Chapter 470: Ye Liyou's Attack!
"New friend?"
Hearing Shen An'yu's words, everyone showed curiosity.
"Brother Master, what new friend?" Yang Luoluo's clear, almond-shaped eyes, black as polished obsidian, gazed up at Shen Anyu, her voice laced with an innocent and eager curiosity that was impossible to deny. The morning sunlight filtering into the grand dining hall caught the silver threads of her hair, making them shimmer like a miniature galaxy.
At the head of the long, ornate dining table, Ruan Lingshan and Liu Ruyan, both impeccably dressed in their respective Maidservant Attire, moved with a practiced grace. Ruan Lingshan gently pulled back the heavy, carved chair for Shen Anyu, her movements precise and deferential. Liu Ruyan, her every motion a display of seductive charm, placed a set of ivory chopsticks beside his porcelain bowl. Their eyes, too, held a flicker of doubt and intrigue. Who could this mysterious new arrival be?
Ye Linyuan, seated further down the table, had initially shared their curiosity, but the sight of his Second Senior Sister acting as a genuine handmaiden ignited a firestorm in his heart. Liu Ruyan, the enchanting, spirited woman who was supposed to be his Brother Master's girlfriend, was serving Shen Anyu with a gentle deference that sent waves of pure, unadulterated fury crashing through him. The jealousy was a physical thing, a hot, acrid bile that rose in his throat.
[Ding! The Child of Destiny, Ye Linyuan, is consumed by displeasure. Plundering +9986 Destiny Points!]
"Big Brother," Ye Linyuan began, forcing his voice into the higher, innocent pitch of the child he appeared to be, carefully masking the inferno raging within him. "My Second Senior Sister is your girlfriend, isn't she? Isn't it a bit… inappropriate for you to make her wear a Maidservant Attire and serve you all the time?"
He watched her carefully. The Spirit Beast Maidservant Attire she wore was, paradoxically, quite conservative. It covered her from neck to ankle, with long sleeves and a high collar, leaving far more to the imagination than her usual modern clothing. But the design itself—the crisp apron, the delicate frills, the symbolic cut—screamed of one thing and one thing only: absolute submission. It was a uniform that stripped away her identity as a proud cultivator and recast her as a possession.
Just like the flower language of a steel wool scrubber is forbearance and wealth.
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