Ouyang closely followed Anderson to a room on the fourth floor of the ancient castle—a space that resembled a dance studio.

Mirrors lined all four walls. In the center stood four gentle maid-clad girls, about Ouyang’s age, with youthful faces—some excited, others slightly uneasy.

“The numbers are finally complete.”

Only when Ouyang stood beside the three girls did Anderson beam with expectant joy, welcoming his students.

“Welcome to my castle for maid training. I am your instructor, Philip Anderson. From now on, address me as ‘Master’.”

“Yes, Master.”

Ouyang, standing aside, merely mouthed the words. Claudia had ordered her to investigate illegal transactions—not to become a maid. She’d just go through the motions.

“The course lasts three days. It’ll be exhausting, but I guarantee your employment. You must follow my intense schedule.”

Anderson pulled items from a box behind him and handed them out.

Each maid received two pairs of handcuffs, locking them onto wrists and ankles. They made crisp sounds when shaken.

Watching the obedient girls fasten their chains, Ouyang felt like a prisoner—just confined somewhere fancier.

“Keep these on until training ends. No loud noises while walking. Too much clatter, and you’ll taste the whip.”

Anderson gazed at Ouyang with satisfaction. “These handcuffs are precious. Treasure them. I dug them from the warehouse just for you.”

The silver cuffs gleamed differently from the others’. Seconds after wearing them, Ouyang’s body weakened. A slight burning pain flared on her wrists and ankles, like hot water scalds.

Staring at the cuffs, she asked urgently through gritted teeth, “What is this—”

No answer came. Anderson suddenly whipped a long, thin leather lash against her thigh—*crack!* The sting dropped her powerless body to its knees.

“You—!”

She turned to demand why, but the whip hovered inches from her face. His stern glare silenced her.

“Don’t make me repeat this,” he snapped. “Since stepping through that door, you have no right to question or speak. Only one word: ‘Yes’.”

Ouyang tried rising but tripped repeatedly on the short ankle chains. She glared at Anderson’s cold, indifferent face.

*He chose these cuffs on purpose. He knows my Blood Clan ties. But why hate me this much?*

“Still sitting? Get up. Don’t waste class time. I count from three to one—stay down, and the whip returns.”

Silent, Ouyang knelt painfully, bracing for the lash as his countdown began.

Just as hope faded, delicate hands appeared before her. A doll-faced girl with short black curls reached out, eyes full of concern.

Ouyang wanted to thank her—but speaking meant whips for both. She held the gratitude silently, gazing up with tearful eyes.

Once all wore the gear, Anderson swayed his whip gently, beaming at the four maids. “From today, no names. Left to right: Numbers 1, 2, 3, 4. You’re silent commodities—puppets obeying the master’s will. Understood?”

No. 1: “Understood.”

No. 2: “Understood.”

No. 3: “Understood.”

No. 4: “Yes.”

Anderson sighed, rubbing his temples. “No. 4, learn to adapt.”

No. 4, cold-faced: “Understood.”

Anderson fell silent: “.....”

“First lesson: standing. Head high, chest out. Hold one pose for two hours.”

He paced behind them, voice stern. “Hands straight ahead, feet together, knees unbent. You’re puppets. Statues. No looking around at sounds.”

The cuffs’ pain deepened with stillness. When Anderson glanced away, Ouyang shifted them slightly—*thwack!* The whip struck her thigh again.

“No. 4. Did I permit that?”

She bit her lip, ready to retort—but his raised whip froze her. *I’ve never been humiliated like this. I’ll quit. Rip off this uniform and go home.*

After two agonizing hours, Anderson granted a ten-minute rest before the next lesson.

Hearing his footsteps fade, Ouyang collapsed onto the floor, ignoring her “pretty girl” image.

“Dead tired...”

She shifted the cuffs on her raw, red-marked wrists and ankles.

“No. 4, your handcuffs look different,” said a voice.

“Yeah... different.”

Only when Nos. 1, 2, and 3 surrounded her did Ouyang remember she was No. 4.

No. 2—the curly-haired girl—studied the cuffs’ sheen, her expression turning grave. “These contain real silver. You’re allergic... I’ll ask Master for replacements if needed.”

“No need.” Ouyang grabbed her arm as she rose to leave. Flustered, she stammered, “Earlier... thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” No. 2 smiled softly, a trace of sadness in her eyes. “You’re like us too—sold here as a maid because of family debts, right?”

“Huh?” Ouyang blinked. “Sold here? What do you mean?”