Chapter 332: The Hunt at the Banquet

But—

No matter how much he said, no one listened.

The supplementary explanations, the caveats—all the warnings about instability and scarcity—were drowned beneath the clamor.

The astonishing results had ignited in everyone a desperate hunger for this miraculous elixir.

It was a primal hunger—the fear of aging and death, the greed for youth and vitality.

The same unspoken demand seemed etched into every pair of eyes in the room—

“Just take my money, and be quick about it!”

………………

After the presentation came the social portion of the evening.

Under the crystal chandeliers, the atmosphere in the banquet hall shifted entirely.

The financial titans, corporate founders, and political heavyweights had been holding their wine glasses with restrained decorum. Now they surged forward in a press of bodies.

Greed glinted in their eyes. A greed polished smooth by years of social maneuvering, yet still seeping through every crack in their composure.

They plastered their faces with the warmest smiles and spoke the sweetest words.

The wine glasses in their hands might as well have been weapons.

Every clink was a probe; every compliment, an advance.

It was as if they were staging a hunt.

And the prey they were circling was the young female doctor who held the secret to youth.

“Dr. Douglas, I must say, your discovery is nothing short of epoch-making!”

A white-haired old man with a ramrod-straight back was the first to speak.

A City Hall badge was pinned to his lapel—clearly a political heavyweight.

“On behalf of the Municipal Health Commission, I would like to discuss with you the potential applications of the Rejuvenation Spring in the field of public health.”

He leaned forward slightly, his speech unhurried, every word meticulously weighed.

“Of course, we would provide the most optimal research conditions and the most generous funding.”

Pandora inclined her head, offering a polished smile.

“I am most grateful for your recognition, sir. However, the Rejuvenation Spring is still in its early experimental stages. There is a long road ahead before any form of clinical application.”

Her reply was watertight—neither a refusal nor a promise, merely a polite deflection back to the safe harbor of “early experimental stages.”

“Dr. Douglas!”

A voice cut in from the side, booming and penetrating.

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It belonged to a heavyset middle-aged man. Two thick gold rings adorned his fingers, marking him at a glance as a man of industry.

“I’m a man who doesn’t like to beat around the bush. I’m prepared to offer five million for the complete formula and all intellectual property rights to your Rejuvenation Spring.”

He extended one hand, fingers splayed wide, as if the five million were spread out across his palm.

“Naturally, you would continue as lead researcher. You needn’t worry on that score.”

Pandora turned her gaze toward him without any shift in expression, her smile still demure.

“Your generosity quite overwhelms me, sir. But the core processes of the Rejuvenation Spring involve foundational research that has yet to be made public. Transfer is not under consideration at this time.”

She did not say “not for sale.” She said “not under consideration at this time.” That single word—time—left the door wide open while committing to absolutely nothing.

Next, an impeccably dressed woman pushed her way to the front. The jade set in her necklace shimmered beneath the chandeliers. Her every gesture carried the effortless poise of old money.

“Doctor, my mother is eighty-two this year. Her greatest wish is to visit our seaside estate one last time before she passes…”

Her voice trembled faintly, her eyes rimmed with red—the very picture of a devoted daughter pleading.

“I am willing to pay any price.”

Pandora looked into her eyes and nodded, her tone carrying just the right measure of sympathy.

“I understand how you feel, madam. Once we achieve a breakthrough in production volume, we will prioritize the patients in greatest need.”

There it was again—once, prioritize.

Despite the sympathy written on her face, she had not a shred of faith in the woman’s credibility. Which meant there was no credibility at all.

Business cards came at her like a blizzard.

Promises poured over her like a flood.

Some pledged research endowments, others offered laboratories. A few hinted at political protection, and more than one simply named a figure so staggering it numbed the mind.

Pandora accepted each in turn, smiling and nodding, responding with courteous and impeccably vague words.

“I will give it serious consideration.”

“That is a most compelling proposal.”

“I look forward to future opportunities for collaboration.”

Every sentence was polite. Every sentence left no loose ends, no room for being quoted against her.

She let the fervent gazes and ardent words wash over her, unable to leave so much as a mark.

What they did not know, however, was this:

Every person present, for all their illustrious status—their wealth and power enough to sway the very workings of this city—to this young woman, they were nothing more than mediocrities.

She was never someone they could hunt.

Pandora maintained her practiced smile, letting the business cards and promises bury her, utterly unmoved within.

To put it bluntly, even that so-called “Rejuvenation Spring” they revered as a miracle was nothing more than a degraded version of the Sloughing Decoction, reworked by her own hand.

The Rank-3 Sloughing Decoction carried immense life force, but it was far too potent for ordinary humans.

Taken directly, it would cause the body to collapse and die under the unbearable strain.

What she had done was degrade it—stripping away the core “sloughing and regeneration” power. She preserved only a portion of its life-vitality-stimulating properties, then neutralized and diluted it with auxiliary agents.

That was precisely why the old man had shown no signs of “molting” after consuming the potion.

No sloughing. No regeneration. Only a brief flare of vitality.

Yet even with Pandora’s current skill in potioneering, all she could do was amplify the Sloughing Decoction’s immediate effect. It produced a sensation akin to a desperately ill patient receiving a massive dose of stimulants—a dramatic change in a short window.

In the long term, it would inevitably lead to a massive overdraft of the subject’s life force.

That stimulated vitality did not come from nowhere. It was borrowed from the future.

The more they overdrew now, the faster the collapse when the debt came due.

Of course, for her—and for the cleanup squad—this posed no problem at all.

In the long run, this Fragment World was destined to be transformed into an orchard.

Every adult would eventually be replaced by Live Iron Golems scripted into specific roles.

This was the Academy’s established plan. Even Pandora could not alter it.

And even in the short term, every wealthy person in attendance had been handpicked by the cleanup squad.

By and large, they were all individuals who had grown rich at the expense of virtue.

Their “early deaths” weighed not at all on the squad’s conscience.

In fact, to some degree, it simply saved them the trouble of additional processing later.

Pandora lifted a glass of champagne and took a delicate sip.

The bubbles danced on her tongue, cold and faintly tart.

Over the rim of her glass, she watched the faces still fervently vying for her attention, her gaze as calm as it was indifferent.