Chapter 9: Chapter 9: The Crippled Child

In many ways, Xavier’s indulgence toward Chloe seemed to know no bounds.

Even Chloe herself had begun to sense it, though she refused to acknowledge the truth — and told herself it was nothing worth mentioning.

Xavier was, in her eyes, the most irresponsible and shameless father in the world.

Just as the thought crossed her mind, they arrived at the grand ballroom.

The hall glittered with opulence — golden light spilling from chandeliers, the air heavy with the sweet fragrance of luxury. A soft, elegant melody drifted through the air, while couples swayed gracefully across the dance floor, their movements weaving a tapestry of aristocratic poise.

The moment Xavier stepped in, the Duke rose from his throne and hurried forward to greet him, his face alight with joy.

“My lord progenitor, at last you’ve arrived. We have long awaited your presence.”

Though the vampire lifespan was endless, this particular duke appeared to be in his thirties or forties — well maintained, though clearly suffering from a receding hairline.

Chloe, cradled in Xavier’s arms, could see the shine of that bald spot quite clearly from above.

She couldn’t help the faint curl of her lips. So shiny. So very bald.

At that instant, the Duke noticed her. A flattering smile spread across his face.

“And this must be the young lady, yes? Such a charming child — she looks so very much like you, my lord.”

Xavier’s lips curved with quiet amusement. “Indeed. Quite alike.”

That brief exchange was enough for the Duke to understand — this child’s place in the progenitor’s heart was no small thing. He immediately straightened and inquired with care,

“May I ask the young lady’s name?”

Lowering his gaze, Xavier answered, “Chloe. Her name is Chloe.”

At the sound of her name, Chloe turned toward the pitiable, prematurely bald duke, and gave a reluctant, awkward nod.

The Duke’s eyes brightened in delight. “Ah, truly worthy of being the progenitor’s offspring,” he murmured.

Black hair, crimson eyes — a mirror image of her father.

After the two great figures exchanged a few more polite words, Chloe was set down.

The Duke, ever eager to please, patted her dark hair affectionately and gestured toward a corner where a group of vampire fledglings gathered.

“Would the young miss like to go play with the others?”

Chloe glanced in their direction, not particularly interested.

But when she thought of how this kindly duke suffered from baldness, her heart softened unexpectedly.

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With a faint sigh, she nodded and walked over.

The fledglings surrounded her at once, faces glowing with excitement.

“We saw you earlier — you came with the progenitor!”

“Hello! My daddy told me I have to make friends with you.”

“Mine said the same!”

“And mine too!”

Chloe blinked, speechless.

Round faces, grape-like eyes, and not an ounce of guile among them — in just a few sentences, they had sold out their parents completely.

She couldn’t help laughing softly. “Why are you all so obedient to your father?”

One of them piped up proudly, “Because Daddy is the best person in the world!”

“Is he, now?” Chloe mused, tilting her head. “And how exactly is he good to you?”

The fledglings answered eagerly, tripping over one another’s words:

“He feeds me!”

“He buys me delicious food and fun toys!”

“My daddy doesn’t care about me much, but he buys me anything I want!”

“My mommy’s the same way!”

Listening to them, Chloe fell into thoughtful silence. “Have you started training yet?”

“Yes!” they chorused.

“Mommy got me a bone-grinding stick to help strengthen my fangs!”

“Mine too — a bone stick!”

Chloe stared blankly. A bone-grinding stick?

The first thing that came to mind was the teething toys given to puppies during their growth phase.

After some questioning, she realized the purpose and design were indeed identical.

Her mood grew complicated.

“And your wings?” she asked. “Do your fathers train you to awaken them?”

The fledglings nodded eagerly. “Of course!”

“My daddy ties a rope around my waist and makes me jump! That way, I won’t die, and my wings will grow faster!”

At this, Chloe couldn’t help recalling how Xavier had thrown her straight off the rooftop.

Lovely. Her teeth itched again.

After so many comparisons, she became even more convinced — her father was a complete scoundrel.

Meanwhile, not far away, Xavier was conversing with the Duke about state affairs when he suddenly felt an inexplicable chill down his spine.

Chloe stayed with the fledglings, not saying much. Now and then, she would quietly reach for a pastry from the table.

The pastries were infused with gently warmed synthetic blood — the most suitable type for fledglings — and the flavor, when blended into the sweet dough, was exquisite.

Without realizing it, she had eaten far too many.

By now, the children’s chatter had drifted from one topic to another, laughter filling the air.

Then, one of them turned to her and said excitedly, “Young miss, do you want to come with us to play with the little cripple?”

Chloe blinked. “The little what?”

“The little cripple from the Francis family! You don’t know?”

The fledglings burst into laughter, their innocent eyes wide and bright.

“The Francis family has two sons,” one explained. “The elder one’s really strong — today’s his birthday! The little cripple is the younger one.”

Chloe frowned, displeased. “Why do you call him that?”

“Because he’s a half-blood — human and vampire. Hardly any vampire blood in him at all. He’s weak, can’t grow fangs — if that’s not crippled, what is?”

“Daddy says so too.”

The fledglings had no sense of tact; after speaking, they eagerly tugged at Chloe’s hand, wanting to take her to see the so-called cripple.

Curious despite herself, Chloe followed — partly to see for her own eyes, partly because such mockery felt deeply improper.

They made their way to the rear courtyard of the mansion.

A row of small rooms stood there; they walked all the way to the last.

The door was tiny, old, and weathered, its surface thick with cobwebs.

There wasn’t even a lock.

One of the fledglings pushed it open easily.

Inside, in a shadowed corner, huddled a boy in tattered clothes. He seemed about their age, though his limbs were longer, his build leaner.

His hair was a tangled mess of gold, his skin pale as frost. When he looked up, his eyes were a deep, hollow black — devoid of the crimson that marked their kind.

The fledglings grew excited at once, ready to taunt him — but before a single word left their mouths, Chloe’s voice cut sharply through the air:

“Enough. Not another word.”

Silence fell immediately.

Chloe stepped forward.

In every sense, she embodied a perfect and powerful pureblood — her bearing regal, her crimson eyes luminous with untainted fire.

Ordinarily, one of her kind would never stoop to acknowledge such a hybrid.

But Chloe reached into her pocket, took out a small packet of pastries she’d saved earlier, and held it out to him.

“Here,” she said softly. “Eat.”