Return of Black Lotus system:Taming Cheating Male Leads

Chapter 353 --353

Yet, hanging on the mantelpiece just a few feet away from the dining table was a memorial shrine.

At the center of the shrine sat a black-and-white ink portrait of a young woman: Seera. It was beautifully painted, capturing her sharp eyes and proud posture. A few sticks of incense burned lazily in a bronze holder beneath it. But a closer look revealed the sickening truth of the family’s "grief." A distinct, undisturbed layer of gray dust coated the top of the wooden frame. No one had bothered to carefully wipe or touch that portrait in a very long time. It was nothing more than a permanent prop, set up to show the visiting nobles that they hadn’t forgotten their "tragically lost" daughter.

They laughed and ate rich food right in front of her dusty memorial.

Meanwhile, the servants lining the walls of the dining hall were practically vibrating with terror.

They kept their heads bowed, their eyes glued to the polished floorboards, trembling slightly as they stepped forward to refill the jade wine cups. To the outside world, this mansion was a beacon of nobility. But to the people trapped inside it, the estate had slowly transformed into a suffocating, beautifully decorated mausoleum.

There was a strange, terrifying stiffness in the air. Yes, the masters of the house talked, joked, and laughed, but their joy felt entirely hollow and cruel. The estate operated on a system of absolute, unquestionable, and often brutal rules. If a servant dropped a spoon, if a maid looked up at the wrong moment, or if someone accidentally interrupted the Marchioness, the punishment was swift and devastating.

They ruled through absolute fear, replacing the brilliant daughter they had murdered with an iron-fisted tyranny that kept everyone perfectly, silently in line.

They were so comfortable in their stolen peace, so secure in their absolute power, that they had absolutely no idea a storm wearing black silk and a mocking smile was currently scouting their front gates.

Heena was currently engaged in the highly tactical, deeply complex art of browsing.

Because the Marquis’s sprawling estate was situated right at the edge of the capital’s high-end commercial district, she didn’t need to crouch in an alleyway or lurk conspicuously behind a wall to get a good look at it. Who said you couldn’t conduct a hostile reconnaissance mission while sampling the local street food?

She strolled casually past the merchant stalls lining the main avenue, a skewer of glazed meat in one hand and a freshly steamed bun in the other. To any guard or passing patrol, she was absolutely invisible. She wasn’t acting like a spy keeping a desperate, paranoid eye on the mansion’s front gates. She was acting like a wealthy, carefree young master with too much time and money, entirely engrossed in her shopping. But out of the corner of her eye, she was meticulously counting the number of guards at the estate entrance, timing their patrol rotations, and noting the exact thickness of the wooden doors.

Her disguise was flawless. Despite her slender frame and completely smooth jawline, not a single person in the crowded market suspected she was a woman.

In the capital, the aristocratic standards for male beauty were notoriously eccentric. The wealthiest, most pampered young noblemen rarely ever touched a sword or saw the sun. They were coddled by their parents to the point where they possessed incredibly thin waists, delicate arms, and skin softer than most women’s. Many of the capital’s young masters even painstakingly shaved their arms and faces to maintain a pristine, jade-like appearance.

So, when the local merchants saw Heena’s slender wrists or lack of facial hair, they didn’t think ’woman’. They simply thought: ’Ah, another spoiled, eccentric rich boy with weird grooming habits.’

And then, there was her entourage.

Samuel followed a half-step behind her, playing the role of the devoted, silent bodyguard with an almost sickening level of amusement. He had completely shed his terrifying, commanding aura, replacing it with the calm, agreeable demeanor of a high-class servant.

He was serving as a literal, walking ATM and personal porter.

Whenever Heena pointed at a silk fan, a box of expensive pastries, or a carved wooden trinket, she didn’t even bother looking back. Samuel would simply step forward, flash a devastatingly charming smile at the shopkeeper, drop a handful of silver coins onto the counter, and place the items into the growing basket he was carrying on his arm.

Heena took another bite of her steamed bun, pausing by a jade merchant’s stall that offered a perfect, unobstructed view of the Marquis’s eastern courtyard wall. She picked up a small pendant, pretending to examine it against the sunlight while actually scanning the height of the stone perimeter.

"Do you think the green suits my complexion, guard?" Heena asked aloud, her voice lowered to a smooth, arrogant male pitch for the benefit of the merchant.

Samuel stepped up beside her, his tall frame casting a shadow over the stall. He looked down at the jade, then directly into her eyes, his lips twitching with suppressed laughter.

"Everything suits you, Young Master," Samuel replied smoothly, opening his coin purse before she even confirmed she wanted it. "Though I must say, your stamina for spending my—I mean, ’your’—money is truly boundless today."

"Don’t complain," Heena muttered under her breath so only he could hear, tossing the jade into his basket. "You’re the one who wanted to tag along. Now carry my snacks and look intimidating."

When you are tossing silver coins around the capital’s high-end commercial district like they are worthless pebbles, people take notice. When you are doing it while looking like an effortlessly wealthy, devastatingly handsome young noble, they do more than notice—they absolutely flock to you.

Heena was putting on a masterclass in theatrical disguise.

She had perfectly adjusted her posture, adopting the slightly arrogant, lazy slouch of a pampered aristocrat. More impressively, her voice acting was flawless. She had lowered her pitch to a smooth, resonant baritone that dripped with casual charm. Every time she flashed a lazy, half-lidded smile or gracefully snapped her folding fan open, the local merchants practically fell over themselves to offer her discounts.

But it wasn’t just the merchants. The young women of the capital were absolutely captivated.

Daughters of rich merchants and minor nobles walking through the market found themselves repeatedly—and completely intentionally—crossing paths with the "handsome young master." They giggled behind their silk sleeves, "accidentally" dropped their embroidered handkerchiefs in front of her boots, and batted their eyelashes with shameless determination.

And Heena, completely detached from the romantic implications and solely focused on the ego boost, was thoroughly enjoying the attention. She would pick up a dropped handkerchief, offer a devastatingly polite smile, and speak a few charming words that made the girls blush furiously.

Standing exactly one half-step behind her, carrying an ever-growing mountain of shopping bags, Samuel’s eyes were turning as dark as a starless night.

A cold, terrifying chill began to radiate from his tall frame, causing several of the braver women to unconsciously step back, shivering without knowing why.

Samuel tightened his grip on a basket of expensive pastries, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth ground together.