“Please put this on.” Two makeup artists held ink‑black eye masks like slivers of night.

…

Tang Coco took the mask, lifted her chin, and glanced at Meng Xiaoxiao—that little sprite already masked and curled on the chair like a dozing cat.

A helpless sigh rose like morning mist; she put the mask on too, trusting her danger‑sense that pricked like thorns when needed.

Lately she’d grown too cautious, a reed bending to every breeze, and she silently chided herself like tapping a fan.

With the mask on, darkness poured over her eyes like velvet; fingers kneaded her hair, and a fresh strawberry scent bloomed like dew.

After about twenty minutes, the makeup artist’s voice rang like a bell, saying they could lift the night from their faces.

She took the mask off; the mirror on the wall held her image like still water.

!!!

The girl in the glass was still her, the beautiful face unchanged; what shifted was the river of hair behind, white silk now wine‑red.

Under soft indoor lamps, the color smoldered like embers, a quiet allure rising like warm smoke.

What’s going on? It wasn’t supposed to take dye, and dye doesn’t work this fast—her thoughts rippled like startled fish.

System analysis: a nano film on the hair surface, not any staining agent, the voice chimed like metal.

Seeing her slight frown, a crease in paper, the makeup artist explained in a tone light as breeze.

Please rest assured, miss—this is our imported disposable colorant; it won’t touch your true hair, and in twenty hours a wash restores it like rain.

Oh—the word fell like a small stone into a pond.

Coco‑jie with this hair is too tempting, Meng Xiaoxiao chirped, excitement popping like firecrackers.

Tang Coco looked over; Meng Xiaoxiao’s hair had blushed pink like peach blossoms, tied into two playful ponytails like twin springs.

With that style, Meng looked even cuter, sweet as candy, if you ignored the little gremlin in her temper like a hidden thorn.

Alright, which masks do you two want next? The question floated like a feather.

Masks? Her surprise pricked like a needle.

Just regular masks, Meng said, voice crisp as an apple.

Please wait a moment, the artists said, footsteps pattering like rain as they left.

Once they went, Tang Coco asked, tone low as dusk: We need masks too?

Yeah—faces blur like fog, and no one recognizes us, she answered with a wink like starlight.

What other kinds are there? Curiosity swelled like a tide.

There’s human‑skin types, eerily lifelike like wax, but they’re uncomfortable, so let’s skip those, her nose wrinkled like a rabbit.

I see—the words settled like dust.

Not just masks—lots of ways to disguise, she continued, ideas spreading like vines.

If you want to turn into a guy, they’ll give you a wig and a mask, and even a micro transformer you stick inside your mouth like a seed.

You’d pass for real, fake and true swapping like moon and cloud.

… The thought surprised her like a sudden chill; disguising herself as a man might be interesting, a road bending into shadow.

So don’t trust appearances; everyone’s surface is a painted lake, she warned, tone steady as stone.

Got it, Tang Coco said, the reply clean as a blade.

The two artists returned, carrying plastic boards like shields, rows of masks hanging like autumn leaves.

Please choose from these types, one said, smile neat as a line.

Hmm… I want this one! Meng snatched a white cat‑shaped mask, playful as whiskers.

Tang Coco took her time, gaze drifting like a kite, and finally chose a plain white mask with no pattern, stark as snow.

Ehh… Coco‑jie, why pick something so scary, her voice quivered like a string.

Scary’s good; fear keeps people away like wolves from fire, Tang Coco answered, cool as night.

Alright, you can head to the fitting room next; until you come out, no one will disturb you. The assurance fell like a curtain.

Okay, let’s go, Coco‑jie, Meng sang, tugging her hand like pulling a bell cord.

Inside the so‑called fitting room, surprise burst in Tang Coco’s chest like a lantern.

Uh! Is this a fitting room? It looks like a clothing market, her words tumbled like marbles.

The space was as big as four university classrooms, rows of outfits standing like orderly forests.

