After Switching Bodies with My Girlfriend's Rival, Will She Still Love Me?

The damp stone walls of the underground chamber glistened with condensation as Ye Ling adjusted the oil lamp, casting long shadows across the room. Yue Ruier sat bound to a heavy wooden chair, her silk dress torn at the shoulder, revealing pale skin that trembled with each shallow breath. She had stopped struggling an hour ago, after the first hard lesson he had delivered across her cheek.

“You think you can keep secrets from me?” Ye Ling’s voice was soft, almost tender, as he circled behind her. His fingers traced along her jawline, tilting her head back. “We’ve been together for three years, Ruier. I know every lie you tell by the way your left eye twitches.”

Yue Ruier bit her lip, refusing to meet his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The ancient teleportation array beneath the Moon Palace.” Ye Ling’s hand moved to her throat, not squeezing, just resting there, a reminder. “The one that leads straight to the body-tempering pool in Youzhou. I need to use it, and you’re going to tell me how.”

A bitter laugh escaped her throat. “You? Use the royal teleportation array? Do you have any idea who guards it? Only direct descendants of the imperial bloodline or personal aides of the Emperor himself are permitted within ten paces.”

Ye Ling’s eyes narrowed. He released her throat and stepped back, crossing his arms. “Then I’ll become an aide. How do I do that?”

“You can’t.” Yue Ruier spat the words, though her voice wavered. “The guardians have spirit sense. They can see through any disguise, any illusion. They know your spiritual signature the moment you enter the hall.” She paused, a cruel smile twisting her lips. “Unless, of course, you could pass as Princess Yue Qing herself. She uses the array every full moon to visit the body-tempering pool. She’s the only one who comes and goes freely, no questions asked.”

Ye Ling’s mind raced. Princess Yue Qing—the emperor’s youngest daughter. He had seen her once in the royal market, surrounded by maids and guards, her face hidden behind a veil of moon silk. She was known to be arrogant, spoiled, and utterly useless in cultivation, her talent so poor that she required the body-tempering pool’s waters just to maintain a foundation.

“The princess,” Ye Ling repeated slowly. “How often does she go?”

Yue Ruier’s smile widened despite her bonds. “Every three days. She has a special token, a jade medallion that resonates only with her bloodline. Without it, you’d be annihilated the moment you stepped into the array’s formation.”

She watched him pace, enjoying his frustration. “Oh, how the mighty Ye Ling is brought low. You can scheme and fight and kill your way through this kingdom, but the one thing you want most is locked behind blood and magic that you cannot forge.” Her voice dripped with venom. “The only way in is to become her. But you’re a man. A filthy, scheming man. You could never—”

Ye Ling stopped mid-stride, a slow grin spreading across his face. Yue Ruier’s words died in her throat as she saw the predatory gleam in his eyes.

“The Chaos Spirit Pearl,” he said softly.

All color drained from her face. “No. Ye Ling, you wouldn’t. That treasure is locked in the palace vault. Even you can’t just—”

“I already have it.” He reached into his inner robe and withdrew a small, iridescent orb that pulsed with shifting light, colors swirling within like a trapped nebula. “Remember that raid on the caravan three weeks ago? You thought we were after spirit stones. I never told you what I truly took.”

Yue Ruier’s body went rigid. The Chaos Spirit Pearl was legendary—a relic from the age of gods, capable of altering one’s form completely, down to the very soul resonance. It could make a man a woman, a noble a beggar, a demon a saint, with only the user’s true will remaining intact.

“You’ve been planning this.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Even before you captured me, you were planning to impersonate the princess.”

Ye Ling tucked the pearl back into his robe and knelt before her, lifting her chin with one finger. “I love you, Ruier. I do. But love doesn’t stop me from getting what I need.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, a mockery of affection. “Now, tell me everything you know about Princess Yue Qing. Her habits, her mannerisms, her favorite foods, the way she speaks, the way she walks. Everything.”

“And if I refuse?”

Ye Ling’s hand moved to her cheek, stroking it gently before his grip tightened, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Then I’ll find Zhao Wuji. He’s still pining for you, isn’t he? I’ll tell him where you are, let him have his way with you. And when he’s done, I’ll kill him and take his knowledge anyway.”

Yue Ruier’s defiance crumbled. Tears welled in her eyes, not from pain but from the cold realization that the man she had loved was gone, replaced by this relentless stranger wearing his face.

“She wears moon-blue silk,” Yue Ruier began, her voice hollow. “Always moon-blue. She hates green. She stutters when she’s angry. Her maids fear her, but they love her. She never raises her hand to them—she just screams until they cry.”

Ye Ling released her and pulled a brush and parchment from his storage ring. “Good. Continue.”

For the next two hours, Yue Ruier poured out every detail she knew, her voice growing hoarser with each confession. She told him of the princess’s awkward gait, the way she tilted her head when confused, the lisp she had when nervous. She described the layout of her chambers, the names of her favorite servants, the secret passages that led to her private garden.

