The air in "The Gilded Cage" bar was a soup of expensive cologne, cheap desperation, and the artificial scent of jasmine floor cleaner.
To Luo Feng, the atmosphere was simply a collection of data points: 78% humidity, a decibel level hovering around 85, and a 12% chance that the drunk man at Table 4 was about to vomit on the mahogany floor.
Luo Feng smoothed his apron. He was eighteen, a height that felt too tall for his narrow frame, and possessed a face that often made people stop mid-sentence. His skin had the translucent quality of fine porcelain, and his eyes—dark, wide, and perpetually analytical—gave him the look of a fallen star trying to figure out the laws of gravity.
"Feng! Focus!" Si Ling hissed, grabbing his elbow. Si Ling was twenty, street-smart, and the only reason Luo Feng hadn't been fired or kidnapped in his first week. "Table Nine. The man in the charcoal suit. Don't look him in the eye for too long, don't spill anything, and for the love of God, don't explain the thermodynamics of the ice cubes to him."
Luo Feng blinked slowly. "The rate of heat transfer is relevant to the dilution of the scotch, Si Ling. People should know what they are paying for."
"They're paying for the vibe, Feng! Just go!"
Luo Feng moved. He didn't walk so much as glide, a natural grace that he remained entirely unaware of. In his mind, he was navigating a path of least resistance through the crowded floor. In his pocket, a crumpled piece of paper burned against his thigh: Stomach Carcinoma - Stage 3. Immediate surgical intervention required. Deposit: 400,000 RMB.
He reached Table Nine.
Wei Ling was leaning back, his long legs crossed at the knee. At twenty-six, the CEO of Wei Group Incorporation was a man who radiated the kind of power that made the air feel heavy. He was bored. He had spent the day looking at acquisition reports and the evening looking at sycophants. He wanted something real, or at least something beautiful enough to lie to him.
Then, the waiter arrived.
Luo Feng set the napkin down with mathematical precision, exactly 2.5 centimeters from the edge of the table.
"Good evening. You ordered the Macallan 25. Based on the ambient temperature, the ice will reach critical melting point in six minutes. I suggest consuming it before the water-to-ethanol ratio exceeds 1:10."
Wei Ling froze. He didn't look at the drink. He looked at the boy. Up close, the waiter's beauty was staggering—a delicate, ethereal quality that seemed entirely out of place in a damp basement bar. But it was the expression—or lack thereof—that caught him. There was no flirtation. No fear. Just a calm, terrifyingly blank honesty.
"You're new," Wei Ling said, his voice dropping an octave.
"I have been employed here for 168 hours," Luo Feng replied. "I am still optimizing my tray-balancing technique."
Wei Ling leaned forward, the smell of expensive woodsmoke and ozone drifting toward Luo Feng.
"What's your name, waiter?"
"Luo Feng."
"Luo Feng," Wei Ling repeated, testing the weight of the syllables. "You don't belong here. You look like you should be sitting in a conservatory, not carrying glasses for drunks. How much do they pay you?"
"Twenty-five yuan per hour, plus tips. Statistically, tips increase by 15% if I tilt my head to the left, though I am unsure why."
Wei Ling felt a sharp, sudden pull in his chest—a mixture of amusement and a possessive hunger he hadn't felt in years. He saw the way other men in the bar were looking at Luo Feng. Like wolves looking at a lamb that didn't know it was made of meat.
"I have a proposition for you, Luo Feng," Wei Ling said, his eyes darkening. "I find this environment... unsuitable for you. I need someone to brighten my home. A companion. Someone to be my canary."
Luo Feng paused. His internal processor whirred. Canary. He knew the word. He had read a book on avian biology when he was six.
"A canary?" Luo Feng asked. "You wish for me to provide biological monitoring services?"
Wei Ling smirked, misinterpreting the question as a clever play on words.
"In a way. I want you to live in my home. I will provide everything—food, clothing, medical expenses, security. In exchange, you belong to me. You sing when I want to hear you, you stay where I put you, and you leave this life behind."
