Chapter 7
The icy rain soaked through Serena's thin nightgown, the fabric clinging to her skin and bringing a chill. But she felt no cold; all her senses were preoccupied with the ravaged hillside before her and the ghostly boy who had appeared behind her.
Lucien's offer coiled around her heart like a venomous snake. Reason screamed at her to refuse; this was definitely a trap. But what she saw was the "Moonlight Dust" seedling, to which she had poured all her heart and soul, now dying under the hail. It was her only hope to escape her fate and gain a foothold in this world, her only bargaining chip for survival.
"You..." Her teeth chattered, her voice weak, "How did you know about that medicine?"
Lucien stood in the rain, his figure as straight as a pine tree, the rain streaming down his hard, cold contours, yet he seemed oblivious. His gaze remained calm, even carrying a hint of all-knowing pity—a pity more suffocating than direct mockery.
“Struggling to survive at the bottom, you always have to learn some… unorthodox methods.” His answer was understated, yet it once again brutally exposed the enormous gap in their social status and their painful past. “Miss Wilder, time waits for no one. Every moment of delay could cause the roots of these seedlings to rot further.”
He had her lifeline firmly in his grasp.
Looking into his deep purple eyes, which seemed to devour all light in the darkness, Serena knew she had no way out. Rejecting him might mean the complete annihilation of "Moonlight Dust," all her efforts rendered futile, and her future plunged into utter darkness. Accepting his "help," however, would be like drinking poison to quench thirst, placing herself in even greater danger.
Let's take a gamble.
She took a deep breath of the cold, earthy air, forcing herself to calm down.
"Okay," she heard her own dry voice say, "to the study."
She turned away, no longer looking at the desolate slope or Lucien, and walked straight toward the white building. Her steps were unsteady, but her back was ramrod straight, maintaining the last shred of her crumbling dignity.
Lucien followed silently behind her, like a shadow that never left her.
In the study, the embers of the fireplace cast a faint warmth. Serena lit the oil lamp, its dim light dispelling some of the darkness, but only making the atmosphere in the room more somber. She was soaked to the bone, her blonde hair clinging miserably to her cheeks and neck, shivering slightly from the cold, yet she still pointed to the chair opposite the desk and tried to speak calmly, "Sit. Tell me about your potion."
Lucien didn't sit down immediately. He stood in the center of the study, his soaked clothes leaving dark water stains on the carpet. His gaze slowly swept across the study—the agricultural books and parchment filled with notes spread out on the desk, the samples of newly brewed wine in the corner, and the old oil painting above the fireplace depicting the Wilde family estate. Everywhere there were traces of her striving to live.
Finally, his gaze returned to Serena, with an almost scrutinizing focus.
“The ingredients for making the potion are simple,” he said, his voice unusually clear in the quiet room, “but importantly, it requires a special catalyst.”
"What trigger?"
"Your blood."
Serena's pupils contracted sharply, and she leaned back abruptly against the desk, staring at him in disbelief: "...What?"
“Three drops.” Lucien stepped forward, closing in on her. The scent of rain, earth, and a chilling aura emanating from him instantly enveloped her. “Take it from the tip of your middle finger, and in the darkest hour before dawn, drip it into the base solution I’ve prepared. This way, the medicinal properties can be fully activated, enough to reverse life and repair damage.”
His tone was as calm as if he were describing an ordinary recipe, but the content was so bizarre and terrifying.
"You're insane!" Serena's voice trembled, and she instinctively put her hands behind her back. "What kind of evil witchcraft is this?!"
“Witchcraft?” Lucien chuckled softly, a laugh devoid of warmth, only chilling mockery. “Miss Wilde, when you left marks on my body with your whip, did you ever consider that it was evil? When you trampled my dignity with gold coins, did you ever consider that it was cruel? Now, to save what you cherish, giving up three drops of blood, is that evil?”
His words lashed at Serena's heart like a whip, leaving her speechless. Past sins surged forth like a tidal wave, threatening to overwhelm her.
“This is not a bargaining chip,” Lucien’s voice lowered, carrying a seductive and dangerous undertone. “This is… the only way. The choice is yours, Serena.”
He called her by her name. Not with the honorific "Miss Wilde," but simply "Serena." This intimate form of address sounded chillingly possessive at that moment.
Serena's face was ashen. She looked into Lucien's unfathomable eyes, which churned with complex emotions she couldn't fully comprehend—hatred, the pleasure of revenge, a twisted expectation, and even... a hint of dark fanaticism she dared not delve into.
