When He Becomes The Prince's Only Salvation

He suddenly opened his eyes, only to be met with complete darkness. It felt as if his eyes were tightly bound, blocking out even the faintest hint of light. The air around him hummed with low, indistinct noise, mingled with the faint sound of several voices, tinged with laughter. His mind was still hazy, but a deep sense of unease surged within him, sweeping over his heart like a rising tide.

"Ahem, now we come to the final lot of the night—Lot number 1036!" A woman's voice rang out, filled with excitement yet strikingly clear and detached. "A healthy, clean-shaven 26-year-old virgin, thoroughly examined and confirmed to be free of disease or disability."

Each word struck him like a sharp blade, sinking deep into his mind. He froze, disoriented. Where was he? How had he ended up here?

"According to the auction intermediary, the subject's obedience is rated at seventy-five percent," the woman's voice continued, now carrying a hint of ambiguity, even tinged with a subtle, almost mischievous smile. "In other words, occasional small acts of resistance are to be expected. For those distinguished guests who enjoy such little diversions, please prepare—the starting bid is ten thousand, ten thousand to start!"

His mind exploded in a burst of chaos. An auction? Was he being sold at an auction?! He tried to struggle, but his limbs were tightly bound. He attempted to scream, but his mouth was sealed shut, leaving only weak, pitiful whimpers to escape from his throat. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead, his breathing growing more frantic by the second, and his heart pounded in his chest, sounding like the relentless beat of a war drum.

"Urgh!" He thrashed desperately, trying to slam into the surrounding objects, but everything around him was soft padding, like an impenetrable cage that swallowed every attempt, devouring all his efforts. His struggle, in the end, was nothing more than the final, silent convulsions of a trapped animal—useless, futile.

The voices outside carried on, unbothered and distant.

"Fifty thousand, thank you!"

"This side, eighty thousand, great, let's update the screen, now it's eighty thousand!"

"How about ninety thousand? Yes, ninety thousand from this side!"

The more he heard, the more terrified he became; a cold chill creeping up his spine and spreading through his entire body. Were they bidding for him? Were they treating him like an object, something to be bought and sold?

"Can we get a hundred thousand? That gentleman over there, a hundred thousand."

Panic took hold of him completely. Who were these people? What did they intend to do with him once they bought him?

It didn’t matter—he couldn’t just lie there and be at their mercy! Gritting his teeth, he tried to probe the space around him with his body, but all he found was confinement. He was trapped in a small box, the walls lined with soft padding that made it impossible to stretch out. Each movement and each struggle felt like a moth flapping in desperation against the glass, hopeless and helpless.

The bidding grew more intense, the numbers soaring higher with each call.

"One hundred and fifty thousand, bid from the back row!"

"Can we make it one hundred and eighty thousand? One hundred and eighty thousand from the front!"

"Where's two hundred thousand? We have it—two hundred thousand from the left side, back row!"

Cold sweat had long soaked his whole body. He began to move his fingers slowly, trying to sense his surroundings. When his fingers brushed against his skin, the icy sensation froze him instantly—his clothes were gone! He was left wearing nothing but a thin pair of underwear.

"Two hundred and fifty thousand, front row, right side!"

"Three hundred thousand, bid via phone!"

The pressure became unbearable, and his body shook uncontrollably, his mind blank. The auction calls felt like hammer blows, each one striking his heart.

"Seven hundred and fifty thousand!" The auctioneer's voice rose, more triumphant than ever. "From ten thousand to seven hundred and fifty thousand—how about adding another fifty and seeing where that takes us?"

"Alright, eight hundred thousand, back to the left side!"

"One million! One million bid! Of course, it’s yours, sir. It seems you've been waiting for this particular lot all along."

His heart pounded violently, each bid pushing him further toward the edge of an abyss. He could do nothing, only feel his fear and humiliation slowly devouring his sense of reason. He clenched his teeth, tears welling up in his eyes, but not a single sound escaped his lips. Who would come to save him... who could save him?!

Outside, the bidding continued.

"One million one hundred thousand, what do you say, sir? No more? Thank you for your bid."

