You’ve been in Beijing for two years, and the city still eludes you. You love the chaos of the streets, the hutongs pressed against glass skyscrapers, the smell of sizzling food clinging to every corner. But no matter how much you try to blend in, you’re always the outsider. The foreigner. The one who sticks out in a sea of smooth, golden skin and dark almond eyes.

And then there are the women. God, the women. You don’t want to be that guy, the kind of expat who fetishizes them, but you can’t help it. There’s something about them: their effortless grace, their delicate features, their warm yellow skin that makes your stomach twist with longing. You watch them sometimes, from a distance, trying to figure out what makes them so captivating. Today, as you sit in an empty Line 10 carriage, your gaze lands on one of them.

She’s sitting across from you, her posture relaxed but poised. A loose gray T-shirt tucked into black trousers, the faint checkered pattern catching the light. Her white loafers peek out from under her hemline, sockless and pristine against her smooth ankles.

Her face stops you cold. It’s not perfect, but it’s beautiful in a way that feels natural. Her skin is flawless, golden and luminous, as if it holds its own light. Dark brown hair falls just past her shoulders in soft waves, framing high cheekbones, a delicate jawline, and almond-shaped eyes so dark they seem bottomless. Her lips, painted with a hint of pink gloss, catch the light when she smiles at her phone.

You can’t look away. There’s something about her: something beyond beauty. It’s in the way she carries herself: confident but unassuming, like she belongs here in a way you never will. She doesn’t need to try; she just is. And for a moment, just for a moment, you feel something stir deep inside you. Not lust this time, though that’s there too, but something deeper: envy, longing, a desperate ache to know what it feels like to move through this city as effortlessly as she does.

To be her.

=== FLASH ===

Suddenly, the world stops. The hum of the subway cuts out. The murmur of conversation vanishes. The rhythmic clatter of the train falls silent. Everything halts, leaving you in a vacuum of stillness. The color drains from the world, leaching away until the carriage is nothing but shades of gray. The air feels heavy, oppressive, as if time itself has collapsed.

You blink, disoriented, your heart pounding. The other passengers are frozen, their faces blank, their bodies rigid. The woman across from you, the one in the gray T-shirt and black trousers, is motionless. Her phone hangs mid-air, her fingers paused mid-scroll. Her dark brown hair hangs perfectly still, as if caught in a photograph. Her almond-shaped eyes, once sharp and alive, are now empty. Her gentle smile is fixed in place.

You stare at her, your breath shallow, your mind racing. The world has turned to stone, and you are the only thing left moving.

=== FLASH ===

In front of you, a figure materializes. A woman. Her presence is immediate, commanding, her sharp features cutting through the grayscale void. She wears a striking red dress, its vivid hue a violent splash against the dull, lifeless world around her. The fabric clings to her frame, emphasizing her poise, her grace, her unshakable authority. Her eyes are dark and piercing, locked onto you with an intensity that feels almost physical. There is no warmth in her expression, only a stern, unyielding focus.

“You’ve always been her,” she says, her voice a low hum that vibrates in your bones. “You just didn’t know it yet.”

“What?” you stammer, your voice shaky, your mind scrambling.

“You are a Chinese woman,” she says, her gaze sweeping over you, dissecting you. “I felt it inside you. I heard your admission.”

“Admission? What are you talking about? Am I dreaming?” Your words tumble out, desperate, confused.

She exhales sharply, a flicker of impatience crossing her face. “Let’s get started,” she says, her tone clipped, final. Before you can protest, she snaps her fingers.

=== FLASH ===

A rush of wind hits you, cold and sharp. You gasp, curling in on yourself as the chill bites into your skin. When you look down, your stomach drops. You’re still in the same seat, but your clothes are gone. Completely gone. Your bare skin glows pale against the gray stillness of the frozen world. “What the fuck?” you shout, your voice cracking, your hands instinctively moving to cover yourself.

The woman in red smirks, her lips curling with amusement. “Don’t worry,” she says, her tone mocking. “You’ll get new clothes. Once you’re ready. But first…” She gestures toward the woman in the gray T-shirt, still frozen, her phone hovering mid-scroll. “Look at her. The one you couldn’t stop staring at.”

Your eyes dart to the woman, her delicate features frozen in time. Her tousled hair, her relaxed posture, her effortless beauty.

“Now,” the woman in red commands, her voice low and unyielding, “imagine you’re fucking her.”

You try to resist, but her voice wraps around your mind, forcing compliance. The image forms before you can stop it: you grabbing her, throwing her onto a bed. Her body soft and yielding under your hands as you strip her, revealing smooth, golden skin. You feel her wetness as you slide your fingers inside her, teasing her. Then you’re on top of her, thrusting into her, her tightness gripping you as you lose yourself in the rhythm.

“That’s not it,” she says, cutting through the haze of your fantasy.

