Chapter 8

The heat was genuinely unbearable. Yan Qingqiu spent the entire night in a daze. That feeling... she really didn't want to undergo differentiation.

And she definitely didn't want to have her gland removed.

In the morning, Yan Qingqiu carefully picked out her clothes.

A white tank top with matching white shorts—cool and casual, making her look youthful. Her natural curls were too hot to leave loose, so she tied them up, securing them with a pearl butterfly clip, then hooked her pinky around a small blue curl at the back. She didn't like this dyed, tinted wave. Her natural curls should have a golden tint, leaning toward an innate, noble air.

Yan Qingqiu examined herself in the mirror for a long time. Afterward, she found a measuring tape and checked her bust size. It might have been psychological, but it seemed a bit bigger than yesterday. She found a piece of paper and jotted down today's numbers.

The little booklet also mentioned that her body would emit pheromones—a fragrance alphas could smell. She lifted her arm and sniffed. She'd deliberately avoided using any scented products or perfume in her morning shower, but she still couldn't detect anything. How strange.

When she opened the door, the Butler was standing right there.

Yan Qingqiu was startled and stepped back. Just as she was about to speak, the Butler respectfully handed her a piece of paper. "Miss, today's update."

"Oh." Yan Qingqiu took it.

The Butler said mysteriously, "A friendly suggestion: please read this alone today, and not in any public place."

"!"

Yan Qingqiu's eyes widened slightly.

Could it be... spicy content already?

Yan Qingqiu immediately stuffed it into her pocket.

Song Qingre was already awake, seated at the dining table, ready to eat. Her knife and fork were arranged neatly, and her smile was clean—so clean it seemed tempered by the cold gleam of winter.

She didn't look like someone who'd spent the night drinking and gone sleepless.

As Yan Qingqiu walked down, she couldn't help recalling Song Qingre's desolate expression from yesterday. Though a night had passed, for Yan Qingqiu it felt like a blink. In the span of a single moment, Song Qingre had become cheerful again.

Song Qingre rested her chin on her hands, the backs of her fingers pressed against the skin beneath her jaw. "Sister Qiuqiu, good morning."

Yan Qingqiu didn't catch it. "Hmm?"

She sat down across from Song Qingre. "What is it?"

The head chef brought out the dishes. "Please, have a taste."

Breakfast was made with great care—a table full of fine dishes. Yan Qingqiu picked up her spoon and ate, noticing that Song Qingre was watching her.

"What are you smiling at?" Yan Qingqiu asked in return.

"Sister Qiuqiu, want some porridge? Shall I serve you?"

Yan Qingqiu was shoving bread into her mouth and choked. She grabbed her glass and gulped down milk to clear her throat. Being called "sister" wasn't her thing, but being called sister by a beautiful woman could be the death of her.

"You... you're not allowed to call me that." Yan Qingqiu lowered her voice in warning.

"Hmm? Isn't our sugar arrangement still in effect?" Song Qingre looked at her suspiciously.

Yan Qingqiu felt that if she said "it's over," Song Qingre would call her a living bodhisattva. She said, "That kind of address is for the bedroom. What are you doing using it here? If you use it too much, won't it lose its punch later?"

"Oh... true. I thought you might want me to call you 'master' in bed next time, to humiliate me. If you prefer 'sister' all the time, that works too."

Song Qingre was doing this on purpose, wasn't she?

The "master" thing was genuinely a bit thrilling.

And then she remembered that opening game animation.

Song Qingre kneeling, calling her master.

Yan Qingqiu lowered her head and ate, filling her stomach while her mind wandered to all sorts of nonsense. If she ever got the chance, she'd use her sugar-mommy authority to make Song Qingre call her master. After the meal, she sat in the living room, trying to cool off.

According to the doctor, Song Qingre was an A, and Fu Ye was also an A, with a compatibility of zero. How could the two of them be together? They'd gag at each other's scent the moment they met. Life together would be miserable—how could they date?

This game's setup had quite a few bugs. Or was it deliberate?

Song Qingre finished eating and put on her suit, her movements graceful.

"Where are you headed today?" Yan Qingqiu asked. She was planning to go out herself. "She" had an extensive social circle, with many wealthy girlfriends who'd been inviting her out recently.

