At the far end of Xibei Village. Philia’s home.

After buying ingredients for dinner, Philia trudged in with a basket that dwarfed her small frame, like a sapling shouldering a millstone. She puffed her cheeks by habit, murmuring who-knows-what, and hopped into her own courtyard like a sparrow skipping along a fence.

A broad slick of fresh blood spread before the living room door, its iron smell rolling out like a dark tide.

Philia pretended not to see it. She stepped through the red, and her white shoes drank the color like cotton taking dye. As she walked into the living room, a neat string of red footprints bloomed behind her like winter berries in snow.

The blood had a tacky pull. Each step made a syrupy squelch, like chewing on overripe fruit.

No lamps were lit. Dusk pressed against the room like wet wool, making the air heavy.

The blood-stench inside was stronger, a bucket of scarlet overturned in the lungs. The small girl crossed the room as if through fog, passed the long inner hall, entered the kitchen, set down the heavy food with a thud, wiped the sweat on her forehead, and finally let out a breath. Relief broke across her face like sunlight after rain.

That smile was bright and flawless, a warm-day blaze with no shadow.

Then she turned. And saw it.

Tall. Dark-violet. Muscles twisted like gnarled roots of an old tree—that Monstrosity.

Its ugly face held twin scarlet pupils, eyes brimming with blood and cruelty like knives in standing water.

Hunched, more than two meters tall, its back thick as a log. Sometime, somehow, it had stood behind her without a sound, and its warped, heavy shadow poured over the girl’s face like spilled ink.

It held something. And ate.

A small leg, torn off cruelly, still leaking warm blood like a cracked wineskin.

Judging by the curve, the length, the smoothness of skin—it was a young woman’s leg. A maiden in her prime.

With Philia watching, it didn’t bother to hide. Its blood-red maw opened. Two rows of narrow, beast-sharp teeth flashed like needles, and it tore off a slice of flesh with ease and swallowed it whole.

A few drops of blood leapt and flecked Philia’s pale cheek, like petals blown astray.

At a scene like this, a nine-year-old would scream her throat raw. Even an adult might drop like a cut kite.

Philia smiled.

There was a pinch of complaint in it, bright and real in the dim kitchen like a lantern against fog. “B-Brother! I-I told you, so, so many times—d-don’t eat other stuff b-before dinner! Then you’ll s-say my food is bad!”

At the word “Brother,” the Monstrosity’s swallowing froze, stiff as a log in winter.

Then it quickly gulped down the entire calf, no blood, no bone left, like a snake stealing an egg. Not enough. It bent, stretched out a red, thick tongue, and licked every drop of blood off the floor until it shone, not a trace remaining.

“W-What falls on the floor—d-don’t eat it! I-I said no!” At its greed, Philia puffed her cheeks rounder, like a pouting cat.

It licked the last drop clean, then swayed to its feet. It stared at Philia’s face like a storm cloud staring down a field, silent.

“W-What’s wrong?”

It said nothing. It reached out its thick right hand toward her face—long dark nails, veins knotted like cords.

The little girl didn’t flinch. She giggled. “Hee, that tickles!”

Carefully, gently, it brushed her cheek with the back of its hand, wiping away the blood-spatter. Then it licked that tiny smear clean as well.

“A-All good now! Brother, g-go sit. I’ll cook.” Philia turned and began to prep the food.

It nodded heavily. Dragging a shadow as black as soot, footsteps thudding like drums in a cave, it turned and left the kitchen.

Only the red-haired, red-eyed girl remained in the dim light, humming a little tune like rain tapping bamboo.

...

...

“Looks like rain.”

Inside Uncle Sean’s shop.

Uncle Sean watched the clouds, low and heavy as a slate roof about to crush the eaves, and spoke offhand.

Daisy, who had volunteered as waitress, came out with plates. She heard him and lit up like a lamp. “Rainy days are the best!”

Ye Weibai smiled. “You like rain?”

“Her? She just hopes class gets canceled.” Uncle Sean knew his daughter like calluses on his palm. He added, “Remember that time she had a pop quiz next day, and she—”

“Sean!” Before her old man could air her “scandal,” Daisy set down the food, shot him a glare, and raised her voice. “You eating or not?”

“Hey! Calling your old man by his name?” Uncle Sean hadn’t worked up a mad yet when she reached for his beer. His pretend anger collapsed like a sand wall in rain. He flashed a fawning grin. “D-Don’t touch your old man’s beer!”

“Hmph.” Daisy huffed like a little peacock and dropped into her chair.

Watching the warm father-daughter dance, Ye Weibai couldn’t help smiling, like hearing a familiar song.

“What?” Daisy caught the smile, flushed, and waved a hand as if fanning heat. “Let’s eat!”

Uncle Sean couldn’t wait. He took a long pull of beer, then chomped a rib like a wolf with a bone.

Daisy, though, blinked at Ye Weibai with stars of expectation, like a child waiting on fireworks.

Ye Weibai asked, helpless and amused, “What is it?”

