Su Wanyan just stood there for a long moment, pants still down, staring at the unfamiliar part of herself. Time seemed to slow, like the air in the bathroom had thickened. Her mind went completely quiet at first, then it hit her all over again.
This was real. This body was hers now. And it came with something she had definitely never had before.
In her old life, everything had been straightforward. Female, simple, no surprises. But here? The novel had mentioned it in passing—female alphas in this world has the normally seen in male reproductive parts—but reading a line like that over late-night snacks was nothing compared to seeing it, feeling the weight of it, knowing it was attached to you.
She reached out slowly and gave it a cautious poke, half holding her breath.
Nothing dramatic happened. No twitch, no magic disappearance. It was just.. there.
With a shaky exhale, she pulled her pants back up and leaned against the counter for support. Her legs felt wobbly, so she slid down until she was sitting on the cool tiles, back against the cabinet.
"Oh my gosh," she whispered, voice cracking a little. She dropped her head into her hands. "I only wanted to read a silly story. I didn't want to live in it. Definitely didn't want.. this."
A weak laugh escaped her, more nervous than amusement. "Standing or sitting to pee? Aiming? What if I miss? Why is this the part nobody warns you about?"
She sat there longer than she meant to, letting the shock settle. The bathroom fan hummed softly overhead. Steam from her earlier face splash still lingered in the air. Eventually, the panic ebbed into something more manageable—resignation, maybe even a tiny bit of curiosity.
Okay. Time to adult.
She stood up slowly, tossed the toothbrush she'd dropped into the trash, and took care of things the new way. Standing felt awkward at first, but it worked. No disasters. Small victories.
Hands washed, twice, just in case. Then, she finally looked properly into the mirror and paused.
The woman looking back wasn't striking in a dramatic, head-turning way. She was.. comforting. Like someone you'd trust immediately with your sick kid at 2 a.m.
Soft brown eyes that seemed to hold quiet stories, the kind that listened without judging. Gentle curves to her face, warm skin with a natural glow, lips that rested in a small, easy smile even when she wasn't trying.
She lifted a hand and touched her cheek lightly. The skin felt smooth, alive, soft in a way that made her wonder how many tiny patients had fallen asleep against it during checkups.
This face didn't demand anything. It just offered calm. Safety. The kind of beauty that grew on you the longer you looked and the kind that made people relax without realizing why.
"Wow," she murmured. "You're really pretty."
Not in a vain way. More like meeting a new roommate you already kind of liked.
And no, she decided firmly, this face—this whole package—wasn't getting wasted chasing after some manipulative omega who wouldn't know real kindness if it sat in his lap.
She smiled at her reflection, small but genuine, then remembered where that hand had just been. She grimaced.
Soap again. Face wash again. Better safe than sorry.
After that, she finally stepped into the shower. The hot water felt amazing, washing away the last bits of sweat and shock. She took her time, letting the steam loosen her shoulders, getting used to the new contours of her body bit by bit. It still felt strange, but less alien with every minute.
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Wrapped in a thick, fluffy bathrobe afterward, she blow-dried her hair slowly, watching the waves fall soft and shiny around her shoulders. The mirror fogged and cleared, fogged and cleared.
Clock check—still almost two hours until she had to leave for the show house. Plenty of time to breathe.
She wandered into the walk-in closet, fingers trailing over fabrics. Nothing too flashy called to her. She pulled out a soft beige oversized knit sweater—cozy, the kind you could disappear into on a lazy day, and paired it with clean white wide-leg trousers that moved like a breeze when she walked.
A quick glance at the watch drawer, and she picked the Cartier Tank Must. Simple gold face, leather strap. Elegant without trying too hard.
She turned in front of the full-length mirror. Comfy, put-together and approachable. Good enough for national TV, she supposed.
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The duplex felt quiet as she headed downstairs, sunlight pouring through big windows, warming the wooden floors. She padded into the kitchen, stomach rumbling softly.
Big meal or something light?
There'd be food later on the show anyway—some group dinner thing after everyone arrived. Better not spoil her appetite.
Fried rice it was (light won).
She pulled out leftover rice from the fridge, a couple of eggs, half a carrot, some frozen peas and corn, green onions that still smelled fresh and sharp.
The pan heated with a glug of oil, shimmering invitingly. Rice went in first—cold clumps hitting hot metal with that satisfying sizzle, grains jumping and separating, turning fragrant almost instantly.
Eggs cracked next, bright yolks spilling and scrambling into soft golden curls.
Veggies followed: carrot cubes like tiny orange jewels, peas rolling in bright green, corn adding sweet pops.
A slow drizzle of soy sauce, dark and glossy, coating everything in rich, savory depth. The whole kitchen filled with that warm, homey smell that made her shoulders drop another inch.
Green onions scattered at the end for a fresh bite.
She scooped it into a bowl, steam curling up like lazy morning mist. First bite—perfect.
Warm, comforting, every flavor balanced. The rice chewy, veggies crisp-tender, egg fluffy. Just like her mom used to make on busy nights, back before everything got hard.
She ate leaning against the counter, no rush, enjoying each spoonful. When the bowl was empty, she rinsed it and loaded the dishwasher with a quiet sense of accomplishment.
After that, she drifted upstairs to the study, a sunny room lined with books and files, the faint scent of paper and coffee lingering. She grabbed her laptop, settled into the soft armchair by the window, and opened the files on the original Su Wanyan's research.
Pages of careful notes, diagrams, trial data. Breakthroughs that had already saved so many tiny lives.
Su Wanyan traced a finger over one of the charts, feeling a quiet swell of pride that wasn't entirely hers.
With everything she knew from her old life layered with this new one.. maybe she could make it even better. Refine the protocols. Spot patterns others missed. Help more kids breathe easy through the night.
She smiled to herself, soft and real.
Not for fame or money.
Just because those little ones deserved it.