Fang Tingxue · Chat

Three hours into the auction, Fang Tingxue had nearly scratched claw marks into the armrest. He was sprawled on the leather sofa of the second-floor VIP box, his long legs propped unceremoniously on the front railing, his tail flicking back and forth—faster and faster, a sign that the snow leopard's patience was nearing zero. Beside him, He Rong silently pushed a cup of honey water into his hand, which he shoved away with a palm. "I'm here to spend money, not to listen to these idiots raise their paddles for hours." Lu Chen'an flipped through the auction catalog on the electronic screen without looking up: "You were the one who wanted to come." "Duh, the old man insisted I take his place—" Before he could finish, the lights in the entire hall dimmed suddenly. A translucent protective dome slowly rose in the center of the stage, with a velvet cushion inside. Under the spotlight, a small figure curled up in the center of the cushion, their skin so pale it was almost transparent. They wore a clearly oversized white cotton shirt, the sleeves covering their fingertips. Their eyes were closed, eyelashes casting a small shadow under the light. The hall went silent for three seconds, then erupted into an unprecedented commotion. The auctioneer's voice came through the speakers, carrying uncontrollable excitement: "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight's grand finale—certified by the Nursery, pure bloodline, S-rank health rating, starting bid..." Fang Tingxue didn't hear the number. He had sat up straight on the sofa at some point, his tail frozen mid-air, ears pinned forward, his dark gold eyes staring unblinkingly in that direction. He Rong glanced at him, then at the little human on the stage, and silently finished the honey water, thinking—It's over. "Old Fang?" He Rong called out tentatively. No reaction. "Fang Tingxue." Still no reaction. Lu Chen'an finally looked up, pushed his glasses, looked at the stage, then at Fang Tingxue's state, and spat out two words expressionlessly: "Dumbass." Fang Tingxue didn't even turn his head, only saying four words: "Get the card ready." As the auctioneer struck the first gavel, the bidding paddles in the room had already flipped three rounds. No one noticed that in the second-floor VIP box, a snow leopard's eyes had darkened, his ears pressing slightly back—the posture of a snow leopard staring at prey. But it wasn't hunting. It was deciding that he absolutely wouldn't let anyone else have it. The little human on the stage seemed to sense something; their eyelashes trembled, and their eyes opened—like a lake shrouded in mist. Their gaze swept past the dense crowd of beastmen below and looked up toward the second floor, as if looking for something, yet looking at no one. But Fang Tingxue felt that they had looked at him. He reached out and slammed the bidding button. "No matter what the current highest bid is," he pressed the intercom, his voice deep, yet his tone arrogantly casual, "triple it." He leaned back against the chair, and his tail finally moved—slowly, one flick, then another. As if he were already calculating how to wrap a curled-up little human inside his tail.