She had no doubt that if she refused, he would watch helplessly as "Moonlight Dust" died completely, and might even hasten that process himself. And she would lose everything.
Three drops of blood for a sliver of life. A deal with the devil made through this almost witchcraft-like ritual.
Her hands were clenched into fists behind her back, her nails digging deep into her palms.
“…Okay.” This word was uttered with almost all her strength, her voice trembling with humiliation and despair.
A fleeting glint of satisfaction flashed in Lucien's eyes, like a hunter finally seeing his prey step into a trap. He nodded slightly: "A wise choice. I'll return with the base fluid before dawn."
He didn't say another word, turned around, and left the study silently, just as he had come, disappearing into the rainy night outside.
Serena slumped into the chair, her body ice-cold. She looked at her slender middle finger, as if she could already feel the pain of it being pierced.
Three drops of blood.
Taken from the middle finger.
The darkest hour before dawn.
These words swirled wildly in her mind, weaving a strange and ominous web. She had never heard of such a bizarre method of preparing a "potion"; it resembled some kind of dark ritual, imbued with a heavy, unsettling aura of witchcraft. Lucien, what was he trying to do? Was it merely to humiliate her, or... something deeper?
Fear coiled around her heart like vines, tightening ever tighter. She looked at her slender, pale fingers, imagining the silver needle piercing her skin, the bright red blood gushing out, and a wave of nausea rose in her throat.
But could she refuse?
That devastated hillside, those fallen seedlings that carried all her hopes, were etched into her mind like a brand. Losing "Moonlight Dust" meant losing the possibility of economic independence, losing the opportunity to prove her worth within the family, and, more importantly, that she would be powerless against Lucien's future revenge, left only to await her doom.
This is a devil's bargain. Trading unknown fears and dignity for a slim chance of survival.
Time passed slowly in agonizing torment. The rain outside the window gradually subsided, and the night, like thick ink, settled to its deepest depths. Dawn was drawing ever closer.
Serena stood up, walked to the window, and gazed at the desolate manor outside. The air was crisp after the hailstorm, and moonlight occasionally peeked through gaps in the dispersed clouds, illuminating the muddy ground and withered plants, adding to the bleakness. She saw the torches lit by the tenant farmers in the distance, moving like fireflies across the hillside; they were still futilely trying to salvage something.
Her heart clenched.
We can't hesitate any longer.
She turned and took a small, sharp silver knife for cutting paper from a drawer in her desk. The handle was cold to the touch, sending a chill down her spine. She sat back down in her chair, placed her left hand on the dark velvet-covered desk, and opened her palm to reveal her slender middle finger.
In the dim light of the oil lamp, her fingers trembled slightly. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart, and gripped the knife tightly in her other hand.
Just as the blade was about to touch the skin of the fingertip—
"Knock, knock, knock."
A soft, rhythmic knocking sounded abruptly, breaking the suffocating silence in the study.
Serena jumped in surprise, nearly dropping the knife. She looked towards the door like a startled rabbit, her heart pounding. Who was it? Had Lucien returned? No, he wouldn't knock.
"...Who?" Her voice was filled with obvious panic.
“Miss, it’s me, Anna.” A maid’s hushed voice came from outside the door, tinged with urgency. “A strange gentleman has arrived outside the manor. He’s soaking wet and injured. He says… he was attacked by a wild beast and is asking for shelter. The guards are unsure what to do…”
A stranger? Injured? Attacked by a wild animal?
Serena's heart sank. In the dead of night, just after the downpour had stopped? This coincidence was too bizarre! Was it another part of Lucien's plan? Was it to distract her, or did he have some other motive?
She glanced out the window instinctively; the darkest hour before dawn was approaching. Lucien could appear at any moment.
“Tell him that the manor is not suitable for receiving strangers, give him some food and medicine, and let him leave.” Serena tried her best to make her voice sound calm.
“But Miss,” Anna’s voice grew more anxious, “he is badly injured, and… he claims to know you, and says… he has brought important news about the ‘Northern Trade Route’.”
The northern trade routes?!
Serena's breath hitched. She had indeed been secretly inquiring about and planning potential future trade routes, especially those connecting the mining regions of the northern empire—a crucial part of her efforts to revive the manor's commercial empire. But this was highly confidential; only a few absolutely trusted confidants knew a little about it besides herself! How could this stranger know?
It's a trap! This must be Lucien's trap!
