Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Wei Wu’s heavy tactical coat—still warm from his body, smelling of gun-smoke(?) and a faint metallic tang of blood—landed over my head like a slab of freshly shed armour. The coarse fabric rasped against my newly-purified, hyper-sensitive skin, and the full-force presence of an adult male wrapped around me in an instant.
“Put it on. Then talk. Not. One. Word. Missing.”
The order brooked no argument, and the tower of muscle blocking the bathroom doorway made the air itself feel scarce.
Talk? I just wanted to evaporate on the spot.
I flailed the coat down past my face. Cherry-white hair clung to my sweat-damp cheeks. I knuckled the slipping towel, desperate to shield one more centimetre of skin and scrape back a shred of dignity. My ethereal blue eyes were a cocktail of shame, grievance and plain crash-cart panic.
“Talk about what?” I shrieked in my saccharine new voice, volume cranked to hide the guilt. “I’ve got an ancestor called Meng Yun Xi camping in my skull! She turned me into this! Then she crammed a bracelet with two chatterbox spirits on my wrist! That monster was Timeline Slag! Believe me? Huh?!”
The yell left my throat raw; even I thought it sounded insane.
Wei Wu’s gaze raked my face like a blade. For a split second he glanced upward, checking for hidden cameras, then snapped back to me, jaw locked.
“Yes.”
The single word hit like a rock dropped on glass.
What he said next nearly stopped my heart altogether.
“Right now I’d believe aliens kidnapped Earthlings for cross-gender lab tests!” He growled it low, eyes flicking to my trembling shoulder—the towel slid another inch—then jerking away as if burned, fixing on the broken glass in the corner. His ears flamed red. “But—first—wrap that rag properly! What’s that even supposed to be? You’ll catch cold!”
He tried to stay ferocious, yet the last line and his wandering gaze punctured the bluster, leaving only clumsy concern.
While I was still decoding this rare, awkward gentleness, ready to bluff again—
Buzz...
That lazy, other-worldly data-stream slid into my skull like a migraine made of silk.
Meng Yun Xi—again?! My brain filled with scrolling hate-comments: Ancestor! Didn’t you say you’d hibernate? Beauty-sleep contract? This ‘dying-flash’ cooldown is negative, right? You run on perpetual motion? One-second charge, one-year battery?
Her tired-but- thrilled voice answered like a private radio show: “Hi~ cute ‘me’~ Looks like the first face-to-face (physical) went well? Tough adapting, huh? Don’t worry, I’ve prepared an Urban Girl Survival Guide—Yun Xi Exclusive Magical-Girl Edition! Top-secret file incoming~ And by the way~ waste not the aftershock of my ‘dying flash’, right?”
Survival Guide? Magical-Girl?! Aftershock?
No refusing it. A torrent of illustrated, voice-annotated info-dump flooded my mental desktop.
Rule 1: Cover story is basic!
Mind-video: cherry-haired me in a milk-tea apron, smile frozen(?) handing out cups.
Voice-over: “Blend in! Part-time at bubble-tea/ bookshop/ florist! Weaponise cute! Sugar is camouflage! Meow~ (courtesy of Yue Fei)”
Inner me: Weapon my foot! Camouflage my butt!
Rule 2: Divine gear = infinite uses!
Mind-video: Eternal Dream: Prime Abyss glints; bras, socks, crisps pop into existence.
Voice-over: “Dimensional fold! Lingerie, snacks, spare weapons(?) all fit! Hands free! Xing Dian keeps it tidy! (Xing Dian: Master, I’m the best!)”
Inner me: Crisps? Spare weapons? Who packs that in a pocket dimension?!
Rule 3: Low-key elegance = no pests!
Mind-video: sleaze approaches, Yue Fei’s gem flashes, guy wanders off blank.
Voice-over: “Persistent fly? Trigger ‘Yue Fei’s Elegant Concealment’! Drop presence, dodge hassle! Grace eternal! Low cost, fast CD! Meow~ (Yue Fei, tail up)”
Inner me: Males... Elegant Concealment... Could the name get any lamer?
