Mo Mei Smiles

Morning light filtered in through the cracks in the stable, forming pale stripes across the dirt floor. The dripping had stopped, but the cold remained. Mo Han trembled, covered by a layer of dry straw atop the old one—now soaked and reeking. He still couldn't sit up properly. But his eyes... his eyes were alert. Calculating.

He had spent the night testing micro-movements. Finger flexes. Faint contractions in his calves. Every response, no matter how small, was mentally recorded. A rudimentary experiment in raw neuroengineering.

The sound of soft footsteps broke the monotony. Light, rhythmic steps. A cadence different from the handlers or the clan's thugs. A sound more... intentional. Delicate.

The door opened.

— "Little brother…"

Mo Mei stood there. Dressed in a simple light cotton robe, her hair tied back with a modest ribbon. Her delicate face, soft features, contrasted with eyes that were sharp and curious. She carried a small basket covered by a cloth.

Mo Han said nothing.

She approached slowly, crouching a short distance away.

— "I came to see if you were still alive. Some were betting you wouldn't last the night."

She pulled the cloth from the basket. There was bread. Two small pieces, but fresh. And a fruit. It was more food than Mo Han had seen since arriving.

— "Here," she said, pushing the basket closer to him. "Don't tell anyone."

Mo Han just watched her. For three seconds—too long. Then, with effort, he raised his right hand and grabbed the bread. He bit into it. The plain taste felt divine against his hunger.

— "You were always strange, you know?" she said. "Even before... all this."

— "All this?" he muttered, mouth full.

— "Getting kicked out by the clan. Sent to the stables. Forgotten."

Mo Han chewed in silence. Observing. Every gesture she made, every inflection in her voice. She spoke sweetly, but something about her expression felt... rehearsed. Measured.

— "Why did you come?" he asked.

She smiled. A small smile. Almost sad.

— "Maybe because I know what it's like to be invisible in here. The two of us… we're mistakes, aren't we?"

Mo Han said nothing. The sentence sounded true. But also convenient.

Mo Mei stood up.

— "I have to go. If they see me here, they'll think I'm wasting time."

She turned and left. The door creaked shut. And the stable returned to its natural state: silence, cold, and the bittersweet smell of misery.

Mo Han ate the rest slowly. Thinking. Why would she help him? Pity? Guilt? A need to stand out? None of the variables quite fit.

...

Later, when the sun had already begun to set and the pain pulsed again in waves, he heard voices.

They were outside the stable. Hidden in the inner corridors of the clan. But the female voice was unmistakable.

— "It was hilarious! He took the bread like it was a divine gift. You should've seen his face, Mo Ren! Like a starving dog."

Laughter.

Mo Han stopped breathing.

— "And he didn't even ask where it came from. Swallowed it without a second thought. I bet if I'd told him it was poison, he would've thanked me."

— "I don't know why you waste time on that trash," Mo Ren replied with his usual arrogance. "Should've just let him die."

— "Maybe..." Mo Mei said. "But it's fun to play with things that still think they're people."

Silence returned. Then footsteps. They walked away.

Mo Han lay still. His gaze empty. His stomach, once warmed by the food, now felt like it was burning from acid.

The pain returned. But not the physical kind.

It was a different pain. One he knew well from his previous world. The pain of betrayal. Of mockery masked as kindness. Of emotional manipulation disguised as empathy.

He closed his eyes.

Took a deep breath.

And for the first time, logged a new kind of data into his internal system: deceit.

Mo Mei had given him a gift. Not the bread. But the final confirmation that no one in that clan saw him as human.

From that moment on, he would stop acting like one.