On September 17, 2013, precisely at eight in the morning, Qin Zixin’s phone alarm rang on schedule. It was the first day of the Mid-Autumn Festival holiday, with two days remaining until the festival itself.
Qin Zixin lay sprawled on her pillow, gradually rousing from sleep only after the alarm had clamored for a good while. Her duvet, meanwhile, clung to a single corner, barely concealing her rounded bottom, the rest having been kicked entirely off the bed. Whenever she dreamt, she’d wake feeling utterly exhausted, as if the entire night’s rest had been for naught.
Just last night, while savoring crabs and watching the movie *Orphan*, she had joked with The System about how truly ugly the starring ‘ghost hag’ was.
At the time, at least sixty percent of her attention was dedicated to the paramount task of sucking crab legs; she had only gleaned a rough outline of the movie’s plot. She hadn’t retained many details, merely that it was the story of a sterile white couple, with too much time on their hands, who decided to ‘blindly pick’ a child from an orphanage, cheerfully winning the grand prize of a one-way ticket to another world. When it was time to ‘escape,’ the husband was reincarnated first, but the wife proved more resilient, unable to join him. At least there was good news: they no longer had to worry about being sterile.
Qin Zixin found such foolish, hackneyed, and clichéd narratives failed to pique her interest. Every year, American bestsellers invariably included a few books telling similar tales. This trope was tolerable for a few viewings, but the depiction of evil was always superficial; after seeing it too many times, one could predict the ending from the very beginning. The screenwriters’ overreliance on this trope was so utterly inept, it was as if they’d suffered food poisoning from an expired Burger King meal, then chugged two bottles of vodka, leaving their brains only capable of ‘copy-pasting’ ideas. Those who appeared good, if they were protagonists, were likely ‘white lotuses’ or, more accurately, ‘idiots.’ If they were supporting characters, then those who seemed virtuous were invariably evil, cunning, and capricious.
Even Qin Zixin, a ‘filthy pervert’ with a mind perpetually preoccupied by ‘lewd thoughts,’ could see through it instantly. It was much like the deconstructionist trend in hentai anime today, where cultural expression in the output often presents a misalignment. Hentai uses wholesome character designs for contrast, while mainstream anime uses lewd designs to grab attention. Pure romance series frequently feature characters ‘picking up used shoes,’ while NTR (Netorare) plots become increasingly chaste. The core idea is this: the beautiful, wholesome characters from mainstream anime all turn into ‘bitches’ in hentai, while the scumbag characters from hentai go into mainstream anime for pure romance.
In hentai, the more ostensibly ‘bad’ a character appears—like a bullying gyaru, a shrine maiden who readily follows men, or a vampire specifically seeking out nerds—the more they end up pursuing pure romance. If you ask, they might seem like experienced ‘used shoes,’ yet once the actual action begins, it’s always their first time. It all boils down to high attack, low defense, and giving in at light speed.
Conversely, in mainstream anime, the more ostensibly ‘good’ a character design appears—such as the warm elder sister next door, the wife deeply in love with her husband, the righteous female knight, the saintess who sacrifices for her people, or the investigator who utterly despises men—the more virtuous and upright they seem, the more thoroughly they ultimately fall. The emphasis is on how brilliant they appear on the surface, the darker their reality behind the scenes.
Ultimately, it’s because men, since ancient times, have had two great hobbies: dragging respectable women into depravity and persuading ‘bitches’ to become virtuous. In horror films, this has now translated into the purest-looking characters being the most dangerous.
At least, that was Qin Zixin’s perspective.
She had directly ignored ‘Muzigu’ yesterday, who kept asking utterly foolish questions. After all, anyone asking such idiotic questions was likely equally foolish in real life. Qin Zixin felt that the greatest villain yesterday was Wang Tianzhuo. He cared only for his own pleasure, showing off his food to make others envious, then disappearing after he was done. By all rights, they had been online friends for three or four years; shouldn’t he have immediately express-mailed the dishes to her if she said she wanted to eat them? Even if not prepared meals, but just precious local specialties from Guangdong Province—even canned goods, she wouldn’t have minded.
