Shi Yang stepped back through the doors of the Glory Clinic, the faint roar of the market muffled to a distant hum as the wooden panels shut behind him. The air inside was cooler, touched with sandalwood and the faint iron tang of sterilized tools. Xiu Mei followed close, her hips swaying lazily as she drifted toward the back counter.
She crouched, tugging at a latch hidden beneath the polished surface, and drew out a long wooden box. Its hinges creaked as she placed it upon the counter and turned it away from herself before opening the lid.
Inside, nestled in black cloth, lay four rusted daggers. Their edges were chipped, their hilts eaten by rust, but each bore the same crude engraving burned deep into the metal:
Glory Clinic.
The sight of them drew a hush from the waiting hall. The two old patients didn't blink an eye, having already witnessed this scene themselves.
Han Jie let the silence settle before her voice, smooth and measured, filled the space. "Daoist Shi is not a charity. Those who wish to claim his hand must first pay their dues." Her crimson veil tilted just so, her eyes glimmering with an edge of mockery as she gestured toward the box.
The patron glanced at the women beside him, shifting uneasily, but Han Jie pressed forward without waiting for protest. "After paying your bids, each of you will take one dagger. Press it to your palm, let a drop of blood fall. This is to show how your new life begins with your rebirth here, in the clinic."
The men exchanged nervous looks, but under Han Jie's steady gaze, hesitation withered. Fingers trembling, they each reached forward, lifting the worn blades. The rust was cold against their skin. One by one, they pricked their palms and let blood bead upon the steel.
Satisfied, Han Jie shut the box with a decisive snap. She turned her attention back to the pair, her voice lilting with the tone of command hidden beneath courtesy.
"Now," she said, "you will come with me. Daoist Shi's skill requires precision, and that begins with preparation. You must be dressed accordingly before surgery."
She gestured, crimson sleeve fluttering as she beckoned. They moved with her call, clutching their hands where blood still lingered, and followed her toward a curtained doorway at the rear of the hall.
The four newly made patients had barely disappeared behind the curtain when the pair still seated turned their eyes to Shi Yang. Their faces—once sharp, once unmistakably masculine—had softened in striking ways. Rounded cheeks framed their features, their lips fuller, their skin smoother. Shi Yang's hospital garments clung to their forms, accentuating the budding swell of their crafted breasts.
One of them, a slender figure with dusky eyes and an almost cherubic smile, leaned forward. He was a cultivator named Luo Feng, one of the men who had won the Complete Body Refinement auction on Shi Yang's third day of operation.
"To think," Luo Feng said lightly, voice pitched higher than before but still carrying the weight of a man's cadence, "that my surgery, which I secured for a single silver, could now cost a cultivator an entire gold…" He chuckled behind a pale sleeve, eyes glinting with amusement. "It truly amuses me, Daoist Yin Yang Shi."
Shi Yang's lips curved faintly, calm as a mountain stream. "That is the way of life," he replied evenly. "You were fortunate enough to arrive at my doorstep when my name was not yet known. Fortune favors the bold… or the desperate." His gaze swept across the clinic, lingering on the faint shadows of the crowd outside pressing against the paper screens. "In the future, one gold may not even be enough for a single bid."
At his words, a ripple passed between the patients. The other man beside Luo Feng shifted, folding his delicate hands into his lap, his expression quietly reverent. Both of them—though dressed as women—still carried the unmistakable gravity of men beneath their painted lips and padded forms.
Shi Yang's eyes lingered on them for a long moment. He measured them not only as customers but as vessels of his craft, as proof of his method's success. They were living advertisements, walking whispers, spreading his name faster than coin could buy.
Finally, he raised his brush and tapped it lightly against the bamboo slip in his hand.
"It is time," he said. "One of you will undergo your final procedure today."
His gaze settled on Luo Feng, whose laughter still lingered faintly in the air. "You. Come."
His smile faltered, replaced with something tighter, half-nervous, half-thrilled. Rising gracefully in his garments, he bowed his head toward Shi Yang and followed as instructed, every step marking the path toward his final transformation.
"Follow," Shi Yang commanded, holding his arms behind his back as he turned toward the stairwell. His eyes locked onto the returning Han Jie, and they nodded to each other.
Luo Feng's slippers clicked softly against the wood as he obeyed, each step carrying him deeper into the current of Shi Yang's design. The stairwell was narrow, lit by paper lanterns whose pale glow spilled upward like ghostlight. By the time they reached the second floor, the din of the market had faded entirely, replaced by the steady hum of silence broken only by the faint crackle of incense.
The surgery chamber was spare but precise. A long reclining chair, polished bronze implements laid neatly in rows, and a faint array inscribed into the floor with chalk-dusted lines that shimmered faintly when Shi Yang brushed a sleeve across them.
"Sit," Shi Yang commanded.
Luo Feng lowered himself without hesitation, though his fingers twitched against the silk hem of his shirt.
Shi Yang lifted his brush once, then set it aside. He did not need ink or slips for this. Instead, he pressed two fingers together and drew in a slow breath, his qi pooling at his fingertips until it gleamed like molten jade. With practiced ease, he pressed his hand to Luo Feng's side.
The cultivator stiffened as a subtle heat seeped into his body, a heat that did not burn but shifted. Flesh quivered. Fat slid beneath the skin like clay under a master's hand. His waist narrowed, his thighs took on fullness, and his chest swelled with a soft, natural curve that pushed against the clinic's garments. Bones creaked faintly, proportions correcting themselves as if heaven's own chisel had shaved and shaped his form.
Five minutes passed in silence. Then Shi Yang drew back, exhaling faintly, and the glow dissipated.
Luo Feng's hands trembled as he glanced down, staring at the form that was now undeniably his own. The symmetry, the curves, the balance—it was not only feminine, it was beautiful. He reached for a mirror placed discreetly at the side of the chamber and stared into it as if at a stranger. His lips parted, but no sound emerged.
Shi Yang's voice broke the quiet, low and deliberate. "You said earlier it amused you… that what cost you one silver might cost another one gold today." His gaze was sharp, cutting through Luo Feng's reverie. "And I told you it was fortune that placed you here when my name was not yet known. That was true."
He moved to the window, pushing aside the screen to reveal the faint silhouette of the bustling street below. "Heaven smiled on you outside my clinic. Had you not stepped through my door that day, I would have missed such a canvas to work upon."
His words carried the weight of inevitability. Praise and ownership intertwined, as if Luo Feng's body itself was proof of heaven's intent.
Shi Yang turned, his expression calm, measured, almost indulgent. "Now that your surgery is complete, I wonder if you might do me a small favor."
Luo Feng blinked, setting the mirror aside, still half-dazed by his transformation. "A favor?"
Shi Yang gestured toward a stack of folded silk slips resting by the door, each marked with the emblem of the Glory Clinic. "Distribute those through the market. Let your form speak louder than words. Each flyer is worth less than a whisper compared to what the crowd will see walking past."
Luo Feng hesitated, pride and obedience warring in his eyes. Shi Yang's lips curved faintly.
"I do not ask for charity," he continued smoothly. "Four silver a day. You will work for me as a living example of my craft. That way, fortune favors you twice."
The silence stretched, the weight of the offer pressing down. At last, Luo Feng bowed his head, the faintest flush touching his cheeks. "Daoist Shi… I would be honored."
Shi Yang inclined his head once in acknowledgment, nothing more. The bargain had been struck, and with it, his name would spread faster than coin could ever carry.