Lu Zhen's scream didn't just echo.
It exploded.
Walls trembled. The ceiling fan wobbled like it was reconsidering its life. A pink teddy bear fell off a shelf in pure self-defense.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
He screamed so long that his lungs filed an official complaint. He had to pause mid-shriek just to inhale—which only made it worse, because the moment he sucked in air…
Something touched.
Something wasn't there.
His hand slid downward—hesitant… trembling… praying. And then—
Silence.
A dangerous, heart-stopping, world-ending silence.
Followed by the most tragic wail ever produced by mankind:
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"
He grabbed his head. "I—I—I HAVE LOST MY PRECIOUS DI—DI—DI—DI—!!!"
His voice cracked like a teenage boy hitting puberty again. "MY DIGNITY STICK—MY MASCULINITY POLE—MY PROUD FAMILY HEIRLOOM—GONE!!!"
He collapsed to his knees dramatically—well, as dramatically as someone with new tiny legs could manage.
"My brother in arms… my loyal soldier… my best weapon… my—my— buddy…!" He clasped his invisible pearls. "Who would do such cruelty?! Who?!"
He looked up toward the ceiling as if demanding answers from the gods.
"LIFE!!! LIFE, YOU SICK TWISTED BEAST!! IS TAKING MY LIFE NOT ENOUGH?! YOU HAD TO TAKE MY—MY—TREASURE TOO?!!!"
He flopped onto the floor like a sad pancake.
He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, questioning every decision he'd made since birth. Slowly… painfully… he tilted his head to look at the mirror again.
The girl looked back.
The very pretty, soft, delicate girl.
"Am I a girl now?" he whispered. "A WHOLE girl. A SOFT girl. A PRETTY girl."
He slapped the hardwood floor in pure despair.
PAK! PAK! PAK!
"I was a gangster!! A terror!! A legend!! People FEARED me!! NOW—NOW—EVEN KIDS WILL TRY TO PET ME!!"
His voice cracked at the end like a breaking whistle.
And then—
BANG!!!!
The door flew open so hard it banged against the wall. Lu Zhen flinched and looked up.
Standing in the doorway was a woman in her mid-40s. Apron. Messy bun. A frying pan gripped like a +12 enchanted weapon.
Her aura said: loving mother, but her eyes said: I can and will kill a demon if needed.
Lu Zhen froze mid-sobs. The woman froze mid-pan-swing.
Both stared like two NPCs whose AI scripts were colliding.
Lu Zhen: half-lying on the floor, hair like a bird's nest, wearing pink rabbit-print pajamas, clutching his chest like he'd discovered downloadable organs.
The woman: trembling, eyes watering, face pale—not fear, but exhaustion, relief, and worry all tangled together. She wasn't angry… she looked like she hadn't slept in days.
Her eyes fell on the bandages around "his" wrist.
Her hand shook. Then she took a deep breath, her voice trembling at the edges, soft and too calm:
"…Qiao Ning, sweetheart… come out for breakfast." Her eyes lingered on the bandages again, jaw tightening. "Your father is waiting."
Before Lu Zhen could even inhale to say, "WHO IS QIAO NING?!", she turned around—
SLAM!
Door closed.
The frying pan war goddess vanished.
Leaving Lu Zhen—now apparently Qiao Ning—sitting on the floor, confused, gender-swapped, and starving.
Lu Zhen mumbled to himself, voice cracking like a broken flute, "…Alright… let's have breakfast… and cry again…"
He sat there on the floor for a full five seconds, mentally scheduling his emotional breakdown between meals.
Then—very carefully—he tried to stand up.
Tried.
His center of gravity, however, had recently been… rearranged.
He tilted forward.
He tilted backward.
Something jiggled.
"…This women body is unstable," he hissed.
Finally, with the determination of a man climbing out of a grave, he pushed himself up and— FWOMP!!
His own hair—long, silky, traitorous—whipped into his face like an angry curtain.
"PTFH—!!" He spat. "Why is there so much hair?! Do girls see ANYTHING?!"
He stumbled toward the door, legs wobbling like a newborn foal learning to walk. Halfway there, he froze.
Because taped to the wall beside the door…was a photo.
A girl. This girl. The current body he was occupying.
QIAO NING.
She looked tired, pale, and way too soft for the criminal world. Her smile was small.Her eyes were gentle.
Under the photo, in pretty handwriting, was a sticky note:
"Ning Ning, remember to take your medicine.—Mom"
Lu Zhen stared at it.
