Ouyang desperately hoped Brother Long would understand—there had to be a reason she couldn’t reveal the phone call, just as crucial as keeping her own transformations secret.

A wave of unease washed over her until rough yet warm arms gently settled atop her head. Fingers stroked her fur back and forth, lingering as if unable to get enough of its softness. Brother Long’s lips curled into a delighted smile, all traces of displeasure vanishing from his face.

"If you stayed this adorable outside, Ouyang, every boy would adore you. They’d all want to marry you."

"Ew, I don’t *want* their attention," she mumbled. A faint blush spread across her pale cheeks as she ducked her head, absently twirling a silver strand of hair with her finger. The thought of boys fawning over her brought zero joy.

Brother Long’s gaze swept over her unmistakably feminine figure—even the men’s pajamas they’d picked out together now hung flat where it mattered. *Mosterian science really is terrifying*, he thought grimly.

"Brother Long...! Don’t look!" Catching his eyes lingering on a certain spot with a mischievous grin, she crossed her arms defensively over her chest and scolded in a flustered, girlish tone, "And stop bringing up my sad past! I hate it!"

"Serious talk now," he said firmly. "The Mosterians transformed you for a reason. Don’t let them use you." His warning made the unremovable mark on Ouyang’s right shoulder flare hot—a stark reminder of the bartender’s impromptu history lessons on Bloodkin. She nodded solemnly. "I’ll be careful."

Dawn’s light crept through the window. Glancing at the clock, Brother Long saw it was nearly time for Little Qiu to wake. "Time to clean up. You should report back to Xiaomo—put everyone’s minds at ease."

"Okay."

After Little Qiu finished breakfast (Ouyang strategically avoided the table during the raw beef course), the two prepared to leave. Dressed in casual clothes, Ouyang stood by the door to see them off. Guilt pricked at her—she usually walked Little Qiu to school.

"Don’t worry, Ouyang-ge," Little Qiu said, squeezing her fist reassuringly. "Rest up! We can’t hang out in daylight anymore, but we’ll still stroll the night markets together. I’ll be your nighttime sidekick!"

"Okay."

"Ouyang-ge... what’s this?" Little Qiu reached out, plucking a single silver strand from Ouyang’s shoulder. She blinked curiously. "White hair?" It wasn’t the dull white of fallen strands—it gleamed like natural silver, strikingly beautiful. No one she knew had hair like this. Little Qiu studied Ouyang’s calm face, catching a flicker of tension in her eyes. *If I push this, she’ll lie.* Swallowing her unease, Little Qiu chirped, "Must’ve brushed against some girl earlier, huh? Left it on your shoulder!"

"Exactly. That’s it."

"Hmph... smells like lies." Little Qiu turned away with a soft, unhappy hum. "We’ll be late! Bye!"

"Be safe."

The door clicked shut. Only when their footsteps faded did Ouyang exhale. *That wig almost gave me away.* She’d need to be far more careful next time.

Before reporting to Xiaomo, she needed food. A taxi dropped her at the all-too-familiar Zodiac Cafe just as it opened at 9 a.m.—its first customer of the day.

The automatic doors hissed open. Inside the 300-square-meter space, a middle-aged bartender in a crisp uniform stood frozen before an elegant wine rack. His black low ponytail swung as he stared, stunned. "Next time, *warn* me you’re coming—no, scratch that. Every time you show up, we have to close shop. Keep this up, we might as well shut down permanently."

A young bartender with bleached yellow hair scowled from behind the counter. "Just go back to Zero District. It’s not safe here. I’m serious—for your own good."

"You think I *want* to be here?" Ouyang muttered around a mouthful of sterilized raw beef. She hated hiding in this strange, secretive place. So many foods were off-limits now. The thought of Brother Long and Little Qiu watching her eat like a monster made her chest ache.

"You’re like the lone black kitten in a litter of white," the young bartender pressed, leaning forward intently. "The rarest blood type in a sea of humans. Do you understand? You’re a *rare breed* of Bloodkin."

"You mean I’m some kind of Bloodkin unicorn?"

He nodded vigorously. "Mosterians who fled Zero District aren’t just Bloodkin—there are Wolfkin, Catkin, Fox Clan, Undead... They track each other by scent. A lone Bloodkin? Easy prey."

This cross-dressing Bloodkin girl had no idea. Captured, she’d become a bargaining chip worth starting a war over—especially with the Prince Regent’s mark burning on her shoulder. That power could turn into a double-edged sword against her own kind.

"You reek of something... *unique*," he warned, abandoning his polishing cloth. "It draws Mosterians like moths. Without real strength, you won’t survive." His voice dropped, urgent. "Your only safe place is Zero District. At the Bloodkin Prince’s side. Go back *now*, before they find you."

Ouyang rolled up her sleeve, sniffing her skin. "Problem is... I smell nothing." This bartender acted like a Bloodkin missionary, preaching the same sermon every visit. To avoid disrupting business, she calmly slid a black card across the counter. "Pack me a week’s worth of meals. Saves me coming here—and honestly, your lectures ruin my appetite."

Ignoring his glare, she added, "I’ll take it to go."

The young bartender’s reddish-brown eyes narrowed behind his dark gray sunglasses. "Fine. But remember this: you’ll live to regret not listening."