Qin Zixin had only eaten one crab and half a pig’s ear yesterday, feeling utterly full from sheer indignation. Both Wang Tianzhuo’s lavish dinner and the female companion seated opposite him made Qin Zixin subtly uncomfortable. Ironically, that ridiculous horror movie had actually amused her.
Those fresh seafood delicacies, Qin Zixin could only gaze at them longingly, unable to partake, thus her love turned to resentment. Her dislike for that minor internet celebrity, however, stemmed from Qin Zixin’s belief that the ‘factory quality control’ was simply too poor. How could Wang Tianzhuo even ‘raise his gun’ for such a caliber of woman? Qin Zixin couldn’t help but recall the long-term partners of ‘herself’ in her previous life; even those he held in the lowest regard would be a ‘dimensional crush’ compared to such an unrefined, minor internet celebrity.
To be frank, in ‘her’ past life’s memory, those two ‘silicon-based lifeforms’ dining with Mr. Pickles likely wouldn’t even have qualified to meet ‘her.’ What’s more, with their artificial faces and ‘stone breasts,’ if her past self were to engage with them, ‘he’ wouldn’t even be able to get it up.
Through Wang Tianzhuo, Qin Zixin viewed that ‘past life’ which wasn’t her own with a peculiar perspective. She felt an inexplicable sense of detachment, a strange and indescribable incongruity. While she was certainly unconventional, could that libertine who had dallied among countless women in her past life truly be her?
The System, sensing her thoughts, was terribly awkward and didn’t know how to respond. Qin Zixin’s past life memories had all been provided by it, and this brat’s thoughts about ‘not being able to get it up’ sounded like elementary school kids squabbling over whose dad could eat more shit. Though, what Qin Zixin thought might not be entirely wrong.
Even when it was human, it had dabbled with artificial beings, but never those with such poor aesthetics. Still, when it came down to it, it wouldn’t be so exaggerated as to say ‘it couldn’t get it up.’ The System inexplicably felt a misconception that its capabilities, comparable to a mini electric motor, were being underestimated by this brat, but it dared not jump out to correct her. If this brat realized later, she would probably despise it, after all, ‘it’ had indeed been ‘a bit of a playboy’ in its past life.
Last night, after the movie, Qin Zixin felt little enthusiasm and, too lazy to play games, simply went to bed. Yet, her sleep was restless. Even with her attention solely on eating throughout the evening, Qin Zixin still had nightmares. The content of her dreams was quite preposterous, bearing a three-tenths resemblance to the plot of *Orphan*. Qin Zixin dreamt she was back in her past life’s university classroom, but ‘he’ didn’t attend class, instead inexplicably adopting a little girl named Tang Yuyu from an orphanage.
This little girl was a younger version of her mother, and upon seeing the male version of Qin Zixin, she shyly extended a small hand, which was then tightly grasped in ‘his.’ At first, it was a beautiful dream, because her ‘daughter’ Tang Yuyu not only did housework for ‘him’ but also completed ‘his’ homework, and even bathed with ‘him’ at night.
The delicate little girl in the bathtub was her mother in this life; in hentai, this would be called a ‘nurturing’ or ‘raising’ genre. Qin Zixin, being somewhat precocious and confused in certain aspects, always harbored a complex desire for her ‘mother’ in this current life. She believed her past self was a ‘playboy,’ a genuine scoundrel. ‘He’ would always speak of futures and true love with different girls, telling various amusing stories to provide them with temporary warmth, yet deep down, ‘he’ would maliciously observe the pitiful, lovestruck maidens carefully concealing their suppressed, bitter longing. This was her past self’s cruel pleasure; sweet, bitter, and inevitably unfulfilled emotions, combined with a touch of deception, made them utterly content, like a carrot forever dangling before a donkey.