Rule 4 kept loading: rush-hour hacks, fake-phone-light tricks, amnesia act for cops (“only remember a scary uncle named Wei Wu”)...
My eyes glazed; I stood like a rebooting robot, only the tic at the corner of my mouth proving I was still “online”. Brain-scroll: Milk-Tea Girl... strawberry print... elegant concealment... Meng Yun Xi the power-bank fairy...
Wei Wu blocked the doorway, brows knitted tight. Watching me go from feral to vacant in a heartbeat shredded the last of his patience.
“Hey! Talk! Don’t play statue!” He barked, stepped forward, froze, fingers flexing in frustration.
No response. Inside my head, “milk-tea smile” and “leopard lingerie in pocket dimension” were in a death-match.
Wei Wu’s gaze flicked from my empty eyes to my towel-wrapped, bare-foot form on freezing tile. His jaw clenched, temple vein jumping. Every feeling—worry, fury, helplessness—boiled behind his eyes. Finally it condensed into a single, defeated mutter:
“...Shit!”
He spun away, spine ram-rod straight, raked a hand through his hair hard enough to rip strands out.
“...Stay put. Don’t move. And... cut the antics!” The warning came lower, almost tired. He strode out; seconds later the front door slammed loud enough to rattle glass.
Bang—!
Silence.
I stayed frozen; the Guide kept looping. On my wrist Xing Dian flicked weakly: “Master... that big guy seemed... worried and clueless?”
Yue Fei licked a phantom paw: “Meow, males—primitive, inefficient. Still, he grasped ‘don’t move’. Priority now—” she eyed my grimy towel “—is decent clothing.”
Decent clothing...
The thought had barely formed when the lock turned again—soft, sheepish, sneak-thief quiet.
We all stared at the doorway.
Wei Wu reappeared, half-crouched like he expected mines. Eyes everywhere except the bathroom, he lugged a bulging 24-hour-mart bag so stuffed it looked ready to explode.
He inched to the threshold, set the bag down gently (no trash-dunk this time), then cleared his throat, gaze welded to his boots, ears and neck crimson.
“...Uh—” his voice dried up, cracked. “...change... into these.” Words failed; he finished with a strangled: “...new.”
Mission accomplished, he leapt back a metre, risked a half-second glance, then yanked his eyes away, Adam’s apple bobbing.
I regarded the suspicious bag, then the man who looked ready to self-combust. Premonition spiked.
Towel clutched tighter, I shuffle-toed the gaping bag open—
Boom!
Blood rocket to my cheeks.
Top layer: women’s tees—neon pink, hazard orange, each emblazoned with a giant cartoon bear head. Beneath: lace edges—lingerie! Size XXL?! Bright track-pants screamed English slogans: “GIRL POWER!” “SWEET ANGEL!” At the bottom: plastic neon-pink crocs, tags still on. Corner bonus: Hello Kitty socks.
A straight-guy aesthetic nuke. A care-package of catastrophic kindness.
“Pfft—” Meng Yun Xi’s giggly static echoed: “My ‘dying flash’ juice lasted just long enough for ‘Straight-dude Shopping Rampage’—worth every volt... battery low... see you next charge—(beep).”
Yue Fei lifted a phantom paw over her eyes: “Meow... visual pollution... stellar-grade bad taste. Elegance? Extinct.”
Xing Dian spun happy indigo sparks: “Master! Pink! Sparkles! Bear and Kitty! Style’s... wild, but the heart! His face is cooked-shrimp red! He sprinted into the store, grabbed ‘what girls like’, heart thumping so loud I heard it outside!”
I stood frozen, staring at this bag of psychedelic goodwill, then at the brother whose awkwardness filled the room like smoke.
Idiot... he’d dashed to an all-night supermarket... endured cosmic embarrassment... to buy me clothes?
With dinosaur-level straight-guy taste?