Uncle Sean swallowed fast and said, “She made the whole meal! She’s super excited—”

“Even food won’t shut you up!” Daisy roared like a cub and stuffed a mound of greens into her dad’s mouth. “Eat your veggies, pack some muscle!”

Ye Weibai choked on a laugh, surprised that such a small body could boom like a drum. “Daisy, you’ve got real energy.”

“N-No...” Only then did Daisy realize her own volume. She shrank a little, fierce brows softening like cooled steel, lashes lowered, voice small. “That’s only sometimes...”

Uncle Sean chewed greens and snickered on the sly.

Ye Weibai kept smiling. “It’s fine. I like quiet kids and lively ones. And whether others like you doesn’t matter. What matters most—”

Daisy’s eyes rounded. “What matters most?”

“Liking yourself matters most.” Meeting her puzzled gaze, Ye Weibai’s smile grew gentle, like a hand smoothing ruffled fur. “Don’t change lightly for others—unless you meet someone you’d trade your whole life to change for.”

The meaning ran deep, deeper than a child could dive. Uncle Sean, though, sat a touch straighter, memory and respect settling over him like an old coat. Before he met Daisy’s mom, he drank like a fish and slept like a log in a ditch. Now he only sipped, and with care, like walking on frost.

For Uncle Sean, that “someone”—once, it was Daisy’s mother. After she passed, it became Daisy. Their hands-on-hips glare when he got drunk—mother and daughter—was a mirror, two storms with the same thunder.

He looked at Ye Weibai and couldn’t help wondering: this twenty-something youth, what past carved words like that into his bones?

Daisy didn’t catch the depth, but she caught his stance. She burst into a carefree smile like a window thrown open. “Mm!”

Then she “hee-hee’d,” embarrassed. “I thought someone like Brother Bai would like quiet girls.”

“No. If anything, I like [True] kids,” Ye Weibai said.

Yes. He liked [True] kids. Not [Void], not [Flash], not [Self-Deceit]—but the [Real]!

No need to lean on anything, no need to pin themselves to anything. They save themselves—real and unrestrained.

“True...?”

Daisy tilted her head like a bird, not understanding.

Ye Weibai shook his head and let it go. “Eat first.”

“Mm-mm!” Daisy nodded hard, dropped a generous heap of scrambled egg in Ye Weibai’s bowl. “Try this! I’m proudest of this dish!”

Uncle Sean showed a face full of grief, like a dog robbed of a bone. “That’s my favorite...”

“You eat it every day and don’t get sick of it?” Daisy shot him a look, then turned back to Ye, eyes shining.

Ye Weibai stared at the egg in his bowl. His lips pressed thin, a shade pale. Ah. How to put it... It looks pretty good. But why does it taste eerily like what that little imp Philia makes—the same sun-baked, days-old salted-fish funk winding through it?

You little girls and your forbidden seasonings. Can’t we just make a simple scramble?

Uncle Sean, you’ve had it rough. Eating this every day and smiling as if it’s your favorite—you’re a certified good dad.

But breaking a girl’s dream is a sin you don’t commit.

Ye Weibai smiled, chewed twice, and forced it down like medicine. “Mm! Not bad!”

“Right? I’m super confident in this one!” Daisy lifted her chin, proud as a cat with a catch.

“It is good. One question, though.”

“Ask, ask!”

“Where’s your bathroom...?”

...

...

The mealtimes these past two days weren’t exactly bliss. But he survived.

After eating, the three of them chatted on the first floor for about an hour, swapping Daisy’s childhood stories like shells on a table. Sharp-eyed Daisy saw fatigue fog Ye Weibai’s eyes, so she cried that she wanted to sleep and ended the talk.

Phew.

After one more trip to the bathroom, Ye Weibai lit the oil lamp, crawled into bed like a sailor onto shore, and lay with eyes half closed a long while before catching his breath.

My heavens... the destructive power of little girls’ dark cuisine is terrifying.

He couldn’t help thinking: feed that “weapon” to a Monstrosity. Even if it doesn’t poison them, it’ll collapse their combat power for sure.

Thinking of Monstrosities made him recall the book he hadn’t read to the key part yet—what exactly is a Monstrosity?

He opened the pages.

The first thing he saw was an illustration—a Monstrosity.

A massive body, limbs thick as pillars, a face ugly as broken stone, twin eyes scarlet as coals. Its dark-violet skin warned like a bruise on the sky. Veins bulged; the flesh looked terrifying and strong, muscles not just hard but stone-hard, blocks of rock warped together in grotesque knots.

It stood there, hunched, a wall with a pulse. One look, and the air tasted of blades—a [killing machine].

Anyone seeing that picture would feel one thing first and sure—fear.

Even Ye Weibai couldn’t escape it, especially after the horror of the “first night.” But his strength lay in seeing himself clearly and adjusting fast.

His right hand trembled for a moment. Then it steadied. He turned the page.

[Monstrosities have many traits. One matters most—]

[It will mimic the human form of the last person it ate.]

[If a new Monstrosity is born from a human, it mimics its own human form from before it turned!]

[Whatever the resemblance, remember this—no matter how close, it is not human—it is only a Monstrosity!!!]

...