I live in a world where women hold all the power. I ended up in the body of a lowborn commoner—poor, ugly, and weak—who everyone expected to die. But I had a secret plan: protect and raise the "fake young master," the boy everyone else had abandoned.
He was born into a great family but was switched at birth with the real heir. When the truth came out at eighteen, his adoptive family drove him out to the worst slum of the city. There, with no skills or friends, he was beaten and left to die. I woke up in the body of the woman who had helped that happen.
Now I stare at the injured boy on my simple bed. His body is bruised, his clothes torn, and his eyes swollen from crying. Everyone says he's worthless. But I refuse to let him die.
To keep him alive, I must:
1. Find enough food.
As a destitute commoner, I have no money or status. I must hunt the strange beasts that roam the slum's edges. Their meat will feed us.
2. Give him a safe place to live.
The slum is full of thieves and worse. I will fight our way into the richer Inner District, where at least we can sleep without fear.
3. Keep his spirits up.
He will learn special powers. He will have a little pet for company. Someday he may even find someone to love him.
—
When I first met him, he was frozen with cold and fear. His fancy clothes kept out the sun but did nothing against winter's chill. He huddled on a broken stair, breathing on his hands to warm them.
A group of cruel women had tried to tear his clothes off, to humiliate him. He ran, shaking, until he found a scrap of hope: an address someone had once mentioned. It belonged to me—a poor outcast, but someone who had shown him kindness.
He climbed the broken steps to my shabby building, almost too cold to move. When he hesitated outside the door, I opened it. He looked at me, terrified and exhausted.
"Please," he whispered. "I have nowhere else to go."
I stepped aside. "Come in," I said.
That was the beginning of our journey together: two lost souls in a harsh world, determined to survive—and to change our fate.
Hazen lifted his heavy feet and slowly walked up the stairs. As he passed some rooms on the second floor, he could feel unfriendly eyes watching him from behind the doors. He shivered slightly and quickened his pace until he finally reached Room 222 at the end of the hallway.
He stood in front of the door, hesitating. It'll be fine, he told himself. She likes me. She'll treat me well and give me good food and a nice place to stay. He kept encouraging himself.
Even though Hazen had recently been betrayed and abandoned by his friends and family, he had been raised in a sheltered way for the past eighteen years. He didn't understand how dark people's hearts could be. So even after spending some time in the chaotic lower city, he still tried to think the best of others.
As he was giving himself a mental pep talk, he suddenly heard a door open nearby. He jumped in surprise and turned around to see a creepy woman peeking through a crack in her door, staring at him with a perverted look in her eyes. He instantly felt scared and quickly knocked on the door of Room 222. Knock knock knock.
After a while, the door opened...
---
It hurts... my head hurts so much... What's happening…? Quinn felt like her head was about to explode.
What was going on? Wasn't she dead? She clearly remembered using her powers to blow herself up and take the zombie king with her. Just thinking about it made the pain worse. Why does it hurt so much…? Do dead people even feel pain?
She drifted in and out of pain for days. During the moments when her head hurt less, Quinn figured out some things. Her soul seemed to be stuck to a woman—wherever that woman went, she followed.
The woman was fat and creepy, living in a dirty, messy room.
The walls were covered with photos of two boys. She often stared at the photo of a beautiful boy with disgusting, obsessed eyes, whispering "Young Master Xiyu" while pulling tissues from a box.
The other boy's photo had been slashed with a blade so many times that his face was almost unrecognizable. The hate in that room was clear.
Quinn was often in so much pain that she couldn't think straight, so even after all that time, this was all she'd managed to learn. She didn't even know the woman's name or where they were.
She also had no idea why her soul was attached to this woman, or when she'd be free. She could only suffer in silence, with no end in sight.
Then, one afternoon, there was a knock at the door.
The creepy woman, too busy using tissues, didn't hear it. But for some reason, even through the pain, Quinn did. It felt like the knock landed directly on her soul. She couldn't help but focus on the door.
After the first knock, there was silence. Then came a second, and a third...
Finally, the woman noticed the sound and opened the door.
Standing outside was a boy who looked stunningly beautiful. Small, delicate, shivering from the cold—yet there was a proud look on his face, like knocking on this door was a favor to the person inside.
Quinn only had time to see his face for a second before the pain returned and swallowed her whole.