The words had barely left his mouth when someone seized Chu Mian’s arm, exposing the electronic shackle clamped around her slender wrist. It contained the identification data of everyone exiled to the island. To meet the slum’s admission criteria, the Chu family had registered her as a mentally ill vagrant, incapable of self-care. A man scanned the device with his phone. "Mr. Li," he reported, "she's mentally ill." "The details." "Sent here three years ago. Twenty-one years old. No official identification on file—likely a vagrant. Diagnosis: schizophrenia." "Twenty-one." The man repeated the number, his voice laced with a dark, dismissive contempt. "To think a woman who belonged in a slum from the moment she was born wasn't found and thrown in here until she was eighteen." *…* *Belonged in a slum from the moment she was born?* What kind of twisted logic was that? Chu Mian kept her head bowed, maintaining the facade of a broken mind. The leather shoes stopped before her. The crisp lines of his trousers creased as the man crouched down, the hem of his ink-black overcoat brushing against the yellowed leaves on the ground. A moment later, his fingers clamped onto her chin, forcing her head up. A sharp jolt of pain shot through Chu Mian. Her eyes flew open, locking with a gaze that was dark and dangerously cold, and the air froze in her lungs. The man before her couldn't have been more than twenty-four or twenty-five. Beneath a sharp cut of dark hair was an Eastern face of devastating beauty. His skin was pale as snow, his features chiseled and sharp. Above arched brows, a pair of long, narrow eyes, almond-shaped and tilted upward at the corners, were defined by single eyelids and a deep, almost unnervingly striking crease at their outer edges. His lips, pressed into a thin line, gave him an air of inherent cruelty. He stared down at her, his gaze a mixture of scrutiny and arrogant disdain. In his eyes, Chu Mian saw her own reflection: a blank, emotionless mask. Too long on this island had taught her to be stone-faced; any turmoil roared within her, never betraying itself on her features. They held each other's gaze for a full two minutes. *Impressive.* In all of Country A, there weren’t many who could meet his eyes for so long without flinching. The girl had a face of stunning innocence, marred by scratches—likely from branches. The deep cuts, however, only added a paradoxical allure, a touch of bloodthirsty beauty to her purity that was, surprisingly, captivating. Despite his harsh grip, she didn’t scream, didn’t struggle, didn’t have one of her supposed fits. A flicker of interest ignited in the depths of Li Tianque's dark eyes. *Interesting.* The armed men stood by in silence. When another patient had rushed them, a single, merciless gunshot had been the only answer. Abruptly, Li Tianque patted her cheek and rose to his feet. "She'll do." One of his men, standing nearby, respectfully offered a clean towel. "Mr. Li, are you sure you don't want to see the others? There are plenty of mentally ill in the slum." "No need." Li Tianque took the towel and began meticulously wiping his long, slender fingers, as if polishing a priceless work of art. When he was done, he tossed the towel carelessly to the ground and turned to leave. His entourage immediately fell in step behind him. Two men hauled Chu Mian to her feet, flanking her and forcing her to walk. She didn't make a sound. With so many guns aimed in her direction, any struggle would be futile. She heard one of the men on her right ask curiously, "Assistant Meng, why did we have to come all the way to a slum to pick up a mental patient?" The young man called Assistant Meng, who was walking ahead, let out a soft laugh. "Asking questions about Mr. Li's business?" he said. "You've got a death wish?" The words were spoken lightly, but they had their intended effect. The man who'd asked the question immediately fell silent, not daring to utter another word, as if the very name "Mr. Li" was a fatal curse. *Mr. Li.* Just who was this man? And he was taking her back with him? Did that mean… they weren’t going to kill her? That she might actually leave this island alive? They all walked on in silence, and no one noticed the glimmer of hope—the light of a second chance—ignite in the eyes of the girl they were taking away.