"Nothing too busy. I'm working on the art exhibition today—meeting a few people. I'll have to leave soon; I'll probably be back in the evening." Song Qingre picked up her suit jacket from the chair and put it on. Then she stepped forward, lowering her voice to say, "Sorry about getting drunk yesterday. Wait for me tonight."

Yan Qingqiu: "!"

Goosebumps rose all over her, and her ears burned.

Her mind echoed with the words. What are we doing? What are we doing? Are we... doing IT?

By the time she snapped back to reality, Song Qingre was already gone.

Yan Qingqiu had a strong premonition that she'd been played. Yesterday, in a daze, she'd taken Song Qingre under her wing, and they'd likely have to fulfill the terms of the arrangement.

So... didn't that mean Plot Point 2 was coming?

No wonder the System had stayed silent when she'd taken Song Qingre in.

Damn it. She'd fallen into the trap without even realizing it.

She had to get out today. The second plot point was most likely "gland removal"—the scene where she'd undergo differentiation in front of Song Qingre. As long as she and Song Qingre were apart, the plot probably wouldn't trigger, and she wouldn't have to get her gland cut out.

She might as well go to the bank and unlock those cards from before, see how much money they held. She could hold back on spending, but as this character, she couldn't just stay home forever. Besides, the later tasks couldn't be forced through without some cash.

"I need to get my hair washed out—get rid of this blue mess. You're coming with me." Yan Qingqiu told the Butler. She genuinely disliked the color; she preferred her natural gold and hoped to restore it.

The Butler was puzzled. "Didn't you love it before? You went out of your way to dye it?"

"I'm tired of it now."

"Alright. I always thought your natural color suited you better, miss. When you were little, your hair looked especially lovely gold in the sun. Speaking of which, I just remembered something memorable."

"..."

Watching the Butler scribble in his little notebook made Yan Qingqiu's fingers itch.

Yan Qingqiu pulled out her beauty salon card, and the driver took her to the place she frequented most. The moment she stepped out of the car at the entrance, someone called out to her.

"Princess Qiuqiu, what can we do for you today?"

Yan Qingqiu's goosebumps came back. Being called princess in a place like this was too much to handle. She walked inside and saw a beautiful woman with long hair, a model-perfect figure, wearing a red V-neck dress. She looked more like a model than a hairstylist.

"I want to wash the dye out and get back to my original gold."

The woman was holding a curling iron. She said, "I told you back then your natural color was the prettiest, but you wouldn't listen. Come on, I'll dye it back for you—the original tone's been bleached clean."

As she spoke, she pulled out a chair for Yan Qingqiu. "Sit or lie down? Want a facial while you're at it?"

"Just my hair."

Yan Qingqiu sat down and glanced at the stylist's name tag: Ye Sichun. Ye Sichun said, "Me? I never misjudge people. Today both of the Luo sisters came in and asked for me specifically, and I didn't even take them."

Yan Qingqiu's hair was sprayed wet, and the stylist massaged her scalp before starting to wash it.

Just as she closed her eyes, she heard people talking. The speakers made no effort to be discreet—they were deliberately showing off, wanting everyone in the salon to hear.

"I heard Song Qingre's art exhibition was funded by Fu Ye. How shameless, getting money for nothing. Xiao Luo, what's your plan?"

"Fu Ye was just fooled by her. I've already spread the word in our circle: anyone who dares buy her paintings is picking a fight with me. Then I'll just watch Yan Qingqiu and her tear each other apart—sit on the hill and watch the tigers fight."

"You two spread the word too—don't let anyone buy Song Qingre's paintings. Let's see how long she can stay so high and mighty. She's obviously just some green-tea bitch pretending to be a pure white moonlight."

Oh.

So these were cannon fodder who, like "her", had terrible taste in men.

But too bad—she really was the white moonlight. Officially canon.

"Song Qingre's exhibition opening at all would be a miracle. If I let her have an easy time, my name isn't Luo Xi."

Yan Qingqiu was furious. Song Qingre had put so much heart into her studio—first being kept by her, then drinking herself senseless at social functions—and these people were still bullying her. How shameless.

Yan Qingqiu couldn't stand their arrogant tone. Here she was, a full-fledged villainess, and these people actually thought they could steal her role.