When she finally fell silent, Ye Ling stood and stretched, rolling his shoulders. “You’ve done well.” He walked to the chamber door, then paused, glancing back. “One more thing. The Chaos Spirit Pearl—how long does the transformation last?”

Yue Ruier’s eyes were empty. “As long as you hold it against your chest and will it so. Remove it, and you revert.” She let out a choked laugh. “I hope you enjoy being a woman, Ye Ling. I hope you enjoy the feel of silk against your skin and the weight of a corset. I hope you enjoy every moment of it, knowing that I am here, bound, remembering every word you made me say.”

Ye Ling only smiled. “I’ll be back for you soon, my love. And when this is over, we’ll laugh about it together.”

He left her in the darkness, the oil lamp flickering as he mounted the stone stairs. Above, the moon was full, casting silver light across the Moon Kingdom’s capital. In three days, Princess Yue Qing would make her journey to Youzhou. And Ye Ling would be there to greet her.

The silk cord bit into Yue Ruier’s wrists as she knelt on the cold stone floor of the hidden chamber. She spat a strand of hair from her lips and glared up at Ye Ling, her amber eyes blazing with a hatred that barely masked the tremor of fear beneath.

“You’re insane,” she hissed. “Even if that cursed pearl can change your shape, you’ll never fool the guards at the ancient teleportation array. Princess Yueqing has attendants who know her every habit—her laugh, her walk, the way she flicks her wrist when she’s bored.”

Ye Ling ignored her. He turned the Chaos Spirit Pearl over in his palm, watching the faint, oily light swirl within its milky surface. The pearl pulsed gently, as though breathing in rhythm with his heartbeat. He had spent three days decoding the inscription carved into the wall of this forgotten shrine. Three days of feeding it fragments of spirit stones and his own blood essence. Now the pearl hummed with readiness, hungry for a template.

“I don’t need to fool her attendants for long,” Ye Ling said calmly. “I just need to walk through that gate, reach the body-tempering pool in Youzhou, and activate the second seal. Everything else is noise.”

He glanced at Yue Ruier. Her robes were torn at the shoulder where he had grabbed her, revealing a sliver of pale skin. She was beautiful, he admitted—sharp-featured and sly, like a fox caught in a snare but still planning its escape. That very sharpness made her the perfect template. Princess Yueqing was frail, naive, easily overlooked. But Yue Ruier? She had presence. And Ye Ling intended to borrow every bit of it.

“Stop squirming,” he said, crossing the room to stand before her. “This won’t hurt. Much.”

Yue Ruier’s eyes widened. “You’re not—you’re going to use *me*? You want to become *me*?”

“I want to become a face that can move freely through the Moon Kingdom’s restricted corridors. Yours will do nicely for the first trial.”

He pressed the Chaos Spirit Pearl against her forehead before she could protest further. A flash of silver light rippled across her features, and Yue Ruier gasped, her body going rigid as the pearl drank in the exact contour of her bone structure, the curve of her lips, the shade of her hair. It took less than three breaths. When Ye Ling pulled the pearl away, she slumped forward, dazed and trembling.

He ignored her. This was the moment.

Ye Ling sat cross-legged on the stone dais at the center of the chamber. He placed the pearl on his own forehead, closed his eyes, and pushed his spiritual energy into the artifact. The pearl flared. A searing wave of heat rushed from his brow down through his chest, his limbs, his very marrow. He felt his bones begin to shift—not break, but *bend* like heated iron under a hammer.

A groan escaped his lips. It was not pain, exactly, but a profound wrongness, as though his skeleton were a coat being turned inside out. His shoulders narrowed, the broad span of his back compressing into a slimmer frame. His height shrank by several inches, and his jaw softened, the hard line of his chin rounding into a delicate point. He felt his throat tighten, the cartilage of his Adam’s apple receding until his voice box sat higher, smaller.

Then came the swelling.

His chest warmed, then burned, as soft tissue pushed outward from his sternum. He gasped, his hands flying to his new breasts—full, heavy, utterly foreign. They were perfect. Firm but with a yielding softness that made his fingers tremble. He traced the curve of them, disbelief warring with a strange, dawning thrill.

His waist cinched. His hips flared. The muscles of his thighs shifted, becoming smoother, more tapered. Even the hair on his arms seemed to retract, leaving behind only the faintest down.

The pearl dimmed. Ye Ling opened his eyes.

He raised his hands in front of his face. Slender fingers, long nails tipped with a natural pink sheen. He turned them over, marveling at the delicate veins beneath the translucent skin. Then he stood, feeling the unfamiliar weight of his new body, the way his center of gravity had dropped and shifted. His robes hung loose on his smaller frame.

He walked to the polished brass mirror fixed to the wall.

Yue Ruier’s face stared back at him.

Every detail was exact: the slight arch of the left eyebrow, the mole at the corner of her mouth, the way her hair fell in waves just past her collarbone. He smiled, and the reflection smiled back—sharp, knowing, a fox’s grin.

“Impossible,” Yue Ruier whispered from behind him. She had dragged herself upright, gripping the edge of a low table. Her voice cracked. “That’s *me*. That’s my face. You… you stole it.”

