Jiang Qianyu leaned against the wall, shuffling step by step to the bedroom door. She gazed at the small doll standing before it—a tangled swirl of emotions in her chest. This thing was her doppelgänger. Her consciousness had been violently split: one half anchored in her own trembling body, the other tethered to the doll.

What the doll saw, she saw. Every movement obeyed her will directly—a sensation utterly alien to controlling her own limbs. Unpleasant. Deeply so.

Now she endured not only physical agony but the searing pain of a soul torn asunder. Body and soul twisted in dual torment, bordering on torture.

Thankfully, she had won the gamble.

The process no longer mattered.

This pain was far better than dying alongside her daughter.

Strangely, even as bodily pain lingered, Jiang Qianyu stared at the charred figure. A fierce, soul-deep hunger surged through her mind in an instant—so overwhelming it eclipsed the fire in her wounds.

This hunger wasn’t physical. It was spiritual.

Likewise, the corpse’s allure wasn’t flesh-deep.

She’d never crave a burnt human body—especially not *that*.

Yet observation confirmed: it only *looked* like a corpse. At its core, a distorted mass of soul and consciousness.

The charred form rose from below. Eyes locked onto the vampire doll at the staircase landing. Enraged, its body began to “melt,” black, unidentifiable clumps sloughing off, pooling on the floor.

Pale green flames erupted, swallowing the wooden stairs in seconds.

The doll’s legs bent slightly. It leaped, slammed into the creature, clutched it tight, and rolled four, five times. Flipping upright, it straddled the corpse’s chest. Tiny hands clamped hard around its neck.

Petite but shockingly strong—surpassing any average man.

Crucially, the doll knew no fatigue, no pain. As long as intact, it operated at peak condition.

The corpse didn’t struggle. Lying still, it let the doll choke it. Black tendrils crawled up the doll’s arms. Within moments, forearms turned jet-black and ignited.

“Burn you! I’ll burn you alive!”

A hoarse, grating laugh echoed through the video store.

Physical attacks meant nothing to him.

Unfazed, the doll dug fingers into the corpse, tore off a tar-like chunk of soul. Ignoring flames crawling across its own frame, threads sprouted from its palms—Soul Threads—stripping impurities from the fragment. Then, piece by piece, it fed the purified black essence into its mouth.

Grotesque in form, yet undeniably pure soul.

No foul taste.

Jiang Qianyu was genuinely *starving*.

Just as suspected: the corruption lay in the soul. The “body” sustaining it? Merely black debris—remnants of a burnt past, or something else. She didn’t care.

Another fragment torn, cleansed, consumed.

To the corpse, this was being devoured alive.

Panic flickered. He never imagined she’d ignore the flames, fixated solely on *consuming* him.

True, fire spread across the doll—but Jiang Qianyu felt nothing.

Each swallowed fragment eased the hunger, slowed the tar’s advance. Even pushed it back.

These flames were soul-born too—obsession-fueled weapons. Weaken the core, and the fire would fade.

Fragment after fragment ripped away. The monster’s laughter died, replaced by raw, pained shrieks.

Soul-devouring agony rivaled burning alive.

Clarity pierced the pain. The corpse thrashed, begged.

The doll did not stop.

The scene twisted into eerie surrealism.

A horrifying monster pinned beneath a little doll in a black-and-white Gothic dress—its form consumed like cake, bite by bite.

With each soul absorbed, the doll changed.

Her 1.1-meter frame shot to 1.3 meters. Skin grew lifelike. Joints remained visible, yet she was nearly indistinguishable from a living creature—

*Creature*, not human.

Crimson slit-pupiled eyes. Pointed ears. Unnaturally pale skin. Vampire traits, unmistakable.

Transformation halted. Seventy percent of the monster’s soul was gone.

The remaining thirty percent couldn’t hold human shape. Wisps of soul peeled away. Black debris littered the floor.

Jiang Qianyu dragged herself to the stairs, gripped the railing, sank onto a step.

She had watched her other self devour a “person.”

No matter its current horror, it had once been human—joyful, sorrowful, alive.

Did consuming its soul count as cannibalism?

Her gaze dropped. The arm wound, mended by Soul Threads, was nearly healed.

Physical pain gone.

But the soul-deep hunger remained.

The doll sat beside her.

Delicate face blank. Silent. A picture of obedient innocence.

Jiang Qianyu never expected such crisis on her first night reborn—nor this resolution.

Tonight reshaped her understanding of this life.

She stayed on the stairs till dawn, directing the doll to clean the store spotless.

Suppressing hunger, she pulled her phone from her coat.

5:30 AM. A message from Lu Yunzhi:

“Xiao Yu, I’m on break! Home by 10 AM. Wait for me~ Love you.”