Luo Feng's heart skipped a beat at the word medical.
"Would you pay for any medical expenses? Even... a surgery? A very expensive one?"
"Five million yuan," Wei Ling said, watching the boy's reaction. "As a signing bonus. More than enough for whatever 'surgery' you're worried about. Consider it the price for your wings."
Luo Feng did the math. Five million yuan. His mother could have the surgery, the best recovery ward, a private nurse, and a house with a garden so she didn't have to breathe the city smog. The cost to him was simply becoming a bird.
He didn't have feathers, but he was a genius; he could adapt. He could learn to chirp or whatever it was that CEOs required of their household pets.
"I accept the designation," Luo Feng said firmly. "However, I must inform you that I have no experience in avian mimicry. I will require a grace period to practice my singing."
Wei Ling laughed—a rich, genuine sound that drew eyes from across the room.
"You're perfect. Don't change a thing. Si Ling!" he barked, calling the manager over. "He's finished here. He's coming with me."
An hour later, Luo Feng found himself in the back of a black Rolls-Royce Ghost. The leather smelled like money and power. Beside him, Wei Ling was on his phone, barking orders about a merger, but his hand was resting on the seat uncomfortably close to Luo Feng's thigh.
Luo Feng was staring out the window, his mind racing. He needed to be a good canary. If he failed, would the five million be revoked? He had to be professional.
"Mr. Wei?"
"Call me Wei Ling," the CEO said, not looking up from his screen.
"Mr. Wei Ling. Regarding my duties. Do you have a specific cage prepared, or will I be responsible for the assembly of my own enclosure?"
Wei Ling paused, his thumb hovering over the "Send" button. He looked at Luo Feng. The boy was dead serious. There wasn't a hint of irony in those clear, pale eyes.
"The entire villa is yours, Feng. But yes, your 'room' is prepared. It's the master suite next to mine."
"Is there a perch?"
Wei Ling blinked.
"A... perch?"
"For sleeping. I understand that for many ornamental birds, sleeping while standing or gripping a horizontal bar is standard. I may need some time to adjust my equilibrium for this."
Wei Ling stared at him for a long beat. Is he mocking me? he wondered. No. The boy's heart rate—visible at the pulse point in his neck—was steady. He was genuinely concerned about the sleeping arrangements of a bird.
"You'll sleep in a bed, Luo Feng," Wei Ling said, his voice softening with a strange kind of pity. "A king-sized bed with silk sheets. You aren't literally a bird. It's a... figure of speech. You're a 'canary' because you're beautiful, expensive, and kept for my pleasure."
Luo Feng nodded, though he secretly made a note to check if 'pleasure' involved being fed worms. He hoped not. He was allergic to certain types of soil-based bacteria.
The Wei Estate was a sprawling piece of modern architecture nestled in the hills, surrounded by electrified fences and a small army of security guards. To Luo Feng, it looked like a very high-end laboratory.
As they walked through the front doors, a line of servants bowed. Luo Feng bowed back, lower and more precisely.
"This is Luo Feng," Wei Ling announced to the head butler. "He is to be treated with the same respect as myself. His word is law in this house, provided it doesn't involve him leaving without my permission."
"Yes, Sir," the butler murmured.
Wei Ling turned to Luo Feng. "I have a meeting I must finish. My butler, Zhang, will show you to your quarters. There is a closet full of clothes—mostly silks and soft knits. I want you washed and in something comfortable by the time I come to check on you."
"Understood," Luo Feng said. "I shall begin the grooming process immediately. It is vital for a canary to maintain its plumage."
Wei Ling rubbed his temples. "Right. Plumage. Just... go take a bath, Feng."
—————
Luo Feng was led to a room that was larger than his entire apartment. The floors were heated marble, and the walls were floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the city.
