Bai Yiyi lay half-reclined at the bottom of the cage, utterly exhausted. In his heart, he silently cursed the designer of this escape-proof door for the Nth time.
It was clearly a simple barbed mechanism, one anyone could see through at a glance. Pulling with both hands at the same time would open it easily. And yet, for him in his current state, it was an impossible task.
He? Or it?
Bai Yiyi gazed at his pink claws, still trembling slightly from overexertion, and at his belly covered in pure white feathers. He recalled the bizarre events of the past three days.
It had all started when he’d read a popular original BL novel right before bed. He’d envied the life of that pampered canary, doted on by a domineering CEO—clothing brought to him on demand, meals served on a silver platter. Then he’d been bound by something called the Starry Sky Legend Dream Come True Wishing System and transformed into… this.
Yep. A genuine caged canary.
He closed his eyes and called out mentally. “Hey, System, there’s really no built-in shop? No way to redeem items?”
The system’s childish voice carried a hint of grievance. “No, really there isn’t. I… I was just born, you know? Turning you into this canary already drained all my energy. Do you have any idea how difficult that was? Screening for a suitable host bird species, collapsing your physical body, then transferring your soul without any damage… all those steps in between…”
“Stop, stop. Thanks for nothing.”
Bai Yiyi had no interest in hearing about the process of becoming a bird. There was no science or logic to it, and the end result was tragic enough. He shot back irritably with a jab.
But the system sounded a little pleased, though hesitant. “I don’t have a family, but thanks for the thanks anyway. Why didn’t your satisfaction rating go up even a little?”
Because Chinese is vast and profound, and you’re just a clueless import. Bai Yiyi gave up on the pointless debate and focused on the crisis at hand. He eyed the empty food box and water dish, letting out a sigh. “So what now? I’m about to starve to death here, and I can’t get out.”
He turned his head. Through the bars of the birdcage, the single apartment—less than 400 square feet—was visible in its entirety. The scene hadn’t changed at all in days: utterly devoid of human presence, messy as hell.
His temper flared anew. He held it back at first but couldn’t stop himself from grumbling. “When you bound me, it was to make my dream come true, right? Being a canary pampered by a domineering CEO? Your reading comprehension is trash. Fine, you turned me into a bird, but where’s the domineering CEO? Where the hell did my big bad top go?”
The system replied, “What’s a top? Isn’t domineering CEO the same as domineering president?”
Bai Yiyi was gay by nature but too cowardly to come out of the closet. He could only satisfy his cravings with some half-baked BL tropes. He didn’t bother explaining that a BL domineering CEO was way more than just a domineering president. He brushed it off. “Same difference. Where’s the guy?”
The system refused to take the blame. “Young Master Snow White’s original owner really was a domineering CEO. I used big data from all your human domineering CEO quotes and calculated the highest-scoring bird owner within a thousand kilometers.”
“…That awful name. And then?”
The system sounded aggrieved too. “Then… who knew you humans are so fickle? You say you love your pets, but you hand them off without a second thought. You were still in a coma, adapting when you first arrived, and he just gave you away to your current owner.”
Despair washed over Bai Yiyi. An unreliable rookie system, a cold-hearted original owner, and now an unreliable current one—what kind of cursed luck was this?
The system murmured a number. “Minus eighty-five now. If it reaches minus one hundred, I…”
Bai Yiyi quickly tamped down his resentment. That number reflected his inner satisfaction with the system.
It had already dipped below zero the moment he realized he’d become a bird. It plunged to minus fifty when he learned it could go negative. Minus seventy when the food ran out, minus eighty when he couldn’t escape. In these three days, it hadn’t risen even once. If it dropped any further…
He forced himself to stay calm. “I get it. If satisfaction hits minus one hundred, you’ll dissipate, and I’ll be stuck as a birdman forever. So, once it passes the line, I can temporarily turn back human?”
The system eagerly dangled a carrot. “Yes, yes! Just two satisfaction points unlocks human form for one hour!”
Bai Yiyi let himself daydream for a moment, then double-checked. “And a hundred points gets me back to human for good?”
The system stated firmly, “Of course. Once I complete my task and gather the energy, I’ll send you right back.”
Bai Yiyi’s mind raced. From shock to acceptance—these past few days, he’d been too busy adjusting to his bird body. Learning to walk and fly, forcing down that hard, tasteless bird feed. Why hadn’t he attacked the problem at its root?
Summoning every ounce of his acting talent, Bai Yiyi gave it a shot. “These past few days have been incredible! I can even fly now! System, I’m so satisfied with you—satisfaction at one hundred percent!”
“…”
No number came this time. Instead, vivid red digits appeared before his eyes: “-85.” Then the ones digit ticked down before settling at “-87.”
Damn it—why’d it drop again?
The system analyzed timidly, “Because we’re soul-bound, I can’t fool you with lies, so your satisfaction fell again?”
It truly couldn’t afford to drop any more. Bai Yiyi abandoned all false hopes. He stood, paced over to the food box, and licked up the last remnants with his slender bird tongue. Then he half-reclined against the cage wall to conserve what little strength he had left for another escape attempt.
After a good while, when he felt a bit of energy returning, Bai Yiyi waddled to the edge of the cage. He studied the door in the center again, steeled himself mentally, spread his wings, and flapped up to cling onto it.
Left claw, right claw—he gripped the mechanisms on either side of the door firmly. Then, with his beak, he tugged the cage door upward bit by bit. Each pull only lifted it to head height before he had to release his grip. He’d press his body flat to hold it steady, reposition his beak, clamp down, and haul it higher.
He lost track of time, but finally, the door hung half-open. Now came the hardest part: Let go with the claws first? The door would fall. Beak first? It would fall. Release the body? Down it went.
