Ouyang had an utterly terrifying dream.
He dreamed his body lay on the icy floor, arms limp, when suddenly someone lifted him up. At that moment, a sharp sting pierced his neck—like a slender needle sinking deep—locking onto his veins. He couldn’t even raise a hand to yank it free.
The pain spread through his whole body. He felt his blood draining away through two unexpected tubes. Numbness crept over him, dulling his mind. Only his faintly beating heart reminded him he was still alive.
What’s the difference between living like this and being dead?
Am I about to die?
Before death, I really wanted to eat one more bowl of Pigeon Family’s Yangchun noodles.
Sorry, Brother Long. Ouyang can only serve you in the next life.
Sorry, Little Qiu. Big brother’s going to break his promise.
Just as his consciousness blurred and his blood drained dry through those needle-thin tubes, Ouyang suddenly felt a warm, unnatural liquid gushing into his neck.
His heart hammered wildly. Muscles clenched everywhere, burning like under a scorching sun. Heat and itching spread from his soles up his legs, waist, and beyond—as if thousands of ants crawled over him. His throat parched with the invasion of that unknown fluid.
Thirsty… Ouyang felt like a beached fish, ignored for too long, desperately craving water.
Water… He strained to open his cracked lips, exhausted and aching. Then, a sweet, slippery liquid flooded in—like mountain spring water, refreshing and addictive.
The invigorating flow made him flutter his eyes open. But the crimson gaze reflecting back wasn’t his own.
A silver-haired little girl stared at him, her eyes unnaturally hungry.
He realized with shock: that “spring water” wasn’t from any mountain. The handsome, composed young man before him wiped a clear drop from his lips, greeting the new life of the Blood Clan with joyful delight.
This dreamlike scene jolted Ouyang awake. He blinked at the beige ceiling, the yellowish lampshade above. He seemed moved to a bedroom-like room.
Dusty air stung his nose. The soft, comfortable bed tempted him to rest—but he couldn’t.
That vivid dream and this strange place filled him with unease.
If rescued, thank the heavens. If held hostage, he had to escape.
Ouyang wiped sweat from his brow with his right hand—and froze. His arm was thinner now. Silvery strands of hair slid down his forearm. Even more shocking: soft, round mounds, uniquely female, had appeared on his chest.
Trembling, he lifted his slender hand and gently touched them. The spongy reality shook him to his core.
“This is… real…”
Even his voice had changed. A delicate, girlish tone rang clear from his throat.
No surgery or drugs could achieve this. Someone had transformed him into a girl while he slept.
He tugged a silky silver strand—real pain shot through his scalp. Panicked, he glanced down, lifting the blanket. Dread choked him. The cruel truth was about to surface.
“It’s… gone…”
Which bastard had moved him from that warehouse? Who dared alter her body without consent? Such twisted fun was unforgivable.
Ouyang’s shoulders shook. He gripped the white blanket, vowing to tear the culprit apart limb from limb.
Scanning the room, it didn’t feel like a prison cell. More like a high-end hotel suite.
A brand-new black iPhone 13 and a white landline sat on the nightstand. A clean white tea set rested before the TV. Thick curtains blocked the windows. He couldn’t tell where he was—or what he looked like now.
A bathroom stood to the left. It must have a mirror.
Barefoot, he stepped onto the plush gray carpet. Curiosity drove him forward. But as he neared the bathroom, his eyes caught the mirror’s reflection. He froze, wide-eyed with horror, whispering:
“This face… can I ever return to everyone’s side?”
Standing before the mirror, Ouyang saw no trace of humanity. Despair chilled him—he could never go back as himself.
His skin was pale and tender, like a newborn’s. A doll-like face framed clear crimson eyes. Pointed, elfin ears hugged his cheeks. Opening his mouth slightly, he saw four sharp, white fangs.
This wasn’t surgery. He’d become a monster of another kind.
With a thud, he collapsed onto the cold tiles. Hope for the future vanished.
He couldn’t face Brother Long. Walking outside would get him treated like a freak.
Crushed by reality, Ouyang weakly pushed himself up. Staring at the silver-haired, crimson-eyed girl in the mirror, resentment filled him. He clenched his fist to shatter the glass—but stopped mid-swing.
He didn’t know which hotel this was. Gently pressing his small fist against the mirror, he leaned in, helpless and wronged.
Broke, without clothes or phone, she couldn’t afford to break anything.
As Ouyang plotted how to get clothes and escape, the iPhone 13 beside the landline suddenly rang with a cheerful tune…