Ye Ling ran a hand through his hair—her hair—and laughed. The sound came out high and melodic, utterly unlike his own voice. He liked it.

“I didn’t steal it, Rui’er,” he said, turning to face her. He watched her flinch as his new voice wrapped around her name. “I borrowed it. And I intend to use it very, very well.”

He stepped closer, savoring the way she shrank back. In this body, he was shorter than her, slighter. But the fear in her eyes had nothing to do with physical size.

“Princess Yueqing will be at the teleportation array at sundown,” he continued, adjusting the collar of his robe. “And I will be there to greet her. With your face, your walk, your voice—she won’t suspect a thing.”

Yue Ruier’s hands curled into fists. “When this is over, I’ll kill you myself.”

Ye Ling tilted his head, amused. Then he reached out and cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze—her own gaze, reflected back at her from stolen eyes.

“You won’t,” he said softly. “Because by the time I’m done, you won’t know where you end and I begin.”

He released her, turned, and walked toward the chamber door, his hips swaying in a rhythm he had never learned but now inhabited as though it had always been his. The Chaos Spirit Pearl grew warm against his chest, satisfied.

The first transformation was complete. And it felt magnificent.

The silver light from the ancient teleportation array faded, leaving Ye Ling standing alone in the center of the stone chamber. The air still hummed with residual energy, crackling against his skin like static. He flexed his fingers—slender, pale, with nails painted a delicate pink. Not his hands. Yue Ruier's hands.

He lifted them to his face, turning them over. The veins were faint beneath the smooth skin, the knuckles soft and unmarred by calluses. A mocking laugh escaped his throat, but the sound that came out was not his own. It was higher, silkier, with a breathless quality that made his spine tingle.

"So this is what it feels like," he murmured, and the voice echoed strangely in his ears. He pressed his palms to his cheeks. The bone structure was different—smaller jaw, higher cheekbones, lips fuller than he remembered his own being. He traced the curve of his mouth with a fingertip, then ran his tongue along his teeth. Everything fit together wrong and right at the same time.

He looked down. The dress Yue Ruier had been wearing—a flowing gown of moon-white silk—hung loosely on him, but the fabric clung to curves that were not his. His breath caught. He reached up with both hands and cupped his chest.

The sensation hit him like a wave of fire. Soft, yielding, but firm. The nipples pressed against his palms, and a jolt of pleasure shot through his nerves, making his knees buckle. He gasped, steadying himself against the stone pillar beside the array. His heart pounded. He squeezed again, experimentally, and a moan escaped his lips—Yue Ruier's lips, but his own desire.

"Gods," he whispered, and the word came out ragged. His fingers moved on their own, kneading the flesh, exploring the weight and give of it. Every touch sent shivers down his spine, pooling heat in his lower belly. The dress slipped from one shoulder, exposing pale skin, and he watched his own hand—her hand—slide down to trace the collarbone, the dip between breasts, the soft curve of the waist.

The pleasure was intoxicating. He had never felt anything like it. His own male body had its sensitivities, but this was different—more diffuse, more consuming. It spread outward from every point of contact, wrapping him in a haze of sensation. He closed his eyes and let himself sink into it, pressing his thighs together as a throb of warmth built low.

Then his hand drifted lower.

He reached down, past the sash of the dress, fingers brushing the flat plane of his belly. The fabric rustled. His breath came faster. He pushed his hand between his legs, expecting the familiar weight, the hardness—

Nothing.

Only smooth, soft skin. A delicate cleft. A void where his manhood should have been.

His eyes snapped open. Panic seized him. He shoved his hand harder against the spot, fingers pressing, searching, but there was nothing there. No shaft, no balls, no trace of the organ that had defined him for twenty-three years. Just empty, feminine flesh.

"No." The word came out as a strangled whisper. He ripped the dress up, staring down at the body that was not his. The pubic mound was bare, the lips neatly trimmed, the entire area delicate and alien. He touched it again, and a jolt of unfamiliar sensation made him flinch. It was sensitive, but not in the way he knew. There was no anchor, no familiar handle.

He scrambled to the bronze mirror mounted on the chamber wall. The reflection that stared back was Yue Ruier, perfect and infuriating. Her eyes—his eyes now—were wide with horror. He opened his mouth to scream, but the sound died in his throat.

"I can't go back like this." His voice trembled. "I can't—"

He thought of his plan. He had come here to use the array, to transform into Princess Yueqing's likeness and steal her access to the body-tempering pool. But this was temporary. The array was designed for short-term possession. He had studied the inscriptions. A simple inversion of the energy flow would revert him.

He forced his breathing to slow. The panic receded, replaced by the cold calculation that had kept him alive through a hundred schemes in the Moon Kingdom's royal city. He closed his eyes and reached inside himself, feeling the foreign energy that now permeated his meridians. It was flowing, alive, waiting for his command.

He reversed the circulation. The world lurched. For a sickening moment, his flesh seemed to melt and reform—his bones cracked, his muscles rippled, his skin tightened. He fell to his knees, gasping as the weight of his own body returned. He looked down. His hands were thick again, his chest flat, his crotch occupied by the familiar bulge.