After multiple calculations and attempts, he reached a conclusion. Puff out his belly as much as possible to slow the door’s descent when he released claws and beak, then squeeze through in one determined push.
If this failed, he doubted he’d have the strength for another try.
With a do-or-die resolve, he held his breath and puffed out his belly. He tentatively relaxed his beak and claws. Success was right there…
Click.
The clear sound made Bai Yiyi jump, leaving him momentarily stunned. Had he used too much force and snapped something on the cage?
A moment later, he realized his mistake and mocked himself inwardly. Turning into a bird had made him dumb too. This was an iron cage—there was no way he’d broken it.
Then he stared blankly at the man who had suddenly appeared. Bearded and weary, but his handsome features shone through. It finally hit him: that was the sound of the door opening. The current owner, missing for three days, was back…
Yan Tuo stared at the goldfinch splayed out with all four limbs clinging desperately to the cage door. Its little white belly was puffed to the max, beak still clamped on the half-open door. He instantly understood the situation.
He’d caught a little escape artist red-handed.
He wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light, but in that moment of eye contact, he swore he saw the full progression in the bird’s eyes: shock turning to despair, then fury.
The scene was downright comical. The watermelon-headed white fluffball was flailing wildly on the door, its post-capture expression a mix of panic and indignation—equal parts dumb, stupid, and pitiful.
“Heh.”
Yan Tuo couldn’t help but chuckle softly. All right, it wasn’t dumb after all. It had figured out the mechanism on its own and nearly succeeded.
With the major case wrapped up after days of nonstop work, his relaxed mood lifted even further. For once, Yan Tuo felt a spark of mischief.
He extended his index finger and gently rubbed the protruding white belly. Mmm—soft and warm to the touch. Nice.
Struck right in the vulnerable spot, Bai Yiyi—bird body, human mind—shuddered all over. A strange electric tingle shot straight to his scalp. On instinct, he wanted to pull away.
But he caught himself immediately. He was just a bird right now, not his original body. What was there to fear from a touch?
So his belly retracted for a second, then puffed right back out to challenge the intruding finger.
Bai Yiyi was being stubborn. Handsome or not, the brief moment of awe had done nothing to quell his seething anger.
This guy had vanished for days, completely forgetting the living creature he was supposed to care for. Fine, whatever—but Bai Yiyi had been on the verge of breaking free to glorious freedom, only to have it ruined by a single finger at the last second.
Now that the owner was back, he didn’t need to risk everything just for a meal anymore. But that anger refused to fade. Bai Yiyi held firm with beak and claws, thrusting his belly forward in a bid to squeeze through the door anyway.
The finger responded by tracing wider circles, scratching and prodding with gentle but insistent force.
They remained locked in stalemate for a good while before Bai Yiyi finally gave in.
Bird body or not, he couldn’t withstand the teasing swirls everywhere—itchy and mortifying, with his claws going numb from the strain. With a pitiful “Ying!”, he surrendered.
He tumbled with a rumble-rumble down to the cage floor, hugging his wings around himself and shivering. His little eyes shot death glares at the man outside the bars, while the feathers on his watermelon head bristled in rage.
Yan Tuo glanced at the fluffed-up little thing and chuckled under his breath. Then his gaze swept over the empty food and water dishes, and a pang of guilt rose in his chest. It must have been starving desperate to try escaping like that.
With a sigh, he admitted to himself that he was no good at keeping any living creature alive. And yet Hongqing had insisted on foisting this delicate, pampered little thing on him. One bout of busyness, one forgotten chore, and he’d nearly cost it its life.
Yan Tuo resolved to find a chance to return the pet soon. But for now, the priority was refilling its food and water.
A large box brimmed with fresh grains mixed with bone meal bird food, topped off with a bottle of mineral water. Watching the pitiful little creature devour its meal in a frenzy, driven mad by hunger, Yan Tuo’s heart softened. He decided to treat his temporary pet to something extra substantial.
Bai Yiyi pecked frantically at the millet grains, gulping them down as his stomach burned with insatiable hunger. He had no time to gripe about the hard, dry taste—and no notice of his feeder grabbing a small shovel, heading out the door, and returning moments later.
The cage door swung open. A clump of brownish “mud” was plopped into the food box, right in front of Bai Yiyi’s eyes.
His beak still busy, Bai Yiyi turned his head for a casual glance. What… what the hell was this? The “mud” was moving?
He peered closer…
“Cheep… cheep cheep…”
His feathers exploded in alarm. He let out a shrill cry, scrambled to the farthest corner, and huddled his wings around himself, trembling violently. This time, it was sheer terror.
No “mud” at all—it was clearly earthworms. Two or three of them, tangled together and wriggling atop his pile of bird food.
Bai Yiyi wasn’t scared of earthworms. As a kid, he’d gone fishing with his grandpa and dug up plenty. But at his current size, through a little bird’s eyes, they were nightmare fuel—huge snakes, each as long as his entire body.
The man outside the cage chuckled. “Fresh and wriggling—way better than that dry bird food, right? I got busy earlier and forgot about you. Consider this feast my apology.”
A beat later, he seemed to catch on. “Oh, too big to manage? Sorry, no experience with this. Hang tight, and I’ll chop them up for you.”
Like hell I need that! Thanks but no thanks to you and your whole damn ancestry!
Bai Yiyi cursed furiously in his mind, scrambling even farther back. His eyes bored into the man outside the cage, brimming with horror and desperate pleading.
But it did no good. With a few quick snips, the two long earthworms became a dozen segments. They writhed everywhere like fat, charred fried dough sticks that had sprung to life. Two or three even bounced out of the food box, inching toward him.
In the instant before he blacked out from sheer fright, Bai Yiyi swore he’d never touch a fried dough stick again.
~~~
