Chapter 52: The Transformation of Xia Yue

Following that intense confrontation and Xia Yue’s quiet introspection, a subtle yet unsettling shift began to permeate the dynamics between them.

This change was most pronounced in Xia Yue’s almost obsessive ‘attention’ towards Jin.

The most significant transformation unfolded within Jin’s small apartment, once her personal sanctuary.

Before, Xia Yue’s visits had been either task-driven ‘inspections’ or quiet occupations of a sofa corner, where she handled her own affairs.

Though her presence was undeniable, the boundaries between them had always been clear.

Now, however, she resembled a stone clumsily and abruptly attempting to force its way into a fish tank.

She would appear at the door, clutching paper bags that distinctly bore the mark of exorbitant prices and exquisite logos.

Inside, one might find wagashi from a shop requiring months of advance booking, or perhaps a cashmere shawl of exceptional softness.

“I was just passing by and picked it up,” she would always explain.

Yet her gaze would dart away, and after thrusting the item into Jin’s hands, she would freeze, as if awaiting a command, entirely devoid of her usual composed assertiveness.

What truly sent shivers down Jin’s spine was Xia Yue’s burgeoning attempts to invade her ‘private space’.

On one occasion, Jin was fumbling through the chaotic process of cooking instant noodles—one of the few ‘dishes’ she could manage.

Unbeknownst to her, Xia Yue had silently materialized behind her, startling Jin so severely she nearly overturned the pot.

“I… I’ll help you,” Xia Yue stammered, reaching for the chopsticks in Jin’s hand.

Her movements, stiff with tension, betrayed her nervousness.

The outcome, as might be expected, was disastrous.

The two, both culinary novices, jostled in the cramped kitchen, their arms constantly colliding.

Xia Yue’s attempt to crack an egg resulted in shells plummeting into the pot, and her endeavor to chop scallions nearly cost her a finger.

Ultimately, that pot of instant noodles transmuted into an indescribable concoction, laden with eggshells and a burnt aroma.

Xia Yue gazed at the ‘masterpiece’, and a flicker of… defeat and grievance?… actually surfaced in her icy blue eyes.

Jin found herself speechless, unable to even voice a complaint.

She silently discarded the noodles, her inner thoughts a mournful plea: ‘Please, just go back to being the Xia Yue who only watched me eat takeout with cold eyes!’

Even Jin’s bedroom was not spared.

One day, after Jin emerged from her shower, she was aghast to find Xia Yue perched on the edge of her bed.

In her hands was the copy of ‘Five Years of College Entrance Exams, Three Years of Practice’ that Jin kept by her bedside—its interior pages, of course, replaced with magic notes—which Xia Yue seemed to be ‘diligently’ perusing.

Hearing the movement, Xia Yue abruptly snapped the book shut.

She sprang to her feet like a thief caught in the act, an unnatural blush creeping across her cheeks.

“I… I thought the light was better here,” she offered, a pathetic excuse that bordered on the infuriating.

Then, almost marching out of sync, she swiftly exited, leaving Jin alone to stare at the slightly warped book, feeling her private space had been invaded in a bizarre, unsettling manner.

****

Lin Wan, brimming with enthusiasm, dragged Jin and Yu Niannian to the newly opened arcade in the commercial district.

Predictably, Xia Yue ‘just happened’ to appear.

Within the boisterous arcade, she resembled an alien lost in a foreign world, utterly out of sync with her surroundings.

Lin Wan was exuberantly conquering the dance machine, while Yu Niannian shrieked with delight in front of the claw game.

Xia Yue, however, shadowed Jin’s every step.

When Jin tried the basketball hoop game, Xia Yue stood beside her, attempting to ‘assist’ her aim with eyes that seemed to analyze tactical data.

The result was immense pressure on Jin, who failed to make a single shot.

When Jin decided to take sticker photos, Xia Yue also tried to squeeze into the cramped booth.

Her posture, however, was so rigid that in the resulting pictures, she looked like a kidnapped hostage, her face contorted into a strange expression of forced cheerfulness.

As Lin Wan reached a peak of excitement playing Taiko no Tatsujin and instinctively moved to embrace Jin’s shoulder in shared jubilation, Xia Yue would instantly step forward.

With a seemingly ‘casual’ but surprisingly firm motion, she would separate Lin Wan’s hand, then position herself beside Jin.

She attempted to mimic Lin Wan’s affectionate posture, only to end up rigidly pressed against Jin, her arms as stiff as if encased in plaster.

“A-Yue…” Lin Wan finally couldn’t take it anymore.

