Where was this place?

Meng Han’s vision slowly cleared. Before him stood a dilapidated thatched hut. Beside his bed sat a gaunt, bespectacled elder, eyes closed as if in prayer.

Hearing movement, the old man opened his eyes—star-bright and gentle. Smiling, he spoke in Chinese: "Child, you’re awake."

"You saved me? Why?" Meng Han remembered everything. His expression twisted with conflicted emotions.

The elder remained serene, cross-legged before him. "Child, I don’t know why you sought death. But I’ll ask you three questions." His smile held a strange, calming power. Meng Han’s turmoil eased. "Please," he whispered.

"Do you have family?"

"Yes."

"Their ages?"

"Father, 43. Sister, 16."

"Could you leave them behind?"

"I… I…"

Such a simple question choked him. Tears welled, glistening in his eyes.

The elder merely smiled. Gently helping Meng Han to his feet, he led him outside. Before them flowed a vast, surging river.

"Child, do you know this river’s name?"

"I… don’t."

"This is the Ganges. India’s sacred river. Long ago, two kings warred endlessly to rule this land. Countless soldiers died, their restless spirits wailing day and night. The great god Shiva pitied them. Her tears fell from heaven as this river, cleansing those souls. It parted the armies forever, ending their bloodshed."

"So this is the Ganges…" Meng Han gazed at the mighty current. A divine mercy seemed to brush his skin.

The elder guided him toward the water’s edge. "Ganges water is Shiva’s tears. It washes away all sins. Child, whatever past burdens you carried—you bathed in these waters. You are reborn. Cast off your old name. Begin anew."

With that, the elder knelt by the river, praying fervently.

*Rebirth… Rebirth… A new beginning…*

Meng Han murmured the words, staring at his reflection—a delicate, unfamiliar face in the rippling water. Understanding dawned.

His old self was a disgraced streamer, reviled by thousands, beyond redemption. The gods had granted him this new face, this new body—a chance to rise again.

*Nameless deity in that tiny temple… was this your plan?*

As the thought formed, the river’s reflection blurred. Then it shifted—a familiar three-headed, six-armed idol stared back.

"You finally grasp my purpose," the idol’s voice echoed, smiling.

"Who are you?!" Meng Han stumbled back.

"Fear not. I am Shiva. You knelt before my idol and made three earnest wishes. I chose to grant them."

Such supernatural strangeness would’ve terrified the old Meng Han. But after days of chaos, his nerves had gone numb. He accepted it swiftly. "I see… but wait—I never wished to become a girl!"

"And tell me—did your old self stand any chance of redemption?" Shiva’s voice held divine certainty. "Your only path was rebirth. A new face. A new life. Only then can you fulfill your vengeance."

"But… you could’ve just changed my face! Why make me a girl?"

"Ah! There’s an old Chinese saying: *‘When heaven bestows a great mission, it first plucks your peaches, makes you a maiden, and strengthens what you lack.’*"

"Huh? I’ve never heard that!"

"*Hmm?* Daring to doubt a god? Then stay a maiden forever."

Shiva’s tone turned sharp. But Meng Han caught the loophole. "Great Shiva… does this mean I can become a man again?"

"That depends on my mood. Perhaps… after you fulfill all three wishes."

"*Perhaps?*"

"If mortals could predict divine will, how could we command awe?"

Before Meng Han could protest, the idol’s reflection dissolved. The voice faded: "Go. Achieve your three wishes through your own hands. Then return to the temple… and face my judgment."

Silence. Meng Han stood frozen until his mind rebooted.

*Three wishes.* He recalled them clearly: clear his name, reclaim his throne as top streamer, expose Liang Sheng’s true face to the world. Only after accomplishing these could he return to India—and Shiva’s final verdict.

The elder finished praying. Rising, he smiled as if hearing nothing. "Child, what is your name?"

Meng Han paused long before answering. "Jiang Xuehan."

*Jiang*—his mother’s surname. *Xue*—his sister’s name. *Han*—a homophone of his own.

In that moment, Meng Han accepted his new form. As Jiang Xuehan, he would begin his revenge.

The world lost an 18-year-old boy named Meng Han. It gained an 18-year-old girl named Jiang Xuehan.

The elder nodded, starlight still in his aged eyes. "Jiang Xuehan… will you stay and learn from me? I’ll share my wisdom."

"Master, I beg your guidance!" Jiang Xuehan bowed deeply.

Days turned to weeks. They shared simple meals, prayed to the Ganges at dawn, and learned through play. No computers here—only ancient pastimes: cards, dice, chess. Jiang Xuehan had always mastered games instantly. Yet against the elder, she never won once. Her pride humbled, she learned: *there’s always someone better.*

More crucially, she absorbed the elder’s quiet wisdom. Despair faded. She began seeing her transformation not as a curse, but a strange gift.

*So what if I’m a girl now? I’m still me. Still that unique spark!*

Peaceful as it was, after a month, Jiang Xuehan bid farewell to the elder and returned to Eastern Sea City.

Her true battle awaited.