He laughed, a rough, male laugh. "Still there, old friend."

He stood, wobbling slightly, and examined his reflection. He was himself again. The clothes were torn from the sudden expansion, but his identity was intact. The power of the transformation sang in his blood, promising that he could do it again—and again.

He stroked his chin, a grin spreading across his face. The pleasure he had felt in that female form lingered in his memory, a tantalizing ghost. He had come here to use the array for a specific purpose, but now he realized it was a tool far more versatile than he had imagined.

And the Princess Yueqing would need to use the pool tonight. The guards had mentioned it. She would come here, alone, with her attendants waiting outside.

Ye Ling stepped out of the chamber, his mind already spinning with new plans.

The silk of the bedchamber clung to my skin like a second layer of flesh, cool and treacherous against the heat that had been building since I first laid hands on this cursed form. The ancient mirror across the room reflected a stranger—no, not a stranger anymore. She was becoming familiar, too familiar. Yue Ruier's face stared back, but the eyes were mine, hungry and calculating.

I pressed my palm flat against my chest, feeling the soft mound beneath the fabric. My breath hitched. The sensation was different from before, more acute, as if every nerve ending had been sharpened to a fine point. My fingers traced downward, over the curve of my waist, the dip of my hip, until they hesitated at the apex of my thighs. The body remembered what the mind was still learning.

*Just exploration*, I told myself. *Knowledge is power. Understand the vessel, and you can control it.*

But my hand moved of its own accord, sliding beneath the hem of the robe. The moment my fingers brushed against that forbidden place, a bolt of lightning shot through my core, arcing up my spine and cracking open something primal in my skull. My knees buckled. I caught myself against the carved bedpost, gasping.

"Fuck," I whispered, the word trembling on lips that weren't mine.

The pleasure was not like anything I had known as a man. Where male climax built like a pressure cooker, linear and predictable, this was a storm. Electricity danced along my nerves, sparking and pooling in places I had never known existed. My fingers pressed deeper, exploring folds and ridges that responded with shocks of raw sensation. A moan escaped my throat—high, melodic, utterly foreign.

I tried to stop. I really did. But my body had its own agenda now. My hips rocked against my hand, seeking more friction, more of that devastating contact. The robe fell open, baring pale skin flushed pink with arousal. In the mirror, Yue Ruier's face was a mask of ecstasy, lips parted, eyes half-lidded and glazed.

*This is just data*, I lied to myself even as my fingers circled faster. *Understand the pleasure, and you can weaponize it.*

But there was no weaponizing this. This was surrender.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, legs spread, my other hand clawing at the sheets. The room swam. Every touch sent cascading waves through my abdomen, my thighs, my breasts. I bit my lip to stifle another moan, but it leaked out anyway, followed by a sound so wanton it made my ears burn.

The pressure built, coiling tighter and tighter in my gut. My hand moved frantically now, driven by instinct I had never possessed. The coil snapped. I cried out—a broken, desperate sound—as the climax tore through me. My back arched off the bed, every muscle seizing, vision going white at the edges. The pleasure was a tide that swept away thought, identity, purpose. For a long, suspended moment, there was only sensation.

Then I collapsed, trembling, soaked in sweat, gasping for air.

I lay there, staring at the canopy above, my hand still pressed between my legs. The aftershocks rippled through me in diminishing waves, each one a reminder of what I had just experienced. My heart hammered against my ribs, and my mind—that calculating, scheming mind—was silent.

*No man could ever understand this*, I thought. *No man could feel this and remain the same.*

I sat up slowly, looking at my reflection. Yue Ruier's face was flushed, hair disheveled, lips swollen. But beneath that, I saw something else. The hunger in my eyes had shifted. It was still there, but now it was divided. Part of me still craved the teleportation array, still schemed to return to my own body and claim my prize. But another part—a growing, insidious part—wanted to stay. Wanted to feel that again. Wanted to explore every corner of this treacherous new existence.

I laughed, a bitter, broken sound. "What am I becoming?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered. My fingers twitched, remembering the sensation. My core ached with a dull, satisfied throb. And somewhere in the depths of my soul, a foundation cracked.

I had come here to conquer. But pleasure, it seemed, was a more patient conqueror than I. And it was winning.

Ye Ling stood at the edge of the Moon Kingdom’s outer courtyard, the ring on his finger glowing with a faint blue light. He had worn it for days now, a gift from Yue Ruier—or rather, a trophy he’d coerced from her after she’d spilled every secret of the royal palace. The ring was key to the small teleportation array hidden beneath the flagstones, a relic that could shunt a single person across the continent in a heartbeat. He needed to go back to Luozhou City. The memory-reading technique he’d heard about in the taverns—some ancient art practiced by a reclusive scholar—was exactly what he needed to perfect his disguise. If he could read others’ memories, he could mimic anyone, not just Yue Ruier’s face and voice, but her very thoughts.

