“Wilton”—this was a name Jiang Luo had learned from the three rich ladies.
In a setting where all the rich were masked, being called out by name was equivalent to having one’s anonymity stripped. Wilton was stricken with fear and confusion, but he didn’t recall ever meeting this man.
“Who are you?”
Jiang Luo stepped forward. The lighting cast his long shadow onto the floor. He didn’t answer, but instead began tearing apart the entire masquerade ball with biting sarcasm.
“Boring.”
“Dull.”
“I thought the games here would be something different. Who knew they’d be just as cliché and vulgar as the ones outside—unoriginal and utterly unexciting,” Jiang Luo turned to the rich folks behind him. “Don’t you agree?”
The rich people wore matching expressions of disinterest. They shrugged, silently giving Jiang Luo their answer.
Criticism from fellow rich folk stung more than protests from the poor. Wilton clenched his fists, his fury climbing higher. Everyone’s eyes focused on the black-haired youth at the front, waiting for him to continue.
“If the game’s this dull,” Jiang Luo said, his tone shifting, “then let’s change the rules a little—make it more fun. The first rule of the ball is: ‘One must not refuse a card-check request.’ Just add a few words in front of that, and this game gets much more interesting.”
“For example,” he lifted the corners of his lips, “before checking someone’s card, you must first guess their identity.”
“If you guess wrong, you automatically become a slave.”
As soon as he said this, the ballroom erupted into an uproar.
The rich initially objected, but after thinking it over, they started to feel it wasn’t such a bad idea.
They began to discuss it in hushed tones.
“This method is definitely more thrilling than before.”
“Who is this guy? He’s got quite a sharp mind. Adding excitement to the game is just the surface. What he really did was calm the commoners. We all hold Master cards, and even if the commoners guess correctly, there’s no reward. Most of the commoners are slaves anyway, very few hold Master cards — the chance of us guessing wrong is nearly zero.”
“Exactly. We don’t lose anything. This guy who proposed the change is probably one of ours.”
“I agree with the rule. Honestly, I’m a little worried that a group of poor people might really stir something up. Even if it wouldn’t cause much trouble, it’s still a hassle.”
“Giving the commoners hope and then crushing it — I like that.”
The commoners’ discussions were louder than the rich’s.
Even if the rule change barely benefited them, the game was never fair to begin with. They didn’t have the courage to challenge the rich outright. Now, with a glimmer of hope, it was still better than before.
Wenren Lian tentatively said to a bespectacled young man, “This change still isn’t fair. The rich are unlikely to guess wrong.”
“Not necessarily. Didn’t a commoner draw a Master card earlier?” the four-eyed guy’s eyes flickered. He didn’t want to discuss something this risky. “I think this change is great. We’re already slave cards — we can’t get any lower. But those rich guys? They’ll be in trouble if they mess up. Besides, everyone came to this party voluntarily. They came for money. Why are you so concerned?”
Wenren Lian frowned and grabbed his arm suddenly. “How about we protest again? Maybe more of the rich will back off.”
The bespectacled guy broke free from his grip frantically. “Are you insane?! Did you forget the death waiver we signed when we boarded? You might want to die, but I don’t. I finally worked up the courage to attend this party and earned a bit more money. I want to go back alive and collect my bonus!”
After shaking off Wenren Lian’s hand, he spat in disgust and slipped into the crowd. “Bad luck.”
Wenren Lian withdrew his hand. “Death waiver… bonus…”
He stared at the clear divide between the rich and the commoners, his gaze complicated.
When he first arrived at the party, he had wondered why so many poor people had shown up.
For the poor, money could sometimes buy life.
And it could also buy away dignity — and the right to be considered “human.”
***
Everyone silently accepted Jiang Luo’s rule change, but Mr. Wilton on stage shouted with a dark expression: “I object!”
Jiang Luo looked at him coolly, then suddenly strode forward and stepped up onto the stage from the side. This time, the waiter who had stopped the woman’s husband earlier did not stop him. Jiang Luo walked up, pulled the woman to her feet, and pushed her off the stage. Then he closed the distance to Wilton.
The tall black-haired youth gripped the mic with one hand and leaned in gracefully to whisper in the ugly rich man’s ear: “Mr. Wilton, you should open your eyes and take a look at how the poor are looking at you.”
“They’ve already realized how rigged this game is,” Jiang Luo chuckled softly, his tone like a needle pricking into the rich man’s mind. “This ship is full of poor people. A swarm of ants can bite an elephant to death. If you get covered in ant bites, it’ll cause us a lot of trouble.”
Wilton’s pupils contracted. He heard the youth in front of him say: “Don’t cause us problems. Got it?”
With that, Jiang Luo took a step back, gave Wilton one last glance, and walked off the stage.
Wilton was still in a daze when a chill of danger gripped him. His whole body tensed, and he followed the terrifying sense of being watched — only to see a man with dark golden hair leaning against a pillar, watching him with a half-smile.
Moments later, Wilton suddenly broke down and ran off the stage like a madman, shoving past people and laughing hysterically as he charged out of the ballroom.
“What a lunatic…” someone he bumped into cursed.
Seeing no one objecting anymore, Jiang Luo beckoned the waiter over and whispered something to him. The waiter went on stage and announced, “Per the suggestion of this gentleman, the game rules will be amended. Anyone object?”
The waiter waited. No one spoke up within a minute.
“Then from now on, if you wish to check someone’s card, you must first guess their identity. If you guess wrong, you will automatically become a slave — whether you are rich or poor.”
