My eyes opened.

Vision slightly blurred, warm tears welling at the corners.

What… happened to me?

Habitually rubbing my tear-streaked eyes, I felt a strange yet familiar numbness ripple through my body.

The quiet, icy-blue room felt utterly alien.

The bedside clock read 3 PM.

Wasn’t I in the hospital? Why was I in this girlish bedroom?

As the thought surfaced, a torrent of memories crashed into my mind. I clutched my head—

*“You useless piece of trash!”*

*“Just follow me.”*

*“What future does a girl have if she can’t study? Selling herself?”*

*“Why did I slave to put you through school? So you could marry off and bleed me dry?”*

*“Boys fight. You go home.”*

*“Where’ve you been this late? Trying to kill your mother with worry?”*

*“Get your father here.”*

*“This is a freebie. Pay attention.”*

*“Stop dragging the class down. For heaven’s sake, have some shame.”*

*“That little slut Yi Yao—even poaching boys from other schools.”*

*“Let me be clear: if your mother doesn’t make it this month, I’m selling you to the mountains. I’ve done my duty as a father.”*

*“Get out! Run off with your boyfriend!”*

Fragmented memories choked me with despair.

I… am Yi Yao?

A sixteen-year-old middle schooler?

Trembling, I looked down. Beneath my thin undershirt lay unmistakably feminine curves.

I threw off the blanket. Between my slender legs lay a pair of white panties patterned with little bears.

Flat. Tempting.

A dream?

A dream this real?

Barefoot, I stumbled to the mirror by the nightstand. A short-haired girl stared back—beautiful, unfamiliar.

*“Brother…”*

*“Brother, I’m ready.”*

*“I have no friends left in this world… Live for me instead.”*

Fresh tears pricked my eyes.

Who… am I?

My gaze snagged on a letter resting on the nightstand.

Instinct said it was mine—a letter to “Brother.” Curiosity pulled me toward it.

The handwriting was delicate, familiar—clearly a girl’s:

*Dear Brother!*

*You probably don’t need explanations with my memories inside you, but I had to write this anyway. Hee-hee. Never thought we’d meet like this. I wonder what face you’re making right now… ah, what* I’m *making now.*

*I’ve been a bad kid. Fighting. Skipping class. Always making Dad and Uncle angry. Failing at everything. No friends at school. That year, you were my only light—the one who truly cared. When I heard you were sick… I wanted to help. But in this world, I could do nothing. Just like with Dad… when he hoped so much for me…*

A vision flashed: me, under a gloomy sky, tears soaking the crisp white envelope as I wrote to a distant “Brother.”

*I’m sorry. Forgive my selfishness. This might be the only thing I can do for you. You graduated from a top university, right? From now on, get good grades for me. Talk to Mom more. Don’t make Dad angry.*

*…Not sure what else to say. So that’s all for explanations! Dear Brother, please take good care of this kind, cute, super-awesome middle school beauty’s body!*

At the bottom, a doodle grinned—a girl flashing a peace sign.

Memory whispered: after sealing it, “I” had chanted three times in my heart: *“I mean it, Brother. If you’re unhappy with your little sister’s choice… you’re dead.”*

…

What was this?

A “sister” from another world… giving me her body?

Me—a man dead from illness—reborn as a girl?

Most absurdly, according to her memories, she wasn’t even sure this ritual would work. Like her dream-logic: *“If the dream says it’s a rabbit, it’s a rabbit. If the dream says you’re my brother, you’re my brother.”*

The dream promised: by sacrificing herself, she could resurrect Brother in her form.

So she wrote that letter. Swallowed sleeping pills last night. Slept until now… summoning “me” into her flesh.

The clock ticked steadily.

This body was sixteen. Attending Shangjing City No. 3 Middle School. Mom hospitalized with leukemia. Our family surviving on Dad’s fruit stall earnings. A week ago, Dad’s delivery truck crashed—wiping out savings.

Identical. Exactly like my childhood. Even the accident date matched.

Was this… another “me” from a parallel world?

Scanning the room, I spotted traces of my old bedroom beneath the girlish decor.

