“No—”
Ning Qi’an hugged Qin Suixi’s waist, looked up with wide eyes, and said, “I can prove it! Give me three minutes—no, one minute is enough.”
“Don’t get any funny ideas,” Qin Suixi said, assessing his limbs, “You can’t beat me.”
Ning Qi’an shook his head frantically. “No funny ideas, no funny ideas! You just don’t move either.”
Seeing that Qin Suixi didn’t seem prepared for any next move, he carefully let go of him, eyes fixed on Qin Suixi, with his hands clasped behind his head.
Qin Suixi sneered. “Is this you surrendering?”
“No,” Ning Qi’an said solemnly. “I am shattering your worldview.”
“Three, two, one—I’m transforming!”
He moved his hands away, revealing a pair of fox ears that had appeared out of thin air. The two ears twitched, seemingly a bit unaccustomed to being out.
Qin Suixi was dumbfounded. “Holy crap.”
Hearing his exclamation, Ning Qi’an felt inexplicably proud. He turned sideways to kneel on the bed, covered his tailbone with his right hand, and smiled mysteriously. “Watch this, I’m transforming!”
A large, fluffy tail emerged from under his hoodie, flicking left and right with significant presence.
Qin Suixi couldn’t believe it. “Holy crap…”
“Finally, the most important part—the most spectacular part,” Ning Qi’an cautioned, “Don’t you dare blink.”
Qin Suixi nodded reluctantly. “Okay…”
Thinking of what he was about to do, a smile broke across Ning Qi’an’s face. He knelt on the bed, sat up straight, and raised his hands high.
“I’m transforming!”
In the blink of an eye, the person who had been lying on the bed disappeared. In his place was a reddish-brown fox.
The fox from his house.
His phone fell to the ground again, making a crisp sound, but this time, no one picked it up. The only person in the room was stunned, unable to spare the mental energy to care about anything else.
Qin Suixi was speechless. He looked at the fox smiling at him from the bedsheets, and his expression showed the first signs of cracking.
The fox folded its ears and stepped forward to lick his hand. The touch on the back of his hand was warm and damp. Qin Suixi pushed the fox’s head away, still not fully recovered, and stumbled back half a step.
Oh no, was that too much?
Ning Qi’an transformed back into human form, jumped off the bed, grabbed his arm, and pulled him back to sit on the bed.
“Are you okay?”
Qin Suixi managed to regain his soul and waved his hand. “Go out for a bit. I want to be alone.”
Ning Qi’an replied obediently, “Okay, I’ll be right outside. Please, don’t do anything rash.”
After all, there’s still one more thing I need to tell you.
Ning Qi’an left the space to Qin Suixi, who wanted to be alone. Before closing the door, he took a peek; the curtains blocked most of the sunlight, and Qin Suixi was covering his face with both hands, his back looking weary.
He closed the door gently.
About ten minutes later, Qin Suixi came out. As soon as he heard the sound of the door opening, Ning Qi’an turned around, sporting a pair of fox ears, and said, “You’re out! Are we not going running today?”
Qin Suixi was at a loss for words; his worldview was smashed to pieces, what running? Looking at the fox ears on Ning Qi’an’s head, he said, “Can’t you retract those?”
“These?” Ning Qi’an scratched his ears. “I heard that you humans seem to really like this look, and I thought that would make you more accepting of me.”
Qin Suixi stared for a few seconds. “Retract them. They give me a headache.”
Ning Qi’an: “You got it.”
After finishing a glass of warm water, Qin Suixi sat on the sofa. With a thousand questions in his heart, he asked them one by one: “What kind of creature are you?”
Ning Qi’an: “It’s obvious, I’m a monster (yokai).”
Qin Suixi asked with some difficulty: “In this world… there are still monsters?” Wasn’t it said that after the founding of the nation, nothing was allowed to become a spirit?
Ning Qi’an replied: “Yeah, there are many! In the mountains, in the sea, they are everywhere.”
Qin Suixi looked gloomily at a sparrow on the balcony railing and asked: “Is it a monster too?”
Ning Qi’an took a look. “No. Monsters aren’t everywhere you look.”
Looks like they aren’t everywhere after all. Qin Suixi felt slightly relieved and asked a few more questions about monsters.
“Do you… use magic or anything? Like in the TV shows?”
TV? Ning Qi’an didn’t quite understand, but that didn’t stop him from answering. “I heard that monsters from thousands of years ago could, but most can’t now.” He added, “I can’t either.”
It seems monsters are just like people—which makes sense. If every monster could use magic, he wouldn’t be such a believer in science.