He didn’t bother to change clothes. The tunic and trousers he’d stolen from a guard in the palace were coarse men’s garments, stained with sweat and dust from his journey. They hung awkwardly on his new body—Yue Ruier’s body—the fabric bagging at the shoulders and cinching uncomfortably at the hips. But he had no time. Every moment he delayed was a moment Yue Ruier’s original mind might find a way to reclaim control. Or worse, that the real Yue Ruier—wherever Yue Ruier’s soul now wandered, trapped in his old male frame—might expose him.

He pressed the ring against a worn notch in the stone. The array hummed, a circle of runes flaring to life beneath his feet. A flash of white light swallowed him.

When the glare faded, he stood in the middle of a bustling street in Luozhou City. The air smelled of roasted chestnuts and horse dung. Merchants hawked fabrics and trinkets from wooden stalls, and children dodged between carts. The afternoon sun beat down, and Ye Ling blinked, orienting himself. The teleportation had dropped him at the main thoroughfare, near the old market square. He recognized the crooked sign of the Drunken Crane Tavern two blocks ahead.

He took a step, then stopped. A woman selling bamboo baskets glanced at him, her eyes widening. She elbowed her neighbor, a stout man in a leather apron. “Look at that,” she whispered, not quietly enough. “That lady—she’s wearing men’s clothes.”

The man squinted. “Lady? That’s a man with a woman’s face, if you ask me. Look at the shoulders. And the trousers—those are workman’s breeches.”

More heads turned. A group of young apprentices stopped their arguing and stared openly. One of them, a freckled boy of about sixteen, pointed. “She’s got a woman’s figure, but those clothes are all wrong. Are they… too big for her?”

Ye Ling felt a hot flush creep up his neck. He pulled the collar of the tunic tighter, but the cloth only bunched awkwardly. The clothes were Ye Ling’s old clothes—the ones he’d been wearing when he first transmigrated into this world. They were meant for a man’s frame: broad shoulders, flat chest, long limbs. On Yue Ruier’s slender, curvaceous body, they looked like a child playing dress-up in her father’s wardrobe. The sleeves hung past his wrists, and the waistband of the trousers was cinched so tight it pressed against his midsection, accentuating the swell of his hips.

“Mismatched,” a voice said from behind him. He turned to see a well-dressed matron fanning herself with a silk cloth. “A woman of her… appearance should wear proper gowns. What is she thinking? Is she a beggar?”

Beggars—half-naked children and toothless men—sat in the gutter nearby, watching him with expressions of dull curiosity. Ye Ling clenched his fists. The urge to snap back, to curse them all, surged in his throat. But he bit it down. He was Yue Ruier now. Yue Ruier was a princess of the Moon Kingdom, haughty and cruel, but also graceful. If he screamed in the street, he’d attract more attention. Attention he didn’t need.

He forced a smile—Yue Ruier’s practiced, cold smile—and walked forward with as much dignity as he could muster. The tunic flapped against his thighs. The trousers chafed. Every step drew another whisper, another sidelong glance. A fruit vendor called out, “Hey, miss! You lose your dress in a bet?” His cronies laughed.

Ye Ling’s jaw tightened. He imagined grabbing the vendor by the throat and slamming his head into the cart until his skull cracked. But he couldn’t. Not in this body. Not with these hands that were so small, so delicate, that they could barely hold a sword straight.

He ducked into an alley, pressing his back against the damp stone wall. His heart hammered. *This is what I wanted,* he told himself. *This is the price of control.* He needed the memory-reading technique. He needed to become untraceable. Once he could read minds and pluck out secrets as easily as picking fruit, he would never have to feel this helpless again.

He adjusted the tunic, trying to tuck the fabric into the trousers so it looked less like a sack. It didn’t help. The clothes were still men’s clothes, and his body was still undeniably female. He would have to buy new garments. But first, he needed to find the scholar who practiced the memory art—an old man named Xu Wu, rumored to live in the eastern quarter near the Temple of Glass.

Ye Ling stepped back onto the main street, now moving with more purpose. He ignored the stares. He ignored the laughter. He kept his eyes fixed ahead, toward the gilded spire of the temple, and walked.

But as he passed the Drunken Crane Tavern, a familiar figure stepped out. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a sneer that curled his lips into a permanent smirk. Zhao Wuji. Ye Ling’s old enemy. The man who had once threatened to cut out Ye Ling’s tongue for speaking to Yue Ruier at a banquet.

Zhao Wuji’s eyes landed on him. He blinked. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face. “Well, well,” he said, stepping into Ye Ling’s path. “If it isn’t the little fairy from the Moon Kingdom. And she’s wearing… what is that, a stable boy’s castoffs?”

Ye Ling’s stomach dropped. He had forgotten that Zhao Wuji frequented Luozhou. He had forgotten everything in his rush to return.

Zhao Wuji reached out and pinched the rough fabric of the tunic between two fingers. “You look like a street rat,” he said, his voice dripping with false pity. “What happened, dear lady? Lose your finery? Or did someone finally see through that pretty mask and toss you out?”