He shuffled out of the bedroom, feet dragging like a student being forced to attend Monday classes. As he stepped into the small dining area, he paused.
Three people sat at a modest wooden table.
A man in his mid-40s, tired eyes, stiff posture—Qiao Jian, the father. A little boy, around seven, gripping a spoon with both hands—Qiao Rui, the younger brother. And the woman from earlier—Qiao Mei, the mother—trying to smile while hiding exhaustion behind her eyes.
Lu Zhen blinked.
Are these… this girl's parents? Why do they look like someone stole all their happiness and kept the receipt?
Qiao Mei looked up first. Her expression softened immediately.
"Oh… Ning Ning, come, dear." Her voice trembled, but she forced a gentle smile. "I made your favorite porridge."
Lu Zhen nodded stiffly and took the seat. Which was—unfortunately—way too small.
Why the hell is this chair a miniature torture device?
He adjusted like a wounded old man and stared at the meal. A simple bowl of steaming homemade porridge. Warm. Fragrant. Comforting.
Something he had literally never experienced in his previous life. He lifted his spoon slowly.
"It… smells delicious," he muttered without thinking.
All three Qiao family members froze.
Qiao Jian looked at his wife. Qiao Mei looked at her husband. Qiao Rui blinked in shock.
Lu Zhen didn't notice. He took a mouthful.
Soft.Warm.Gentle.
A spark shot through his mouth like he'd just tasted edible happiness for the first time.
His eyes widened. "Wow… this is amazing."
And just like that—he began eating. Fast. The family stared again.
Qiao Mei's eyes softened in disbelief. Qiao Jian let out a small breath, almost a relieved chuckle.Little Qiao Rui whispered, "Sister… likes Mom's cooking today?"
Finally, Qiao Jian cleared his throat, voice cautious. "Did you… like it, dear?"
Lu Zhen glanced up, cheeks stuffed, and nodded sincerely. "Yes. I've never had such delicious porridge in my life."
Silence.
The kind of silence that breaks into soft, fragile smiles. Both parents' shoulders loosened for the first time.
Lu Zhen kept eating.
And somewhere deep inside, a tiny, confused, gangster heart whispered, …Maybe this world isn't all bad?
The warm porridge, the soft morning light, the faint smell of disinfectant and home—It all felt strangely… safe. But before he could fully accept that thought, Qiao Jian—the father—spoke softly.
"Ning Ning… dear."
Lu Zhen didn't look up.
Of course he didn't.
Why would he?
He wasn't Ning Ning. He was Lu Zhen. A man who had once made loan sharks cry. A man who had never answered to "dear" in his life.
"Ning Ning…" Qiao Jian tried again, his voice gentle but trembling.
No reaction.
Finally, the man reached over and lightly held Lu Zhen's wrist—the bandaged one.
His grip was warm. Shaky. Afraid.
"Ning Ning," he called again, voice cracking just slightly.
Lu Zhen blinked and finally lifted his head. "Oh?"
Qiao Jian's face softened with visible relief, like he'd been holding his breath for days.
"You can have more," he said, trying to smile.
"…Really?"
"Of course," he nodded. "I'll get you more."
Before he could even move, Qiao Ning's mother was already standing up, almost tripping over her own chair in her rush.
"I'll get it! I'll get it, don't worry!" she said quickly, her voice too bright, too eager, too anxious. She disappeared into the kitchen.
Lu Zhen blinked again.
Why are these people acting like I'm made of glass?
When the mother returned with another steaming bowl, Qiao Jian cleared his throat.
"Ning Ning… my dear…" His voice was soft. Careful. Like he was holding something fragile in his mouth. "Can you tell us… what happened?"
Lu Zhen glanced at him, confused.
And only then—only now—did he notice it.
Tears.
Unshed tears trembled in the corners of Qiao Jian's eyes.
Why… why did this man look like he was seconds away from breaking?
Then came the question. The one that sliced the warm morning atmosphere in half. The one that made the air suddenly heavy.
"Why…" Qiao Jian swallowed hard. "…did you try to… attempt suicide?"
The world froze.
"What?" His voice was small—unintentionally feminine—shocked to the core.
Qiao Jian's voice trembled. "Ning Ning… dear… please… tell us what happened… why did you… Did you not think about us? "
Lu Zhen's heart thudded.
His mind spun.
This girl… attempted suicide?
The quiet dining room suddenly felt colder, the air thicker. And Lu Zhen—once the terror of the underworld—sat speechless, realizing he had just stepped into someone else's broken life.