Meng Yiran’s drowsiness vanished in an instant at the sound of that cough. She sprang up with a leap, bounding straight from her resting corner onto the bed and pacing anxiously back and forth.
Tong Yuwu’s quick reaction had prevented the blood from dripping this time; she caught it neatly in her palm. She grabbed a handkerchief from nearby, dabbed away the blood, and then meticulously wiped between her fingers.
Noticing that the Little White Cat had been staring fixedly at her mouth, Tong Yuwu realized what was wrong. She touched her lips and found a streak of blood. Without batting an eye, she flicked out her tongue to lick the corner of her mouth. But then, as if dissatisfied with the result, she frowned and wiped it away properly with her finger.
Meng Yiran, for all her four legs, could do nothing to help. As she fretted, a sudden idea struck her. She darted to the door in a few bounds, yowling shrilly at the top of her lungs while rearing up on her hind legs and battering it frantically with her front paws.
The kidnappers who had snatched Tong Yuwu earlier that day remained at large, leaving the castle in a state of lockdown. The guards had not been stood down. Ever vigilant, they flung open the door at the first sound and looked toward Tong Yuwu on the bed. “Miss?”
Tong Yuwu’s face was shrouded in the shadows cast by the lamplight. When she spoke, her voice was drier and more hoarse than usual.
“Get out.”
Meng Yiran froze for a moment, then hooked her sharp claws into the guard’s trouser leg. “Meow—”
The guard glanced down at her and hesitated before asking again, “Miss… are you really all right?”
The displeasure of the castle’s young mistress, fresh from her Coming-of-Age Banquet, was plain in her tone.
“Get out.”
This time, the guard wasted no time. He shook his leg to dislodge the Little White Cat’s claws and beat a hasty retreat from the room.
The bedroom door shut once more, but this time it was different. Under Tong Yuwu’s watchful gaze, a thin veil of black mist slowly cloaked the entire door—too subtle to notice unless one looked very closely.
Meng Yiran watched in dismay as the help she had summoned departed again. She slunk dejectedly back to Tong Yuwu’s side. She didn’t press the matter further, knowing full well that even if someone did come, they might not be of much use.
Earlier that day, the steward had already summoned the doctor to examine Tong Yuwu. Medical knowledge in this era was limited; the doctor could make neither head nor tail of her condition and had suggested bloodletting as a remedy. The Little White Cat had been so alarmed that she bared her claws and chased him off. She had overheard the steward saying he would send for a Light Mage from the Temple of Light to treat her, but the temple was some distance away, and the mage wouldn’t arrive for at least two days.
Until someone truly capable arrived, Tong Yuwu would have to tough it out on her own.
She tossed the bloodstained handkerchief into the waste bin beneath the bed. As she reached out to comfort the Little White Cat, she caught sight of a stubborn dark red stain lingering on her fingertip. She paused for a beat, then withdrew her hand as if nothing were amiss.
“I’m fine.”
Meng Yiran mewed pitifully, each cry more despondent than the last. Clearly, she wasn’t convinced.
Tong Yuwu was at a loss with her. She left the bed to wash her hands at the basin nearby. When she returned, an ink-green, long-necked medicine bottle had somehow appeared in her grasp.
Right in front of Meng Yiran, she uncorked it with a pop and gulped down the contents. Then she simply let the glass bottle slip from her fingers, and it shattered on the floor with a sharp crack.
The noise was far from quiet, yet curiously, it failed to draw the attention of the guards outside.
Meng Yiran, however, had eyes only for Tong Yuwu and paid it no mind. She hopped onto Tong Yuwu’s lap and peered intently at her face, gauging her condition.
Tong Yuwu stroked the top of her head and murmured reassuringly, “There, there. No more blood. No need to be scared.”
Meng Yiran didn’t know how to respond. She craned her neck and gave Tong Yuwu’s chin a gentle lick.
Whether it was the medicine taking effect or not, Tong Yuwu—who had seemed wide awake moments before—soon grew drowsy. In short order, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. Meng Yiran found it strange and deliberately meowed several times right by her ear. Tong Yuwu stirred faintly in response, but her eyes remained shut tight, as if she were trapped in a nightmare from which she couldn’t awaken.
Deeply worried, Meng Yiran resorted to her earlier tactic and scratched at the door again. This time, though, the guards ignored her completely.
Pale moonlight poured through the narrow gap in the curtains, bathing the empty bedroom in an even chillier glow. The beautiful Doll Lady lay motionless on the bed, her chest rising and falling so faintly it was almost imperceptible.
Meng Yiran’s nose began to sting with unshed tears. Never had she yearned so desperately to be human again—at the very least, so she could tend to Tong Yuwu. But when she glanced down, she saw only the soft white pads of a cat’s paws on the floor. The human hand she had glimpsed just before blacking out that afternoon existed now only in her dreams.
The Little White Cat trudged dispiritedly back toward the bed. Midway there, a glint of white light flashed across her eyes. She looked up and spotted the ink-green long-necked medicine bottle lying by the bedside, surrounded by a puddle of spilled liquid.
That was the medicine Tong Yuwu hadn’t quite finished drinking earlier. Strangely enough, when it spilled onto the floor, it didn’t seep into the wood or spread out completely. Instead, it caught the moonlight and gleamed with a silvery, glistening sheen.
As if compelled by some inexplicable impulse, Meng Yiran walked toward it.
Only upon drawing closer did she discover that the unfamiliar medicine Tong Yuwu had somehow produced gave off a sweet, honey-like fragrance. The scent was utterly irresistible, and in the blink of an eye, Little White Cat’s mouth flooded with saliva.
Meng Yiran swallowed hard several times before she could hold back no longer. She lowered her head and flicked out her pink tongue to lap it up. There wasn’t much left, and by the time she snapped out of it, the puddle on the floor had been licked clean. Little White Cat smacked her lips, savoring the lingering trace of sweetness in her mouth.
But then, a rush of heat suddenly surged up from deep within her body—fierce and unrelenting, scorching through her in an instant. Meng Yiran knew this heat all too well; it had tormented her twice already that day.
The foolish Little White Cat finally felt a pang of fear. She clawed frantically at her neck with her front paws, desperate to vomit up the medicine she’d just swallowed.
It was a hopeless endeavor, nothing short of a fairy tale. Meng Yiran soon gave up, realizing the truth on one hand and finding herself too drained by the burning heat on the other.
In her hazy state, she felt her body being tugged by some indescribable force—her limbs stretching longer, her waist pulling taut, her chest ablaze, every gasp of air consumed in a flash.
When the wave of discomfort finally ebbed, she braced her hands against the floor and struggled to her feet. A single-minded urge drove her to crawl back into bed and sleep. At last she stood upright and glanced at the bed, confirming that Tong Yuwu was still lying there peacefully, though her face remained as pale as ever.
From this vantage point looking down, Tong Yuwu was flawlessly beautiful, without a single imperfect angle. With her eyes closed and bereft of her usual lively gaze, she looked even more like Meng Yiran’s vision of the perfect BJD doll.
Meng Yiran’s cheeks warmed, an itch rising in her throat. Embarrassed, she lifted a hand to cover her mouth and coughed softly twice.
Her exhaled breath slipped through her fingers, tickling her skin. She glanced down and saw a pair of perfectly proportioned hands, their tapered fingertips glowing with a healthy pink tint.
