the glass room, the automatic door sliding shut behind her, isolating her completely. On the other side of the glass, she could see the researchers, their faces expectant. She could even see a camera lens in the corner, broadcasting everything to the master of this cage.
To Aidan.
Humiliation washed over her. Her ability, born from the purest kindness, was now being treated as a tool, a performance to be staged on command for a cold, unfeeling audience.
She placed her hands on the pot, but she felt nothing. The warm current in her chest, the energy that had always responded to her will, was silent.
Because there was no kindness here. Only a cold, sterile command.
"Miss An, please begin," Dr. Lin's voice came through a speaker.
Stella closed her eyes, trying to force the feeling. She tried to think of warmth, of life, of hope. But all she could feel was the coldness of the glass walls and the weight of their expectant stares.
It was useless.
A murmur of disappointment spread through the researchers outside.
Stella's heart sank. Was she going to fail? Was she going to prove herself a useless, defective specimen? The thought was terrifying.
Just as despair began to set in, a memory flashed in her mind. It was the memory of her mother, before she got sick, tending to the small flower garden on their balcony. Her mother's hands, covered in soil, gently tending to each petal. Her face, filled with a simple, pure joy as she watched a new bud bloom.
'Everything,' her mother used to say, 'deserves a chance to live.'
That was it.
It wasn't about the command. It wasn't about the audience. It was about the life, however faint, that deserved a chance.
A genuine, selfless wish to see this withered plant live again bloomed in her heart.
And in that instant, the lamp in her soul responded.