Chapter 2

The car pulled into the underground garage. After the driver opened the door, she glanced at the leather leash attached to Liu Ran’s collar but didn’t dare to tug it.

She said to Liu Ran cautiously, “Miss Mao Rongrong, please follow me up on your own.”

T/N: Mao Rongrong means “Fluffy” or “Furry.”

Liu Ran wanted to say that her surname was Liu. But with the bite inhibitor strapped tightly around her mouth, the hard crossbar jammed between her teeth, forcing her unable to speak normally. She hadn’t had a drop of water for a long time, and her throat ached terribly from the dryness.

It was clear that President Ming’s driver was afraid of her—afraid she would run, so she kept a constant watch; yet also afraid to actually grab the leash and offend her, which might displease both her and President Ming.

The driver’s tone carried a hint of pleading: “Miss Mao Rongrong…”

Liu Ran got out of the car and gestured for the driver to lead the way.

The driver was just an ordinary worker; there was no need to make things difficult for her. Besides, the muscle relaxant hadn’t worn off yet, so apart from following President Ming’s orders, she had no other choice.

The spot on her face where she’d been slapped burned with stinging pain.

To be honest, that slap hadn’t used much force. It wasn’t really punishment—more like a symbolic warning, similar to the collar around her neck. The psychological humiliation outweighed the physical harm.

She followed the driver into the private elevator, which had no floor numbers. Once the doors closed, it ascended automatically. A plainly dressed woman with a clean face opened the door for them. The moment she saw Liu Ran, surprise and astonishment flashed in her eyes.

The woman appeared to be in her early thirties, with neat short hair. The driver called her “Sister Qi Zhen,” which must have been the “Little Qi” that Ming Siyu had mentioned.

The driver exchanged a few words with Qi Zhen at the door and then left. Qi Zhen ushered Liu Ran inside, saying awkwardly and at a loss, “Uh, I’m Miss Ming’s servant, Qi Zhen. Please wait here for a moment; I’ll go run the bathwater.”

Liu Ran stood in the entryway and waited, taking the opportunity to observe Ming Siyu’s home. The suite was about 700 square meters, a duplex with a sunken living room. An exaggeratedly huge crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and the doors along the corridor were all tightly closed. The decor was mainly black, white, and gray, obsessively neat and tidy. Sunlight filtered through light gauze curtains, making the interior bright, yet it lacked any sense of liveliness.

Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, not a single tree was visible, nor could the city’s noise be heard. Liu Ran guessed it was a high-rise.

Qi Zhen finished running the water and came to call Liu Ran to bathe. Liu Ran stripped off her clothes, now reduced to ragged strips, and stepped into the bathtub. The collar around her neck shifted; she turned her head and saw Qi Zhen tying the leather leash to the handrail.

Qi Zhen nodded to her. “Sorry about this. Miss Ming instructed me to secure you—”

She paused, avoiding the dignity-shattering word “tie,” and said, “to secure your collar and leash properly.”

The bathwater likely contained some disinfectant, which made her wounds sting like ants crawling over them. Liu Ran washed off the grime from her body, and Qi Zhen changed the water three times. Seeing no intent to attack, Qi Zhen boldly approached later, preparing to help wash her tail and ears thoroughly.

The moment she touched the damp fur, that large tail immediately shrank back.

Liu Ran hugged her tail to her chest, her ears flattening backward—an obvious posture of rejection.

The tail and ears were parts wolves used to express emotions, especially sensitive areas. This instinct had been passed to Liu Ran through genetic modification. They were both functional organs and markers of her abnormality; they couldn’t be touched casually.

Qi Zhen didn’t know this and thought Liu Ran simply didn’t want anyone near her. She withdrew her hand sheepishly.

Finally finished washing, Qi Zhen wanted her to use the hairdryer to dry her fur, but Liu Ran refused. Qi Zhen threw her discarded clothes straight into the trash and brought her a new spaghetti-strap nightgown.

It wasn’t Liu Ran’s size. Fortunately, the nightgown was loose-fitting enough to wear, though it was a bit tight, and the length barely covered her buttocks, leaving almost her entire tail exposed.

What made Liu Ran even more uncomfortable was that Qi Zhen hadn’t prepared any underwear. She could only keep tugging the hem down to reduce her sense of vulnerability.

Qi Zhen explained that her arrival had been too sudden; she hadn’t had time to prepare clothes that fit her size. The nightgown was barely borrowable, but underwear in the wrong size wouldn’t fit at all, and there were no panties with tail holes at home. She would have to make do bare for now until Miss Ming returned.

Liu Ran bit her lip tightly, trying not to let her embarrassment show too obviously.

She slowly comforted herself: this undignified life had begun four years ago when she signed the “voluntary genetic fusion modification agreement” at age fifteen, and it would likely continue indefinitely. Since she couldn’t change it, she at least had to learn to get used to it.

No need to fuss over one or two pieces of clothing.

Qi Zhen urged her from the bathroom doorway to hurry out. Passing the mirror, Liu Ran still didn’t have the courage to look at herself.

After growing the tail and wolf ears, she had rarely looked in mirrors. Those two organs, perhaps soft and cute in others’ eyes, were sources of shame for Liu Ran. She couldn’t ignore their existence: when walking, if she didn’t hold her tail up, the fur would brush her legs; at any tiny sound, those thick, pointed ears would reflexively perk up; when downcast, the wolf ears would droop limply first.

