Half a Month Later
[Ding! Congratulations, Host, on completing the task: purchasing a bottle of cola from the vending machine and finishing it entirely. Reward: 10% progress points and 200 credits.]
When the System’s announcement chimed, Mujin was sprawled on the grass patch outside her little nest, burping nonstop.
“You okay, Mujin?” An eye appeared at the nest’s window, peering inside.
Mujin squeezed her eyes shut, stretched her wings with effort, and croaked, “Don’t talk… I’m so bloated—ah! Wait, my stomach!”
She scrambled up and hopped onto a section of hollowed-out floorboard.
Her makeshift toilet. After all, she was a hygienic Sparrow.
Her digestive system differed from other sparrows’. While most birds had quick digestion, hers functioned more like a human’s—less frequent, but far slower.
Still, even human-like metabolism couldn’t handle gallons of cola daily.
No wonder she’d had diarrhea all week.
Mujin sighed in relief.
Good thing she’d made it in time. No mess in the nest.
“You alright, Mujin?”
“Fine, just stomach trouble… Hey! Stop staring and move!” Mujin looked up to find Zhou Ruiyang still watching through the window.
“Why?” The eye blinked.
“Why? How’d you like me opening the door to watch *you* on the toilet next time?”
Mujin figured only a creep would enjoy an audience during bathroom breaks.
“Alright… but Mujin?”
“What?”
“Hearing that voice say stuff like this… makes me feel like I’m talking to a shy girl.” Ruiyang’s cheeks flushed slightly.
Though Mujin was a sparrow now, her voice remained sweet and melodic—like a child’s, or a cute anime girl’s.
For a moment, Ruiyang imagined a flustered girl pouting at him.
Mujin rolled her eyes. “Not my choice. This is just my Sparrow voice now.”
She’d asked the System why she sounded female. Its reply? This was her species’ natural vocal range. Sparrow body, sparrow voice.
Annoying, but better than being mute.
She kept her voice low anyway—just loud enough for Ruiyang to hear.
If strangers overheard two voices near his window, they’d think he was talking to himself. Or worse.
Ruiyang’s eye vanished from the window. Only then did Mujin relax.
That cola had tortured her for days… but 10% progress was worth it.
*Why such a high reward for one soda?*
Readers might wonder—but they thought like humans. For a sparrow? This was near-impossible.
She’d cheated by buying the smallest can—still 320ml.
For Mujin, weighing barely fifty grams? That can was six times her body weight.
Just *lifting* it was impossible.
Ruiyang had handled that part, pouring cola into a tiny bowl for her daily sips.
Even with help, it took over ten days to finish.
And for half a month, Ruiyang had been her rock.
Her ultimate partner-in-crime.
After Mujin first spoke to him, Ruiyang had been shocked—but accepted her talking sparrow form instantly.
No surprise there. Three years as roommates taught her: Ruiyang was unfazed by *anything*.
Like when a game bug blew up his near-win in League’s “Teamfight Tactics.” Their dorm groaned; he just grinned.
“Haha! I actually caught a bug!”
Or when their campus security guard—a fugitive murderer for twenty years—was arrested. Everyone reeled; Ruiyang just tapped his chin.
“Knew that guy seemed off. So he’s the killer.”
His unnatural calm made him seem slow. But that “slowness” saved Mujin now.
She’d confessed everything: turning into a sparrow, her bizarre days…
Except the System. Its rules were strict: *Reveal me, and I vanish. No refunds.*
She’d signed carelessly back then. Now she paid the price.
Ruiyang had frowned, silent for ages. Mujin braced for disbelief.
Then he blurted:
“Oh. So you’re Mujin. That’s why you kept pecking me. But why’s your voice so… girly?”
“…”
He believed her. Instantly.
And became her…
Servant!
Yes. After her confession, Ruiyang became her all-in-one tool.
First, he logged into her WeChat, impersonating her to message professors and parents.
*“Heartbroken. Need time off. Won’t be on campus.”*
Their easygoing advisor had let a similarly “heartbroken” senior skip classes before. Adults preferred avoiding drama.
Beyond paperwork, Ruiyang handled *everything*: food, water, nest-cleaning.
He visited the park daily after class, scrubbing her nest with a rag like a free live-in maid.
He even borrowed the park keeper’s ladder so often, the old man now waved hello:
“Oh! Back to play with your bird?”
Now, Mujin waited only for Ruiyang’s afternoon visits. He was her sole human connection.
*Maybe ask him to spray air freshener in the nest later?*
It was clean, but carried a faint, stale-bird smell.
After finishing her business, Mujin hopped forward—then instinctively glanced back.
Checking the toilet was muscle memory. Even after fifteen days as a sparrow, the habit stuck.
That glance froze her.
Crawling on the nest wall was a “monster.”
One-fifth her size. Eight legs. Four eyes.
All four eyes stared straight at her.
A bloodcurdling shriek tore through the nest:
“AH! A SPIDER!!”
“Calm down, Mujin. Pigs can’t fit in your tiny house,” Ruiyang drawled. But the sparrow shot out like a bullet, diving into his hoodie pocket.
“SAVE ME, RUIYANG!”
Frowning, Ruiyang reached into the nest, rummaged, then grinned. “Got it.”
“Really?” A tiny head peeked from his hood, wary.
“See?” He held up a finger pinching a tiny spider, nudging it toward her. “It’s just a spider. You’re a sparrow—eat it. Ow!”
“SCRAM!” Mujin pecked his finger hard.
“Huh. Don’t sparrows eat spiders?”
“REAL sparrows don’t!”
“Seriously?” Ruiyang pulled out his phone, typing curiously.
Mujin craned her neck—*he was Googling if sparrows eat spiders?!*
She pecked him again. “You *what*?! I’m not *actually* a sparrow! I just look like one!”
“Oh. Right.” Ruiyang flicked the spider onto the grass. “Go on, little guy.”
Mujin gaped. “Why’d you let it go?!”
“You wouldn’t eat it. Why kill it?”
“CRUSH IT!”
“Spiders are helpful. Let it live.”
As if understanding, the spider scuttled away—
—only to be flattened under a sudden boot.
The boot’s owner didn’t glance at the smear on the dirt.
Their gaze locked onto Ruiyang and the sparrow on his shoulder.
A faint smile curled their lips.
“That must be it.”
