Chapter 47: Form

Compared to a few days ago…

Though her appearance in the mirror had not changed much, her aura was entirely different.

Those black eyes no longer held confusion or uncertainty; instead, they radiated a calm like a hidden undercurrent.

Xingyu gently stroked her own face, her fingertips sensing the texture of her skin, as if confirming the reality of this body.

She took a deep breath, the fullness in her lungs offering a small measure of comfort and preparing her mentally for the pain to come.

At the moment of transformation, an indescribable dryness swept through her entire body. The air seemed to turn into countless tiny shards of glass, each with sharp edges stabbing into her skin.

Color drained from her body like a receding tide, as if a watercolor painting was being mercilessly washed away.

In an instant, the reflection in the mirror was reduced to a silver-white humanoid outline.

The image resembled a lifeless statue, slowly lifting its head, hollow eye sockets concealing an endless void.

In this form, her epidermis was a membrane as thin as cicada wings, separating the flowing immaterial substance inside from the outside world.

Xingyu formed a small drop of liquid and curled up a dagger from her clothing. This time, without much hesitation, she slashed again at the "arm" she had tested earlier.

It took some force to cut through the epidermis.

The moment the blade sliced the surface, an unbearable pain beyond perception erupted instantly. It was not only physical agony but as if her entire existence was being torn apart. The dryness and pain intertwined, creating an almost maddening sensory experience.

Instinctively, Xingyu cried out in pain. The liquid suspended in the air scattered with the sudden stimulus, and the sound of the dagger hitting the floor was strikingly clear amidst the chaos.

The pain was unbearable. She seemed to understand why, the first day she was bitten, she had reacted the way she did…

…Never mind.

She forcibly shut down the chaotic thoughts and perceptions and clearly saw that beneath the skin flowed a silver-white liquid, with no trace of muscles or bones.

She probed beneath the skin with a “finger” and felt a flow that defied logic.

A small amount of dark red blood mixed with the silver-white liquid flowed under the skin.

Within this flowing chaos, a small portion was somewhat flexible, as if a distorted reflection of human bone structure.

Although her form had utterly mutated, her overall structure still maintained a strange correspondence to the human body.

Xingyu attempted to reshape herself into other forms.

First, she tried to mimic a human shape different from this body—

She closed her eyes, focusing her mind, imagining Qixue’s face.

Her features began to flow like a melting wax figure, slowly reshaping.

When she opened her eyes again, the mirror reflected a face both familiar and strange.

Sunken eyes, a raised bridge of the nose, the contours of lips gradually becoming clear.

Every detail formed under her will—from Qixue’s distinctive eyebrow curve to the slight indentation in her chin.

At this moment, the outline and features were exactly Qixue’s, but utterly dead and silver-white.

Lips devoid of color, eyes without shine, skin without warmth.

This face was like a relief carved into chalk—precise but lifeless.

Xingyu reached out to touch her new face, fingertips sensing a smooth and cold texture.

She could feel every subtle change, every slight depression and protrusion.

She began trying further changes: lengthening and shortening her body, altering limb proportions, growing wings, transforming into tentacles.

Yet no matter how much she altered her form, she found her body always retained a basic structure corresponding to that of a human.

Even in the most extreme deformations, she could still sense the presence of something akin to bones, muscles, and organs, though their positions and shapes might have completely changed.

The persistent human structure seemed an inescapable shackle, tightly binding her as if the unchangeable core of her essence.

Worse still, no matter how hard she tried, she could not give her body any color.

She tried to imagine vivid reds and deep blacks, but her body remained absolutely silver-white.

This monochrome seemed to silently mock her helplessness.

Every change in form brought intense discomfort, as if all moisture inside were being mercilessly drained away.

The simulated skin, muscles, even bones, contracted and cracked under this extreme dehydration.

Breathing felt like inhaling scorching sand and dust, bringing tearing pain to her throat and lungs.

Even her blood thickened, flowing sluggishly through her vessels, each heartbeat accompanied by dull pain.

She had not maintained these forms for more than a few minutes before feeling like a sponge baking under the scorching sun, every second losing more moisture, leaving behind only a stiffer, more fragile shell.

…Let it be then.

This near self-destructive exploration finally exceeded her limits.

Xingyu gave up trying further and restored her body to the most stable form—the face she had always used. Color quickly returned, and in an instant, she regained her hues.

Only in this state could she feel a stability that did not require conscious maintenance, as if this were the true face of her body.

Exhaustion and pain made her legs almost unable to support her. Xingyu collapsed weakly onto the floor; the cold, hard surface slightly eased the burning pain inside her.

She struggled to lift her right arm and examined the condition of her human body.

Previous scars had inexplicably vanished overnight; the skin was smooth as before.

However, the fresh cut made during the experiment was still clearly visible.

This wound brought only normal pain, nothing abnormal.

Xingyu closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. The air no longer felt like shards of glass; the musty smell oddly refreshed her.

She had initially guessed that since she had acquired the ability to shape-shift and mimic, perhaps she could reconstruct injured parts of herself and heal wounds.

If so, she could directly open her skull and reach the chip hidden somewhere inside.

She even imagined she could mimic her special epidermis as her “clothing”…

Such naive and bold ideas now seemed utterly absurd.

Her shape-changing ability was strictly limited, likely the consequence of a choice she had made.

Back then, she understood that if she agreed to “return to the nest,” she would inevitably become exactly like 020.

If she refused, her soul would be completely disintegrated.

This current state—mimicking human form to find a delicate balance between two extremes—might be the best choice for her.

She vaguely sensed that surviving the “choice” was not mere luck nor a clever manipulation of words and concepts to find a third path.

The reason she existed in this form… she had some vague hypotheses and guesses, but these thoughts were too complex and abstract to express clearly in words.

With such limited knowledge and information, continuing to speculate about entities far beyond her understanding risked repeating past mistakes.

Like dealing with the Ash Gang without sufficient investigation or attempting to control the “transformation” the night before only to suffer backlash.

She still had to consider the real problems existing in this body…

She had no experience performing cranial surgery on herself, nor could she trust the humans here.

Even if she summoned the courage to try, this world, relying on supernatural abilities for healing, lacked sufficiently advanced medical technology to support such a complex operation.

Her fingers unconsciously brushed over her forehead, as if she could sense the location of that chip hidden somewhere beneath the skin and bone.