Ye Ling forced Yue Ruier’s practiced laugh—light, dismissive. “I was in a hurry. My baggage was lost.” His voice came out smooth, melodic, exactly like hers.

Zhao Wuji’s grin widened. He leaned closer, and Ye Ling caught the smell of wine and expensive perfume. “Then allow me to accompany you while you find new clothes. It wouldn’t do for a lady of your… reputation to be seen like this. People might talk.”

His hand brushed Ye Ling’s arm. Ye Ling’s skin crawled, but he didn’t pull away. He needed to reach the temple. He needed Xu Wu. And Zhao Wuji could become a problem—or a tool. Yue Ruier’s body was a weapon. He had learned that in the palace. One coy glance, one soft word, and men would throw themselves at her feet.

He tilted his head, letting a strand of black hair fall across his cheek. “Perhaps I would be grateful for a guide,” he said, his voice soft. “This city is so large, and I am so small.”

Zhao Wuji’s eyes glinted. He offered his arm. Ye Ling took it, feeling the coarse linen of his own men’s sleeve brush against Zhao Wuji’s silk robe. The street continued to stare, whispers trailing behind them like a wake.

*Just a little longer,* Ye Ling thought. *Just until I learn to read your mind, Zhao Wuji. Then I’ll know exactly how to make you disappear.*

The morning sun cast a bright sheen over the jade-tiled streets of the Moon Kingdom's royal city. Ye Ling—wearing Yue Ruier's face, her curves, her scent—wandered through the bustling market district with a calculated lightness in his step. Every sway of his hips drew glances, and he found himself savoring the attention more than he cared to admit. The silk of the dress he had borrowed from Yue Ruier's wardrobe rustled against his thighs, a constant reminder of the body he now inhabited.

A delicate hand touched his elbow. He turned, instincts flaring, and found a woman perhaps ten years his senior smiling at him. She was willowy, dressed in robes of shifting lavender that caught the light like water rippling over stone. Her eyes were warm but sharp, the eyes of a merchant who knew exactly whom she was dealing with.

"Miss Yue," the woman said, her voice like honey poured over glass. "I have been searching for you. The celestial robes from the Cloud Loom Pavilion have arrived, and I thought of no one else who could do them justice."

Ye Ling's mind raced. He had never been to this shop, never met this woman, but she knew Yue Ruier by name. Good. That meant his disguise held. He offered a smile that was all Yue Ruier's practiced charm. "You flatter me. I hadn't heard of any new arrivals."

"The Pavilion master wove them personally, Miss Yue. Thirteen pieces, each one a work of art. They would complement your beauty perfectly." The woman gestured down a side alley lined with hanging lanterns. "Please, allow me to show you. It will take only a moment."

Ye Ling hesitated. He had a mission here—to gather information about the ancient teleportation array, not to shop for clothes. But the woman's enthusiasm was infectious, and more importantly, a well-dressed noblewoman attracted less suspicion. He nodded, letting himself be led.

The shop was tucked away behind a waterfall of silk curtains. Inside, the air smelled of sandalwood and fresh dye. Racks upon racks of garments hung like frozen rainbows, but the woman guided him past them all to a private room at the back. There, displayed on lacquered stands, were the celestial robes.

They were beautiful beyond anything Ye Ling had seen in this world. One robe shimmered with the pattern of a crescent moon, its fabric appearing to hold actual starlight within the weave. Another flowed like liquid silver, barely touching the ground, as if gravity refused to claim it. A third was the color of a twilight sky, embroidered with phoenix feathers that seemed to move when he blinked.

"Thirteen robes," the woman said softly, "each imbued with a minor protective array. They will resist dirt, mend small tears, and keep you cool in summer, warm in winter. And of course, they will make every eye turn to you."

Ye Ling touched the sleeve of the phoenix robe. The fabric was impossibly smooth, cool against Yue Ruier's sensitive fingers. A thrill ran through him—not just at the quality, but at the thought of wearing these exquisite things. He imagined the envy on the faces of the other noblewomen, the hunger in the eyes of men like Zhao Wuji. He imagined Yue Ruier's own eyes widening when she saw what he had become.

"How much?" he asked, his voice steady.

The woman named a price: one hundred thousand high-grade spirit stones.

Ye Ling's heart seized. That was a fortune, enough to buy a small estate. He had that much in the storage ring Yue Ruier had been forced to hand over, but spending it on dresses felt reckless. And yet, the robes called to him. More than that, they called to the body he wore. He could feel a strange resonance, as if Yue Ruier's own vanity were whispering in his ear, urging him to claim them.

"Thirteen robes," he repeated. "One hundred thousand spirit stones."

"For the entire set, Miss Yue. I would not part with them individually for any price."

Ye Ling thought of the teleportation array, the body-tempering pool in Youzhou, the power he sought. He thought of Yue Ruier waiting in that underground room, bound by his threats. He could always squeeze more spirit stones out of her later. But these robes—they were here, now, tangible.

"Done," he said.

The woman's smile widened. She produced a jade slip for the transaction, and Ye Ling transferred the spirit stones with a flick of his fingers. The loss stung, but the anticipation of what he was about to receive dulled the pain.