Her voice snaps you back. Your chest heaves, your skin flushed, but when you look down, your cock lies limp against your thigh. The woman in red stares at it, her expression unreadable. You feel exposed, vulnerable, your face burning with shame.

“Now,” she says, her voice softer but no less commanding, “imagine you are her.”

This time, the images come faster, more vivid. You see yourself waking up in a sunlit room, your legs smooth and slender, brushing against each other as you slide out of bed. You feel the cool fabric of panties against your skin as you pull them on, your hands trembling slightly. Your feet, small and delicate, slip into slippers, the material cool against your bare soles. You stand in front of a mirror, applying makeup to a face that isn’t yours but feels like it should be: almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, lips painted a soft pink. You admire the reflection staring back at you, the gray T-shirt and black trousers hugging your new frame.

“There it is,” she says, pulling you back.

This time, when you look down, your cock is fully erect, throbbing and leaking pre-cum. The woman in red stares, her gaze unwavering. You feel a wave of humiliation, mixed with something else: arousal, deep and undeniable.

“There it is,” she whispers, her voice soft but cutting. “The truth you’ve been hiding. Look at you… already so eager to become her.”

“No!” you shout, your voice breaking. “It’s not true. You’ve done something to me. I don’t want…” Your cock twitches, betraying you. “I don’t want to be…” It jumps again, pre-cum dripping onto your thigh. “I don’t want to be a Chinese woman.” But even as you say the words, the image of her, of you, flashes in your mind. You see yourself as her, lying on your back, legs spread, moaning as someone fucks you. Your cock aches, the need to cum overwhelming. “I don’t…” you whisper, your voice weak. “Do I?”

“It’s almost over,” she says, her voice a mix of pity and satisfaction. “You’ll thank me when it’s done. You’ll finally feel whole.”

“Oh god…” you whimper, your body trembling. “This can’t be true…”

“Your feet first,” she says, her tone casual. “Picture your perfect feet.”

You close your eyes, focusing on the image: small, delicate feet, no larger than a size five, with a graceful arch and smooth, golden skin. The sensation begins at your toes, a tingling warmth spreading across your soles. It’s sharp, almost painful, but laced with something electric, intoxicating. Your feet reshape, bones and tendons shifting under your skin. You bite your lip, breath caught as the tingling intensifies, then stops.

You open your eyes. Your feet are no longer your own. They’re small, delicate, the skin smooth and flawless, glowing golden even in the muted gray light. You wiggle your toes, marveling at how strange yet natural they feel. They’re perfect. Tiny. Chinese.

A jolt of arousal shoots through you, your cock twitching violently against your thigh. The excitement is overwhelming, almost unbearable. You want to touch yourself, but her gaze locks onto yours, stern and unyielding.

“Not yet,” she says, her voice calm but firm. “Picture your legs now.”

You close your eyes. Smooth, slender legs. Flawless skin. The sensation starts immediately, a tingling warmth crawling up from your feet. Your calves reshape, muscles tightening, curves softening. The feeling moves higher, to your thighs. They slim, the skin smooth and unbroken. Your hips widen, fat gathering around your ass, the sensation strange but not unpleasant. Your backside grows fuller, rounder, pressing into the seat beneath you.

You open your eyes. Your legs are exactly as you pictured: smooth, toned, with slender calves and thighs leading up to wide hips and a thick, shapely ass. You shift slightly, testing the feel of your new body. Your thighs brush together, the weight of your hips, the curve of your ass. It’s foreign but feels right.

Your cock twitches violently, pre-cum beading at the tip. It looks out of place now, perched awkwardly atop your new, unmistakably feminine legs. Your legs. Your sexy Chinese legs. The thought sends another jolt of arousal through you, your cock pulsing, aching for release.

“Your chest next,” she commands.

You close your eyes, picturing large breasts, full and natural, with thick brown nipples. The sensation begins: a warm, burgeoning pressure building quickly, almost overwhelming. Your chest swells, flesh forming where there was none before. The weight of your new breasts pulls slightly, the sensation strange but not unpleasant. Your nipples harden, sensitive and aching as they take on their new shape.

You open your eyes. Your new breasts are full, heavy, the thick brown nipples pointed and sensitive. You glance down, past the curve of your chest, to your narrow waist and flat belly. Your shoulders are delicate, your arms slender, your hands small and graceful. Your neck feels longer, more elegant, completing the silhouette of your new, unmistakably feminine body.

As you look at your new tits, the arousal is overwhelming, your body trembling with the need for release. You don’t dare touch yourself, not with her gaze locked onto you, her expression unreadable but commanding.

The woman’s voice is calm but commanding. “Now, picture your perfect face.”

