"Have you told Leyi about this?"

Jianglai’s head throbbed at the thought. She’d already brainstormed countless solutions, yet none felt right.

Option one: confess to her daughter that she’d become a woman. Just imagining Leyi’s gaze made her stomach twist—would her child see her as disgusting?

But hiding the truth forever was impossible.

It had been ages since they’d truly talked. Their conversations now were stiff, hollow exchanges reserved for strangers. A chasm yawned between them.

How could she face her own daughter? The question haunted her.

As Jianglai sat lost in thought on the bed’s edge, Yingyu Chi’s voice cut through the silence: "So, have you told Leyi yet?"

"No. You’re the only one who knows. That’s exactly why I’m stuck—I don’t know how to tell her."

Jianglai sank onto the hotel sofa, ruffling her hair in frustration. No solution came. Yet grief and joy lived differently in every heart.

While Jianglai drowned in anguish, Yingyu Chi’s heart fluttered with secret delight. *If only I know… then I can have her all to myself.*

The word *confinement* flashed in her mind—imagining Jianglai seeing no one but her. But she crushed the thought instantly. She couldn’t bear Jianglai’s hatred.

As long as she never crossed that line, never confessed, she’d stay safe.

To Jianglai, she’d always been third—after his wife and daughter. But now? She alone held his deepest secret. *This uniqueness must stay mine.*

Watching Jianglai’s troubled face, Yingyu Chi’s lips curled. "Isn’t this a perfect opportunity?"

Jianglai looked up, bewildered. "An opportunity?"

"Yes. A chance to truly know your daughter."

Leyi herself didn’t grasp how fiercely her father loved her. His devotion was quiet, yet he’d give everything for her.

Yingyu Chi seized that love like a weapon. "How long since you last talked to Leyi? Do you even know her favorite things now? How she’s doing at university? Her friends? If she likes someone? Do you know any of it…?"

Jianglai pressed her lips tight, voice trembling. "I don’t. In high school, it was easier. But now… I feel like a stranger to her."

Even her impossible transformation hadn’t scared her like this growing distance. An aching hollow filled her chest.

She’d failed her promise to her wife… Would her wife blame her in the afterlife?

Hearing "opportunity," Jianglai’s eyes flickered with desperate hope. She leaned in, eager.

And walked straight into Yingyu Chi’s trap. "Pretend to be a stranger to Leyi for now. You look fresh out of college—easy to befriend her. Things a father can’t ask… a friend can."

Yingyu Chi dangled a tempting offer. Jianglai had to bite. Following this plan meant understanding her daughter.

Even if she changed back later, she could return as her father—no harm done.

And with Yingyu Chi’s help, if she never changed back… at least Leyi would hear the truth from someone she trusted. The risk felt manageable.

After a long pause, Jianglai nodded. A faint smile touched her eyes—like ripples on a spring pond at dusk, soft yet intoxicating.

Yingyu Chi looked away, heart pounding. *She’s breathtaking.* She longed to photograph this moment, frame it, hang it where she’d see it every day.

*How despicable I am,* she thought. Using Leyi as an excuse while craving Jianglai all to herself.

But how could she not ache for her? She’d waited years for this chance.

All those hidden feelings, suppressed yearnings—even a simple photo of just the two of them felt like a forbidden dream, tainted by others’ whispers.

Yingyu Chi had always craved one thing: to bare her forbidden heart to Jianglai without shame.

She was tired of being the "kid." She wanted to stand by Jianglai openly—even as her sister’s replacement.

She still remembered their first meeting: the day her sister brought a boy home. The whole family buzzed with excitement.

That day, a seed of longing took root in Yingyu Chi’s heart. Jianglai was flawless—a brilliance that made others shrink in shame. From then on, no one else existed in her eyes.

*Time is such a cheat,* she thought bitterly. Arriving just a little too late, her best hope was becoming a substitute. Even that felt like a luxury.

*Why…?* She was more accomplished than her sister now. She understood Jianglai better. Yet not even a sliver of hope remained.