As she matured, her brain’s development made Qin Zixin increasingly feel that her past self was a scoundrel, yet she mistakenly believed that scoundrel was *her* and thus felt she had done nothing wrong. The brain doesn’t betray one’s true nature; just as her past self was undoubtedly a complete playboy, so too should her current self be a scoundrel who disdains the feelings of others. Whether towards her mother Tang Yuyu or her cousin Tang Manwen, dark thoughts would occasionally arise within Qin Zixin. As one thinks in the day, so one dreams at night, so it was no wonder that Tang Yuyu appeared in Qin Zixin’s dream with their identities reversed.
But then, the dream began to unravel.
Qin Zixin dreamt that ‘he’ had failed multiple subjects in university. Suddenly, ‘his’ adopted ‘daughter’ Tang Yuyu instantly grew up, transforming into her real-life appearance, and with a ‘swish,’ she appeared, wielding a thin stick. What followed was familiar: the male version of Qin Zixin transformed into the ‘female imp’ of reality, and once again, she was chased and beaten by Tang Yuyu. In her dream, she ran desperately, fleeing from a university in Jingcheng all the way to Nanshi High School in Nanling, with Tang Yuyu relentlessly pursuing her.
Asleep, Qin Zixin continuously kicked off her duvet. Both Tang Yuyu and her studies had given her too much psychological trauma. Initially, Qin Zixin slept on her back, then soon on her side, eventually evolving to sleeping on her stomach.
Her alarm had rung for a long time. Though Qin Zixin was awake, she simply didn’t want to get up. The dream had exhausted her; she felt she might as well have pulled an all-nighter playing games yesterday. After half a night of nightmares, she was somewhat disoriented, but she had to meet her cousin Tang Manwen today, so she needed to be punctual.
If she continued to linger in bed, Tang Manwen would surely tease her upon arrival. Filling the washbasin with tap water, Qin Zixin first took a deep breath, then plunged her small head deeply into it, holding her breath until she could no longer. Rising, she gasped for air, feeling much more awake now.
Facing the mirror above the sink, Qin Zixin began her morning routine. Water droplets still clung to her lotus-like jade face, her lustrous black hair billowed like clouds, and a small clump of damp strands stuck to her fair forehead. Beneath her long, swan-like graceful jade neck lay exquisite collarbones. Her skin, smooth and lustrous as mutton-fat jade, seemed to radiate a soft, phosphorescent white glow in the dim bathroom, so pure it was without a single blemish. Below her collarbones, a vast expanse of high, mounds of ‘jelly-like giant rabbits’ gently swayed with the beauty’s toothbrushing motions. Unfortunately, Qin Zixin’s unfocused, ‘dead fish eyes’ from just waking up completely ruined this beautiful scene.
After washing up, she drank a cup of milk, considering it her breakfast. Tang Manwen would be taking her out for lunch, and eating too much in the morning would be a waste.
Qin Zixin slipped on a beige, sleeveless silk camisole and chose a pair of navy blue ramie straight-leg trousers. She felt the camisole was a bit inappropriate; its low neckline revealed a generous expanse of her creamy, white upper hemisphere, with an alluring, bottomless cleavage that seemed to both invite and resist, making it all the more tempting. As she pulled on her pants, she gave a little hop, and her ‘playful rabbits’ nearly bounced right out.
So, she grabbed a plaid men’s shirt and draped it over herself. This shirt belonged to her cousin, who had worn it in junior high and passed it down to her when he outgrew it; she wasn’t picky. The upper buttons of the shirt couldn’t be fastened due to the ‘rabbits’ being too well-developed, so she simply wore it open over her shoulders.
Qin Zixin glanced at her phone. Her cousin had messaged her at seven-forty, saying she had already left. Half an hour had passed, so Tang Manwen was probably arriving soon. Qin Zixin replied with, ‘[Waiting for you at the community entrance]’ and hurriedly rushed out.