Ci Mei only realized who had pulled him into the crowd after seeing the system introduction hovering beside the person: Wen Li, the original body’s friend.
Yet this person was two-faced. He was poor, and his magic barely met Furlan’s entrance standards. The original body had simply helped him out on a whim back then, leading Wen Li to latch onto him like a parasite—flattering and relying on the original body’s relief on one hand, while despising the original body as nothing more than a vase relying on his family, holding absolute disgust for him in his heart.
Furthermore, Wen Li was one of the most critical instigators whispering in the original body’s ear, driving him to commit one outrageous act after another, only to easily escape Pei Huai’s wrath later by leveraging a shared hometown background with Pei Huai’s mother.
Absurd, Ci Mei muttered inwardly.
All around him, the group of fair-weather friends relentlessly degraded Pei Huai. Ci Mei’s gorgeous face wore a cold expression, refusing to join in their chatter.
Wen Li, sitting closest to him, instantly noticed that Ci Mei was unhappy, so he softly inquired, “Meimei, what were you talking to Pei Huai about just now?”
Ci Mei cast a flat, unenthusiastic glance at Wen Li, the corners of his lips lifting into a faint, mocking smile: “Didn’t you hear everything we talked about?”
Wen Li stiffened all over, then reacted by dry-laughing a few times: “That… I really did hear some bits, but not all of it. Without a head or a tail, I couldn’t make sense of it.”
Ci Mei didn’t look at him, letting out an indifferent “Oh,” before falling silent again. Disinterested, he lowered his gaze and pressed the pad of his index finger against the rim of his glass, swirling his goblet idly.
The surrounding chatter gradually died down, everyone turning to watch the spectacle. Usually, Wen Li acted arrogant and domineering by leaning on Ci Mei’s favor, but now he was being mocked and given the cold shoulder by his own master.
Wen Li wore an embarrassed expression, harboring a growing resentment toward Ci Mei.
Always like this…
He didn’t fit in with these aristocratic youths to begin with, and barely any of them thought much of him. He had clawed his way up into this upper-class circle with such difficulty—did Ci Mei treat him this way purely to make him lose face on purpose?!
The atmosphere turned awkward for a moment.
The youth sitting opposite Ci Mei cast a contemptuous glance at Wen Li, breaking the silence: “Alright, Ci Mei, stop keeping us in suspense. What did you say to Pei Huai over there?”
Ci Mei lifted his eyelids to look at the other person, his expression annoyed: “Warning him not to harbor any thoughts of complaining to Fichte.”
He paused, cutting them off before they could speak: “Don’t you guys go coming up with any more weird schemes for me. I’m not listening.”
The sycophantic words stuck in the throats of the people around him: “”
They offered a few dry laughs and switched to a different topic, lowering their voices deliberately while chatting.
With these people no longer whispering poison in his ear, Ci Mei genuinely felt his ears had grown a lot quieter, making him once again appreciate the importance of high status.
Uuwu, back when I was playing a devoted, self-sacrificing loyal dog in the BG section, nobody ever listened to a single word I said.
However, Ci Mei didn’t get to enjoy the peace for long before he spotted the butler heading straight toward him.
The elderly butler walked over, bowed slightly, and muttered some words of blessing that Ci Mei didn’t catch clearly. The next moment, the butler stepped forward, leaned down beside Ci Mei’s ear, and whispered, “Young master, the Count wants to see you.”
Ci Mei froze for a moment, let out a low “Mhm,” and greeted the surrounding people before standing up to follow the butler.
As they walked a short distance away, Ci Mei immediately spotted a particularly striking man sitting in the center of a sofa, surrounded by a crowd.
The man had a thick head of slightly long, jet-black curls, with a lock of hair at his forehead mixed with streaks of silver-white, winding down over his right eye. It vaguely veiled that eye, while the exposed left eye emitted a dark purple light under the light, fierce and chilling.
His jawline was sharp and distinct, his lips reddish, curling into a lazy, roguish smile. The tie of his solemn formal wear hung loosely across his chest, and the top four buttons of his inner shirt were undone, faintly revealing smooth, evenly proportioned muscle lines.
——Ximen Louis-Hew, the original body’s childhood friend, the current ruler of the capital, and the very person who had decreed the engagement between Ci Mei and Fichte.
Ci Mei’s steps faltered.
Meanwhile, Ximen—who had been casually brushing people off on the sofa—supported his head with one hand. Seeming to notice Ci Mei’s gaze, his eyes swept past the crowd, landing straight on the Ci Mei who had stopped not far away.
Almost everyone around them went silent at the sight, their gazes shifting with unreadable expressions between the two.
The man merely paused slightly, a smile playing on his lips that failed to reach his eyes, issuing a commanding tone: “Come here, little darling. Why are you stopping there? Do you not remember me?”