Today was February 6, 2016. Five years ahead. Back then, I was in college. Dad got liver cancer. We sold this house cheaply to Uncle. Dad passed. Mom followed. Left me with over a million in debt.

After graduation, I scrambled to repay hospital loans while hunting for housing.

No—I had to confirm.

Using muscle memory, I pulled on the school uniform from the bedpost. In the living room, I booted the computer.

Saturday afternoon. Freshman year. I’d scoured news sites every weekend for essay material. February 6th’s headline… *Earthquake!*

I remembered it vividly.

The news portal loaded. Top headline: **Magnitude 6.7 Earthquake Strikes Takai City, February 6, 2016**.

Exactly the same.

This parallel world mirrored my past—dates, places, down to the last detail.

Here, Mom still fought her illness. Dad’s cancer hadn’t surfaced. Uncle’s betrayal lay hidden. “I” was still a healthy middle schooler… not yet broken by this world.

I sat frozen before the screen. Finally, I shut it down and returned to the bedroom.

The mirror showed a girl with traces of my old face—sharp features, slender frame—but undeniably female now.

I bowed to my reflection.

“Thank you.”

A sweet voice—once only a dream—spilled from my lips.

Her choice wasn’t mine. But she saved me from death. The deed was done. I wouldn’t waste her sacrifice… though becoming a girl was undeniably awkward.

First: grades.

I flipped open a test paper from the bookshelf. At the top, a brutal score: **39/150**.

Shangjing City’s math mock exam.

Skimming the questions, answers flooded my mind. Only the final problem needed scratch work.

I recalled this paper. I’d scored 148 back then—losing two points by writing “21” instead of “12” in the last answer.

No challenge. My old self buried in textbooks, then coding in university, had honed logic to a razor’s edge. Middle school math? Trivial. And ironically, Chinese and English—the subjects I’d struggled with—were this body’s strengths.

Grades were solved.

I was grateful my memories survived the transfer.

It felt like switching workstations: same mind, new hardware. I could run my old programs, access this body’s files—her habits wouldn’t override mine. I was still *me*. And with her memories readily available… acing exams citywide would be easy.

But other problems loomed: Mom’s and Dad’s illnesses.

Uncle was manageable—I knew his true face now. But Mom’s leukemia had no cure. And Dad wouldn’t listen to warnings from his “reformed” daughter.

Money. I needed mountains of it.

In my past life, fresh out of a top university, I’d been arrogant. Ended up at a tiny web firm. Tiny salary. A closet-sized apartment. Breakfast: one steamed bun. Dinner: radish and plain rice. Nights spent debugging others’ code until dawn. No freedom. That malnourished, sleepless grind planted the seeds of my illness.

This body, at least, was well-cared-for. Three meals daily. Regular sleep. Notably, this world’s “sister” had secretly joined a taekwondo class near school—now a 2nd-degree black belt. No one but her dojo mates knew.

Then there was the biggest headache: *my* boyfriend.

I was a girl now—but that didn’t mean I liked men. Worse, this “boyfriend” would become chairman of this city’s largest tech firm in ten years. How to handle him?

In Yi Yao’s memories, she and Long Fei were barely intimate. Never kissed. At group hangouts, he’d just grab her hand to show off to his “underlings”: *“My girlfriend. Call her ‘Sister-in-Law.’”*

Like she was just a prop for his ego.

Scolded by teachers at school, bullied by classmates, driven out by her father at home, and forced to be the girlfriend of a man she hated—it was no wonder her sister had attempted suicide.

“Kanti a distiora ,isoria aritiosa ,di tia fidio la mita ……”

Just as I was pondering what excuse to use to dump my “boyfriend,” the phone by my bed rang. The ringtone was “I Was Waiting for This Moment,” an insert song from the anime *Mystic Maiden Madoka*—my favorite tune since childhood.

I grabbed the phone. The contact displayed read “Uncle.”

“Hello?”

“How dare you answer?”

Uncle’s voice crackled with exasperation: “Your mother’s fading fast. Get to Fifth Hospital now—immediately!”