Qin Suixi: “What is your purpose in coming to my house? No, wait—what is your relationship with my father?”
Ning Qi’an pulled out the explanation he had prepared days ago, cleared his throat, and said: “He asked me to help him with something.”
Qin Suixi was confused. “An employment relationship? Then why are you in my house?”
Ning Qi’an didn’t speak; he just stared straight at him.
Qin Suixi realized: “It has something to do with me?”
Ning Qi’an: “Yes.”
“My father…” Qin Suixi weighed his words. “What is your mission?”
Ning Qi’an smiled: “To help you understand the world of monsters.”
Qin Suixi was baffled. “I’m not a monster. Why do I need to understand the monster world? Besides, couldn’t he teach me himself?”
“Sigh,” Ning Qi’an sighed, his eyes full of pity. “It’s a long story.”
Qin Suixi suddenly felt uneasy. “Then keep it short. What exactly is going on?”
“Actually,” Ning Qi’an’s expression turned serious instantly, and Qin Suixi immediately held his breath.
“You are a monster.”
…
People really do laugh for no reason when they are speechless. Qin Suixi supported his forehead. “Forget it if you don’t want to tell me.” His parents were both human; how could they have given birth to a monster?
“It’s true,” Ning Qi’an said. “Your father is a human, but your mother is a black swan.”
Qin Suixi refuted it without a second thought: “How is that possible? In my memories, she has always been a human.”
Ning Qi’an countered: “Do I look like a human or a monster to you right now?”
Qin Suixi paused. Looking only at the exterior, if not for what happened in the bedroom, he would definitely have taken the other party for a human.
“What kind of joke is this? How could my mom be a monster?”
Seeing that he still didn’t believe it, Ning Qi’an offered a friendly reminder: “You can just call your dad and ask him.”
Qin Suixi immediately took out his phone, scrolled to the contact labeled “Dad,” and clicked call, his fingers trembling slightly.
Beep—
The few seconds of ringing felt like centuries. When the call was finally picked up, Qin Suixi suppressed his urgency and asked: “Dad, you…”
Before he could finish, his father interrupted him.
“Awake? Then get to work immediately.”
Qin Suixi: “…Right away, I won’t be late.”
Seeing that his father seemed to have nothing else to say, he asked: “Dad, did you assign a task to the fox?”
Qin Yuan’s voice held a hint of surprise: “You already know? I know what you want to say, but what Qi’an told you is indeed the truth.”
Qin Suixi: “So…”
Qin Yuan: “Yes, so when are you coming to the company?”
Qin Suixi made a pained expression: “In forty minutes.”
Qin Yuan: “Good. Hanging up.”
Vile capitalism, not even sparing his own son.
Hearing their entire conversation, Ning Qi’an felt a bit guilty. He had originally planned to wait until the weekend to let Qin Suixi know all this, but perhaps because he had been diligent in his cultivation lately, he lost control and it leaked out this morning.
He licked his lips and unexpectedly locked eyes with Qin Suixi. He hurriedly stood up and said, “Then hurry up and get ready. We can talk after you get back from work.”
Although Qin Suixi still had many questions, he could only hurry through his morning routine, elegantly and swiftly devouring a sandwich. They didn’t speak the entire time. Before heading out, Qin Suixi looked back and said: “If you’re hungry, the fridge…”
Ning Qi’an pulled out the phone he had already retrieved from under his seat and said: “I can order takeout! Can I borrow a data cable from your room? My phone is dead.”
Qin Suixi froze for a moment, not expecting him to have a phone. “Sure.”
He took a step, then leaned back halfway and asked: “What is your name?”
Ning Qi’an replied syllable by syllable, and worried that Qin Suixi might misunderstand, explained: “The ‘Qi’ (祺) for good fortune.” This was the meaning Sister Duan had told him.
Qin Suixi was stunned again: “That’s quite a coincidence.”
With that, he left.
Ning Qi’an didn’t waste a second, racing to the data cable by the bedside. Seeing the red charging icon light up, he let out a long breath.
Phew—I’m alive.
He couldn’t wait to turn it on, expecting an information overload. Instead, the screen was empty—even the video apps that usually pushed notifications had nothing.
What’s going on?
Ning Qi’an opened them to check. Oh, boy. He had been using mobile data since he didn’t have Wi-Fi connected, and now he had run out of credit and the service was cut off.
Ning Qi’an was filled with annoyance. If he had known, he would have asked Qin Suixi for the Wi-Fi password. He felt ashamed for confidently telling the guy he could “order takeout” when he couldn’t even get online. He didn’t have any cash on him, so going out was useless either.
