Chapter 41:The Injured Mo Yu

Ding ding ding~

The familiar alarm mingled with morning sunlight in a clean, faintly fragrant room. A smooth, lotus-like arm swiftly silenced it.

After yesterday’s emotional rollercoaster with the succubus revelation, Su Qi, who’d fallen asleep in a daze, slept deeply until 4 a.m.—over ten hours. The long rest left him surprisingly refreshed, though his stomach, having only tasted one-and-a-half bites of braised pork yesterday, growled hungrily.

Instead of cooking, he opened his bright peach-blossom eyes, staring at the plain white ceiling, lost in thought. For nearly three hours since waking, he’d repeated this ritual. The blank ceiling, he found, aided clear thinking.

After much reflection, he reached a conclusion: Freedom is precious, love more so, but for life’s sake, both can be sacrificed. Though he adored Wen Yin-jie, his father’s notes on succubi haunted him. His diminished “asset,” possibly vanishing entirely with further Crisp Wife upgrades, couldn’t satisfy her desires. An unfulfilled succubus risked despair or worse, as the notes warned. Despite the pain, he decided to play the “bad guy” and reject her for her sake.

The decision left his heart hollow, a skipped beat echoing his grief. Feeling sadness creep in, he sat up to shake it off. Noticing yesterday’s fallen stockings, he wasn’t panicked. Lin Xue knew his ability, and since he planned to distance himself from Wen Yin, her potential judgment—thinking him strange or perverted—mattered less. As a man, he needed the courage to cut ties decisively.

Comforting himself, he lifted his cool summer blanket, exposing his creamy skin. His chest’s soft mounds jiggled, still unfamiliar despite a day of adjustment. Blushing, he resisted the urge to poke them, glancing at the wall clock. Six a.m.—time before school at eight.

Eyeing his male clothes and the JK outfit in his bag, he chose the latter. Why? His Crisp Wife ability, now Level 2, needed 10,000 EXP for Level 3—ten times the previous threshold. Hungry from yesterday, he decided to wear the female outfit, cook a feast, and make a bento for his best friend Mo Yu, who often brought him food. He could vaguely share his and Wen Yin’s “fated mismatch” using TV drama metaphors, knowing Mo Yu’s gentle nature would comfort him. Plus, female form strengthened his resolve to reject Wen Yin.

A post he’d read online echoed: “Cross-dressing is either once or countless times.” Opening his bag, he faced Su Lulu’s JK outfit. Unlike past embarrassment, familiarity and a faint excitement stirred. Shaking off the odd feeling, he donned the bra—tight now, as Lulu’s A-size struggled with his enhanced figure. Grunting at the squeeze, he noted he’d need new ones. After slipping on the skirt and shirt, a radiant glow transformed him into a golden-haired Asuna-like beauty.

Feeling light and faintly fragrant, he stepped out, his stomach roaring. Passing the living room, he noticed two notes on the coffee table. Wen Yin’s familiar script read: “Xiao Qi, I’ve packed your food. Milk and bread are in the fridge—don’t starve. I don’t know what’s happened, but I’ll always be by your side.” The warmth threatened to crack his resolve, so he stashed it in a drawer, turning to the other note.

Lin Xue’s note, in a cutesy font, read: “Little junior Su Qi, I’ve decided to officially pursue you! That night was an accident—don’t overthink it. Mua~~~” Her flirty tone stirred complex feelings, not excitement but suspicion. Is she after my body because of her Blood Princess ability? Shaking his head, he hid both notes and tied on an apron.

As dishes sizzled, their aroma lifted his mood. For Mo Yu’s bento—and to busy himself—he made four dishes: juicy tomato-egg stir-fry, crispy sweet-and-sour pork, rich braised eggplant, and refreshing cold lettuce. After eating, his flat stomach finally felt full. Packing Mo Yu’s bento, he re-bound his chest with stockings, changed to male clothes, and headed to school, eager for carefree bro-time.

But reality diverged. At Class 18, the “slacker” class, Mo Yu was absent. Puzzled, Su Qi sent a WeChat message: “Where are you? I brought a super tasty bento—try it!” with a photo. Expecting Mo Yu’s usual enthusiastic reply, he was surprised when the “typing” indicator lingered for a minute without response.

A message finally popped up: “A-Qi, sorry, relatives came over, and I twisted my ankle. Can’t make it to school today.”

Su Qi’s brows furrowed, worry clouding his peach-blossom eyes. Something felt off—Mo Yu’s meticulous nature wouldn’t miss sending a reply. What’s really going on?