The clothes here are all high‑quality and all new; whatever you pick must leave with you, Meng explained, pride light as perfume.

Membership isn’t cheap, right? The question tapped like rain on eaves.

Hehe—kind of pricey, but my membership was a gift from a friend, she smiled, dimples blooming like petals.

A friend? The word perched like a bird.

Yeah—the store owner. She’s mysterious, not from Yanjing’s big families, and she never shares her name, Meng said, voice hushed like night.

Regulars call her Lin‑jie, a title soft as silk, a secret folded like paper.

Hearing that, a spark of curiosity lit in Tang Coco’s heart like a firefly.

Alright, I’ll take you to meet her when there’s a chance. Coco‑jie, let’s play a game—her eyes shone like stars.

What game? The question floated like mist.

We’ll pick clothes for each other, and we must wear what the other chooses, she declared, rules crisp as frost.

… No way; don’t think I don’t see what you’re planning. Her glance was sharp as a blade.

Aiya, Coco‑jie, just for fun; no one will recognize you anyway, her plea poured like honey.

No. The refusal fell like a stone.

Knowing Meng’s style, she’d pick something super sexy, wildfire bright as neon; Coco liked such clothes in theory, but not on herself, a line firm as a dam.

You can pick mine too; that’s fair, Meng argued, fairness held up like a scale.

No, the answer stayed steady as a mountain.

Really no? Her voice nudged like a paw.

Absolutely no, Tang Coco said, certainty ringing like iron.

Seeing her resolve set like ice, Meng suddenly pulled out her phone, secrets humming like bees.

She dialed someone; Tang Coco watched, puzzled, gaze circling like a hawk.

The call connected, and Meng’s expression flipped like a page—she burst into tears, wailing like a siren.

Hello? Sis! Waaa! Her cry surged like a breaking wave.

Hey?! What’s wrong, Xiaoxiao?! Why are you crying?! came Meng Yuting’s voice, urgent as drumbeats.

C‑Coco‑jie… she… she gave me… to… that… sob… Words broke like twigs, the performance too real.

If Tang Coco weren’t beside her, she’d have been fooled too, doubt fluttering like moths.

!!!! What!? Is she with you? Put her on! Meng Yuting roared, anger crackling like thunder.

Mm… I… I’ll give her… Meng stammered, tears clinging like dew.

What are you babbling!? Tang Coco shot her a glare like a blade, then took the phone.

Hey, Yuting, don’t listen to her— The sentence barely left, and the storm rolled in.

Tang Coco!? Got bold, have you? Went to Yanjing and think I can’t rein you in? Even laying hands on my sister?! You pervert! Freak! ##%%— Her fury burned like wildfire.

… Tang Coco felt black lines drop over her face like ink, speech knotted like rope.

Are you a pig? You believe that? Her retort snapped like a whip.

Why wouldn’t I? My sister’s that cute! Tang Coco, just you wait—I’m flying to Yanjing to settle this! Meng Yuting’s vow slammed like a door.

Hey, hey! Calm down! Her voice tried to soothe like water.

Explain to your sister, or she’ll come for nothing, she hissed at Meng, urgency rising like smoke.

Hmph, Meng turned her face away like a cat flicking its tail.

… Fine! I’ll agree, okay. The surrender thudded like a drum.

Really? Hope sparked like dawn.

Really. Hurry. Her patience thinned like ice.

Meng took back the phone, tone smoothing like silk: Sis… don’t come yet… I’m fine; I’ll explain when I’m back.

Mm, got it, Meng Yuting said, then added in a whisper light as a breeze: Don’t forget the photos.

Mm, I know; that’s all, Meng replied, serious façade set like a mask, and ended the call.

… …

They stared at each other, eyes locking like crossed swords.

Fine, you win. Whatever I pick, you’ll wear, right? Vengeance glinted like a crescent blade.

She started to patrol the racks, hunting a target like a fox in reeds.

