Based on my calculations, if you recklessly cross the bridge to the Northern District despite the danger, solar damage to your body would accelerate depletion. Your weakened state would require repair—and thus hunger would strike faster.

Hearing the young man’s concise analysis through the phone: "It’s feeding time."

He understood her body better than she did. Every detail was under his control from the other end of the line. Unforgivable.

The more he did this, the more irritable Ouyang grew. Starving, she leaned against a dry wall in a cool, deserted corner. She had no patience to spare on this call.

"Cut the crap. What can I eat?"

"Is that how you ask for advice? Fine. Go suck blood on the streets. They’ll label you a Mosterian and deport you back to Zero District—or sell you to researchers as a lab rat. You get one question. Choose wisely."

"Are you telling me what to do?"

His sudden shift in tone confused her. No reply came after her sharp retort, so she pressed harder.

"I’m warning you. Don’t push it."

Only Brother Long ever dared command her like this.

Now, on the verge of collapse from hunger, she was being provoked over the phone. She already hated this faceless voice—and his threats made her itch to punch him. If this wasn’t resolved soon, she might actually run out to feed on humans.

*Mental note: Write down every time this phone brat bullies me. When he finally shows his face, I’ll settle every single debt.*

She forced herself to breathe. *Stay calm. One step back opens a boundless sky.*

Ouyang swallowed hard, cleared her throat, and adopted a saccharine-sweet tone dripping with sarcasm:

"Rich guy~ I’m starving~ Feed me~"

Silence. Had he fallen asleep? Was he ignoring her on purpose?

*One time only. Never again. Absolutely not...*

Her shoulders trembled slightly. Suppressing fury, she parted her lips. A boyish voice, edged with uncharacteristic softness, pleaded urgently:

"Please... tell me. This kid’s about to starve."

"There’s a Zodiac Cafe midway down Azure Dragon Road. The manager inside will know what to give you."

*He actually has a Blood Clan hideout in the Northern District?*

After eating, she’d tear that place down.

She hailed a taxi immediately. The driver, alarmed by her deathly pale face, offered a free ride to a hospital. She refused and arrived swiftly at a white three-story building. The first floor housed a flower shop; the second, the Zodiac Cafe; the third, a shabby office sign reading "Xinlong Affairs."

Inside the cafe’s automatic glass doors, the scent of coffee mingled with smooth jazz. Waiters in crisp bartender uniforms stood alert at their stations. The spacious, dark-toned interior was hushed—private booths ensured quiet solitude.

As if reserved for her, a female bartender guided Ouyang to a secluded counter booth for one-on-one service. The moment the door closed, outside noise vanished. On the white plate before her lay a raw, blood-veined steak, flanked by sterile silverware and a glass of white liquid.

Before she could question it, a golden-haired bartender—six-foot-three, handsome, sunglasses hiding his eyes—spoke calmly:

"No alcohol for minors. That’s milk. Relax. Think of this as a pitstop beyond Zero District. You’re not the only Mosterian hiding in the North."

As he polished a wineglass, Ouyang glimpsed crimson-brown irises behind his lenses. *Ah.*

She picked up the knife and fork. Staring at the rare steak, she cut a small piece, chewed twice, and forced it down. Delicious—but it tasted like ash.

Eating this was stepping further from humanity. Like standing at a crossroads with Brother Long, fearing she’d drift too far to ever return.

"Pure bloodlines like yours are rare," the bartender observed, studying her deliberately concealed appearance. "I’m half-human, half-Blood Clan. I look human—except for my eyes."

He reminisced proudly, "Once, Blood Clans thrived across every district..."

"Weren’t Blood Clans always confined to Zero District?"

"No."

He offered a history lesson gleaned from regulars: Once, Blood Clans were a wealthy, powerful family in this city. Mosterians of all races lived alongside them in harmony. Nocturnal Blood Clans mingled with humans—some at galas, others in shadowy trades like assassination.

Then a few rotten apples spoiled the barrel.

Radical Blood Clans declared humans mere livestock, sparking war. They lost.

Fearing similar uprisings, humans exiled all Mosterians to Zero District. Purebloods alone held true power—a key reason for their defeat. Centuries of intermingling diluted their bloodlines. Strength faded. Lifespans shrank.

After the war, their numbers plummeted. A curse seemed to hang over them: nearly all newborns were female. To break it, they needed a male heir—born to a woman bearing a bat-shaped birthmark on her right shoulder, the destined consort of a Bloodkin Prince.

"...So the Prince Regent’s only hope is a woman marked by a bat on her right—"

"I’m full. Thank you for the meal."

Ouyang set down her cutlery, cutting him off. She wiped her mouth calmly, heart hammering.

This "history lesson" had been staged. They knew why they needed her.

She wouldn’t stay one second longer.