The ballroom music began playing once again.
The stage remained empty — no second pair of Master and slave came forward. Even though the rich knew they still had the upper hand, none were eager to step up.
Their eyes scanned the faces of the commoners. Someone suddenly remembered, “Who was that commoner who drew a Master card earlier?”
Soon, someone pointed to Lu Youyi. “It was him. He drew a Master card. Don’t ask his identity.”
They memorized Lu Youyi’s face, silently agreeing to avoid this commoner.
In the shadows at the back of the crowd, the first mate chuckled to himself. “Truly clever.”
With just one move, everyone subconsciously ignored Jiang Luo.
Slaves wouldn’t take the initiative to question Jiang Luo’s identity, and the rich had redirected their attention to the commoners. Even if Jiang Luo held a slave card, he remained perfectly safe. But had the rules not changed, no matter how intimidating he appeared, some lust-driven rich man might still have insisted on checking his card. After all, there’d be no consequence — and what if this rare long-haired beauty really did draw a slave card?
However, with the added rule of “guess wrong and you’ll be downgraded to a slave card,” even those who had been itching to make a move on Jiang Luo no longer dared to take the risk.
On the surface, it looked like he did it for the other commoners, but in reality, it was just to protect himself—while at the same time tricking those foolish rich people.
Chi You curled his lips, his malicious amusement suddenly intensifying.
He rose from the pillar and stepped toward the dance floor.
The crisp sound of his leather shoes striking the floor neatly matched the elegant music that filled the hall.
When Chi You first stepped into the crowd, even though they were separated by more than ten meters, Jiang Luo seemed to sense something. His gaze pierced through the sea of people and landed squarely on Chi You.
Light-colored eyes met dark blue ones.
Jiang Luo’s expression remained calm. A black feather brushed past his ear. His mask rested just above the bridge of his nose, highlighting the pale clarity of his lower face. He stood there quietly, waiting for the malicious ghost to approach—as though this moment marked the end of a grand feast.
In that instant, the crowd became false and colorless. The noise vanished. The distance between the pure black mask and the pure white mask grew shorter. Tap, tap, tap—the sound of shoes became sharper, more distinct.
At last, the malicious ghost stood before the human.
Two equally handsome, tall, and charismatic men faced off.
Their standoff drew a crowd of onlookers.
Neither Jiang Luo nor Chi You spoke first. In the end, it was the malicious ghost who broke the silence, chuckling lightly. “Mr. Zhong, I must say—the new game rule you proposed is very entertaining.”
“Thank you,” the black-haired youth nodded with no change in expression. “First Mate, perhaps you should go play with someone else.”
“But in this entire ballroom,” said the First Mate, “only you make me feel like participating.”
Jiang Luo lifted his eyes to him. “I’m flattered.”
Though the tone was lukewarm at best, Chi You felt strangely mocked. Jiang Luo always treated him like this. The more he remained composed and unyielding, the more the malicious ghost’s destructive urge swelled. He wanted to see him reveal that angry, despairing expression again.
Preferably with reddened eyes and flushed lips—struggling as he sank into the mire.
Chi You said lazily, “To anyone watching, you look exactly like someone holding a master card.”
Jiang Luo looked at him quietly, not showing even a trace of fear. Beneath his relaxed surface, the tension in his body made it clear he could strike at any time. If Chi You hadn’t seen the card himself, he never would’ve guessed Jiang Luo held a slave card.
The malicious ghost laughed, and deliberately said, “But unfortunately, I feel like doing the opposite.”
There was nowhere to hide the delight in him, a mix of malice and excitement. Even the onlookers could tell his intentions were bad—let alone Jiang Luo, standing right in front of him.
As Jiang Luo maintained his composed expression, Chi You’s voice rose cheerfully, “I guess your card is a slave card.”
“Slave card?”
The crowd watching couldn’t believe it. “Impossible—how could he be a slave?”
“I bet he’s definitely a master. Is that guy in the white mask doing this on purpose just to turn into a slave?”
Amidst the skeptical voices, the malicious ghost grew more exhilarated. He even started humming a tune. “Am I right?”
Jiang Luo’s eyes subconsciously glanced toward the master-slave performance stage. A flicker of irritation passed through his gaze. Then he turned back and stared deeply at the malicious ghost. His voice was laced with warning: “Are you sure? I’ll give you one chance to take it back.”
The malicious ghost paused, faintly sensing something was off.
The next moment, Jiang Luo lifted his hand and lightly tapped the malicious ghost’s left chest. His finger was gentle, but his eyes were as sharp as a blade. “First Mate, some words—you’d do well to think twice before saying them aloud.”
He was threatening him using the stone statue’s heart.
That subtle sense of discord was buried by this single line. Chi You paused, then bowed politely. “Thank you for your generosity. But I’ll stick with my answer.”
Jiang Luo paused, then slowly pulled a card from the breast pocket of his coat.
He stared at the symbol in the center for a few seconds, then looked up at the malicious ghost.
Chi You looked utterly at ease, radiating calm and confidence—sure of how the game would end.
The corners of the black-haired youth’s blood-red lips slowly curled upward, higher and higher, until a strange smile emerged.
He turned over the card.
The golden crown on the white card sparkled under the light as if dusted in gold—blindingly bright.
“Congratulations, First Mate.”
He held the card up with two fingers right in front of the malicious ghost’s eyes. His arrogant smile could no longer be hidden. “You’ve successfully been downgraded to slave status.”
Author’s note:
Jiang Luo: I feel great, how about you?
Malicious Ghost: …
