Chapter 8
Chapter 8
When Kakayan stepped out of the bathroom, her eyes were red.
That thing called "shampoo" bit.
It stung, yet once she'd rinsed it away her hair felt light and cool, and a faint, nameless floral scent clung to every strand. The pain had been worth the perfume.
She padded into the living room to find Jiang Li stretched on the couch, one leg folded over the other, gaze locked on a square metal box.
"What are you watching?"
"The evening news."
Jiang Li's attention flicked up at the sound of her voice. Kakayan stood in the middle of the room wearing only an oversized white T-shirt. The hem—short as a miniskirt—framed a pair of perfect legs still jewelled with droplets, pale skin laced with faint blue veins.
"Why aren't you wearing pants?"
Jiang Li had never been one to circle around a point. He distinctly remembered packing a pair of shorts with the change of clothes. If she wasn't wearing them, the answer was obvious.
"I thought this was a dress."
Kakayan tugged at the T-shirt's hem; the fabric stretched even lower under her fingers.
"This... isn't a dress?"
When Jiang Li quickly looked away, Kakayan seemed to realise her mistake.
Right. Why would a single guy own a white dress?
She blinked once, then scurried back to the bathroom in tiny steps. The door clicked shut.
Moments later she re-emerged, now sporting loose black shorts.
Honestly, this witch was playing the fool so convincingly that Jiang Li hadn't even considered the obvious. He was, after all, a perfectly healthy young man. Yet his first reaction upon seeing her like that had been: Is this woman being an idiot again?
He sighed inwardly. Where had his masculine pride gone?
Still, Kakayan's brand of clueless was almost adorable. Good thing it was him—a familiar face. Out in the wild she'd probably help a con-artist count his money.
Unless, of course, the whole act was deliberate, designed to tug at his sympathies. If so, she deserved an Oscar for Best Performance by a Supposed Dunce—at least a Mr. Bean-level artist.
Jiang Li glanced over. Kakayan was by the wall switch, finger tapping the panel, head swivelling to watch the room's response. Each time a light came on she rose on tiptoe, committing the switch's function to memory.
The human world was miraculous: a fingertip on a button produced instant results.
"Kakayan."
"...Mm?"
She turned, amethyst eyes settling on him.
"Dry your hair."
"Hmm?"
She tilted her head. Droplets glittered in her pink hair; her collarbones glistened, lending her otherwise blank expression a touch of languor.
Jiang Li had to admit she was easy on the eyes—when she kept quiet she could outshine ninety percent of the live-stream beauties online. Too bad her CPU wasn't compatible with modern life.
He fetched the hair-dryer from the cabinet, plugged it in, and waved her over.
Clip-clop.
Kakayan shuffled forward in flip-flops.
"Point this end at your head. The wind dries the hair."
Seeing him aiming a hammer-shaped object at her skull, Kakayan instinctively flinched. What weapon was this?
Though Jiang Li had been introducing her to new gadgets all evening, this "hammer" radiated an ominous aura.
Without further explanation he flicked the switch and summoned a storm.
"Wha—%&—@...!"
Gale-force air battered her words into nonsense. She tried to duck, but Jiang Li angled the blast at the back of her head. The roar forced her to cover her ears.
Yet within seconds she relaxed. The dryer was loud, yes, but the steady warm breeze felt like a scalp massage.
Incredible—continuous wind without an incantation. Human tools surpassed imagination.
Warm air brushed her neck; the scent of fresh shower-water drifted over her, and soft white light filled the room. Kakayan's shoulders lowered.
"What kind of top-tier wind magic is this?!" she shouted over the roar.
From dodging to shock to quiet acceptance, Kakayan now stood motionless while Jiang Li tousled her hair with the dryer. Strands of pink lifted like seaweed in a gentle current; the sight was almost hypnotic.
Jiang Li couldn't resist running his fingers through it once. The strands slipped past like silk finer than any he'd ever touched.
"It's called a hair-dryer."
"Hair... chicken?"
Kakayan frowned. This wind-blasting hammer had the name of a farm animal?
"Wind-Hammer makes more sense," she declared, pleased with her own cleverness.
"It's a machine, not a hammer. Anything ending with –ji, you can treat as a magical device—except they run on electricity instead of mana."
Jiang Li scratched his cheek.
"Ohhh, humans are really good at lightning magic." Kakayan folded her arms and nodded sagely. To her, electricity was just another branch of magic, and no one understood magic better than a witch.
Behind her, Jiang Li smiled faintly. The moment the conversation veered into arcana she became the expert. Too bad modern society had no mana for her to show off with; at best she could perform parlor tricks.
"Your turn." Deciding she'd had enough desensitising, he pressed the dryer into her hands.
Kakayan stared at the device. Touching it herself was more startling than watching it. The "hair-chicken" trembled like a living thing, its hum vibrating through her fingers.
She gripped the handle and held the nozzle toward her face, determined to master the gale. Pink strands whipped upward; warm air swept across her cheeks and they flushed instantly.
Such power from a palm-sized hole—human ingenuity was astonishing.
While she was still marvelling, a flick on the back of her head snapped her around. Jiang Li stood with his fist raised.
"You idiot—stop wasting electricity."