Sitting on the stair steps, Jiang Qianyu stared at the message on her phone screen, her fingers gently tracing the glass. She had no idea how to reply.

Her wife—the Nightwatcher—was coming home.

Well, wife in name only.

How was she supposed to interact with her now, in this new identity?

She had none of the original body owner’s memories. Knew nothing of the woman’s speech patterns or habits.

One wrong word, and everything would unravel.

“Possession” sounded absurd to any sane person. Even witnessing an overnight transformation wouldn’t lead them there.

But the Nightwatchers? Who knew. Maybe among those monsters, some souls had mutated and taken over other bodies.

“Sigh… One step at a time. Say less, make fewer mistakes. At worst, stay distant,” Jiang Qianyu murmured. With the doll’s support, she pushed herself up.

Back in the bedroom, she glanced around. Her daughter still slept soundly, undisturbed. Maybe the girl simply slept deeply—or the monster had targeted Jiang Qianyu alone. Untouched by its soul influence, the child heard nothing.

“And what about you?” Jiang Qianyu whispered, gazing at the doll’s serene, exquisitely crafted face.

She could absorb part of the soul within it, but extracting all was impossible.

She wouldn’t discard the doll. Keeping it was precautionary. If trouble came again, she’d have a contingency. Otherwise, trapped in this disabled body, she’d be helpless.

“Stash it in the wardrobe. Eyes closed, sitting quietly—anyone seeing it would just think it’s lifelike.”

Murmuring, she leaned against the wall, lifted the quilt, and settled back under the covers. The doll obediently remained inside the wardrobe, eyes shut, slipping into semi-dormancy.

“Six o’clock.” Propped against the headboard, Jiang Qianyu felt zero drowsiness despite barely sleeping.

She set her phone aside. To Lu Yunzhi, she’d only sent: “Okay :)”.

“Ugh… so hungry.”

Sighing, she patted her soft stomach.

The hunger had been there since rebirth—she’d dismissed it as ordinary hunger back then. After eating with her daughter, it eased slightly.

Physical hunger and soul hunger felt eerily similar. Hence the contradiction: full yet ravenous.

It intensified after carving flesh and extracting nearly one-fifth of her soul to forge the duplicate.

They said short pain beat long suffering. She now understood deeply.

Last night’s agony nearly made her pass out. But gritting her teeth, she endured. Acute. Brief.

Soul hunger was different—not quite pain, not quite discomfort. A constant gnawing at her consciousness. Prolonged, it could drive anyone clinically insane.

“Consuming souls eases the hunger… but what about my legs?”

Her legs, deficient in soul energy, crippled her mobility. Normally, she could redirect energy to restore function. But her legs rejected any transfer.

Who knew what the original owner had done to ruin them so completely.

After sighing a while, seeing it was 6:30 AM, she gave up on sleep. Changed out of pajamas: white turtleneck, rose-red wool coat, black thermal leggings.

Settled into the wheelchair, she draped a white blanket over her cold legs.

Post-washup, she stared at her loose-haired reflection—conflicted.

Surface and truth: a frail woman confined to a wheelchair.

How could a duplicate forged from one-fifth of her soul be so powerful, when she tired just chopping vegetables?

Shaking it off, she wheeled downstairs via the stairlift.

Took bread and milk from the fridge, heated them, then clumsily fried eggs and sausages.

Wheelchair life was inconvenient. Without those shaky steps her legs allowed, she couldn’t even reach the fridge.

After thirty minutes of struggle, breakfast sat neatly on the table. Jiang Qianyu clicked her tongue. Compared to being a Witch battling monsters… was she oddly suited to being a full-time housewife?

Well, a wheelchair-bound Witch posing as one. Sounded bizarre.

“Mom, you’re already up?” At the stairs, Bai Dongqing stood in pajamas, yawning sleepily.

She’d slept deeply last night. Though… she thought she heard noises downstairs around the wee hours.

“Mm. Wash up. Breakfast is ready.” Jiang Qianyu wheeled to the wooden door and opened it.

No damage on the door—only the lock slightly bent.

The street outside lay empty. Cars passed without slowing.

Bai Dongqing watched Jiang Qianyu’s slender back, then the warm milk, bread, and eggs on the table.

Never had her mother felt so… “strange.”

This was good—her mom genuinely seemed to care more now.

Yet Bai Dongqing’s face held no smile.

Remembering two nights ago, she clutched her pajama hem. As Jiang Qianyu approached, she averted her gaze, tense. “I’ve washed up, Mom.”

Children lie, but never hide emotions well.

Jiang Qianyu noticed, assuming the girl was uneasy with her “bad mom” suddenly changing.

Gently, she added ketchup and mayo to the sandwich. “Try it. I made it for you.”

“Ah… okay, Mom.”

Bai Dongqing took a bite. Delicious. Truly. She’d never tasted such a breakfast. Her mother had never made one.

Memories were scolding, blame. Food not meeting standards—thrown on the floor. Even the birthday cake she’d baked days ago.

She’d always claimed hunger.

Yet refused to eat.

Especially when saying it, that terrifying gaze fixed solely on Bai Dongqing.

As if she wanted to devour her.

Bite after bite. Tears blurred her vision, slid down her cheeks onto her hand.

Jiang Qianyu opened her mouth to ask—then saw the tears.

The little girl wept bitterly, wolfing down the bread.

“I’m sorry, Mom…”

“I’m sorry…”

Hearing the repeated apologies, Jiang Qianyu frowned.

What’s wrong with this child?