"Now," the woman said, clapping her hands, "let me help you into the first one. The twilight phoenix, I think. It will suit your complexion."

Ye Ling stood still as the woman undressed him with practiced efficiency. Yue Ruier's body was bared to the cool air, and he felt a flash of vulnerability—and excitement. The woman's hands were impersonal, professional, yet the touch sent shivers across his skin. She slid the celestial robe over his shoulders, fastening it at the waist with a belt of woven moonbeams. The fabric settled against him like a second skin, weightless and warm.

Then the woman produced a small case of cosmetics. "A proper lady must have her face as polished as her garments," she said, already reaching for a brush.

Ye Ling opened his mouth to refuse, but the words died. He sat down in the offered chair, watching in the silver mirror as the woman worked. Rouge on the cheeks, a delicate application of kohl around the eyes, a touch of vermilion on the lips. Each stroke transformed him further, until the face staring back was no longer Ye Ling in disguise, but Yue Ruier in flawless, radiant perfection.

He barely recognized himself.

The woman stepped back, admiring her work. "You are the most beautiful woman in the Moon Kingdom, Miss Yue."

Ye Ling rose and approached the full-length mirror at the end of the room. The robe draped elegantly, the phoenix feathers glinting with every breath. His hair—Yue Ruier's hair—had been gathered into a loose updo, showing off the delicate curve of his neck. The cosmetics had softened his features, made the eyes larger, the lips fuller. He looked like a painting come to life.

His hand rose to touch his own cheek. The skin was warm. The reflection moved with him, identical in every way.

A storm of emotions churned in his chest. Triumph, for he had perfectly embodied Yue Ruier and no one suspected a thing. Greed, for he wanted more of these robes, more of this beauty. And beneath it all, a creeping unease—a sense that the line between himself and the woman in the mirror was beginning to blur. Who was he, really? The cunning man from another world, or the seductive woman who now stared back at him with Yue Ruier's eyes?

He forced a smile. The reflection smiled back, perfect and empty.

"Thank you," he said, his voice a whisper. "I will take them all."

The market square of Moon Kingdom’s royal city sprawled beneath a canopy of faded awnings and flapping canvas. Stalls lined the cobblestones in crooked rows, vendors hawking everything from dried serpent tongues to cracked jade talismans. Ye Ling—wearing Yue Ruier’s lithe, curvaceous body—moved through the crowd with practiced ease, his borrowed hips swaying just enough to draw glances. He had wrapped a plain gray cloak over the silks Yue Ruier favored, but the outline of her figure still turned heads.

He was hunting for memory techniques. Something to sharpen his mind, to hold the chaotic threads of this world and the next without slipping. The apothecary shops offered elixirs for mental clarity—overpriced swill, most of it—and the talisman sellers peddled inscribed stones that promised to “anchor the soul.” Ye Ling had tried two already. They had given him a headache and nothing more.

Near the western edge of the market, where the stalls grew sparse and the patrons more ragged, an old man sat on an overturned crate. His book stall was barely a board balanced on two stacks of bricks, but he had a dozen volumes arranged with care. Their covers were worn leather, spines cracked, titles rubbed away by time. Ye Ling’s eyes narrowed. He approached.

“Looking for something specific, lass?” The old man’s voice was a rasp, his smile gap-toothed. “Or just browsing?”

“Memory arts,” Ye Ling said, keeping his tone light. “Techniques for recall. Mnemonic diagrams. Anything useful.”

The old man’s eyebrows rose. He stroked his wispy beard and let his gaze wander over Ye Ling’s figure—the curve of hip beneath the cloak, the delicate line of jaw. Ye Ling didn’t shrink from it. Instead, he tilted his head, letting a strand of Yue Ruier’s black hair fall across his cheek.

“Young lady,” the old man said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial hush, “you don’t need memory arts for what I have. These are treasures of a different kind.” He reached under the board and pulled out a book bound in crimson silk, its title gilded in fading gold: *Thirty-Six Forms of Spring Palace*.

Ye Ling blinked. Then laughed. It came out as a silvery trill, Yue Ruier’s voice carrying a note of genuine amusement.

“You think I came here for *that*?”

The old man winked. “A pretty young thing like you, asking about memory arts? You want to remember your lovers, not your lessons. This one’s my personal favorite—Form Twelve, ‘The Jade Butterfly’s Sigh.’ Guaranteed to leave any partner breathless. I’ve used it myself.” He patted his bony chest. “Back in the day.”

Ye Ling’s smile sharpened. He picked up the book, flipping through its pages. The illustrations were explicit, yes, but there was something else. The captions beneath the drawings were written in a dense, archaic script—not just directions for postures, but diagrams of energy flow. Meridian lines. Breath control. The intersection of pleasure and cultivation.

His fingers paused on Form Seven: “The Serpent Coils the Pillar.” The caption described a technique for cycling internal energy during intimacy, reversing the flow to strengthen the lower dantian. If adapted… if he could use this to reinforce his soul’s grip on this body…

“How much?” Ye Ling asked.

