Let me try turning into Mom first. That should be the simplest.
Though the thought seemed straightforward, Chen Youzai’s heart pounded wildly. What if that drowned man had been lying? What if he muttered the incantation and turned into a dog instead? Worse—what if he couldn’t change back?
Hesitation gripped him again.
He loathed this weakness in himself—always faltering at the crucial moment. If he never tried, then what worth did the silver coin have at all? Life offered only so many chances to gamble. Without daring the leap, how could fate ever change?
At last, curiosity triumphed.
Suppressing his racing heart, trembling from head to toe, Chen Youzai recited the incantation the man had taught him—adding his mother’s name at the end.
A blaze of golden light exploded before his eyes.
When he opened them again, he nearly screamed himself hoarse.
He was standing face-to-face with… himself.
Or rather—his own body stood there, calm and utterly ordinary.
He looked down.
An apron wrapped around his waist. A spatula rested in his hand.
For a full second, he froze.
Then madness overtook him.
He dashed to the balcony and howled toward the courtyard below.
“I transformed! I really transformed! I have powers now—HAHAHAHA!”
A head popped out from the neighboring balcony. It was Uncle Zhang from next door, smiling warmly.
“Sister-in-law’s in high spirits today! Practicing your voice so early?”
“Mother Chen” glanced at him and burst into manic laughter.
“Uncle Zhang—HAHA! I’ve mastered the Grand Soul-Transference Art! As a reward, this spatula is yours! Catch—ha!”
With a flamboyant flick, she hurled the spatula and skipped back inside.
Uncle Zhang stood there clutching it in bewilderment.
Had she suffered some kind of shock? Just days ago, she’d said this spatula had been with her since her marriage and that she couldn’t bear to replace it. Now she was tossing it away like scrap metal?
Inside, “Mother Chen” clutched the silver coin and muttered the spell again, anxiety tightening his chest.
If I can’t change back, I’ll lose my mother entirely…
Thankfully, moments later, Chen Youzai stood once more in his own body.
Even more astonishing—the so-called “sub-soul” had tidied everything in his stead.
So it was real.
All those years of misfortune—Heaven had finally remembered him. And what fortune it was!
He rubbed his hands together, nearly shaking with excitement.
After a moment’s thought, however, reason prevailed. This secret must not be shared. If word spread, reporters and paparazzi would swarm him. And if they couldn’t see the coin, they’d accuse him of staging a publicity stunt.
He carefully tucked the coin away and slipped into the kitchen, beaming.
He patted his mother’s back lightly.
“Mom, I’m starving. Is breakfast ready?”
His mother blinked, as though waking from a trance. She glanced at the pan.
The fresh egg fried rice had turned pitch-black, stuck hopelessly to the bottom.
She slapped her forehead.
“How did I space out for so long? It’s ruined!”
Behind her, Chen Youzai snickered, pride swelling within him.
So this was what it felt like to fool someone.
Then his mother frowned.
“Where’s my spatula? Where did I put it? Have you seen it? Youzai? Youzai—”
She turned.
He was already gone.
She sighed heavily.
“My memory’s getting worse and worse… Forget it. He can grab something to eat on the way.”
Futile Devices Scans 
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