The recovery was slow, painful, and filled with a constant, nagging sense of "what the hell?"

Bai Yue spent her days in the private VIP wing of the hospital, which, despite the luxury, felt like a high-end prison. Every time a nurse came in to check her vitals, Bai Yue wanted to ask if they had any "memory-restoration" pills on the menu.

I gave birth to them, she thought for the thousandth time, staring at the ceiling. Four children. Three fathers. One cave. In this world, I’m a twenty-four-year-old virgin nanny with a gunshot wound. In that world, I was the heart of a feral, fluffy, terrifying family.

The internal commentary was a mess.

How did I even handle three Alphas? My modern self can barely handle a slow Wi-Fi connection. And the kids! Hóng Yè is sixteen! I would have had to be eight years old to have him here! Tiān-Mìng, you’re not just a bitch, you’re bad at math!

Every time Han Shān visited, he was the picture of corporate grace. He brought expensive lilies. He paid the bills. He called her "Miss Bai."

Every time Zhāo Yàn visited, he brought high-end takeout and cracked jokes about how she was the "world’s most expensive nanny." He called her "Brave Girl."

Every time Yàn Shū visited, he brought books. He looked at her with a lingering, confused sadness, but when she mentioned the "Scholar" or "Red Panda," he just smiled sadly and told her to focus on her "creative imagination" as a way to cope with the trauma.

It was infuriating. It was like being the only person at a party who remembered the embarrassing thing everyone did, but everyone else had collective amnesia.

By the second week, Bai Yue couldn’t take it anymore. Her wound was healing, the Goddess’s "miracle" had ensured that, and she was finally discharged. Han Shān had a car waiting for her, but she didn’t go to his penthouse. She didn’t go to her own apartment either.

She had asked Zhao Yan about the shaman they had visited, and even though he claimed to have no memory of doing such, he still directed her to a shaman he knew.

And Bai Yue? She didn’t waste anytime. She took a taxi to the old district.

The basement shop was there and it was open, the scent of burnt toast and ancient herbs wafting out of the door.

Bai Yue marched down the stairs, her heart thumping. The bead curtain rustled as she burst in.

The shaman was there. He was trying to fix a broken radio.

"Oh you. You’re late," he chirped without looking up.

Bai Yue cocked a brow. She never called him to set an appointment or something like that.

The shaman let out a snort. "I can see your brain malfunctioning. Please sit down before you give ME a headache, Bai Yue of Thousand Fang."

"You know," Bai Yue gasped, clutching the doorframe. "Please tell me you remember. The three men? The punch to the jaw? The ’grumpy planets’?"

The shaman looked up, his thick circular glasses magnifying his mischievous eyes. He rubbed his jaw gingerly. "Oh, I remember the punch. The Snow Leopard has a very heavy paw. It’s a pity he’s forgotten how to use it."

Bai Yue sank onto the unstable wooden stool, her eyes welling with tears of relief. "They don’t remember anything. They think I’m crazy. They think I’m just a nanny who got shot. How do I fix this? I can’t live like this, knowing they’re my family while they treat me like a stranger."

Bai Yue’s logical mind found it hilarious that she was discussing with a....shaman....about what was apparently her other life. It didn’t make any sense, but she chose to not question it.

Nothing made sense anymore.

The shaman sighed, putting down his screwdriver. He looked at her with a rare moment of pity. "The Goddess Tiān-Mìng is a child playing with dolls, little beast-mother. It’s a test. A cruel one, but a test nonetheless."

"I don’t want a test! I want my husbands and my kids!" Bai Yue cried out, surprised by how desperate she sounded.

"Husbands? Plural? Bold for a modern girl," the shaman chuckled, then turned serious. "The memories aren’t gone. They’re just......submerged. Like stones at the bottom of a deep, dark river. To see them again, you have to make the water clear."

"How?"

The shaman leaned forward. "There is a place. The ’Black Mirror River’ on the outskirts of the city. In the Old World, it was where your pack first settled after the great migration. Its name has been long lost. In this world, it’s just a scenic spot behind an abandoned paper mill. Take them there. All of them. The men and the cubs. If you can’t get the cubs, just take the men."

"And then what? We go for a swim?"

"No," the shaman whispered. "The moon will be full in three days. Take them to the water’s edge. You must trigger their instincts. Not their minds, their blood. A beast doesn’t remember with its brain, it remembers with its nose and its heart."

Bai Yue shook her head. That made zero sense!

He reached under the table and pulled out a small, dried bundle of herbs. It smelled exactly like the ginger and woodsmoke soup from her dreams.

"Burn this by the water," he said. "And tell them a story. Not a story of what happened, but a story of who they are."

~

Bai Yue spent the next two days like a woman possessed. She sent out a mass text to the "Harem Group Chat" she had secretly renamed on her phone (though they just saw it as a business thread).

Bai Yue: Greetings. Thank you for taking care of me. I need to see everyone. This Friday night. 8 PM. It’s about the children’s psychological transition after the shooting. Please meet me at the Black Mirror River trailhead. It’s important.

Han Shān: The river, Miss Bai? It’s late. Is this necessary?

Zhāo Yàn: Sounds spooky. I’m in. I’ll bring the kids.

Yàn Shū: I’ll be there. Hóng Yè needs the fresh air anyway.

~

Friday night was biting cold. The moon was a massive, silver coin hanging over the city. The Black Mirror River lived up to its name, the water was ink-black and perfectly still, reflecting the stars like a second sky.

Han Shān arrived in his SUV, looking skeptical. Zhāo Yàn arrived in his sports car, the engine growling like a beast. Yàn Shū arrived in his modest sedan, looking nervous.

The kids, Zhēn, Ruì Xuě, Yòu Lín, and Hóng Yè, spilled out of the cars. They were restless. They kept sniffing the air, their eyes darting toward the shadows of the trees.

"Alright, Miss Bai Yue," Han Shān said, stepping toward her. He looked imposing in his long black coat. "We’re here. I would appreciate if I didn’t come all the way here for nothing. What is this ’psychological transition’ you wanted to discuss?"

Bai Yue didn’t answer. She was standing by a small stone fire pit she had cleared. She struck a match and lit the bundle of herbs the shaman had given her.

Immediately, the scent of the Beast World exploded into the air. Ginger. Woodsmoke. Wild pine. The smell of home.

The three men froze.

Zhāo Yàn’s pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely black. Han Shān’s breath hitched. Yàn Shū dropped his notebook, his hands beginning to twitch.

"What is that smell?" Yàn Shū whispered, his voice trembling. "Why does it feel like.....like I’m about to cry?"

Bai Yue stepped into the center of the circle, the firelight dancing in her eyes. She looked at the four children, then at the three men.

"This is enough," Zhāo Yàn gasped. He was clutching his head, his face contorted in pain. "Why does my head feel like it’s breaking?"

The children were already sitting on the ground, entranced. Even Hóng Yè had stopped scowling. He was staring at the black water, his shadow on the ground beginning to stretch and shift.

But before she could reach for them, a new sound cut through the woods.

Clap. Clap. Clap.