The old man’s grin widened. “Five silver taels for you, sweetheart. Because you’ve got good taste.”

Ye Ling didn’t haggle. He dropped the coins into the old man’s palm, tucked the book into his cloak, and walked away. Behind him, the old man chuckled and called out, “Come back when you’ve mastered Form Twelve! I’ll sell you the sequel!”

Ye Ling didn’t answer. His mind was already racing, turning over the diagrams, the meridian paths, the possibilities. He hadn’t found a memory technique. But he had found something else—something that might let him twist this body’s pleasure into power. And power, in this world, was worth more than any trick of recollection.

He would keep hunting for memory arts tomorrow. Tonight, he had homework.

Ye Ling sat cross-legged on the worn wooden floor of the old man’s cramped shop, the scent of herbs and old parchment thick in the air. The shop was a labyrinth of dusty shelves, crammed with scrolls, bronze mirrors, and strange talismans that hummed with faint energy. He had come here after hours of fruitless searching through the Moon Kingdom’s royal archives, frustrated by his own ignorance. The ancient teleportation array demanded more than brute force—it required memory, the precise recollection of symbols and sequences that had been lost for centuries.

The old man behind the counter was a wizened figure, his face a roadmap of wrinkles and his eyes clouded with age but sharp as needles. He had introduced himself as Master Feng, a relic of a forgotten era who traded in secrets. Ye Ling had already paid him a small fortune for maps of the Youzhou tunnels, but now he needed something far rarer.

“Is there a technique that allows one to read or write memories?” Ye Ling asked, keeping his voice low. He was still unaccustomed to the silken timbre of Yue Ruier’s throat, but he had learned to use it—soft and persuasive, with a hint of imperial haughtiness that made even old men hesitate.

Master Feng’s hands paused over the array of trinkets he was polishing. His milky eyes fixed on Ye Ling with unsettling precision. “Memories are the currency of souls, young lady. You ask to forge them like copper coins?”

“I ask if it’s possible,” Ye Ling said, leaning forward. His fingers toyed with the jade hairpin in his bun—a gift from Yue Ruier, though she didn’t know he had stolen it from her vanity. “I need to inscribe information into a person’s mind. To make them remember what they never saw.”

The old man was silent for a long moment. Then he shuffled to the back of the shop, his robes dragging through dust. Ye Ling heard the scrape of a hidden latch, the groan of a false panel. When Master Feng returned, he held a jade slip that glowed with the pale light of a dying fire.

“This is the Soul Search Technique,” the old man said, laying it on the counter with reverence. “Lost for three generations. It is not a technique for reading or writing memories in the common sense. It is a key to the vault of the mind itself. With it, you can pluck the threads of recollection from another’s soul and weave them anew—or tear them out entirely.”

Ye Ling’s breath caught. His heart pounded against his ribs, and for a moment he forgot the weight of his borrowed breasts, the drag of silk against his thighs. This was it. The tool that would let him rewrite Yue Ruier’s loyalty, that would let him plant false memories in Princess Yueqing’s foolish head. He could make them love him, obey him, forget they had ever doubted him.

“How much?” Ye Ling asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Master Feng smiled, a grim crescent in his weathered face. “The price is not in gold, young lady. The Soul Search Technique demands a sacrifice of the self. To learn it, you must offer one year of your own life essence—drained into this slip. And you must also give me the memory of your first kiss. The purest memory you possess.”

Ye Ling’s eyes widened. His first kiss? That was with Yue Ruier, on a moonlit balcony in the royal city, when she had tasted of wine and jasmine. It was one of the few memories he cherished, a piece of his old life that he clung to like a talisman. But what was a memory compared to power? He was already losing himself in this female body, day by day. What was one more sacrifice?

He nodded. “Done.”

Master Feng placed the jade slip into Ye Ling’s palm. The stone was cold, almost painful, and a faint hum traveled up his arm. “Press your forehead against it. Focus on the moment of that kiss. Let it flow from you into the slip.”

Ye Ling closed his eyes. The image came easily: Yue Ruier’s lips, soft and hesitant at first, then hungry. The scent of her perfume. The feel of her waist under his hands—his hands, then, strong and calloused. The memory burned bright and sweet. He felt it drain from him like water through a sieve, leaving a hollow ache behind.

When he opened his eyes, the jade slip pulsed with a warm light. Master Feng took it back and tucked it into his robe. “The technique is now yours. Study the slip tonight. Burn it after you have learned the incantations. And remember, young lady: the soul has its own defenses. Use this power carelessly, and you may lose your own mind in the process.”

Ye Ling paid him the gold he had demanded—one hundred heavy coins from Yue Ruier’s stash—and left the shop with the jade slip hidden in his sleeve. The street outside was dark, lit only by lanterns swaying in the wind. He felt a strange lightness in his chest, an absence where the memory of that kiss had been. It troubled him, but he pushed the thought aside.

Power was worth any price. And soon, he would hold the minds of everyone around him in the palm of his delicate hand.