Min Fan didn’t throw open the door recklessly. He gripped the doorknob loosely and scrutinized the two men outside through the electronic peephole.
Two men stood at the threshold, both towering around six feet tall, clad in crisp black suits and mirrored sunglasses—like they’d stepped straight out of a professional security detail.
Each carried a silver combination-locked briefcase and sported a Bluetooth earpiece.
“How did you find out?” Min Fan asked calmly. “I can call the cops anytime.”
The Slim Tall Guy in charge glanced up at the surveillance camera and flashed his credentials.
“Cities across the country are retrofitting the Skynet system with infrared cameras. Your friend underwent a drastic body temperature shift in a matter of minutes.”
The Slim Tall Guy popped open the briefcase, angling it toward the lens.
The case was partitioned into two sections.
The left side held what looked like a gleaming chrome ankle ring and a stack of instruction manuals. The right contained an array of syringes in various sizes.
“If you’re still uneasy, go ahead and call the police to verify us,” the Slim Tall Guy said. “We’ve got our ID numbers pinned to our chests. I’m O381, and my partner here is A274.”
Min Fan dialed the police without a second thought.
The dispatcher at the station checked the details but fumbled a bit through the protocol, clearly out of practice.
“This has actually happened on your end…?” she couldn’t help pressing. “Someone really turned into a bird?”
A sharp knock sounded on the desk beside her—a warning.
“Sorry, that was out of line,” she said, drawing a deep breath before stumbling through the standard spiel. “Please follow the guidance and arrangements from the OAC staff. If necessary, our officers can come by to supervise and provide assistance.”
Min Fan picked up on the undercurrent.
Incidents like this were cropping up nationwide, but they were still vanishingly rare.
The young man ignored her instructions and cut straight to the chase.
“Is he the first case in this precinct?”
“I’m afraid I can’t disclose that.”
“Got it. Thanks. Happy New Year.”
Min Fan ended the call, double-checked his phone’s emergency SOS button, and finally opened the door to the Snake Bird Affairs Department staff.
O381 barely spared a glance for the baseball bat clutched in Min Fan’s white-knuckled grip as he crossed the threshold—like it was just another Tuesday.
He made a beeline for the White Bird, which was flapping and squawking in distress, ready to examine it.
A scattering of soft down feathers had drifted onto the sofa. The bird was still too panicked to take flight properly.
Catching a whiff of O381’s chill aura, the White Bird let out an enraged screech and lunged with a vicious peck.
A274 pulled out a spray bottle without missing a beat and gave it a quick mist.
A peculiar sweet scent bloomed in the air, and Min Fan found himself stepping back on instinct.
A274 shot him a look. “Avian pheromones. Calming agents mixed in. It’s highly stressed—aggressive as hell right now.”
Min Fan wrinkled his nose at the smell, clapping a hand over his mouth and nose. He felt like he’d stumbled into some urban fantasy flick.
Or maybe it was that wild mushroom hotpot from last night still messing with his head, trapping him in a dream.
The White Bird grew lethargic, its struggles fading to lazy flaps.
O381 swiftly fitted it with an ankle ring, clipped on a silver chain, and secured it to a portable bird perch.
A274 drew a blood sample right away, sliding the test strip into a gadget that resembled a glucometer.
“Your phone number?”
Min Fan murmured it out.
A flurry of SMS chimes followed.
【Beijing District Snake Bird Affairs Department】 Staff ID A274 has sent you the 《Snake Bird Bloodline Mutation Explanation Document》. Please click the link to download and read the PDF.
【Beijing District Snake Bird Affairs Department】 Staff ID A274 has sent you the 《A9750 · Haidongqing · Habits and Rearing Manual》.
A274 grabbed a booklet and handed it over.
“Give it a read. Any questions, hit up the consultation line on the back—twenty-four-seven.”
“So he’s a Haidongqing now?” Min Fan pressed, keeping his voice level. “When does he change back?”
“I’ll send you the family registration link, plus…”
“I’m not family,” Min Fan cut in. “If we’re being precise, we’re not even friends.”
The Slim Tall Guy, midway through snipping half a flight feather into a DNA evidence bag, turned his head. “You two aren’t close?”
“Nope. Not close.”
They might’ve been on opposite sides, once.
“That’s odd,” the Slim Tall Guy said. “If you’re not close, why’d he pick you?”
Min Fan replied evenly, “Maybe he ran out of options.”
A274 kept it all business. “If this is an issue for you, we can take the bird into custody.”
Min Fan harbored no warm feelings for Qin Baiyan, yet his gaze darkened all the same.
“He’s not a bird. He’s Qin Baiyan.”
“No offense,” the Slim Tall Guy said, “but right now, this haidongqing is still fully in its animal state. It has no human consciousness.”
“We’ve completed the identity registration. If it’s inconvenient for you, we can take it with us. The OAC Beijing District Base has custom bird cages and snake boxes, with dedicated staff to care for it.”
Min Fan had watched too many sci-fi movies, and he recoiled on instinct.
He wasn’t close to Qin Baiyan, that much was true.
