Jiang Xiaobai’s hands and feet turned icy cold; she could barely breathe.

The cleaver swinging down toward her hovered less than ten centimeters away. Just moments ago, she’d felt its wind—cool, bone-chilling, like deep-autumn rain.

It felt exactly like when she and the maid had just stepped out of the bar. Rain still fell. The maid opened her large black umbrella, shot Jiang Xiaobai a gentle smile as she fumbled with her own, then moved closer to shield her from wind and rain.

Jiang Xiaobai stared wide-eyed. The maid gripped the young man’s wrist.

Pulled into her embrace, Jiang Xiaobai’s heart hammered.

*Oh no,* she thought.

*If we end up together… what would we name our adopted child?*

Then the maid turned, winked, and murmured softly:

“It’s very late, little one. Good girls go to sleep now… don’t you think, Xiaobai?”

“…Huh?” Jiang Xiaobai blinked.

Why say that now? Sure, it *was* late—the sky pitch black—but… wait. Maybe… probably… yeah, time for bed?

Like the old joke: putting an elephant in a fridge takes only three steps. With that absurd logic clicking into place, drowsiness surged. Her eyelids grew heavy. Her limbs went slack.

She fell asleep instantly.

Jiang Jiu finally had both hands free to handle the Wall Rat. She turned.

A white horse isn’t just a horse. The young man wasn’t truly a young man. The cleaver wasn’t a cleaver at all.

Some people possess high spiritual perception—seeing what ordinary eyes cannot: the flesh incubator, the rotten dream nest in Jiang Xiaobai’s room. Jiang Jiu used to be ordinary too. Blind to such filth.

Not anymore. As a witch, she now saw the truth.

What lunged from behind the door wasn’t a man with a cleaver—but a nameless mass of twitching flesh.

Tentacles writhed. Black fur, stolen from the Wall Rat, matted its emaciated, rat-like humanoid frame. Blood-red eyes glowed. A stench like rotten herring clung to it. No cleaver—just claws sharper than steel.

Trapped in Jiang Jiu’s grip, it thrashed wildly, yet couldn’t break free.

Mindless. It didn’t even strike back with its other limb—as if every muscle twitched with its own will.

Animated flesh. Cells rebelling. A chaotic, squirming revolt desperate to escape its own body.

How utterly grotesque.

Jiang Jiu recalled a line she’d once read:

*“The hunter returns. The slain prey follow—skinning themselves, bleeding themselves, lining up neatly on the drying rack. Flesh trembling, awaiting the wind.”*

She pressed her lips together and released it.

Free, the creature shrieked—a shrill, ear-splitting wail—and scrambled back.

Its flesh stilled. Unified under one will. It stood firm, low growls rumbling.

Jiang Jiu ignored it. Gently, she settled Jiang Xiaobai against the wall, ensuring she sat safe and sound. Only then did she turn back.

With a casual flick through the air, she summoned her Enchanted Wand—a gift from Lilith upon her becoming a witch. A symbol of her new identity.

Standard length: six and one-third inches. Crafted from huanghuali wood.

Lilith had once asked what wood she preferred—elder, agarwood, mistletoe? Jiang Jiu, still a little salty, blurted “huanghuali.”

Lady Witch had stared oddly… then actually commissioned a witch artisan to make it.

*This* wand. Though Jiang Jiu still thought huanghuali belonged on a bead-turning lathe, not in a witch’s hand.

But that didn’t matter now.

Wand in hand, Jiang Jiu traced a slow arc before her eyes.

Like the Creator shaping the world in seven days—then, after committee deliberation—declaring: *Let there be light.*

And light bloomed.

Soft, gentle radiance flooded the hallway. Not harsh. Yet no snow could withstand even the gentlest sun.

Flesh dissolved. Evaporated. The creature shrieked in agony, twisted to flee—but flesh could never outrun light. It vanished in an instant.

Jiang Jiu sighed. *Huh. Feels like being a magical girl.*

*Wait… is “witch” just shorthand for “magical girl”?*

No way.

No magical girl anime featured *this* kind of flesh horror… except maybe the Warrior of Love’s version.

*Nothing* would surprise her there.

Lilith hadn’t just changed Jiang Jiu’s title. She’d taught her spells—like this purification—and truths:

Supernatural forces and anomalies exist, hidden from ordinary eyes. Exposure triggers official intervention.

Like Stand users drawn together, those touched by the arcane unconsciously attract one another.

So Jiang Xiaobai, after encountering the anomaly, instinctively entered a bar invisible to normals—and met Jiang Jiu, an Apprentice Witch. Then brought her home.

That was the whole story.

Thanks to Archwitch Lilith, Jiang Jiu’s magical reserves were absurdly vast from day one. Even a basic purification spell became overwhelming force—obliterating the monster through raw power alone.

But… should it really end this easily?

Wand still in hand, Jiang Jiu gazed into the open room.

The flesh incubator had vanished. The rats were gone. Only pure darkness remained.

Instinct whispered: step inside, and the truth of the Wall Rat—and the young man—would unfold.

Horror movie logic said: walk in without hesitation.

This wasn’t a horror set.

Yet Jiang Jiu stepped inside without pause.

Then—darkness swallowed everything.

…

Pitch black vanished. Twilight sunset glow replaced it.

The scene shifted too fast for magic. No blood. No rats. Just a simple, tidy studio apartment.

Jiang Jiu glanced around. *Single man’s place.*

A gaming laptop sat on the desk—three, maybe four years old. Clunky. Outdated. Girls rarely chose such bulky, “Iron Man"-screen-protected beasts; they’d prefer sleek, stylish ultrabooks.

Only men’s clothes hung on the rack. Cheap Taobao basics. No logos.

By the window, a plump succulent thrived, vibrant and well-tended.

Jiang Jiu wasn’t a profiler, but daily life spoke clearly:

Young—under thirty. (Who over thirty still uses a gaming laptop wrapped in superhero film?)

Modest means. (No branded clothes. Same old laptop for years.)

Meticulous. Clean. (Tiny space, many items—but spotless, orderly. Even her mild OCD felt soothed.)

*So this was the real room of the young man next to Jiang Xiaobai?*

She recalled the girl’s description:

Short. Thin. Shoulders perpetually slumped. Plain face. Uncannily rat-like.

Yet even a “big black rat” cherished his nest. Kept it neat.

Jiang Jiu felt a flicker of disorientation.

*Knock. Creak.*

The door opened. Footsteps approached.

The rat-like young man entered, head low, closing the door behind him.

Exactly as described: ordinary features, small frame, a faintly vacant expression.

He swapped shoes, shuffled to the sofa like a dead dog, collapsed, arm flung over his eyes. Heavy, muffled breaths filled the silence.

Exhausted? Unwell? He lay motionless so long Jiang Jiu almost thought him asleep.

But none of that mattered.

He never noticed her. Not from fatigue or lowered gaze—but because, in his reality, she simply did not exist.

A ghost. A spectator.

Jiang Jiu reached down. Her hand passed cleanly through his chest, sinking into the sofa. No resistance. No sensation.

To him—and this world—she was merely an observer. A passerby. A witness who could not interfere.

Trapped in this space.

Naturally, she would now witness everything the young man had endured—his life, his work, his… rat-like existence.

[To be continued]