She pulled Xia Yue aside, her expression complex, and whispered, “Honestly, did that Dark Abyss Witch hit you on the head last time? Is this a side effect? Your current state is giving me the creeps…”

Yu Niannian also leaned in, her small face etched with concern.

“Senior Xia Yue, are you feeling unwell? Do you want a piece of candy? I have some!”

Jin, as the central target of this all-encompassing, inescapable ‘clingy’ offensive, felt utterly drained.

Walking down the street, Xia Yue’s overly focused, almost tangible gaze felt like daggers in Jin’s back.

At home, Xia Yue’s clumsy ‘kindness’ and eerie silence left her restless and uneasy.

Xia Yue seemed to be employing the ‘hardest’ methods she understood to bridge the distance between them, expressing a twisted form of ‘need’.

She had abandoned cold rules and resources, instead mimicking ‘intimate’ behaviors she had observed: Lin Wan’s physical contact, Yu Niannian’s gift-giving onslaught, and even ‘gentleness’ and ‘attention’ learned from questionable sources—perhaps even shojo manga—that utterly contradicted her established persona.

Yet she was like an AI loaded with a faulty emotional module; every imitation felt stiff, abrupt, and even unsettling.

She failed to grasp that true intimacy was a natural, relaxed state, not a relentless, programmed performance.

As Xia Yue once again tried to insert a straw into a milk tea cup, only to miss due to nerves, then held the slightly spilled drink, gazing at Jin with a mix of anticipation and trepidation, Jin let out a sigh more despairing than any she had uttered when facing Violette.

Xia Yue had etched Jin’s words, “I want to hear you say you need me,” and the subsequent accusations from their conflict, deep into the core of her logic, as if they were supreme directives.

She conducted a profound attribution analysis, arriving at a simple yet damning conclusion: previous attempts had failed because her transformation was incomplete, her imitation imprecise, and her commitment insufficient.

Thus, a more extreme and utterly suffocating ‘Xia Yue Transformation Project 2.0’ was initiated.

First, came a complete overhaul of her appearance.

She was no longer content with merely letting down her hair and wearing cute barrettes.

She began to study fashion magazines (with the meticulousness of data analysis), observe street trends (as if conducting enemy reconnaissance), and then… put it all into practice.

When Xia Yue appeared at the base dressed in a dazzlingly pink dress adorned with sweet lace, ruffles, and bows, paired with white knee-high socks and round-toed Mary Janes, even the usually composed Ouyang Na visibly paused as they passed in the corridor.

She adjusted her glasses, her eyes filled with a scrutinizing gaze that seemed to ask, ‘Do I need to initiate an abnormal mental state assessment protocol?’

Lin Wan promptly spat out a mouthful of water, pointing at Xia Yue and pounding the table with laughter.

“A-Yue! Are—are you going to a kindergarten talent show?! Hahahaha!”

Yu Niannian tilted her head, offering a serious assessment.

“Senior Xia Yue, this dress… doesn’t seem very suitable for fighting, does it?”

Jin, however, merely spared a glance before quietly lowering her head.

She felt her eyes had suffered tons of damage, and a faint twitch began in her stomach.

Next, came the extreme calibration of her behavior.

Xia Yue was no longer content with simple shadowing and awkward small talk.

She embarked on a ‘deep research’ project concerning Jin.

She observed Jin’s every subtle expression, recorded every casual remark, and analyzed her behavioral patterns.

Her aim was to construct a comprehensive ‘Jin Preference Database’.

This directly led to a mutation in her linguistic system.

During lunch, Lin Wan complained about how awful carrots tasted.

Xia Yue (instantly): “Carrots are rich in Vitamin A, which is good for eyesight. Jin often draws, so she should protect her eyes.”

After speaking, she promptly transferred all the carrots from her own lunchbox to Jin’s, her eyes gleaming with an eager ‘seek praise’ look.

Later, on the way, they spotted a stray cat.

Xia Yue (stopping, observing with a serious expression): “This cat’s fur and eye color… Jin seems to prefer this type: orange and white, with a lazy gaze.”

She then attempted to approach the cat, which promptly bared its teeth at her.

Despite being scratched, she stubbornly insisted, “It’s fine, it’s just shy.”

It was as if a ‘Jin Preference’ filter had been installed in her world.

Anything, any topic, could instantly be linked back to Jin, with ‘Jin probably likes this’ or ‘Jin probably dislikes this’ serving as the ultimate criterion.

Lin Wan finally reached her breaking point.

During yet another instance of Xia Yue’s ‘Jin this, Jin that’ monologue, she dragged her to the rooftop, frantically demanding, “A-Yue! Wake up! Look at what you’ve become?! Are you still the Xia Yue who could freeze a tide of shadow beasts with a single punch?! Your mind is nothing but ‘Jin Jin Jin’! Has your little head taken over your big head?!”