He walked to the center of the room and stood still. His brain began to catalog the surroundings. The thread count of the sheets was likely 1,000. The air filtration system was a HEPA-grade industrial model. This was an optimal environment for a high-value asset.
He walked to the massive walk-in closet. Rows of clothes hung there—whites, creams, pale blues. All of them were incredibly soft. He touched a silk robe.
"This is very aerodynamic," he muttered to himself.
He then moved to the bathroom, which featured a tub the size of a small swimming pool. There were dozens of bottles of oils and salts. He picked one up. Sandalwood and Gold Leaf.
"If I am to be a canary," Luo Feng reasoned, "I must be the most efficient canary in history. Mother's life depends on this contract."
He stripped off his cheap waiter's uniform. He looked at his reflection in the mirror—thin, pale, and marked by the exhaustion of working three jobs to pay for his mother's chemotherapy. He looked fragile.
He stepped into the water. It was perfectly calibrated to 38°C. As he soaked, he began to hum. He had to practice.
"Tweet," he said experimentally. "Chirp. Hoot?"
No, hoots were for owls. He needed to stay on brand.
"Tweet-tweet."
He frowned. This was going to be much harder than Calculus.
--------
Two hours later, Wei Ling pushed open the door to the suite. He was exhausted, but the thought of his new acquisition had been a pulsing heat in the back of his mind all evening.
He expected to find the boy lounging on the bed, perhaps looking through the expensive tablet he'd provided, or maybe crying over his lost freedom.
Instead, he found Luo Feng standing in the middle of the bed, wearing a white silk robe that hung off one shoulder.
The boy was balanced on one leg, his arms tucked tightly against his sides, his head cocked at a 45-degree angle.
Wei Ling stopped in the doorway.
"Feng? What... what are you doing?"
Luo Feng didn't move his body, only his eyes.
"I am practicing the resting state of the Canaria genus. It is quite difficult for the human skeletal structure to maintain this center of gravity on a soft mattress, but I am making progress."
Wei Ling felt a laugh bubbling up, but it was caught in a throat tight with sudden, unexpected affection. "Get down from there, you ridiculous boy."
Luo Feng hopped down, his feet silent on the silk. "Am I performing poorly? I can adjust. I also spent thirty minutes practicing my 'song.' Would you like to hear it? It is a sequence of high-pitched oscillations."
Wei Ling walked over, stepping into Luo Feng's personal space. He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of Luo Feng's jaw. The boy didn't flinch; he simply looked up, waiting for instructions.
"You don't need to whistle, Feng," Wei Ling whispered. "And you don't need to stand on one leg. Being a canary just means you are mine. You live in my light. You eat at my table. And in return, you give me... this."
Wei Ling leaned in, his lips brushing against Luo Feng's forehead.
Luo Feng's eyes widened. Tactile stimulation? Was this part of the bird-owner bond? Like a cat being petted?
"Does this mean I don't have to go to the coal mines?" Luo Feng asked softly.
Wei Ling pulled back, confused. "What coal mines?"
"The canaries," Luo Feng explained seriously. "They are used to detect carbon monoxide in mines. If they die, the miners know to leave. I was worried that if I did not perform well, you would take me to a cave to test the air quality."
Wei Ling stared at him. He realized then that he hadn't just bought a beautiful companion. He had bought a genius with the common sense of a houseplant.
"No mines," Wei Ling promised, his heart doing a strange flip. "I promise. No mines. Just me."
Luo Feng nodded, relieved. "That is acceptable. I shall strive to be a low-maintenance pet."
Wei Ling sighed, pulling the boy into a hug. Luo Feng was stiff at first, then slowly, he rested his head on Wei Ling's shoulder. He smelled like sandalwood and gold.
"You're going to be the death of me," Wei Ling muttered.
"Statistically unlikely," Luo Feng replied. "You are in excellent health, and I am far too small to be a lethal threat."
Wei Ling just squeezed him tighter. The cage was locked, the bird was inside, and for the first time in his life, the CEO didn't want to leave the house.