After Dixue left, the bathhouse cooled like embers gone dim, the echo thin as a winter cave.

Only water whispered from a bamboo spout, a silver thread, while a magic-stone heater glowed like a small sun that never cooled if left on.

Yue Liuyi towel-dried her hair, heart easing like mist lifting, and stepped out through a carved wooden door that opened like a lacquered fan.

A wide bedroom breathed like a spring garden; plush toys clung like sleepy cubs, flowers bloomed like painted clouds, and soft sun pooled on the sheets like warm milk.

“Is this Dixue’s bedroom? So lavish,” she breathed, wonder rising like a lantern.

Her praise rang true like a bell, because her own room was bare as a monk’s cell, nothing but magic books stacked like bricks.

“I’ll wait for Dixue here—wait, what’s happening?” Panic pricked like nettles before she moved, and her knees went soft like wet paper.

A hollow drained through her shoulder like ice melting, and she almost folded onto Dixue’s bed like a falling feather.

“Why is my mana burning so fast?” Her strength poured out like sand through an hourglass, sweat beading like dew, and her vision fogged like a rainy pane.

“Murder Fiend’s curse, or…?” Fear flashed like lightning, and she snapped her gaze to the clock, its hands stabbing nine like twin spears.

She’d slept without knowing, like a stone in a stream, and morning had already bloomed like a pale chrysanthemum.

Daylight demanded mana like a bottomless pit, and her borrowed form gnawed at her core like a silent fire.

That was the hardest rule of her gift: she could transform only at night like a moonlit tide, and at day it devoured her like locusts.

Night cost nothing, cool as moonlight; day consumed everything, hot as noon on iron.

On normal days she could last till near noon like a runner pacing a long road, but last night’s battles had bled her dry like a pumped well.

“I can’t wait for Dixue—I have to get back to my room!” The decision struck like a drumbeat, and she bit down like steel.

She slipped out the door like a shadow, dread crawling like ants at the thought of changing back in these clothes.

That would be real perversion, a brand like hot iron; a stranger man in her dress on her bed—unthinkable, like a nightmare at noon.

Labels would stick like burrs, and she’d end up in lockup with drunks like moths around a gutter lamp.

That must never happen, she vowed, the words hard as stones skipped across a river.

She left a note like a falling leaf and sprinted out, corridors twisting like a maze of vines until the front door yawned like a cave mouth.

“This is… a deck?” Her surprise rose like a lark, because outside wasn’t a corridor but blue wind and planks like sunlit ribs.

She looked back, and the “house” unfurled like a mirage into a mid-sized ship moored in the Sky Voyager’s docking zone.

A silver, streamlined hull arced like a flying whale, fairy-bright as a dream swimming through sky.

Knots in her mind loosened like unpicked threads—no wonder the room felt lived-in, and no neighbors stirred like quiet reeds.

But getting home just got harder, the distance stretching like a dry riverbed between docks and passenger quarters.

In a fresh dress and with empty pockets like a shell, she couldn’t tap the teleport array or ride the tram like a breeze.

She had to run on her own two feet, soles drumming like rain on boards.

Eyes followed her like migrating swallows, because a lively girl sprinting is a spark that sets hearts fluttering like willow leaves.

It felt like a story scene, fateful as a coin toss; stick a bread roll in her mouth and destiny might collide like carts.

“Why does this feel like a shame-play…” Heat climbed her cheeks like a sunrise, but she kept her gaze steady like a calm pond.

Before, she could meet stares like a mountain meets wind, but recent shocks tangled her like vines.

A catfolk girl had almost pushed her down like a pouncing kitten, the Murder Fiend had nearly taken her like a shadowed claw, and a “beauty saved the hero” like an upside-down tale.

That led her to the silver-haired Yedie Snow, cool as frostlight on a river, and left her heart trembly like a plucked string.

“Hold on… just a little more!” She urged herself like a coachman, breath beating like hooves.

She once loved running with the wind like a kite, but now the gusts only teased like mischievous sprites.

Updrafts kept tugging her skirt like playful hands, and the extras on her chest bounced like bothersome bells.

She ran flushed and panting like a chased deer, pulse drumming like a war song.

“Finally here,” she gasped at her door, one hand braced like a branch, “I really can’t use this power unless I must—it’s terrifying.”

Yue Liuyi was Dongfang Chen’s one-of-a-kind gift, bright as a secret star, but its limits had kept it buried like a seed.

“I’m back. Let’s get normal again,” she told herself, opening the wardrobe like a curtain and facing the mirror like still water.

She reached for the white dress’s ribbon, fingers light as moths, and a snag of hesitation caught her like a fishhook.

“Wait—no way!” The thought leapt like a startled carp, shocking her into stillness like frost.

Was she wanting to live as a girl, like settling into a soft snowfall?

“No, no, that’s probably not it…” She shook the idea off like rain, but her chest still rippled like a pond.

Living as a girl had sweetness like shade in summer, with care and protection falling like gentle rain.

But that wasn’t the knot, she knew, the truth gleaming like a pebble under clear water.

Dixue and Zaocun were kind and lovely, bright as spring buds, and they’d trusted her like an open gate.

They’d shared secrets like whispered petals and even given her clothes like gifts of silk.

She was the sort who returned true heart for true heart like mirror to mirror, and Dixue had saved her like a hand from a cliff.

So she’d already filed Dixue under friend, warm as a lantern in snow, deep in her chest.

But friends shouldn’t be lied to, a rule straight as bamboo, and truth weighed on her like a stone.

Once she became herself again, that delicate bond might dissolve like morning mist.

Dixue was beautiful and seemed rich like a moon-bright pearl, and mooching felt shameful like dust on a blade.

Yet Dongfang Chen was broke, his purse flat as a dead leaf, and the thought tugged like a thorn.

“No, no! Maybe in Jiangwang City, but this is the New Land,” she snapped, resolve striking like flint.

Law here was thin as a torn net, Murder Fiends ran wild like wolves, and it was deadly for an unarmed ‘girl’ like a lamb.

“And protecting cute girls is a boy’s duty,” she said, the words clear as a bell, “and I won’t hand that to anyone.”

She clenched her fist like a stone, and her heart surged like a rising tide.