Chapter 305: The Godfather

The Milicato family operates on a more ruthless path, relying on the military protection provided by the Daike family to engage in any business, including human trafficking.

Fosolles is somewhat obsessive-compulsive, a perfectionist who pursues flawless execution in everything he does.

To cultivate the most perfect “gift girls,” he spent enormous sums purchasing numerous authentic ancient castles across Europe, many of which are nationally protected cultural relics; even the etiquette instructors teaching the girls were former royal court ladies who once served the monarchy—truly targeting customer demands with ironclad quality control.

The “gift girls” trained by Fosolles’s team often surpass genuine noblewomen in grace, talent, and beauty, making many high-society individuals—whose names remain undisclosed—his loyal clients; even in Van Daike’s mansion in Frankfurt, several unopened “gifts” still reside there—intended to win over members of parliament.

The Turin Red’s breathing light flickered three times; the buyer on the opposite balcony bid successfully for Konstanz.

The white-dressed girl trembling and sobbing in the center of the stage was quickly led away, taken through the backstage corridor to the side of the man who bought her; the empty opera house echoed with a haunting flute melody as the next “gift girl” was pushed onto the stage, and Ning Zhe’s screen simultaneously updated with her new profile and personal photos.

A tapping footstep came from beyond the curtain; Ning Zhe looked up to see a man in a dark brown hunting outfit, with chestnut hair, pulling back the curtain and entering—it was Fosolles Milicato, the opera house’s shadow owner.

“Good afternoon,” Ning Zhe nodded to him.

“Good afternoon,” Fosolles sat down opposite Ning Zhe and glanced at Xia Yubing standing by the balcony: “I didn’t expect you’d bring Ms. Xia here.”

“What, not welcome?” Ning Zhe countered.

“Of course welcome,” Fosolles laughed. “You’ve already met Chairman Shen and Mr. Liu, right? How did the talks go?”

“The Easterners demonstrated their sincerity; the focus now shifts to the ladies of the Fulim family,” Ning Zhe gave an ambiguous reply, glancing at the bidding display on screen.

The new girl on stage had a childlike doll face, soft and rounded with a touch of baby fat—clearly hitting the patrons’ preferences; bids from several balconies surged fiercely, and the girl was quickly sold.

“Aremiya is a good girl; I’ve always had high hopes for her,” Fosolles smiled at the final price on screen—it far exceeded his expectations, and he made a hefty profit.

The teasing remark reached Xia Yubing’s ears, making her fists clench unconsciously.

Ning Zhe silently cast her a “calm down” look; Xia Yubing exhaled, slowly unclenched her fists, suppressed the urge to beat Fosolles—the human trafficker—to a pulp, and sat down beside him.

“These common courtesans bore me,” Ning Zhe waved his hand. “When will my beloved daughter appear?”

Xia Yubing’s eyes widened: “Wha—”

“She’s the finale,” Fosolles smiled. “Isn’t it always the best that comes last?”

Ning Zhe’s face lit with anticipation; he nodded in satisfaction.

Noticing Xia Yubing’s surprise, Fosolles explained: “I apologize for the misunderstanding, Ms. Xia. Van Daike has no children. The ‘daughter’ we refer to is his goddaughter.”

Fosolles briefly explained: VIP clients who spent a certain amount at the opera house could pay extra to request customizations from the “production team”—to create a perfect girl tailored exclusively to them. There was also a paid service allowing clients to enter the production as the girl’s father, uncle, older brother, first love, or prince charming—so the girl’s psychological collapse upon learning the truth would be more complete, delivering greater pleasure to her master.

Fosolles spoke at length about his team’s professional services, his gaze tinged with memory: “All these years have passed—do you still remember how she looked the first time she was baptized?”

“Of course I remember,” Ning Zhe’s voice carried a hint of pride. “After all, I am her godfather.”

In Christian culture, godparents serve as guides and guardians; traditionally, newborns born in a parish are formally baptized within a hundred days to become believers, and their parents choose a trustworthy married couple as godfather and godmother—to guide the child spiritually and act as secondary guardians beyond the biological parents.

Beyond teaching religious knowledge, if the child’s biological parents die unexpectedly or fail to fulfill their duty of care, the godparents are obligated to assume guardianship and raise the child to adulthood.

Fundamentally, this is an ordinary person’s risk-mitigation strategy—akin to appointing an adoptive father or mother to prevent the child from ending up on the streets after one’s death.

Though in today’s context, “adoptive father” and “adoptive mother” aren’t exactly positive terms either…

The girl performing tonight as the finale is Van Daike’s goddaughter; sixteen years ago, when she was baptized in the church, Van Daike swore before the Bible that he would guard her until she grew into an independent adult.

Sixteen years have passed in the blink of an eye; the fruit sown long ago has ripened. The young girl, now in her teens, stands tall and graceful—ready for harvest.

Xia Yubing swallowed hard, forcibly suppressing the urge to vomit; though she had long anticipated the decadence of European nobility, such a violation of human ethics still triggered a visceral revulsion.

Amid laughter and chatter, another girl was sold; the Turin Red’s light flickered three times. Xia Yubing excused herself to use the restroom and fled the balcony, standing beside the toilet, gagging repeatedly.

Not a single error in content!

Was it because she felt for her own kind? Seeing the tears on these girls’ faces reminded her of herself, sold by her aunt as a bargaining chip to Yu Zi?

Or was it fear? Fear that her own life, too, had been meticulously engineered like these “gift girls”? Or was it the quiet, persistent ache of human moral dignity—unable to bear witnessing living people raised and slaughtered like livestock?

Perhaps all of it. Perhaps none of it. Xia Yubing herself couldn’t say.

She turned the faucet to cold water, washed her face, dried the droplets, and walked back to the balcony with heavy steps.

Each “gift girl” undergoes the strictest selection and over a decade of professional training, making them extraordinarily rare and expensive; every auction is a scramble for scarce goods, and every “gift” is a hot commodity. In the short time Xia Yubing was gone, the auction had already reached its final stages.

On the central screen appeared new profile details: a Persian girl with wheat-toned skin and long, curly black hair like seaweed, her violet eyes brimming with sorrowful waters that rippled gently as she walked, stirring the heart.

Her name: Eran Shalishali Anwarna.

“The Princess of Persia.”

(End of Chapter)