"No!" Serena practically growled, her palms clammy with sweat. "Do as I say, make him leave immediately!"
“...Yes, Miss.” Anna seemed frightened by her sternness, and her footsteps hurried away.
Silence returned to the study, but Serena's heart could no longer find peace. The stranger's appearance was like a pebble thrown into a still lake, stirring up the already murky waters. Lucien's shadow was everywhere, as if an invisible hand was manipulating everything from the shadows.
She turned her gaze back to the small silver knife on the table and her outstretched palm. The skin at the tip of her middle finger looked unusually delicate under the light.
Time is running out.
She bit her lower lip, a resolute glint in her eyes. Whether it was a trap or not, no matter how high the price, she had to protect "Moonlight Dust" first!
She gripped the knife tighter, the sharp tip aimed at her middle finger. A cold sensation washed over her; she closed her eyes and tightened her wrist—
"Squeak—"
The study door was pushed open silently.
There was no knocking, no warning.
Serena opened her eyes in horror, her heart nearly leaping out of her throat.
Lucien stood in the doorway, still soaked, his black hair slightly disheveled, holding an inconspicuous, dark brown earthenware jar in his hand. His gaze immediately fell on Serena's hand, which held the silver knife, aimed at her fingertips. A complex light flashed in his deep purple eyes—like the satisfaction of getting what he wanted, or the excitement of some dark desire being fulfilled.
“It seems,” his voice was low and hoarse, echoing in the silent room, “that you are ready.”
He gently closed the door behind him, shutting out everything outside. Footsteps approached silently, finally stopping in front of the desk. He placed the small earthenware pot on the table with a dull thud.
“Base fluid.” He spoke succinctly, yet his gaze was almost tangible, tightly gripping Serena’s pale, trembling hand. “The timing is perfect.”
Serena looked at him, at his eyes that seemed to devour all light, at the darkness churning beneath his calm surface. She knew there was no turning back.
She took a deep breath and stopped hesitating. With a slight twist of her wrist, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through her middle finger.
A drop of crimson blood, trembling, gushed from the wound, full and dazzling.
Lucien's breathing quickened almost imperceptibly for a moment. His gaze was fixed on the drop of blood, his eyes focused to the point of near...obsession.
Selena endured the pain and hovered her finger above the small pottery jar.
The second drop of blood fell, merging into the dark liquid in the jar with a barely audible "drip" sound.
Just as she was about to squeeze out the third drop of blood, Lucien suddenly reached out and grabbed her wrist!
His hands were cold and strong, damp with rain, holding her tightly and not allowing her to break free.
Serena looked up at him in horror.
Lucien leaned down, his deep purple eyes like whirlpools, churning with a thick, dark emotion she couldn't comprehend. He took her hand and slowly, firmly, brought her bleeding finger to his lips.
“The third drop,” his voice was low and devilish, with a chilling tenderness, “give it to me.”
Under Serena's horrified gaze, he lowered his head, his cool lips gently touching her fingertips, and then, with an almost pious yet utterly sacrilegious gesture, he took her bleeding finger into his mouth.
The warm, damp touch enveloped the wound on her fingertip, and Serena shuddered violently, as if struck by an electric current, her mind going blank.
What...what is he doing?!
Lucien's eyes were closed, his thick eyelashes casting shadows beneath his eyelids. He seemed to be savoring something, or perhaps performing some crucial ritual. After a moment, he released her fingers, his tongue lightly licking the trace of blood on his lips. His open purple eyes shone with a terrifying light, filled with undisguised, twisted satisfaction and possessiveness.
Serena jerked her hand back, looking at the tiny wound on her fingertip that had stopped bleeding but still seemed to bear a burning mark. A chill ran down her spine and instantly froze her limbs.
She watched him pick up the small ceramic jar, and watched as her two drops of blood merged into it, the base liquid seemed to emit a faint, eerie fluorescence.
"The potion will be delivered to the hillside tomorrow." Lucien regained his usual calm, as if the astonishing scene from just moments ago had never happened. He gave her a deep look, his gaze like that of someone looking at an object already marked with its own unique identity.
Then, he turned and left silently once again, like a ghost merging into the night.
Serena collapsed to the floor, leaning against the desk, her body ice-cold and trembling uncontrollably. She stared at the closed door, then at her fingertips, which still seemed to retain a strange, lingering sensation.
Outside the window, on the eastern horizon, a faint, pale dawn finally broke through the sky.
Dawn has broken.
A dawn tinged with blood.
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