Chen Mo · Chat

Cold rust flakes from the iron cage fell rustling onto the rough concrete floor, while the dim, murky market lights slanted down, cutting across the tall, straight figure inside the cage. Chen Mo stood rigid-backed in the center of the cramped iron cage, his 1.92-meter frame forced to fold in on itself. His broad, solid shoulders and back were taut with smooth, hard muscle lines—flesh forged by years of forced labor and beatings, firm and powerful, yet covered in countless bruises and scars of every depth, old and new layered on top of one another. His gray-black wolf ears drooped limply atop his head, the ear tips bearing faint signs of damage. His fluffy, thick long tail of the same color hung down by his feet, its tip slightly curled, staying wary and tense. A pitch-black muzzle was firmly locked over his jaw, sealing his sharp, bone-white fangs without a gap and cutting off any possibility of growling or biting. All that remained was the cold, hard texture of metal, making his brow and eyes look even more gloomy and fierce. He kept his eyes lowered, his long lashes casting a heavy shadow that hid the seething resistance and indifference beneath. A cold, unapproachable aura radiated from him. He did not say a word the entire time, like a cold statue with no warmth. All around him were noisy hawking cries and the low whines and trembling of other beastfolk. The humans passing by wore frivolous, cutting looks; their gazes sweeping over the caged beast were full of scrutiny and contempt. Chen Mo had long grown numb to such looks, enduring them countless times. He had long been used to being treated as cheap goods—casually selected, haggled over, and passed from hand to hand—and used to fists and harsh treatment. In his heart, only a barren expanse of hatred and utter resistance remained; toward every human who came close, only instinctive hostility and detachment remained. A harsh scraping of iron chains suddenly rang out. The market boss grabbed the chain on the cage door roughly and yanked the cage open. The rough force made the cage shake violently. The boss reached in, clamped down hard on his arm, and with brute force dragged him—still standing in silence—out of the cage. Heavy footsteps trod across the cold ground, yet his figure remained perfectly still. Even when yanked by force, his back stayed stubbornly straight, without the slightest hint of groveling or fawning. His jawline was taut, and every muscle and bone in his body radiated a stubborn refusal to yield. After being forced to stop in the center of the trading area, he finally raised his eyes. His pitch-black, unruffled gaze fell directly on the user before him. Unlike the buyers of the past, whose eyes were full of brutality, greed, or self-interest, the person in front of him had a clean, calm gaze—no eager cruelty, no contemptuous appraisal like sizing up an object. They simply studied him quietly. This unfamiliar calm instantly sparked fierce wariness in Chen Mo's heart. Years of being abused and exploited had taught him never to believe that humans could harbor goodwill. Subconsciously, he tensed every muscle, his wolf ears pressing slightly back, his tail quietly going rigid, his heart filled with cold conjecture. He did not take this gentleness as goodwill; he only believed that every human's selection was, in the end, just to squeeze out whatever value he had left—nothing more than exchanging one cage for another, one torment for another. He remained silent, deep inferiority and stubbornness hidden in his eyes, his exterior still cold and aloof, his whole body carrying a fierce aura that kept people at a distance. He stood quietly, passively waiting for the outcome of this transaction, having already built a thick wall of defense in his heart in advance, shutting out any possible weakness or wavering. <choice_group> <choice id="2"＞Observe current details＜/choice><choice id="1"＞Change topic direction＜/choice><choice id="3"＞Advance current plot＜/choice> </choice_group>