But that didn’t mean this industry legend, a man whose name would echo through film history, deserved to be shut away in some frigid, shadowy lab—to be poked and prodded like a lab rat by strangers.
A274 studied Min Fan’s expression, then said thoughtfully, “One moment. We’ll check with our superiors. If we get the go-ahead, we can administer a temporary reversion shot to Mr. Qin.”
“It’s for his own good—the effect only lasts ten minutes.”
“Qin Baiyan isn’t just anybody,” Min Fan replied. “You’d better report his name.”
The idea hit home.
With swift approval from above, A274 snatched a rumpled fleece blanket from the sofa and carefully wrapped the exhausted haidongqing.
He glanced at Min Fan by way of explanation. “Transformation requires bedding, soft blankets—anything to mimic an eggshell.”
The white falcon was restrained once more, its right wing pried open.
A long needle slid in at a forty-five-degree angle beneath the skin, the orange reagent pushed in slow and steady.
In the next instant, the haidongqing—which had been listless moments before—thrashed wildly. Its sharp beak whipped sideways like a razor, slashing open O381’s collar.
Min Fan’s eyesight was sharp; he caught the glint of a neck ring beneath O381’s collar.
He thought he glimpsed dark cyan scales too, flickering like a mirage.
“You can turn into a bird too?” Min Fan said, drawing a deep breath. “So none of you are human. Aliens?”
A274 let out a chuckle.
“He’s a Snake Descendant. I’m a Feather Descendant.”
“When you’ve got time, read this manual.”
The blanket caved in all at once, revealing a naked man sprawled before them.
His muscles were sleek and taut, his chest mostly bared, every line honed to near perfection.
His long legs clenched tight against the pain, yet they still exuded a raw, magnetic pull.
Min Fan’s gaze faltered for a beat. He drew another deep breath and looked away.
A274’s first priority was checking the marking ankle ring on Qin Baiyan’s ankle—making sure it flexed freely and that the vital signs data was streaming online.
“Mr. Min, you’ve got less than ten minutes,” he said by way of reminder.
“Qin Baiyan.”
Min Fan made himself focus solely on the man’s face.
“What’s your plan? Call family to come get you?”
Qin Baiyan was in bad shape, weak to his core.
Tall and lean, the blanket barely covered a sliver of his waist. He was all but fully exposed.
The air grew thick with unintended intimacy.
It was only when Min Fan spotted the sheen of sweat tracing from the nape of the man’s neck down the elegant dip of his waist that he snapped out of his daze.
Qin Baiyan managed a sip of the supplement A274 offered, his eyes still lowered as he panted for breath.
“I’ve got nowhere else to go right now,” he rasped. “Sorry.”
“Temporary containment it is, then?” A274 asked, all business.
Min Fan locked eyes with Qin Baiyan and held silent for several seconds. “You owe me a favor. Make it two.”
The man broke into a smile.
It was the same fierce, untamed grin as the haidongqing he’d become—heroic, striking, defiant.
Even battered as he was, it carried the weight to command any room.
“Deal. I accept.”
Backstage at the broadcast hall, Ayi had been pacing in frantic circles when his phone finally rang with a call from the little ancestor.
“Fanfan, you guys done at last?! Brother Xu and I shuffled the program lineup for you—the deputy director’s pissed—”
“It’s Qin Baiyan. Put Director Zhuang on the line.”
Ayi’s face fell the instant he heard that lazy, gravelly voice.
“Right, sure thing, Brother Qin.”
Qin Baiyan ran through it quick with the director: sudden serious illness, surgery needed; Min Fan had a rare blood type and was donating; both required emergency leave.
“Run the backup program. I can line up friends to fill in ASAP.”
Director Zhuang sounded almost flustered, like he’d been handed a gift.
“It’s all pre-recorded anyway—health first,” he said haltingly. “So, about that variety show we discussed…”
“Done. I’m in.”
The director sealed it on the spot.
“Rest up, you two! It’s nothing!”
Qin Baiyan gave his agent a few more instructions, tying up all the loose ends.
While waiting, Min Fan happened to glance at the monitor screen for A274 and exclaimed in astonishment, “His temperature is up to 42 degrees right now?”
A274 responded matter-of-factly, “That’s normal body temperature for a Haidongqing. A human couldn’t endure it for long.”
By the time Old Xu picked up the phone, he was so frantic that steam was practically rising from his head. “What’s the deal between you and Min Fan? What was your relationship before?”
“No time to explain,” Qin Baiyan said resolutely. “Let everyone know—he and I are moving in together starting today.”
Min Fan’s expression turned murderous, while O381 let out a soft tsk.
Qin Baiyan didn’t bat an eye. “Don’t come looking for us for the next week. Put all my work on hold.”
Old Xu unleashed a shrill, piercing wail. “Brother Qin—Lord Qin! You can’t—!”
Qin Baiyan hung up.
The man lay gripped by a raging fever, his breaths so shallow they were barely detectable.
Qin Baiyan’s resilience and fragility revealed themselves in the same instant, the dark gold in his eyes yet to fade.
“Remember to tie me down,” he rasped, gazing at him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