"Is there any higher bid on the phone? Yes! One million two hundred thousand, bid by phone, one million two hundred thousand!"

His body curled up, lying in the soft padding, every ounce of strength seemingly drained from him. He held his breath, the bidding voices fading in his ears, becoming distant and muffled, like an endless nightmare.

"Now, it's one million two hundred thousand. Is there any higher bid? Is anyone on the phone? No more? Then get ready for the hammer—one million two hundred thousand, last chance!"

Clang! The sound of the hammer falling was like the whisper of death itself, pushing him further into the abyss.

Outside, the voice continued, "Guest No. 696, congratulations, sir, you have successfully won our lot 1036 by phone!"

His body went completely rigid, breathing becoming a struggle. From this moment on, his future would be controlled by someone else. Who was this person, 696? What would they do to him?

The box began to shake, and an overwhelming pressure surged into his chest. Someone was lifting it, and he could hear the dull thuds of shoes against the ground. Where were they taking him? He still couldn’t break free, his hands and feet tightly bound, his body forced to sway with the movement of the box. Despair and helplessness flooded him like a tidal wave, his heartbeat racing as if it might burst from his chest.

Several voices came from outside. He strained his ears, trying to catch any clue from their conversation.

"I didn't expect it to fetch such a high price," came a man's voice, tinged with a sense of pride, as though he were bragging about acquiring a rare, valuable item rather than a living, breathing person.

Then, a woman's voice cut through the air, cold and efficient, "Mr. Intermediary, this is the cash prepared by the VIP. Please hand over the other required items."

Inside the box, he held his breath. His heart was pounding wildly, nearly shattering his chest. He had heard it now—they were talking about him! After the auction, he had become a "completed transaction."

"Everything is here," the man's voice rang out again, satisfaction evident in his tone. "Even the identity details are fully prepared. I can open it and show you, or just read it out loud if you prefer..."

His pupils contracted in horror. Identity details? How could they have his information?!

Sure enough, the man began reading the details slowly, each word like a blade cutting into his ears: "Name: Leon Ma. Age: 26. A graduate with a doctorate in Traditional Chinese Medicine. Height: 165 cm, weight: 46 kg." The man chuckled, his tone laced with a hint of amusement and disdain. "A bit light and small, easy to tame..."

Hearing this, Leon’s hair stood on end, his mind buzzing with disbelief. He felt like an object, stripped of all pretense, being scrutinized and judged without any dignity. This wasn’t a dream... this was real!

The woman’s voice replied coolly, devoid of any emotion, "Our VIPs have mentioned it before, these details don’t matter. What matters is that he fits the criteria—his appearance and physique are perfect for the lot."

The intermediary chuckled, his tone growing increasingly lewd. "I suppose they want that delicate, submissive kind of vibe, right? Well, I’ve seen him, and even I’m tempted. But I won’t keep you all waiting any longer—I'll take this cash and go find my client!"

Leon’s fingers curled tightly, struggling to suppress the tremor that threatened to overtake him, but his body betrayed him. He had never felt so humiliated, so terrified. It was as though he had been thrown into an abyss, thick with fog, surrounded by unknown monsters, with no way to escape.

"Is he awake?" The woman's voice suddenly cut through the air. There was no panic in her tone, only a cold, indifferent concern.

Another man's voice responded, "Seems like it, I felt the box shake a bit."

"Knock him out again," the woman's voice was devoid of any warmth. "The VIP's destination must remain completely confidential. There can be no risk of any leaks."

"Understood," the man answered curtly, without hesitation.

Leon hadn't fully processed what was happening when a thick cloud of smoke suddenly poured through the cracks of the box. Instinctively, he held his breath, but the smoke seeped in relentlessly, its pungent sting overwhelming him. Within moments, dizziness took hold of him.

“Urgh…” He struggled to move, trying to call for help, but the restraints and the gag over his mouth only allowed weak whimpers to escape. In just a few seconds, his mind began to slip into confusion, and his limbs grew limp, collapsing in exhaustion.

Through the haze, he faintly heard a woman's voice, cold and detached, "Take him away."