“I really… want to become… a cute… girl…”

From the heap of books, the Grand Sage Zhuoyue murmured, like a sleepwalker drifting through fog.

Lingcai thought she misheard, a startled sparrow inside her chest. She crouched like a cat and leaned in, ear tilted to the paper rustle.

The pile breathed with his lonely mumble, like a winter stove giving out its last warmth.

“…This real world makes you cry, leaves grown-ups haggard, la-la ♪” His tune floated like rain tapping window glass.

“…The older I get, the less I want regret; what still tastes sweet in memory, la-la ♪” The line drifted like autumn wind through dry leaves.

He’s singing now?! Her shock popped like a kettle lid.

Lingcai quit pretending calm. She grabbed his legs and hauled him out, like yanking driftwood from a tide of pages. Then she asked, voice steady as a drawn blade:

“Sage, did you just say you want to become a cute girl?”

Zhuoyue lay limp on the floor, a wilted reed by a riverbank. He kept mumbling, voice thin as smoke:

“…But I don’t deserve it, la-la ♪”

Give me a break—! Her patience snapped like a dry twig.

If she wanted a normal talk, she’d need a whole cart of effort, like pushing a boulder uphill.

Lingcai dragged him free and propped him against a cabinet, as if staking a tent pole in a gust. She drew breath to question him. He, half-dazed, scooped a nearby vial at random, purple like bruised moonlight, and tilted it back.

Glug-glug. The sound rolled like pebbles in a stream.

Lingcai tensed, a bowstring pulled taut. She snatched the vial and flung it aside, like swatting a hornet.

“Don’t drink random stuff! Do you even know what that is?”

The weird purple liquid leaked from his lips, a trickle of twilight. He slurred:

“Hic. This one turns you into a pretty girl…”

Halfway through, a sound like a flour sack exploding went off. The gray curls on his head frizzed out, wild as thistle fluff.

Then he added, flat as ash: “…a failed batch.”

Lingcai yanked his collar and thumped his back, like trying to dislodge a fishbone. She roared:

“If it’s a failed batch, don’t drink it! Spit it out!”

Seeing him like that, her heart skittered like a startled deer. Would the Grand Sage close his eyes, stiffen his legs, and just pass on?

Zhuoyue coughed and waved her off, fingers flapping like moth wings:

“Cough, cough… I’m fine… it’s nothing harmful…”

After the tussle, he looked clearer, a fog lifting at dawn. He could stand, swaying like a reed, and his speech sharpened.

Clear-headed at last, Zhuoyue spoke like a bell finally struck: “Miss, who are you? What brings you here?”

Seeing his mind align like stars, Lingcai introduced herself, voice bright as a new coin:

“I’m Lingcai, disciple of Professor Jero of Alchemy. My teacher, Jero, once studied under you.”

Color returned to Zhuoyue’s cheeks, faint as peach bloom, though he still seemed sickly. His memory stirred like a pond rippling:

“Yes, I remember. Jero… years back, when we talked, he mentioned your name. He even praised you.”

Lingcai’s spirit lifted like sunrise. Warmth swelled, a spring bubbling under stone. She kept her excitement tamped down, like a lid on steam:

“Then… what did Professor Jero praise me for?”

Zhuoyue hesitated, gaze circling like a hawk. After a beat, he said:

“He praised you as the student who blew up the cauldron the most in his history.”

“…Is your idea of praise different from ours?” Lingcai’s face darkened like a storm bank.

“Ahem, these things…” Zhuoyue sounded steadier, like a teacher chalking a line. He bent to pick up a fallen vial. “The ancients said, the history of Alchemy is the history of explosions. If you only follow the rules, there’s no innovation. Hic.”

He belched, a drumbeat in his chest. The seven-pointed star pendant on his chest jittered like a shaken lantern.

Hm. That did sound a bit masterly, like a carved seal.

Though Lingcai felt he was just soothing her, a palm over restless water.

One thing, however, she wouldn’t let slide, like a burr in cloth:

“Back to it, Sage—did you say you want to become a girl?”

Zhuoyue flinched, a fish flicking in a net. He shook his head furiously, windmill hands:

“What? When did I say that? When did you hear it? I didn’t, I didn’t!”

His cold sweat betrayed him, beads breaking like rain on slate.

Seeing his denial crumble like sand, Lingcai laid it bare, blade clean:

“…Just now, buried under the books, you were singing… and said that vial could turn you into a beautiful girl…”

Smash! He flicked the purple vial out the window without a blink, glass scattering like sleet.

This man could really let go, like pruning a branch without regret.

“I’m not, I didn’t, don’t say nonsense.” He clasped his hands behind his back, posture stiff as bamboo, while sweat kept seeping like a spring. “I was babbling in a dream, but don’t spread rumors. I’ll sue you for defamation! If you don’t spread it… ask for anything…”

“I’m not trying to shake you down…” Lingcai cut in, voice cool as shade.

“You can! You must! As long as you keep quiet! Anything you want!” Zhuoyue planted his hands on Lingcai’s bare-strap shoulders, like a man grabbing a raft. Then he jerked back as if jolted by lightning. He stared at his hands, trembling like leaves, then covered his face:

“I want to become a girl… I want to become a girl and cuddle all kinds of cute girls…”

…Wow. Hopeless, like a boat with holes.

In Lingcai’s heart, his favor sank to the seabed, a stone dropping through dark water.

While she was busy roasting him inside, she noticed he peeked through his fingers, eyes glinting like fox fire.

Zhuoyue also felt something off, a pebble inside the shoe:

“By the way. I’ve never heard Jero take a girl disciple. Did he… turn normal?”

Hold up, Sage. You just aired someone’s privacy like laundry in the sun.

Lingcai missed the sting of that last line. Her mind burned bright, a kiln ready for work. She wanted to prove herself before a true Alchemy Sage. This was her grandmaster; if she solved his long-stuck problem, she could brag for a lifetime.

“Sage! I can help you fulfill that wish!”

She straightened her small waist like a young bamboo, smiling with clear confidence.

Zhuoyue stared, then backed off two steps, hands flapping like geese:

“…No, no, no! You’re too young! Not right! A girl as cute as you would be tainted by my hug! I’m a filthy adult! Boo-hoo…”

He’d clearly misunderstood, like reading the wrong line on a scroll.

Lingcai approached and soothed him, voice gentle as rain, words clean as spring:

“That’s not it. I mean, my Alchemy can turn you into a girl.”

The Grand Sage snapped his head up, eyes wide as full moons, disbelief flickering like heat-haze:

“What?!”