Xia Yue merely regarded her calmly, her gaze even holding a ‘you wouldn’t understand’ air of superiority.

“I am using the most effective method to correct my previous errors. Understanding and catering to the target’s preferences is the foundation for establishing a stable relationship.”

Lin Wan: “…”

She felt Xia Yue was beyond saving.

Jin, enduring all of this, felt she was also on the verge of being beyond saving.

Xia Yue’s comprehensive, meticulous, yet utterly misguided ‘attention’ and ‘catering’ felt like an invisible yet incredibly sticky net, ensnaring Jin tighter and tighter.

Every move Jin made was magnified and interpreted; any casual remark could become the direction for Xia Yue’s next ‘transformation’.

She even hesitated to express her true preferences, fearing it would provoke an even more intense ‘response’ from Xia Yue.

A wave of guilt began to wash over her.

Watching Xia Yue in that ridiculous dress, clumsily attempting to mimic the actions of an ordinary girl, filled Jin with a strange sense of unease.

She saw Xia Yue treat Jin’s every casual word as a monumental task, repeatedly pondering it.

Even Xia Yue’s eyes, once sharp and cold, now constantly held a cautious, almost pleading glimmer, desperately seeking even a sliver of positive feedback from Jin.

Jin knew that Xia Yue, in her own clumsy, even self-effacing way, was striving to draw closer to her.

This ‘effort’ itself felt so heavy it suffocated her.

She didn’t dislike Xia Yue; in fact… deep down, there might have been a flicker of something she herself was unwilling to admit.

But what she truly desired was not this self-sacrificing, distorted version of Xia Yue.

This intertwining of guilt and suffocation threatened to crush her completely.

Finally, one weekend evening, Xia Yue arrived at the apartment once more, carrying a newly purchased starry sky projector lamp—one she claimed ‘Jin might like’.

As Xia Yue began to meticulously study how to install it for optimal visual effect, Jin gazed at her profile, which appeared both intensely focused and remarkably vulnerable under the lamp’s glow, and a sudden impulse surged through her.

She took a deep breath, interrupting Xia Yue’s research.

“Xia Yue,” Jin said, her voice barely a whisper.

Xia Yue immediately froze, turning to stand ramrod straight like a soldier awaiting orders, her gaze fixed on Jin with palpable tension.

Jin averted Xia Yue’s overly intense gaze, looking at the floor.

Her fingers unconsciously twisted her clothing hem, and her voice held a barely perceptible tremble:

“Tomorrow… are you free?”

Xia Yue paused for a moment, then quickly replied: “Yes. Any time. What do you need me to do?”

Her tone carried the resolute air of someone prepared to execute any mission at a moment’s notice.

Jin lifted her head, gathering her courage, and met Xia Yue’s eyes, which were filled with both confusion and anticipation.

She spoke softly:

“Let’s… go to an amusement park. Just… the two of us.”

No sooner had the words left her lips than Jin saw Xia Yue’s pupils subtly dilate.

The ‘gentle’ expression she had meticulously maintained instantly froze, then, like ice cracking, slowly receded, revealing a genuine, blank canvas beneath, etched with immense shock and… a hint of bewilderment.

The air seemed to still at that moment.

Jin’s heart pounded rapidly.

She didn’t know if this invitation was right or wrong; she simply hoped… perhaps, in a crowded, lively, less ‘private’ place, Xia Yue might relax a little?

Could she… revert even slightly to her original self?

She watched Xia Yue, frozen in place, her heart filled with trepidation.

Meanwhile, Xia Yue’s brain was operating at an overload.

[Amusement park? Target initiated social invitation? Two-person mode?]

[Data retrieval: Common amusement park activities… Emotional value analysis… Potential risk assessment…]

[Core directive: Comply with target’s wishes, enhance relationship intimacy.]

[Action plan: Accept invitation, optimize itinerary, ensure target receives optimal experience.]

A few seconds later, the blankness on Xia Yue’s face was replaced by a more resolute expression, as if she had just accepted an S-rank mission.

She nodded firmly, her voice clear and strong:

“Alright. I will formulate a detailed strategy to ensure tomorrow’s itinerary is maximized for efficiency and optimized for experience.”

Jin: “…”

Watching Xia Yue instantly switch into ‘strategic planning’ mode, she suddenly felt a pang of regret.

It seemed… she had dug herself an even deeper, stranger hole.

She began to intensely miss the cold, yet at least predictably behaving, Xia Yue who would only hit her in the face with the ‘Resource Supply Agreement’.