She’d been tossed like a leaf all night, sleep in shreds, yet today’s tasks still stood like mountains in mist.

For her betrothed, Scarlet Leaf, to meet her back in true form, Lingcai worried herself thin, like a lantern burning low.

By half a day, every material for human transmutation lay arrayed like soldiers on a parade ground.

“Materials, check! Neutralizer, check! Cauldron temp, check! Begin the trial!” Her voice rang like metal on stone.

If she reversed those steps and blends, she’d be herself again—no more a loli-sized plush ball, no more cotton-snow fluff.

Her heart surged, a tide colliding with rocks.

After years of swallowing tears, she could finally break the surface like a carp leaping the gate.

Master Alchemist Lingcai was back, a phoenix smoothing its feathers.

No time to waste; let the blends swirl like eddies in a river.

Just as she reached for the path of research, a sudden hand tapped her shoulder, a sparrow’s peck on still water.

“Little princess—what are you doing~?”

She turned; behind her stood the maid, Qian Cao, black-and-white long dress like a magpie, white stockings, little leather shoes, prim yet playful.

Trouble, walking on tiptoe.

After last time, Qian Cao ranked no.2 on Lingcai’s least-want-to-see list, a burr clinging to silk.

She still treated Lingcai as royalty, bowing like reeds to the wind.

Lingcai had no strength to argue; it was like strumming a lute to a stone gate, the airhead’s skull packed with clouds.

Once she reverted, she’d shake off this clingy sprite, like brushing burs from a cloak.

“Little princess, snuggles~”

There she goes again—clingy gremlin, sugar on fingers.

Qian Cao slid to Lingcai’s side and pressed cheek to cheek, warm as fresh bread; her full little hills pressed in like soft dunes.

If Kelor carried the scent of milk, Qian Cao smelled of honey, sweetness slipping into nose and mouth, saliva welling like spring water.

City girls were dew-lit peonies; country girls were soil-warm wheat. Back in Qiuerde, Scarlet Leaf lived with the forge. Her scent was smoke and fire, a kiln’s breath that clung even after baths.

Maybe that’s the line between city and village, street lamps and hearth flame.

Huh? What’s wrong with a village girl—look down on her, do you!

Scarlet Leaf’s voice rose in her mind like a bell; a smile tugged up, crescent moon over a still pond.

Other girls might look fine, but none touched what was hers; in a lover’s eyes, she was Xi Shi at the river’s edge.

“Heh-heh-heh…” The laugh oiled out, and she didn’t even notice a creep’s grin blooming like a stain.

Qian Cao saw it all, dragonfly eyes catching glints.

“What’s wrong? Does the little princess… have someone she likes~?”

Lingcai flinched; sometimes this airhead was a needle under silk.

She didn’t answer. She shoved two green neutralizer flasks into Qian Cao’s hands. “You’re idle anyway. Don’t glue yourself to me. Hold these. Steady, don’t break them.”

Qian Cao took them, baffled, holding them upright like a test-tube rack, arms rigid as fence posts.

“Oh… okay. But what are we doing?”

Lingcai knew she couldn’t explain human transmutation to this cloud-brained lamb. Her tone went flat as slate. “You wouldn’t get it. It’s a great experiment, that’s enough. When I say ‘pour,’ pour the liquid. Got it?”

She still didn’t get it, but she lifted the flasks high, sunlight glinting like green glass waves. “Got it~”

Meanwhile, the alchemical cauldron climbed in heat, the brew churning like a stormy sea; boiling, water-like foam shouldered up, ready to spill.

They’d hit the threshold; the neutralizer had to tame the reaction, or the product would run wild, a firework in a kitchen.

Lingcai barked, heartbeat pounding like drums. “Now! Pour! Quick!”

Splash—

She did pour—only, the river missed the valley.

Lingcai watched, silent as stone, while Qian Cao lifted both flasks and dumped them onto the floor, green rain across tiles.

After a beat, Lingcai’s voice drifted like smoke. “What… what are you doing?”

Qian Cao blinked, pure as a lamb. “Huh? You said pour… so I poured?”

Into the pot!

Lingcai stared at the cauldron, reaction rising like a volcano; despair slid cold, a tide under moonlight.

She remembered the ancients: An Alchemist who hasn’t blown a cauldron isn’t a good Alchemist.

She remembered another: Art is explosion.

Three, two, one.

Boom—!

The blast from the alchemical mishap rolled across the palace like thunder over plains.

The cauldron cracked into pieces, quality metal holding its fury in a tight ring, but the one in front—Lingcai—took the brunt like a reed in a flood.

The violent reaction swallowed her small body, wrapping her in foamy white mist; choking steam and a shockwave pressed her to the floor like a hand on paper.

Her limbs felt emptied, a puppet with cut strings, yet through the milk-white haze, voices pricked her ears.

“Little princess~! Are you okay~?” Honeyed worry, Qian Cao’s voice.

“What happened! Enemy attack? Where!” Steel on ice—Xueyu, the guard, arriving like a gust through gates.

All right. How do I explain this mess…

Lingcai lay there, bedraggled as a wet cat, mind scraping walls, but no excuse budded.

Forget it. Get up.

As she rose, her clothes cinched tight, chest squeezed like a band; her eye-line stood higher, horizon lifted like a hill after rain.

Did I… by accident… change back?

She opened her throat and tested, sound like a flute waking. “Ah… ah… mic test—”

Still a girl’s voice, but no longer sharp loli sugar; it had warmed and rounded, the timbre of a maiden on the cusp, a swallow’s song at dusk.

Seventeen, maybe eighteen—that’s what the sound felt like, age resting like dew on grass.

When the white steam peeled away like fog at sunrise, Lingcai saw Qian Cao and Xueyu standing aside, both staring, eyes wide as moons.

Lingcai frowned, confusion clouding like mist. “Why are you looking at me like that? I…”

She felt the wrongness strike like a pebble in shoe; she dropped her gaze. Not just the voice—her height had grown, curves ripened, front and back carved like willow and peach.

More pressing, her old clothes were too small, skirt too short, the budding body tightened into a wrapped spring, fabric screaming like stretched bark.

Her skin flushed red, a poppy in wind; she hugged her chest, knelt, head bowed, voice breaking. “This— I… How is this… Don’t look! Please!”

Xueyu answered with glacier calm, a blade laid flat. “…We’ve already seen; it’s fine.”

Qian Cao came with a towel, soft as cloud, wiping water from skin; she loosened the tight clothes, then undid her own maid dress and laid it over Lingcai like a blanket.

Once Lingcai was wrapped, Qian Cao hugged her, fingers combing through tangled long hair like a mother untangling silk, voice cooing warm as a sunbeam. “Little princess, calm down~ Don’t be scared~”

All of it made Lingcai finally sigh, a wind through reeds.

What kind of mess is this.