Use socks for cleaning

Bai Zhu walked quickly home, the long sword on her back tightly wrapped in cloth.

“I’m back.”

The moment she stepped inside, the girl called out into the empty living room—a habit, and a ritual.

She changed into slippers, carefully removed the [Sacred Sword] from her back and placed it on the sword stand. Then, she took off her green hanfu and walked to a cabinet in the center of the living room.

On it sat two black-and-white photographs.

The man and woman in the images smiled gently, their features bearing a resemblance to Bai Zhu.

She took three incense sticks from a small burner, lit them, and bowed deeply before the portraits three times.

“Father, Mother, your daughter has successfully completed today’s trial.”

“My path has advanced one more step.”

With solemn dignity, she reported her daily deeds—this was the chuunibyou girl’s daily routine.

Only after completing this small ritual did she enter her room and collapse onto the bed.

Everything that had happened at the Hero Center today, especially the man named Yang Yuan, left Bai Zhu restless.

“Nice name. I’m Yang Yuan.”

“Alright, Little Hero Bai, you may now commence your retreat.”

Every word Yang Yuan had spoken, every expression on his face, played on loop in her mind.

“Little Hero Bai, huh…”

At the thought, Bai Zhu unconsciously twirled a strand of her bangs.

She had always believed she walked a solitary, noble path—one no one else could understand.

Others saw her as either a weirdo or a delusional chuunibyou. No one had ever acknowledged her “hero” identity like Yang Yuan did.

“Could this… be fate’s guidance?” The girl began mentally scripting a grand narrative.

“Exactly! Our meeting was no coincidence! This is an inevitable [Trial] and [Opportunity] on my destined path!”

“Who is Yang Yuan? Is he a fellow traveler bearing the same fate? Or… could he be the destined lord I, Bai Zhu, am fated to serve?”

She stood up, rushed to the sword stand, and retrieved the [Sacred Sword].

Unwrapping the layers of cloth, she revealed the ancient, elegant blade.

“By this sacred sword, I, Bai Zhu, swear this oath.”

“I shall uncover Yang Yuan’s true nature! If he is a comrade, I shall fight beside him, cutting down all demons and monsters in this world!”

“If he is… if he is my destined lord…”

At the word “lord,” Bai Zhu’s mind spiraled into fantasy. Her breath quickened, her face flushed, her eyes burning with ecstatic fervor—a delirious, almost beautiful madness.

Then, a strange, unfamiliar heat surged from deep within her lower abdomen, spreading rapidly through her limbs and veins.

The sensation was tingling, hot, overwhelming. Her legs weakened, nearly buckling under her.

“Could this… be the sign of losing control over my power?”

****

Meanwhile, Yang Yuan—the protagonist of Bai Zhu’s fantasies—was waiting for his childhood sweetheart to return.

A soft click came from the entrance lock. Su Xiaoyou dragged her tired body through the door.

She tossed her keys onto the shoe cabinet and, without even removing her shoes, sprinted straight to the living room.

Yang Yuan, happily playing Three Kingdoms Kill on the sofa, felt a gust of fragrance rush toward him. The next second, Su Xiaoyou respawned directly on top of him.

“Ah Yuan… I’m back. I need a hug…”

Yang Yuan set down his phone and wrapped his arms around her waist, letting her nestle deeper into his chest.

“You’re really tired today, huh?”

“Mm…”

“Maybe you should take a break for a while? I’ve got a job now, plus the compensation money. We’re not short on cash.”

“No way.”

Hearing that, Su Xiaoyou lifted her head and replied seriously, “We need to save up.”

“What if something happens later and we need money? And… and we’ll need to buy our own house someday. We can’t rent forever. That’ll cost a lot.”

Su Xiaoyou earnestly laid out their future, making Yang Yuan both amused and touched.

“Our Xiaoyou’s thinking far ahead.”

“Of course!”

She buried her face in Yang Yuan’s chest again. But in this intimate moment, her nose caught a strange scent.

“No… something’s wrong. The smell is off.”

She leaned closer, sniffing repeatedly at Yang Yuan’s clothes.

The familiar scent of him was no longer pure—it was mixed with traces of other women.

Each was faint, almost imperceptible. But to Su Xiaoyou, a self-proclaimed “scent enthusiast,” it was like dropping multiple colored inks into a glass of pure water—utterly unbearable.

“What’s wrong?”

Su Xiaoyou didn’t answer right away. She knew Yang Yuan’s workplace was full of women—picking up a few foreign scents was inevitable.

She didn’t throw a tantrum, but her expression said everything.

“Is it… because of how I smell?” Yang Yuan asked tentatively.

Su Xiaoyou nodded firmly, her face pouting like a hurt puppy.

“It was my first day. You know, the Hero Center’s mostly women…”

“I know,” Su Xiaoyou interrupted.

“I know it’s not your fault. But… I just don’t like it.”

“Well, what can I do? You’re not asking me to quit, are you?”

Su Xiaoyou seemed to have already prepared a countermeasure. She slipped out of his arms, then began unbuttoning her shirt.

“Of course there’s a way.”

“I’ll cover up all these random scents with *my* scent.”

Yang Yuan was stunned. He’d imagined scripts involving whining, silent treatment, or even knife-wielding drama—but never *this*, a solution bordering on performance art.

Soon, Su Xiaoyou removed her clothes—her shirt and pants—leaving only her underwear.

She didn’t stop. Sitting directly on Yang Yuan’s lap, she slowly bent down and pulled off her white cotton socks.

Her feet, wrapped all day, carried a warm, damp heat.

“Xiaoyou… what are you doing?”

Yang Yuan had braced for everything—except this.

“You’ll see. But Ah Yuan can pick first.”

“Do you want the sock… or… this?”

She waved the white sock in one hand, the other resting on her panties.

“Can I pick something normal…?”

“Nope.”

She gave him no time to react. With a clean motion, she slid off her panties—and before he could protest, the warm fabric was shoved into his mouth.

“Mmph!” His objection was completely muffled.

“Then I’ll pick for you.”

Su Xiaoyou admired her handiwork, her sweet smile returning.

“I’ve always known, Ah Yuan—you’re a hopeless foot fetishist. You love my little feet and socks, don’t you?”

With that, she pressed the sock firmly against Yang Yuan’s face, meticulously wiping it across his chin, neck, and jawline.

The cloth, soaked in her unique girlhood scent, spread everywhere—erasing every foreign trace.

“This spot… and this one too. They all need to smell like me.”

As for why Yang Yuan, though physically able to move, didn’t resist—well, that remains a mystery.