The rain fell heavily.

Dark clouds swirled, swollen with moisture. After brewing for ages, they unleashed a torrential downpour—rain hammered the pavement, roaring in an unbroken cascade.

This was the darkness of raging, relentless rain.

Late autumn had deepened with each chill rainfall. Logically, autumn shouldn’t bring such a prolonged storm—yet here it was: wind howled, thunder cracked, stripping withered leaves from street trees and sweeping them into gutters.

A scene of desolate bleakness.

No one should be out in this weather. Shops shuttered tight; only a handful remained open. Pedestrians had vanished.

Yet through the mist, a figure moved slowly.

Black hair, black eyes, a maid dress and white apron—she walked with quiet grace, her skirt swaying like a blooming black lotus.

She held an unusually large black umbrella, gaze fixed ahead. Her little leather shoes splashed through puddles with a soft *pitter-patter*, rippling the water.

Rainy days were no time for outings—least of all in a maid dress. Raindrops or mud could easily stain the hem. A headache, truly.

Yet somehow, though she walked at a normal pace, not a single drop or speck of mud touched her.

As if the oversized umbrella warded off the world entirely, carving out a quiet, separate realm beneath its canopy.

Alone in that small world, she occasionally glanced through the rain curtain at distant shops and passersby—then looked away, continuing her path.

A few pedestrians passed—men, women, young, old—but all ignored her completely. Strange. How many girls would stroll streets in a maid outfit during a downpour?

Yet they saw nothing.

The umbrella shielded her. Rain streamed down its surface like broken beads, blurring her into a faint silhouette.

She saw them. They saw nothing.

The rain intensified.

Droplets shattered into fine mist, rising to cloak the lower air. Her figure faded into a hazy shadow, vanishing with distance.

...

She pushed open the bar door.

Didn’t rush in. First, she closed the umbrella, shook off the rain, placed it neatly on the stand—then stepped inside.

*Click-clack, click-clack*—her heels tapped the wooden floor.

Hearing it, Lady Witch behind the bar turned. She slightly furrowed her brow and said coolly,

“Two minutes and thirty seconds.”

“Two minutes and thirty seconds *until* I’d be late,” the black-haired girl countered with a sweet smile, sliding onto a barstool. “I’m right on time. And in this rain? Honestly, I’m here at all—that’s impressive.”

She was strikingly beautiful. Her sickly pale skin lent her a delicate, pitiable charm. Smiling now, she somehow stirred pity.

But Lady Witch felt none. Only cold clarity.

“Mortals fear storms. Witches do not. You’re no longer mortal—you’re a witch. Not a drop touched you, even in that maid dress.”

“This maid dress?”

Jiang Jiu lifted her hem, revealing white thigh-high stockings hugging slender legs—and the tempting strip of skin between skirt and lace.

She smirked, even spun in place for show.

Lady Witch only deepened her frown, silent.

Jiang Jiu laughed softly, resettled on the stool, adjusted her hairpin, and tilted her head.

“But *you* made me wear it, Lilith?”

Archwitch Lilith kept mixing her drink. Unseeing. Unhearing.

Undeterred, Jiang Jiu continued, voice light:

“Frail, black-haired, black-eyed, without strength to tie a chicken—mindful of posture, clad in maid dress, thigh-highs, little shoes… Wasn’t *you* who shaped me like this, Lilith?”

She said the name again—sweetly, without a trace of resentment.

Lilith finally set down the shaker. She looked down at Jiang Jiu, shook her head faintly.

“You shouldn’t call me Lilith. What *should* you call me?”

Jiang Jiu blinked innocently. “Master… Master Lilith.”

“…”

After a pause, Lilith murmured, “You just… accept it? No anger? No hate? I… turned you from a man into a witch.”

“What’s to hate?” Jiang Jiu tilted her head. “At first, yeah, felt a bit harsh. But then—whatever. People own their mistakes. I wronged you; revenge makes sense. Though… I had no idea you liked me *that* much. Love so deep breeds hatred so sharp… Master, just *how* much did you like me to turn me into a witch?”

She winked, playful.

Mountains may shift, but nature stays.

A player reborn as a beauty wouldn’t repent—he’d thrive as a villainess.

Jiang Jiu adapted fast. Less than a week as a witch, and she was already in her element.

Lilith stared, speechless.

*What was the point?*

All that effort—the potion, the confrontation—wasn’t it to make Jiang Jiu suffer? To watch pain twist his face?

Yet Jiang Jiu seemed… happy.

*“Wait… this is a good thing?”*

A sudden wave of defeat washed over Archwitch Lilith.

And Jiang Jiu, still grinning, added:

“Witches have witch names, right? I’m one now. Surname Jiang, name tied to water… immortality and all. How about… Elizabeth?”

“…”

Lilith was utterly speechless.

*What was the point of any of it?*

Rarely, Lady Witch sighed.

*A tree without bark dies. A shameless person reigns.*

Unable to harden her heart against Jiang Jiu… this slippery eel was beyond her.

Better not to look.

She met Jiang Jiu’s eyes, voice low:

“I’m attending the Witches’ Tea Assembly. I may be gone long. Stay home. Don’t wander.”

“The bar is yours while I’m away. A ward repels ordinary humans—they’ll overlook it. Only supernatural beings might notice… but I’ve made arrangements. None will come.”

She started to add more—but caught Jiang Jiu’s knowing smile.

“Setting wards, warning supernaturals… Are you *worried* about me, Master? Afraid I can’t handle it?”

Jiang Jiu’s sweet grin made Lilith’s fingers twitch toward her Enchanted Wand—*turn her into a toad*—

But she couldn’t.

This body was *hers*. Crafted to her own aesthetic. Beautiful. Even now, hard to stay angry.

Especially with *Jiang Jiu* wearing it.

Lilith stilled her expression.

“Merely protecting my reputation. Behave. Or you’ll regret it when I return.”

“Oh?” Jiang Jiu’s eyes sparkled. “Regret *how*? What’s worse than this for me?”

Smug. Unshaken.

Lilith was immune. She summoned her Enchanted Wand from air, traced a slow arc.

“Scholarly circles divide witches into four schools: Evocation, Transmutation, Conjuration, Divination. Jiang Jiu… which am *I*?”

Jiang Jiu went silent.

Memories surfaced: that night. The potion. The bar. Shadows stirring beneath Lilith’s skirt.

Cold. Soft. Suckers. Eyes. Slithering into dim light, casting grotesque shadows.

Tentacles.

Slimy. Wet. Slipping.

Lilith’s lips curved—a faint, dangerous smile. She raised the wand.

“Tentacle conjuration: rare. Advanced. Most witches never witness it… But if I return and find you disobedient? I’ll toss you to my darlings. I’m sure they’d *adore* a tender, delectable little witch like you.”

“Hmm?”

[To be continued]

—