They constantly reminded Liu Ran that she was a bred freak, forever stared at by all kinds of gazes—mocking, excited, sadistic… Under such gazes, she could never truly wear clothes.

Dignity wasn’t embodied in clothing.

But without clothes, one’s dignity was swept away.

Just like now. No matter how much she reassured herself, Liu Ran still couldn’t accept being completely naked under the nightgown. She could only shuffle forward in tiny steps.

Qi Zhen originally planned to tether her to a living room pillar, but the leash wasn’t long enough. So she led her to the second floor and tied one end to the handle of a closed door.

“Wait here for Miss Ming. Oh, you probably don’t know her name yet—she’s Ming Siyu, the ‘Si’ from refined, the ‘Yu’ from bestow. Don’t call her by her full name; she doesn’t like it. Remember to call her President Ming.”

With that, Qi Zhen clomped downstairs.

It was August, and the AC was blasting. Liu Ran sat on the marble floor for a bit and felt the chill. Her tail was mostly dry by then, so she padded it beneath her, hugging the other half like a pillow to draw warmth from it.

The source of her shame had become her only comfort. Exhausted and drowsy, Liu Ran hugged her tail and unwittingly fell asleep against the door.

Ming Siyu didn’t return until evening.

The entire house’s lights came on. High heels clicked twice, like stepping on Liu Ran’s tail. She jolted awake, sleepiness gone, her whole body turning cold.

Her “owner” had returned.

She heard Qi Zhen run to the door to greet her. Ming Siyu asked where Liu Ran was.

Footsteps then approached the upstairs. Liu Ran’s nerves tensed throughout her body.

First the footsteps, then the scent of perfume like snowstorm aftermath—after such thorough buildup, Ming Siyu’s figure leisurely appeared at the second-floor stairwell.

She was barefoot. After a full day, Ming Siyu’s hair remained impeccably pinned behind her head. The top button of her shirt was undone, revealing part of her snowy skin, a small mole nestled on her collarbone, half-hidden at the shirt’s neckline.

Ming Siyu walked with a straight back, chin slightly raised, gaze downward, making everything seem a bit casual.

She strode straight to Liu Ran, who sat on the ground and was forced to look up at her.

They locked eyes silently for a few seconds. Liu Ran suddenly realized—just because Ming Siyu was standing, did she have to crane her neck for this utterly unequal stare-down? Who said she had to look at Ming Siyu?

She wouldn’t.

She promptly lowered her head.

But as soon as she did, Liu Ran thought of something else: Would Ming Siyu think she was guilty and afraid to meet her eyes? Think she feared her?

She wasn’t afraid. So she firmly raised her head again, staring unyieldingly into Ming Siyu’s eyes.

She couldn’t peer in. The glasses blocked them.

Ming Siyu watched her head bob up and down; her two silver-gray fluffy ears jumped like little furballs, the ear canal faintly pink, a tuft of light fluff poking cutely outward.

A faint electric current seemed to surge through her palm.

Ming Siyu knew she was having an episode. Five years ago, she noticed her palms often itched and stung, relieved only by touching plush toys or small dogs and cats. The doctor diagnosed her with Plush Hunger Syndrome, a psychosomatic disorder.

It couldn’t be cured, only alleviated by touching something fluffy as soon as symptoms appeared.

Ming Siyu was allergic to dog and cat fur, and plush toys without body heat were ineffective. She muddled through for years until recently, at a friend’s gathering, she met a girl fused with leopard cat genes. Touching the girl’s tail worked well, and perhaps because the fur grew on a human, there was no allergy.

On her friend’s recommendation, Ming Siyu decided to buy one.

Liu Ran suited her tastes perfectly and could serve as her medicine.

Her palm itched and tingled again. The discomfort quickly spread to her wrist, forearm, shoulder, and throughout her body. Every cell seemed to clamor at once; an odd irritability seeped from her skin, an indescribable emptiness overwhelming her instantly.

She needed to touch, stroke, knead—warm, dense, soft, fluffy, everything.

Urgently.

Her pupils dilated, fingertips unconsciously mimicking stroking motions. The itch in her palm turned to slight stinging.

Ming Siyu breathed heavier unconsciously, swallowing saliva without thinking.

She reached out, fingers curled, tempted to touch the top of Liu Ran’s head.

Just as she was about to touch the wolf ear, that thick, fluffy ear flattened backward, dodging her fingertips.

Liu Ran covered her ears with her hands and reflexively tried to stand, but after kneeling too long, her legs were numb. She rose halfway, then stumbled back into a squat.

Ming Siyu bent her knee and squatted on one leg, leveling their gazes.

In the next instant, Liu Ran felt her neck tighten.

Ming Siyu’s fingers hooked her collar and yanked outward viciously. Liu Ran lost balance, shifting from squat to kneel, her knees slamming heavily onto Ming Siyu’s instep.

The impact wasn’t light. After fusing with Ice Plains Wolf genes, Liu Ran’s pain nerves had dulled somewhat, making her more tolerant, but even so, her knees ached from the pressure.

If she felt pain, Ming Siyu must hurt even more.

Her neck was immediately gripped, the back of her head slamming into the door. Her breath was cut off, body arching backward against the doorframe. Her skirt hem flipped up, a chill sweeping over her. Liu Ran stiffened instantly.

Ming Siyu’s thin lips parted, darkly chewing out her name: “Liu, Ran.”