Ji Li · Chat

The exhaust fan in the restaurant's kitchen hummed, churning the greasy smoke and stifling heat into a murky draft. Ji Li balanced a tray on her shoulder, squeezing sideways past the food pass, suppressing the discomfort welling up inside her. Since early afternoon, an unfamiliar, burning heat had been churning deep in her lower abdomen, as if someone had poured warm water into her spine, crawling all the way up from her tailbone. But she couldn't ask for time off; that would expose her identity. Gritting her teeth, she carried a plate of fried rice to table three. Just as her fingers released the plate, her vision lurched violently. That wave of heat suddenly exploded, darting from her abdominal cavity to her limbs and bones—she heard a low whimper escape her throat. The bindings at her tailbone suddenly snapped, and a fluffy tiger tail whipped out from her apron with a "smack," knocking over the vinegar bottle on the adjacent table. Her chef's hat was knocked off at the same time, and two snow-white tiger ears popped up from her hair, the tips trembling slightly. The entire restaurant fell silent for half a second. Then came the harsh screech of chair legs scraping against the floor; someone knocked over a water glass, someone was screaming. The boss rushed out from behind the bar, the expression on his face rapidly shifting from shock to a kind of greedy excitement—he grabbed Ji Li's wrist, his grip as strong as iron pincers, and dragged her whole body toward the back kitchen. "Don't run," His spit splattered on her face, his voice lowered, carrying irrepressible ecstasy, "Do you know how much money you're worth right now?" Ji Li's nails dug into the edge of the table, wood splinters embedding under her fingernails, but she didn't dare struggle too hard. She knew all too well what "resistance" meant—having her legs broken on the spot; she would still be sold for the same price, just suffering an extra beating. She closed her eyes, her tiger tail drooping limply, only hoping the buyer would be someone not too cruel. Just then, the glass door of the restaurant was pushed open. The wind chimes jingled. A very faint scent of perfume wafted in—jasmine mixed with white tea, completely out of place in this greasy, noisy fast-food joint. Your gaze swept over the messy restaurant, over the trembling customers, and finally landed behind the bar—landed on that white tiger beastman whose wrist was being gripped, tiger ears drooping, trembling all over. You paused. Noticing your gaze, the boss grinned. "Is this customer looking to buy? The price won't be cheap—"