Chapter 161: Where the Butterfly Dream Begins

Butterfly Dream Manor, Basement Level 3.

There are no windows here; a chilling dampness permeates every corner.

Ghastly white lights beam straight down from the ceiling, illuminating everything while making everything feel thoroughly unreal.

A man in a white lab coat paces back and forth with his hands behind his back under this stark white light.

Before him lies art.

At least, in his eyes, it is art.

Five young girls, their wrists locked in iron shackles, are suspended high above from chains dropping down from the ceiling.

Their bodies hang in mid-air, like livestock waiting to be processed in a butcher shop.

Every single body trembles in terror.

"Crying is the most useless thing in the world."

Mr. Wen halts his steps, pushes up the glasses on the bridge of his nose, and speaks in a gentle voice tinged with a bone-chilling coldness.

"Here, tears will only make you cheaper."

"Remember, you are 'butterflies', you are works of art. Art requires absolute stillness and perfection."

As his words fall, the previously suppressed sobbing grows much quieter.

Fear has overpowered grief.

Yet, there is always an exception.

The girl on the far left continues to sob uncontrollably, her shoulders shaking violently.

She is very young, looking to be barely eighteen or nineteen, her face still carrying a lingering innocence.

Mr. Wen's gaze falls upon her.

The smile on his face turns playful.

He takes a step, moving unhurriedly toward the still-crying "flawed piece."

His leather shoes click crisply against the concrete floor, each sound striking like a hammer against everyone's beating heart.

Sensing the encroaching danger, the girl's crying stammers to a halt, and her body trembles even harder.

"N-No..." she pleads, her voice as thin as a mosquito's buzz.

Mr. Wen stops right before her, reaches out, and gently hooks her chin with his index finger.

His movement is as tender as if he were admiring a precious treasure.

"Tell me, what is your name?" he asks softly.

"...Xiaoya."

"Xiaoya..." Mr. Wen repeats the name, nodding. "A lovely name. What a pity; as of today, it no longer belongs to you."

He leans close to the girl's ear, whispering in a tone meant only for the two of them: "Rule number one: no crying. You broke the rule."

The girl's pupils abruptly contract.

The next second.

"Ah—!"

A shrill, distorted scream rips through the dead silence of the dungeon.

***

In the shadows of the corner.

Zhang Luyao's body presses against the wall, trembling all over.

Not out of fear, but out of rage.

A fury so intense it threatens to burn her rationality to ashes.

She bites down hard on her lip, filling her mouth with the metallic taste of blood.

At this moment, she can only use pain to force herself to calm down.

Chief Han was right; this place is more hellish than hell itself.

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and when she opens them again, the raging inferno in her eyes has been replaced by a numb, professional composure.

She straightens her own immaculate doctor's uniform, draping an institutional, flawless smile across her face.

Taking a step, she walks out from the shadows.

"Tap, tap, tap..."

The crisp clicking of her high heels echoes through the hollow dungeon, exceptionally clear.

Mr. Wen, busy admiring his own "masterpiece," hears the sound.

Slowly turning his head, upon seeing Zhang Luyao, a flash of depraved lust crosses his cultured yet depraved face.

What an absolute premium catch.

Her figure, her face, and that air of aloof arrogance—she is the perfect material seemingly custom-made for this place.

Too bad she isn't a "butterfly."

Not yet, anyway!

"Something the matter?" Mr. Wen straightens up, his tone carrying the annoyance of being interrupted.

"I am the new staff psychologist, Zhang Luyao."

Zhang Luyao walks up to him, smiling as she extends a hand with graceful poise, acting as though she were standing not in a dungeon, but at some high-end academic symposium.

"Out of courtesy, I thought I'd come and say hello."

Her gaze sweeps rapidly over the hanging girls.

Each one is deathly pale and terrified, yet devoid of any visible physical scars.

She, too, is curious about how he managed to elicit that heart-wrenching shriek from the girl just moments ago.

At the same time, she has fulfilled the true objective of her coming here.

Li Qing is not here.

Her heart sinks slightly, but her smile remains intact.

Mr. Wen does not shake her hand; instead, he looks her up and down, his gaze dripping with undisguised aggression.

"A psychologist? Ha, President Dong certainly loves playing these fancy little games."

He wipes his hand, as if he had just touched something filthy.

"My name is Wen Qian, and I am responsible for teaching these newly arrived 'butterflies' the most basic rules."

He gestures toward the girl who has fainted, smiling at Zhang Luyao, "Just like this."

"It seems Mr. Wen's teaching methods are quite direct and efficient." Zhang Luyao withdraws her hand without a trace, her tone calm.

***

Damn bastard.

Scum.

She has already sliced this man into pieces eight hundred times over in her mind.

"Of course." Wen Qian thoroughly enjoys Zhang Luyao's "praise." Adjusting his glasses, he says leisurely,

"To deal with these disobedient butterflies, you have to use the most primitive methods. Fear is the best teacher. Reasoning? That's the job of psychologists like you; it's useless down here."

He takes a step closer to Zhang Luyao, lowering his voice as a wave of coppery blood washes over her.

"Dr. Zhang, you are very beautiful."

"So beautiful... it makes one want to break you."

The corner of Zhang Luyao's eye twitches, but her smile stays frozen in place.

"Mr. Wen is joking. We both serve the manor. I look forward to your guidance in the future."

With that, she affords him no further opportunity to speak.

"I won't disturb Mr. Wen's 'teaching' any longer."

She turns and walks away.

The sound of her high heels rings out once more—firm, decisive, without a hint of hesitation.

Behind her, Wen Qian watches her perfectly contoured back, his tongue licking his lips.

"Dr. Zhang."

He suddenly calls out to stop her.

Zhang Luyao pauses, but does not turn back.

"Remember, since you've come here, you must follow the rules here."

Wen Qian's morbid laughter echoes behind her, rippling through the dungeon.

"Otherwise, who knows? One day, you might end up just like them."

"Hanging up high as a... beautiful butterfly!"

Zhang Luyao ignores the morbid, sickly snickers trailing behind her.

Quickly walking out of the area and rounding a corner, her professional smile instantly shatters.

Leaning against the wall, her stomach churns violently.

She never imagined human nature could be distorted to such an extent.

This place is nothing less than a slaughterhouse.

A human slaughterhouse dedicated to butchering youth, beauty, and hope.

Sister Li Qing...

Where on earth are you...

Please, I beg you, be safe!