You close your eyes, focusing on each feature. First, the shape of your face: a delicate oval contour. Your facial bones and muscles shift subtly, reshaping under your skin. Next, your eyes: dark and almond-shaped, with epicanthal folds. The sensation is peculiar, a soft twitch as the skin develops, creating the folds. Your eyelashes grow fuller, framing your transformed eyes.

Your nose comes next: small and well-defined, perfectly complementing your new structure. A tickling sensation as it molds to your thoughts. Then your lips: fuller, softly curved, plumping into a natural, rosy hue. Finally, your hair: long, lustrous, and black, cascading down your back. You sense it growing rapidly, each strand thickening and darkening until it reaches the perfect length and texture.

As the transformation concludes, you open your eyes. In the window of the carriage, a beautiful naked Chinese woman stares back at you. This gaze is your own. You have met your own eyes. You now have Asian-shaped almond eyes, complete with epicanthal folds. You are a beautiful Chinese woman, except in one place: a place that wants to explode.

“Now, to finish you off,” says the woman, stepping close. She licks her finger and brushes it lightly against the edge of your cock.

“Oh God!” you moan, startled by the soft, feminine tone of your voice. That single touch is enough. You feel the familiar rush of an orgasm building, but instead of release, something shifts. It’s not pleasure. Not exactly. It’s deeper, stranger, like your body is turning inside out.

Instead of something being pushed out, something is pulled in. Your cock twitches violently, and you feel it retract, your balls drawn upward, sinking into your body. The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pressure and heat, as if your insides are rearranging themselves. You instinctively close your eyes and picture it: your perfect, tight little Asian pussy. The image burns in your mind, and your body responds.

Your cock shrinks rapidly, the shaft thinning, the hole fusing shut as it becomes a tiny nub. At the same time, you gasp as your skin splits, a sharp, wet sensation as a pair of new lips forms. You feel something inflating inside you, a strange, warm pressure as your new pussy takes shape. Wetness blooms, slick and undeniable, coating your fresh folds.

You open your eyes. Between your legs, a tight, wet Chinese pussy glistens, perfect and unmistakably yours.

“Your body is complete,” she says, her gaze lingering on you with something like pride. “A beautiful Chinese woman. But your mind… that’s next.”

“Yes…” you gasp in your new voice.

“Your mind still clings to your false self,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Let’s fix that.”

“You don’t mean…?”

“Yes,” she says, her voice almost tender now. “Close your eyes. See it. Your life. Your real life.”

You close your eyes, and the images flood your mind. You see yourself waking up in a cozy apartment, morning light filtering through sheer curtains. A framed calligraphy scroll hangs on the wall, a potted plant by the window, a bookshelf filled with Mandarin novels. You stretch, your smooth legs brushing together, the sensation familiar and comforting.

You see yourself in front of a mirror, applying light makeup with practiced ease. Your reflection stares back at you: a beautiful Chinese woman with almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips. You smile, and the woman in the mirror smiles back. It’s you. It’s really you.

You see yourself at work, sitting at a desk in a modern office. Your colleagues greet you warmly, their Mandarin flowing effortlessly. You respond in kind, your voice soft but confident, your words tinged with a perfect Beijing accent. You belong here. This is your life.

You see yourself meeting friends for lunch at a bustling street food stall. The air is thick with the smell of sizzling meat and spices. You laugh, the sound light and carefree, as you share stories and jokes. The language feels natural, the words coming to you without thought.

You see yourself walking through the city at night, neon lights reflecting off wet pavement. You feel at home here, in this vibrant, chaotic place. The culture, the people, the language… It’s all a part of you now.

As you imagine this life, the words you hear begin to shift.

“I see myself…” you say in your standard English, your voice hesitant.

“I see mah-self…” you repeat, the words now tinged with a thick Chinese accent.

“Wo kandao ziji…” you say in Chinese, the foreign accent fading. I see myself.

“Wo kan dao zi ji zuo wei yi ge zi hao de Zhongguo nv ren shuo Zhongwen.” you finish in Chinese with a perfect Beijing accent. I see myself speaking Chinese as a proud Chinese woman.

The woman nods, a small smile playing on her lips. “Hao!” she says. Good.

=== FLASH ===

The rhythmic swaying of the carriage fills your senses as time moves again. You glance down at yourself, marveling at the navy blue dress hugging your tight Chinese body. The deep V-neckline draws attention to your collarbone, a delicate gold necklace resting there. The design highlights your narrow waist, while the thigh-high slit reveals a glimpse of your smooth, bare legs. Your tiny Chinese feet are now clad in sleek black heels, completing the elegant look.

Your thoughts flow effortlessly in Mandarin, now the only language you know. Across the train, you spot the woman again. This time, you admire her dress, imagining how it would look on you. A sense of camaraderie washes over you: she is a Chinese woman, just like you. You are the same. A warm happiness envelops you. For the first time, you are your true self, and as the subway car continues its journey, you revel in the freedom of being who you’ve always wanted to be.