Chapter 45: Liu Wangjiang’s Dilemma

Liu Wangjiang dreamed again.

It was a lucid dream once more.

In the dream, he saw little Lu Qingqi from childhood again.

“Wah wah wah~ Creepy uncle, don’t steal my heart—I’m still little; my heart’s not worth much.”

Little loli-form little Lu Qingqi cried, facing once more the deep-purple-eyed man who terrified her.

Liu Wangjiang watched little loli Lu Qingqi.

He’d lost count of these lucid dreams.

The only constant: dream-Qiqi so soft, so fragrant.

“Good girl, let me hug you.”

“No~ No~~”

“Then a kiss.”

“No no~~”

“Creepy uncle, don’t~ Ya wudi~~”

Little loli Lu Qingqi shook her head wildly, tear-streaked cheeks.

Crying out,

“I want Mommy and Daddy—wah wah wah, Mommy Daddy, save me.”

“I’m getting kidnapped by a trafficker!!!”

Liu Wangjiang chuckled low.

Finding her ever more adorable.

Fingertip gently ruffling her hair crown, tone softening.

“Good girl, no tears—I’m no trafficker.”

Seeing her still sniffling, his fingertip twirled—conjuring a strawberry lollipop.

He peeled the wrapper, offering it to her lips.

“Qiqi—have a lollipop.”

Little loli’s nose twitched.

Her sobs hitched.

Teary eyes glanced at the vivid pink.

Hesitating two seconds, she couldn’t resist—parting small lips, taking it in gently.

The sweet tang melted on her tongue.

Her hiccups slowed gradually.

Just tear-tracks lingering on her cheeks—looking all aggrieved and cute.

Lollipops truly the ultimate kid-tamer.

After a good while, little loli Lu Qingqi’s face still bore tear-stains.

But no more crying.

Instead, she tilted her head up.

Gazing at the man before her—crouched low, deep-purple pupils brimming with unnamed feelings.

“Creepy uncle—what do you really want.”

“Why appear at Ajiang’s house.”

“Why steal his cucumbers.”

“And why turn me into a girl.”

Liu Wangjiang crouched, poking her little loli cheek with a finger, smile playing.

“Because you’re super cute—I fell at first sight, want you as my good little wifey.”

“First sight? That’s just lust at hello—dramas say it all the time.”

“Right—lust at hello.”

“Saw you first glance—craved your body, wanna lock you up, tame you into my good little canary wife.”

Good little wifey, canary wife?

What were those?

Little Lu Qingqi sucked the lollipop, head half-tilted, utterly clueless.

She opened her mouth to ask.

But suddenly, mist bloomed around the creepy uncle—set to envelop her.

“Looks like dream’s ending.”

Liu Wangjiang noted the surroundings blurring, unstable.

He glanced down at the lollipop at little loli’s lips.

Then dipped low.

A light kiss, fog-tinged, brushing her forehead.

“Qiqi—see you; next time, I’ll visit.”

Words fell—white mist surged thick.

Swallowing his deep-purple eyes.

Little Lu Qingqi hadn’t reacted—when he faded from shoulders down, like dispersing smoke.

She stood rooted, lollipop in mouth—round eyes full of daze.

The warmth at her brow dissipated fast.

Her heart oddly hollow.

As if…… wanting another round.

The dream ended.

Liu Wangjiang woke.

Bedside held sleep aids—unopened.

Since that spring outing return, sleep quality had been fine.

Though days passed, mountain events lingered vivid.

Leaving Liu Wangjiang doubting.

Had that encounter been hallucination from undercooked seehand qing?

Or truly real?

Did this world hold supernatural forces science couldn’t explain?

Did Mother’s Drowning Spring truly exist?

Was there a way to turn man to woman—sans surgery?

Simple breakfast, dressing, ablutions.

Liu Wangjiang eyed the window’s bright dawn.

Winter yielded to spring; weather warming gradually.

His unfit parents lately absent.

Home two-three days—then, spring’s fair weather luring them to roam Nanbo City spots.

“Liu-gege, morning!”

Just then, a childish treble chimed.

Liu Wangjiang followed the voice.

On the sofa sat a tiny figure—blue-white robes loose on her frame, oversized baseball cap low on head.

Brim shadowing all but a pale little chin.

It was Yan Qing.

Those orange-yellow eyes gleamed sun-soaked.

Blinking unceasing at him—full of longing, anticipation.

“Liu-gege—where’s our catnip?”

Liu Wangjiang fetched a tin of catnip, setting it on the tea table.

Fingertip tapping the lid lightly.

The little shota’s eyes lit like a feast-pouncing kitten.

He half-rose—only for a big hand to pin him down.

“Story first.”

Liu Wangjiang’s tone even.

The little shota sat straight at once.

Gaze still glued to the catnip.

Scratching his nape, orange-yellow orbs rolled—gathering words.

“Teacher says no spilling patient stuff lightly—but before coming, I called Xiao Yin-jiejie; she okayed sharing her tale.”

“How to start…… in Xiao Yin-jiejie’s words, she and Zhao-gege reunited after years apart—back then, Zhao-gege just returned home……”

Liu Wangjiang listened quietly.

Occasional questions.

But the little shota either shook his head—“I dunno”—or “Can’t say—privacy.”

Until “Zhao-gege faked his death, locked Xiao Yin-jiejie in a cat cage, fed her cat food and milk, raised her like a pet”—then deep-purple pupils rippled faintly.

Somewhat novel.

Such acts—he couldn’t pull off.

Never mind his craving for a caged, obedient canary.

Just cat food and milk? Nutritional deficiency galore.

He wanted a healthy, female, compliant canary Qiqi.

Canaries were for pampering.

Unless disobedient—fleeing, rebelling—then force measures.

Suddenly, Yan Qing trailed off.

Meeting Liu Wangjiang’s puzzled look, he resumed.

“Liu-gege—I only share segments each time.”

“After, you write reflections.”

“Next time, the next bit.”

“Not my rule—Xiao Yin-jiejie’s.”

“Said if a man wants to hear, he’s Zhao-gege’s kind—curious about your sort’s minds.”

The man’s lips twitched faintly.

Looks like little shota Yan Qing’s “Xiao Yin-jiejie” was a mischief-maker.

He half-crouched, interest piqued—flicking the little shota’s forehead, lips curving.

“Little one—know what I just thought?”

“World’s tunings boil to three: force, deceit, seduction.”

“Force crudest, deceit slyest, seduction subtlest.”

“Your Zhao-gege’s the forcer—caging thoughts and acts, conditioning reflexes, instilling subconscious docility—every word, deed reeking of the forcer.”

“Such folk—bone-deep possessors, yandere-grade.”

“So Liu-gege’s which?”

The little shota swung his short legs, head half-tilted, curiosity alight.

“I’m the……”

Liu Wangjiang started to answer.

When his phone rang.

He signaled “one sec,” picking up.

The next instant, brows furrowed.

“What—Bai Yuanzhen in a car crash?”