When Ling Xiya opened her eyes again, the sky outside the window had already darkened.
Inside the room, a Magic Crystal Lamp emitted a faint purple glow, casting everything in a quiet and eerie atmosphere.
Her consciousness felt as if it had just been dredged up from the depths of the sea, carrying a strange emptiness and confusion.
The headache faded like the receding tide, and the weight of sorrow and fear that once pressed on her chest like a giant stone—almost crushing her—seemed to have been quietly drawn out by an invisible hand, vanishing without a trace.
In their place was a… nearly numb calmness.
Like an ancient well of unfathomable depth, without a ripple.
She remembered her name—Ling Xiya.
She remembered… what was she supposed to do?
Her body reacted faster than her mind.
She slowly pushed herself up from the soft Carpet, her movements stiff and sluggish, like a precision gear that hadn’t been lubricated for a long time, each turn carrying a subtle resistance, needing to reengage and adjust.
Instinctively, she raised her hand and straightened her clothes—a black Maid Uniform that was not luxurious but exceptionally clean and crisp, wrapping around her body.
Long black stockings clung to her slender legs, impeccably smooth.
Next, she gently smoothed out the barely visible wrinkles on her skirt left from lying down, the action smooth and natural, as if practiced countless times.
After finishing all this, she stood quietly in the center of the room, back straight, hands folded at her abdomen, eyes lowered—like a finely crafted doll awaiting orders.
“Awake?”
A strangely magnetic voice broke the silence of the room.
It came from the deepest shadows of the room, the tone flat but carrying an undercurrent of scrutiny and curiosity, as if evaluating a long-lost item that had been recovered.
Ling Xiya turned toward the sound, her gaze precisely finding its source.
In the shadows, Isayat was reclining lazily on a luxurious Sofa draped with dark gold velvet.
Her posture was both indolent and elegant, every line radiating innate nobility and pressure.
A mass of midnight-dark hair was loosely gathered at the back of her head in a casual yet refined bun, with a few rebellious strands trailing down, brushing against her smooth neck. Under the dim light, her skin appeared even paler than snow, with a cold, jade-like luster, almost unhuman.
Her eyes were deep and unfathomable, now resting lightly on Ling Xiya, as sharp as a surgeon’s scalpel, as if to dissect her and see every tiny change within.
An intangible tension filled the air, mixing the unique pressure of the Demon King with a faint, chilling fragrance.
Ling Xiya’s heartbeat did not quicken, and her breathing remained steady.
That numb calmness formed a solid wall, keeping all emotions at bay.
She simply endured the scrutinizing gaze in silence, waiting, awaiting the Master’s next command.
The room fell silent again, save for the occasional crackle from the Fireplace, a faint sound adding a touch of life to the overly quiet space.
Ling Xiya maintained her stance, motionless, like a carefully placed sculpture, patiently awaiting her instructions.
Her eyes were empty yet held a strange focus, as if the entire world had narrowed to the act of waiting for orders.
Isayat did not speak immediately. She just watched Ling Xiya, her fingers unconsciously tapping on the cold metal carvings of the Sofa armrest, producing a crisp tapping sound.
In the silence, that sound was especially clear, each tap like a knock on the heart, yet unable to stir any ripple within Ling Xiya.
This near-perfect tranquility, this submission as if pain and struggle had never existed, made the curiosity in Isayat’s eyes deepen.
What did she truly desire—this hollow “Ling Xiya,” or the one who once cried, laughed, feared, and glared at her with hatred?
Perhaps, even she couldn’t tell for a moment.
Time ticked by.
Ling Xiya continued to stand there quietly, the skirt of her Maid Uniform draping down, outlining her slender and upright form.
At last, Isayat stopped tapping her fingers.
She straightened slightly, her cool voice ringing out again, filled with unquestionable authority:
“Come here.”
Just two simple words, yet they activated something deep within Ling Xiya, like an unspoken command.
Without hesitation or unnecessary expression, she gave a soft nod and responded in a gentle, single syllable:
“Yes, Master.”
She stepped forward, her black-stockinged feet sinking soundlessly into the soft Carpet as she walked toward the Sofa.
