Alan’s hopes were ultimately dashed. His lips had nearly gone numb from pouting, yet CrimsonLotus kept smacking wet kisses all over his face. *Fine. This kind of blessing? I’ll pass.* He pushed CrimsonLotus away—but the moment his hand landed on her body, a soft whimper reached his ears. And beneath his palm… that spongy softness.
*So soft. Amazing texture.* Alan reflexively squeezed again—twice. He swore it was pure instinct.
Then CrimsonLotus vanished.
In her place stood tiny, adorable Emma.
Which meant Alan’s hand wasn’t on CrimsonLotus anymore.
It was on Emma.
The sudden switch left Alan reeling. Panicked, he yanked his hand back from Emma’s chest. Touching CrimsonLotus? No guilt. Touching Emma? He’d be a beast. *She’s just a kid!* He’d never lay hands on a child. He wasn’t a pervert!
…Though that texture *had* been incredible.
A dangerous thought slithered in: *Whose chest did I actually grab? CrimsonLotus’s… or Emma’s?*
Alan silenced it instantly. He cast a sleep spell on Emma. No choice. If she woke up now? Unexplainable.
Midnight. A towel-clad man, bare-chested, cradling a petite beastkin girl with furry ears? Anyone seeing this would call him a perverted creep. Who’d believe his words when the evidence hung right there?
Gently, Alan carried sleeping Emma to her room, tucked her in, and slipped out.
CrimsonLotus’s antics had burned away all sleepiness. Alan chuckled wryly and headed for his study. Might as well write. He’d leave for the Degenas Mountains in three days anyway.
The living room lights dimmed. In the study, the scratch of a quill filled the air.
As Alan wrote with his magic pen, the mana core at his brow glowed faintly, drawing in ambient magic. Seven-colored light pulsed softly around him.
A full-spectrum mage, Alan could absorb any elemental spirit drifting through the void. His mana core—a vast lake—would never risk bursting from overload. Most mages rationed spells, terrified of draining their tiny cores. Alan? Filling his reservoir would take years.
Around him, specks of light—elemental spirits—danced joyfully. They swirled into his body, flowed into his core, and dissolved into pure mana, joining their kin.
Dawn broke without incident.
Morning’s first light spilled into the study as Alan opened his eyes. After a night’s work, he’d only managed ten thousand words. He tucked the manuscript away, stretched, and threw open the window. Fresh air flooded in. He gazed far into the distance.
Birds chirped outside. Elderly aunties exercised on the streets. Breakfast vendors set up stalls, bustling to start the day.
A new day had begun.
Alan turned from the view, washed up, and began breakfast. A fusion spread: congee, pickled sides, bread, milk. With four girls under his roof, he cooked extra. Emma and Sia ate more than Haina, Medi, and himself combined. Skimping wasn’t an option.
The scent of porridge soon roused Emma. Still in pajamas, drool glistening on her chin, she stumbled into the kitchen. "Smells so good… Emma’s starving."
"Go change. Wash your hands. Then eat." Alan popped a toasted bread slice into her mouth. Emma mumbled around it, retreating to her room.
Soon after, Medi, Haina, and Sia emerged, yawning and clutching their heads. Alan smirked. *Serves you right. Last night’s ‘drink big, eat big’ bravado? Meet your hangover.*
Still smiling, he set down a pot of hangover soup. "Head pounding? Drink up."
Medi spotted Alan and dramatically slumped against the wall. "Ai Lin~ I’m spent… I need your arm to hold me up."
Haina snorted, sat heavily at the table, and sipped the soup. Her head throbbed too fiercely for banter.
Medi blinked, crust still clinging to her eye. *Haina didn’t snap back? Weird.*
"Drink the soup if you want the headache gone," Alan said lightly. "And wipe that sleep gunk off, please?"
"*What?*" Medi shrieked, bolting for the bathroom. Vanity trumped theatrics.
Sia, descending from the third floor, didn’t bother with pretense. She rubbed her eyes, swayed over, and dangled from Alan’s arm. "I don’t want soup. I want food."
"Soup first. Then food."
He settled her into a chair and handed her a bowl.
Sia puffed her cheeks, glaring. Her Ai Lin brother was perfect—except when he defied her wishes. Especially at mealtimes.
"Drink it. Or no breakfast for you."
"Hmph! My head doesn’t even hurt!" she grumbled—but her hands obediently lifted the bowl. She drank with tragic solemnity.
Alan ruffled Sia’s golden hair and returned to the kitchen. Time to feed the troops. Congee, sides, bread, milk—all arranged neatly.
And for Sia and Emma’s bottomless stomachs? Two extra-large roasted beast legs.
