During the banquet, cups clinked and fragrances drifted through the air.
Leo’s gaze darkened slightly, and he subtly nodded toward a nearby attendant. The attendant immediately understood, bowing respectfully as he carried a cup of wine toward Gu Qing, who sat quietly at one corner of the long table.
“Your Excellency, this is a specially prepared Starfruit Wine, just for you. Please honor us with a taste.”
Gu Qing smiled and inclined his head, fingers lightly touching the cup. Spiritual energy quietly surged within him.
Deep inside his consciousness, the silver orb spun in excitement, voice suddenly eight octaves higher: “W-wait—this isn’t ordinary wine! Qingqing, did you do this? Wow! So thrilling, so thrilling, so thrilling!”
Yet outwardly, Gu Qing’s movements were calm, refined, elegant. He lifted the cup and sipped, revealing nothing unusual. Several noble males watched him intently, scrutinizing his every reaction.
—Had he truly drunk the wine, within moments, his aura would be disrupted, pheromones would surge uncontrollably, and the carefully maintained mask of composure would collapse, exposing vulnerability—handing them leverage over him.
But moments later—
Gu Qing lowered his lashes, voice soft: “The taste… still feels unfamiliar.”
There was a trace of shyness, even slight confusion, like a gentle, untested male.
Service’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, yet he could detect no flaw.
Arthur casually glanced at Leo, whose brow was furrowed, betraying that he too sensed something unusual.
At that moment, Ivan suddenly raised his cup and drank his wine in one gulp.
“Seeing you drink, I got a bit thirsty too.”
Yet as the last syllable left his lips, he frowned, muttering: “…Why is it so hot?”
Sweat appeared at his temples, breath came in short gasps, knuckles pressing tightly against his chest.
“Ivan?” Leo’s eyes shifted.
Ivan staggered backward as though unaware, his balance shaky.
A moment later, a burst of intense pheromones erupted, a wave of arousal sweeping the room in an instant.
All the insects froze.
Gu Qing rose abruptly, eyes wide: “Ivan? What’s… what’s happening?”
He reached to steady Ivan, his voice tinged with worry and fear: “How… how could this happen? What’s wrong?”
Leo’s expression darkened: “…Wrong cup?”
Moss’s face also changed, muttering under his breath: “Who the hell is that stupid!”
Arthur rose, brow furrowed: “Ivan, you drank—”
Chaos erupted around them, yet no one could lay blame on Gu Qing.
The wine had been prepared by the nobles themselves, placed exactly where they wanted. The cup Ivan drank—it was the one meant for him. At this point, it seemed Ivan had brought misfortune upon himself.
“Who put something in the wine? What an idiot!” Leo slammed his fist on the table, voice low but furious.
No one answered.
Ivan was supported and dragged out by two female slaves, dignity lost.
Inside the room, Gu Qing lowered his gaze, fingers lightly tracing the rim of his cup, expression calm yet imbued with a quiet sense of contrition.
In a low, trembling voice, he spoke: “…Should I not have come?”
He lifted his eyes to the others, sincerity and innocence plain in his gaze. “Should we call medical staff? Or… should I contact the military?”
The word “military” struck like thunder.
The room fell silent.
If the military were truly involved, discovering that this “special wine” could trigger male arousal would bring even the top nobles under scrutiny—disastrous consequences.
“No need!” Arthur’s tone sharpened, eyes quickly masking his alarm, cutting him off.
“It’s merely a pheromone imbalance; let the medical insects handle it,” Leo said, expression dark. “Ivan’s constitution is unstable. We’ve seen this before.”
With just a few words, the incident was reframed as a “physiological issue,” neatly excluding Gu Qing from any responsibility.
The little orb inside Gu Qing’s mind fumed with delight: “Heh! Justice served! These rotten insects tried to scheme against Qingqing, yet got outplayed! Yes! So satisfying!”
A flicker of amusement crossed Gu Qing’s eyes, gone in an instant.
He summoned several female attendants to his side, gentle and composed, smiling with elegance. His gaze casually swept over the nobles, blending seamlessly into the absurd game without revealing a trace.
The male insects, seeing his “awareness,” laughed in agreement, as if the previous awkwardness and anger had never existed.
The conversation returned to lavish food, rare wines, and priceless art, all trivialities for indulgence.
Gu Qing answered calmly, then shifted his tone, curiosity threading his words: “Within the noble circle, which families hold the most power today?”
Arthur Rhine raised his cup, tone nonchalant: “Naturally, the three of us. Rhine, Loya, and Service. We control most of the empire’s industries and legislative power.”
Gu Qing’s eyes flickered. “And the leaders of these families—are they male insects?”
The room erupted in laughter.
Simon Service swirled his cup, chuckling: “You’re far too naïve. Why would it be us? Those in power are females.”
Leo Sieg sneered: “We noble males needn’t do such crude work. The trivial matters? The females handle them.”
Arlen Ninto added with pride: “We were born to enjoy life, not shoulder tedious responsibilities. A refined life is our true value.”
Gu Qing listened, heart growing heavier.
These males openly boasted of their status, looked down on females. Responsibility and labor were deemed lowly—female duties—while they indulged in beauty, pleasure, and luxury, living in a finely crafted dream.
Quietly, Gu Qing gazed at the kneeling female attendants, a flash of cold fire in his eyes.
The world’s rules were grotesquely twisted.
Females occupied the lowest rungs, many treated worse than slaves—sold, priced, used at will, displayed as objects for male amusement.
And the males? Draped in opulence, yet trapped in an illusion. Raised to value indulgence, told they are noble and fragile, shielded from worry, detached from governance and choice, powerless over their own fates.
Gu Qing pondered: what sustains this world?
—The sacrifices of the vast majority, feeding the glory of the few.
The banquet’s splendor was built atop the flesh and blood of countless insects—a fragile, illusory dream.
Every exhausted female, every pampered male, were victims of a meticulously designed system, stripped of freedom and dignity.
So who were the true architects and beneficiaries?
Those who wrote the rules, seated at the apex—they were the real profiteers.
Hidden behind the scenes, they controlled the structure, cemented hierarchy and false honor, crafting dreams to command obedience without ever facing the fire and blood themselves.
This was true dominion.
Gu Qing gripped his wine cup tightly—finally understanding that the oppressive dissonance he felt was not a matter of gender or class alone, but a product of an entire meticulously designed social mechanism.
A grand deception, locking the fate of all insects under its elaborate design.