Her steps were even, her posture precise, every stride as if calculated to perfection, embodying the poise of a top-tier maid.
Her eyes remained lowered, focused on the ground ahead.
Only as she drew near did the Demon King’s icy, powerful presence become more tangible.
Isayat gazed at her face now just inches away—a face still beautiful, yet devoid of its former spirit, left with only a smooth, almost indifferent calm.
She reached out, cool fingertips lightly caressing Ling Xiya’s cheek.
Ling Xiya did not flinch; even her eyelashes did not tremble, enduring the cold touch in silence.
“How do you feel?”
Isayat’s voice deepened, tinged with a strange huskiness.
Ling Xiya’s lips moved slightly, her reply steady and emotionless:
“Good… Master.”
Yes, good.
No pain, no sorrow, no fear—only numb calm.
Perhaps this was the best state she could possess now.
She lifted her gaze to meet Isayat’s profound eyes.
Where once they brimmed with emotion, now there was only clear emptiness, like a still ancient well that reflected nothing.
Isayat stared at her for a long moment before finally looking away.
Silence fell over the room once more.
“Good.”
Isayat gave a short, cold laugh.
“I dislike noise, and I dislike my belongings… being disobedient even more.”
Ling Xiya did not answer, simply maintaining her submissive pose.
Isayat sat up straighter, her tone turning more formal.
“Tonight, there will be a small Banquet in the castle.”
Banquet?
Something faintly stirred in Ling Xiya’s mind.
She vaguely recalled having attended such occasions before—laughter, clinking glasses—but those memories were foggy, like glimpses through frosted glass, unclear and untouchable, unable to rouse any feeling.
“The guests are all prominent figures in the Demon Realm—some hereditary lords, and several influential Elders.”
Isayat continued calmly.
“They… have some minor complaints about my recent decisions and need to be placated.”
She paused, her gaze probing Ling Xiya.
“I require someone… to handle certain affairs for me and someone I find pleasing to accompany me.”
Ling Xiya’s heartbeat seemed to stutter.
Accompany the Master?
Attend that so-called Demon Banquet?
A hint of instinctive resistance flickered in her subconscious.
Those “prominent figures,” those “lords” and “Elders,” did not sound like benevolent sorts.
For someone who had once been a Hero, the Demon Realm was always filled with unknowns and danger.
She only wished to remain in this quiet room, or do simple tasks that required no social interaction, maintaining her hard-won “calm.”
No, she didn’t want to go.
The thought had just formed when an invisible force pressed it down.
It was the command Isayat had left deep in her consciousness—obedience.
Isayat caught the fleeting hesitation on her face, a flash of understanding and satisfaction passing through her eyes.
She did not urge, merely waiting patiently, like a hunter watching a prey’s final struggle before it fell into a trap—though that struggle was now so faint as to be nearly irrelevant.
Ling Xiya’s lips parted, her throat dry.
She wanted to say “I don’t want to,” to find an excuse, to claim she was unsuited to such occasions, or that her low status made her unfit to appear there… These reasons swirled in her mind.
Yet in the end, she lifted her head, meeting Isayat’s gaze.
Her empty eyes showed no emotion, only pure obedience.
She nodded lightly.
A simple motion, but one that seemed to exhaust the last remnants of her will.
“…Yes, Master.”
She heard herself say it.
Her voice remained steady, even carrying a faint trace of… anticipation?
No, not anticipation.
It was merely the inertia of obeying an order—a “performance” to please the Master.
Isayat smiled with satisfaction.
That smile was like the first thaw of ice and snow, yet carried a biting chill.
She knew she had succeeded.
The piece called Ling Xiya had been shaped exactly as she desired.
“Excellent.”
Isayat rose, standing before Ling Xiya.
She reached out, cool fingertips lifting Ling Xiya’s chin, forcing her to look up.
“Remember, tonight you only need to stay by my side, speak little, and act more. Your duty is to make me… comfortable.”
“Yes, Master.”
Ling Xiya’s gaze grew emptier, as if her soul had been drawn out, leaving only a body to obey orders.
Notice: The same series was there in the raws too.