She was about to stand up and snap back, but the stylist pushed her back down. Ye Sichun said in a low voice, "Almost done. Why run out there now?"

Ye Sichun knew what she was doing. "I'll tell you what—if you go out now, you'll have no style at all. Once I'm done with your hair, you'll have plenty of chances to teach them a lesson."

That made some sense. The previous dye job was too high quality—it had barely faded. Now the stylist had to re-bleach and re-dye, and charging out with a mess of hair would be pointless.

"Don't worry. I'll make you look even better than before. I always said gold was perfect for you—fits your vibe, a proud princess. Oh, my noble princess. Just listen to her plan, then spring your trap on her and blind them all."

Yan Qingqiu sat back down. The stylist's words were exactly what she wanted to hear. She felt like the stylist was her new best friend.

The other women bragged for a while, then went upstairs for facials. Yan Qingqiu's hair took three hours and turned gold.

Ye Sichun said, "I adjusted the tone a bit from your original. How is it?"

Yan Qingqiu was already fair-skinned, and now with long golden hair, she looked even prettier. Ye Sichun hadn't dulled the color; it made her seem truly regal.

"Do you remember when I dyed it blue? And when was my last time as a blonde?"

"Let me trim your bangs." Ye Sichun didn't think much of it, recalling, "I don't know about your last blonde phase. When you came to me, you'd already dyed it red, green, purple—all sorts. Very rebellious. This is the first time you're going back to natural. Princess, gold really is your color."

Yan Qingqiu was lost in thought about the hair dyeing when she missed it—the stylist cut her airy bangs without her noticing. That evening, Yan Qingqiu checked her unlocked bank cards. Together, they held about 120,000. She stepped outside and told the Butler to head home, that she wouldn't be staying the night, going to a friend's place.

The Butler said yes, and Yan Qingqiu pocketed the cards and headed to a hotel, hesitating over whether to book a room. Just then, a text from Song Qingre came in.

【Off work.】

Yan Qingqiu's head spun, and she pulled out her ID.

She didn't want to die.

When she'd transmigrated, she'd answered many questions. Now, some of those questions she tried hard to recall but couldn't remember at all—the System must have deliberately erased them. A task as dangerous as cutting out her gland—they obviously didn't want her alive. If later the System told her to kill herself and she couldn't resist, wouldn't she die?

Song Qingre called again. Yan Qingqiu's heart suddenly raced. She stuffed the room card in her pocket first, then, heading upstairs, figured out how to respond—she'd just tell Song Qingre what she'd heard today.

The call connected; the other side spoke first.

Song Qingre said, "Isn't today when we fulfill the arrangement?"

Yan Qingqiu choked. God as her witness, she'd thought maybe just a kiss would do. She had ideas, but she didn't have the guts—and besides, she had zero practical experience.

"What's wrong? Not sleeping with me?"

"What's the rush?"

Song Qingre pushed open the window with her finger, letting out a creak. She glanced toward the room next door—the lights were off. The person had run off.

She said, "I'm not rushing. It's just... I'm afraid you'll back out."

"Why would I back out? The contract—pfft—didn't I already give you the card?" Yan Qingqiu said.

"But you didn't give me the password."

She'd forgotten about that.

"The password's my birthday. Go try it yourself—November 22nd, the day of Light Snow." Yan Qingqiu paused as she said it, heart racing. She'd seen the ID; she and "Yan Qingqiu" shared the same birthday. She just wasn't entirely sure now—what if the household registry didn't match the ID?

"Why aren't you saying anything?" Yan Qingqiu asked, deliberately cold.

"Nothing. It just feels familiar. You used to introduce your birthday by saying you were born on the day it snowed. You stopped after a while." Song Qingre's voice was gentle, warm enough to make one feel at ease.

Didn't I say that?

Yan Qingqiu tugged at her collar. Talking to Song Qingre made her flustered.

"When's your birthday?" Yan Qingqiu asked.

"February 14th," Song Qingre said.

"Valentine's Day. Nice. Anyone giving you a gift that day seems like they're confessing." Yan Qingqiu was a little envious. That was a truly great birthday.

Song Qingre said, "Are you trying to change the subject?"

Yan Qingqiu shot back, "You're that eager for me to sleep with you?"