As if it wasn’t bad enough, his stomach gave a dull, timely growl. Ning Qi’an touched his shrunken stomach and suddenly remembered what Qin Suixi had said before leaving. He scrambled up on all fours and charged toward the fridge.
A blast of cold air hit him, making Ning Qi’an tilt his head. Once he adjusted, he took a close look.
A jar of raspberry jam stood alone, hogging the entire fridge—oh, and a jar of pickled olive vegetables in the corner.
Ning Qi’an: …
Did Qin Suixi expect him to survive on olive vegetables mixed with raspberry jam?
Teary-eyed, Ning Qi’an closed the fridge and sat down weakly, leaning against the back of a chair. Damn it. Looks like a day of fasting.
Ten minutes after Qin Suixi left, Ning Qi’an was already missing him. He was lying on the dining table feeling depressed when he suddenly smelled food. Looking up, he saw a plate across from him. A palm-sized sandwich sat silently on the plate, quietly tempting the fox.
It’s food!
Ning Qi’an grabbed it quickly. As he was about to swallow it in one bite, he hesitated. This sandwich had to cover his breakfast and lunch; he had to be frugal. He split the sandwich in two, finished the morning portion, and stared at a breadcrumb on his finger. He finally understood what Qin Suixi meant by “fridge”—for lunch, he would try that jar of raspberry jam.
“Morning, Young Mr. Qin.” “Good morning, Young Mr. Qin.”
As soon as Qin Suixi arrived at the company, he brushed past the greeting employees and strode straight to his office.
“Dad.”
After pushing the door open, he saw not only Qin Yuan but also Secretary Li. He swallowed all his doubts and restored his usual cold, collected demeanor in the company.
Li Xin caught sight of him. “Good morning, Young Mr. Qin.”
Qin Suixi: “Good morning, Secretary Li.” He gestured toward the door. “I have urgent matters to discuss with my father.”
Li Xin understood and left quietly.
With no outsiders left, Qin Suixi stopped being polite and went straight to the point: “What exactly does the fox’s statement mean?”
Qin Yuan: “Hmm? Didn’t he tell you?”
Qin Suixi: “You were rushing me so much, how would he have time to talk?”
“Already defending him, are we?” Qin Yuan was still in the mood to tease. He raised the folder in his hand and said: “The answers are all in here. Go ahead and look for yourself.”
Qin Suixi walked over. Qin Yuan gave up his seat. Qin Suixi didn’t notice the small gesture, his focus entirely drawn to the paper filled with words inside the folder.
After a long time, Qin Suixi finally understood. His mother really was a black swan monster. What he didn’t expect was that the Yongfeng Hotel his mother opened while she was alive was staffed entirely by monsters.
“Then why tell me only now?” Qin Suixi asked, leaning back in the chair.
“I didn’t intend to tell you at all,” Qin Yuan said. “But the traits of your other bloodline are becoming increasingly obvious. I can no longer hide it from you.”
Qin Suixi: “For example?”
Qin Yuan: “Don’t you have auditory hallucinations? Those are animals talking—more accurately, ordinary birds or monsters in their original forms. Monsters can only communicate with ordinary animals of the same family and other monsters of their own kind, but you have half the blood of a black swan, and this ability is unstable.”
The truth was out. No wonder his dad had said his hallucinations would get better in a few days; it was because of this reason. When he heard those human voices, they were always accompanied by animal sounds—pigeons, sparrows, and… foxes.
“Also,” Qin Yuan pointed to his own eyes, “You’ve had excellent eyesight since you were little, haven’t you?”
“Then…” Qin Suixi was still in a daze. “Am I still human?” Being told he might not be a human was something bizarre Qin Suixi had never anticipated.
Qin Yuan was speechless. “Do you think I am human?”
Qin Suixi had experienced a similar question forty minutes ago. He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Qin Yuan: “…I am.”
Qin Suixi had a sudden realization: “So, I’m a hybrid.”
Qin Yuan was rendered speechless, his eyes twitching as if he wanted to roll them, but his good upbringing stopped him. After a moment, he calmed his mood and spoke as gently as possible: “Qi’an will help you. Don’t be too anxious; you are still you.”
Hearing this, Qin Suixi felt a warmth in his heart. His father might look heartless, but he actually still cared about him as a son.
There were a few more pages under the folder. Qin Suixi turned a page, and the smile that had just begun to form instantly stiffened.
It was work.
When he looked up again, his father’s figure had already disappeared.