Good Guy? Bad Guy?
A landlord with low rent and zero demands on roommates was a true saint.
It was like having a rich but socially awkward college roommate who, on day one, arrogantly gifted everyone a candied haw phone while hinting he just wanted quiet nights.
Arrogance was his trait—what’s wrong with wanting good sleep?
Such roommates were saints, existing only in sci-fi flicks.
But Mei Yige lived in a fantasy world. No candied haw phones here, but she’d found a benevolent landlord offering charity rent. She had to cling to this lifeline.
“I’d lick her feet if it meant keeping this room forever.”
Let alone calling her “Master.”
Dignity? Toss it aside for comfort.
This conviction brightened her future.
“Time to tidy up and claim that job. A cozy life starts today. Perfect.”
Stretching on the plush bed, Mei Yige sat up, rubbed her hands, and began arranging the room.
Her old-world habits had faded in this new life. Transitioning from male to female meant nothing to someone like her, who craved simple routines.
Overwork had burned away worldly desires. Being kicked from the Hero’s party taught her to crave only peace.
“Which dress today?”
Beyond her Sorceress uniform, years of adventuring with the Hero had filled her wardrobe. She’d never wear anything revealing her past again.
A common quirk for guys-turned-girls: when life’s dull, dressing up sparks joy.
Hot water cascaded over her as she sank into the tub.
Relax.
Her mind didn’t wander to future dreams—but to her new roommate’s face.
Admittedly, that petite “little sister”—ah, *lady*—had legs…
That looked delicious.
Why had Shiren come here? Many reasons.
Survival first: no stable income meant no comfort.
Hiding was another.
She’d buried her royal insignia. The palace wanted her as the princess’s tutor—and “National Advisor.” A job with a death sentence. She’d refused instantly.
Then there were messy past ties: minor entanglements on the road, and the Hero’s party hogging glory. No high-profile jobs for her.
This remote town was perfect. No worries.
Drying off, she faced the full-length mirror. Clean. Refreshed.
The feeling of rebirth grew stronger.
“Being a Magic Consultant? Simple. Heh~ Better than construction work. Plus side gigs.”
She stretched happily, picked a minimalist beige dress, and twirled before the mirror. Youthful. Energetic. No trace of thirty years’ labor. She nodded, satisfied.
Immortality’s perk: staying pretty meant no worldly cravings. All energy for glorious *work*.
Life gained value through labor.
“Go for it, meow! Today’s goal: earn enough for a feast, meow!”
She cheered at her reflection.
When motivation lagged, the mirror helped. She’d feel like she was working for that girl inside it.
Treating herself as a sister or girlfriend gave direction to her aimless life.
Shiren’s lazy face flashed in her mind again.
A Demonic Being philanthropist. An easygoing lady. A legal adult with a flat chest. Owner of feet worthy of a state banquet.
Damn. The *perfect* roommate!
A pretty sister to soothe bad days.
(Though shorter than her.)
(Though possibly grumpy.)
But a flat-chested girl couldn’t be *that* bad, right?
Mei Yige never denied her shallowness. Or her love for big curves. Or her fondness for “jade.”
She already had curves. Fantasizing about flat chests felt guilt-free.
Two wishes, one solution. She *was* a genius!
Hair tied in a high ponytail, bangs neat, sunhat on—Mei Yige slipped downstairs.
The living room was dark, but a shadow on the sofa was visible. Shiren still slept. A considerate roommate wouldn’t disturb her.
Silent as mist, Mei Yige closed the door behind her.
“So fragrant… Ugh… Just a little sorceress, yet she smells *delicious*.”
Shiren wiped drool. Post-bath scents were irresistible. Sleep? Impossible now.
No lights. Darkness stirred a Blood Demon’s appetite. She rose from the sofa, sniffing. Mei Yige’s perilla-scented trace had nearly vanished.
Hunger peaked.
“Tonight’s menu… perilla beef?”
Her crimson eyes glowed in the dark. She grabbed a booklet from the table—*a collection of business cards*.
Flipping pages, she settled on one featuring a young cat-eared man.
*Hans Steen*
*Occupation: Cart Driver*
*Race: Catkin*
*Meat Quality: Looks mediocre*
*Nuisance Caused: Ran over an elder, fled scene (verified)*
“A frisky kitten? Not much fat… Sigh. Maybe canned meat instead.”
Choosing ingredients was tedious. Variety kept cooking exciting.
Other meats felt lacking. For centuries, she’d craved only *this* flavor.
Back in her room, she ignored the bound, wriggling “ingredient” on her bed. From the wardrobe, she picked an outfit matching her mood:
White blouse. Black dress. Loose trench coat. Top hat. Gloves. Cane.
A spin before the mirror.
She grinned, stepping toward the struggling man.
“Hey, uncle. Am I cute?”
“Mmmph! Mmmph! (*You devil!*)”
“Disgusting pedophile. Ruins my appetite. Don’t worry—I’ll make a fine meal for my doggies~”
Cane pressed to his chest, Shiren whispered, “Or should I feed you to my blood pets? They’re not picky.”