"You were demanding I call you master today. If I don't get that settled, who knows—one bright day, while I'm at work, you might suddenly show up, make a scene, and force me to make out with you in front of everyone."

To be fair, Song Qingre had a point.

But to be fair, it was also kind of thrilling.

Song Qingre continued, "Mostly, I'm afraid you'll go back on your word and suddenly demand a million from me. My studio just opened—I can't pull that kind of money... So, let's just get this contract done quickly."

That made even more sense. That Luo Xi woman was already out to destroy her—there was no reason to play nice.

"Jumping into it with zero preparation would kill the experience!" Yan Qingqiu said seriously. "You're way too boring like this. I need to make my million worth it. I want to toy with flesh—it has to be exciting. You need to prepare properly, so I can enjoy myself. Otherwise... I won't acknowledge it."

Song Qingre went quiet for a moment. "I knew you'd say that. I'll wear something nice, then."

"Wear what? I like you best with nothing on."

Yan Qingqiu regretted it the moment she said it. She'd exposed herself. But the other side stayed silent, so she pressed on, "If you don't service me well, it doesn't count. I'll inspect you again and again, try all 101 positions... You—you think you can fob me off with that? Little slave, I'm bored of the whole calling-me-master-in-bed routine. I'm a total pervert. You think your amateur tricks can satisfy me? I like it rough."

The other side was silent. Song Qingre paused, then spoke in a voice so low it was nearly a whisper:

"Then... name a date. I can't have you holding this over me forever."

"The day after tomorrow! Or the day after that! If you're not ready by then, watch out—I'll force it. I won't be gentle."

Song Qingre didn't bring it up again. Instead, she changed the subject. "Which friend's place are you at?"

"That's none of your business." Yan Qingqiu hung up, pressing her hand to her chest.

Anyway, if Song Qingre were a normal person, she'd take one look at her and run. With both of them avoiding each other, the plot would probably be dodged. She flopped onto the hotel bed, but no position felt comfortable. Maybe because so many people had stayed there, it just didn't feel as cozy as home.

She also worried about the night. What if it happened again like yesterday?

If she started running a fever, she'd hop in a cold shower and go straight home. She was not about to strip naked here.

She had trouble sleeping, so she took out the booklet the Butler had given her and read it. Her face flushed red. Butler, you're way too good at writing this stuff!

She quickly crumpled the paper into a ball. She couldn't read any more—if she did, she'd be in heat on the spot without even waiting for Song Qingre to tease her.

Luckily, her gamble paid off. At the hotel, the feeling wasn't as intense, and her body eased somewhat. It still ran hot, but not to the point of losing control and wanting to strip.

So it really was the System messing with her, forcing her into the plot.

If she safely skipped this plot point, her survival rate should increase by at least 1%. She absolutely could not die. Besides, what would happen after skipping the plot?

Yan Qingqiu touched the back of her neck. It was a little damp, but not hot.

After that, Song Qingre indeed didn't press her about it. She must have been scared off. But the two weren't completely out of touch—Song Qingre sent her messages every day.

Song Qingre: "3"

Song Qingre: "2"

Song Qingre: "1"

At first, Yan Qingqiu thought she was just trying to wash away the texts "she'd" sent before. It wasn't until Song Qingre sent "0" that she finally understood.

【Qiuqiu, it's zero now. Which hotel?】

【Or do you not want a hotel—want to do it at home?】

【Or, given how twisted you are, none of this is enough for you?】

Yan Qingqiu burrowed deeper into the blankets!

Hotel, my ass.

Yan Qingqiu wanted to cry. Give me a break. I don't want seven days and seven nights.

Please.

Yan Qingqiu screenshot the calendar and sent it over, carefully encircling the date.

【Good for travel and work. Avoid weddings and funerals.】

Afraid she wouldn't understand, Yan Qingqiu typed: 【The bodhisattva says: work hard today, avoid bedroom matters.】 She wished she could highlight those last words in red.

Song Qingre replied quickly: 【The almanac was written by the Yellow Emperor. What does the bodhisattva have to do with it?】

Yan Qingqiu was stunned. She didn't reply, but the messages didn't stop.

Song Qingre: 【Oh, I get it. You prefer having sex outdoors.】