Ten minutes later, they met before the cubicles, timing clicking like beads.

I’ll see what you picked for me first, Meng said, hiding the clothes behind her like a squirrel.

Here, Tang Coco offered, hands steady as spring water.

She held a white princess dress, tulle layered like clouds, gold florets scattered like stardust—cute yet solemn, sugar and salt.

J‑Just this? Meng blinked, surprise opening like a flower.

Mm. Tang Coco nodded, the choice resting like a feather on stone.

She’d thought it over; Meng was still young, a freshman like her, but only eighteen, a sapling not yet a tree.

So she didn’t pick anything too much, restraint laid like snow.

Uh… I thought Coco‑jie would choose something else, Meng murmured, expectations dissolving like mist.

What about what you picked? Tang Coco asked, palm open like a plate.

I… I’ll go swap yours, Meng faltered, cheeks flushing like cherries.

Show me. Her hand extended, command plain as daylight.

No choice, Meng brought out the clothes from behind her back like pulling a rabbit from a hat.

Here… The word trembled like a leaf.

Tang Coco received a bundle of black fabric, soft as water and smooth as skin.

What is this… She turned it over like a puzzle box, and still couldn’t see how to wear it.

The material was gentle and pleasant, a night breeze on fingers, but the shape was a mystery, knots hiding like shadows.

Meng’s expression twisted in conflict like braided ropes; she hadn’t expected Coco to be so considerate, and guilt pricked like thorns.

I… I’ll swap yours, she offered, voice small as a seed.

It’s fine; we’ll stick with this, Tang Coco said, warmth rising like sunlight.

I haven’t seen you for a week; it’s rare to go out and play together, her smile curved like a moon.

Mm… you’re too nice, Coco‑jie, Meng squealed, hugging her and rubbing like a kitten.

Enough. Don’t get mushy. Tell me how to wear it, Tang Coco said, pragmatism firm as stone.

Uh… you’ve really never worn this kind of clothing, Meng blinked, surprise fluttering like a butterfly.

No kidding. The answer cracked like ice.

Coco‑jie, you’re so pure, like an angel with clean wings, Meng sighed, praise drifting like incense.

… Pure? Not really, Tang Coco thought; she was only pure about girls’ things, ignorance pooled like a calm pond.

I’ll help you put it on; it’s simple, Meng said, confidence bright as a lamp.

Alright. The word settled like dust.

They sat on the bench inside the cubicle, wood warm as sunlit bark, and Tang Coco slipped off her dress like shedding a cloud.

After so many times, she wasn’t shy anymore—so long as she chose it herself, boundaries drawn like lines in sand.

Th‑This… for you… Meng handed her a small piece of black cloth, light as a swallow’s wing.

“This is...?” she breathed, the words drifting like mist.

Tang Coco took it and unfolded it; a lace bustier, delicate as frost traced on a window.

“You need this under that outfit... I’ll head out... call me when you’re done,” Meng Xiaoxiao murmured, her voice fluttering like a sparrow.

Blush blossomed on her cheeks like peach petals as Meng Xiaoxiao slipped out of the booth like a startled fawn.

Silence hung, heavy as rain-soaked fog.

Resignation pooled first; Tang Coco shook her head at the tiny thing, its clasps neat as thorns, and reached for the back.

Good thing Mom had taught her the trick; without it, she’d flounder like a fish out of water.

Once the black bustier settled like a shadow, Tang Coco called Meng Xiaoxiao back, the question about her size fluttering off like a startled moth.

This time Meng Xiaoxiao kept steady, eyes focused, hands moving with the calm of a stream, yet her breath hitched like a held tide.

As fabric slid into place like water over stone, stormclouds gathered on Tang Coco’s face.

She finally understood; no wonder it had baffled her—this was a bodycon mini skirt, hugging her hips like a river to its banks.

She’d never worn one, and the realization rose like a new moon she hadn’t asked for.