Once, a teacher who loved lecturing students on ideology said: "Men must be ready for anything. 'I have no experience' is the worst excuse—it’s just laziness and cowardice hiding behind words."

But dear teacher, I truly can’t have experience with this.

I swear no one else does either.

Anyway, Yejia Yin is taking me to pick out a wedding dress. That sentence twists the tongue, but the roles are clear: no matter how unwilling I am, I can’t refuse her doll-like face.

After all, in dark fairy tales, porcelain dolls gut you without warning. And Yejia Yin definitely has the strength to do it. Better not anger her.

Practically speaking, she saved Qingli, arranged my school, covered up my family’s mess. Now I live under her roof—no room to argue.

But I really have no experience!

Lanying High School, though surrounded by a college-town vibe and fully equipped, caters to students and staff. Internet cafes, bars, KTVs exist—but no wedding shops. So we drive into the city.

A middle-aged stranger drives upfront—likely a dedicated chauffeur. Yejia Yin and I sit side by side in the back.

I’d told Qingli this girl is a vortex of low pressure. Now, less than half a centimeter away, the weight crushes me. Cold sweat drips down drop by drop. I can barely breathe.

Yejia Yin turns her head, stares for two seconds. Just as I panic—does she read minds?—her flat voice cuts in:

"Carsick?"

Eh?

Only then do I realize my chest tightness and dizziness: classic carsickness. Not her aura.

My face flushes—embarrassment or motion sickness, I can’t tell.

The car moves smoothly. I don’t recognize the luxury brand, but the plush seats scream high-end. No odd smells. The suburban road is paved flat, barely a bump.

More importantly, I’ve never gotten carsick before.

Softly, I whisper: "Sorry… I’ve never been carsick."

My voice comes out whiny and small. I don’t know why.

Yejia Yin nods calmly. "Normal. You weren’t a girl before."

I freeze, speechless. Does becoming female trigger these quirks?

Carsickness is a "talent" for many girls. Others include getting lost easily, tripping on flat ground, low blood sugar, or falling asleep anywhere.

Maybe even stupidity.

I shake my head hard—too scary. Do girls really inherit these? Leaning closer, I stupidly ask:

"Yejia Yin, do you get carsick?"

She glares, shakes her head. The answer is clear: No.

"Then…" I scratch my bangs, courting disaster. "Are you directionally challenged? Trip often? Hypoglycemic? Or narcoleptic?"

"No!" Her icy tone holds impatience. I miss it, pressing my temples.

"Could it be… stupidity?"

*Bonk!*

"Ow! Ow ow ow ow!" I clutch my flicked forehead, curling up. Tears stream down. Didn’t she say girls have these traits?

…Okay, maybe I misunderstood.

The commotion eases my nausea. The car glides into downtown, stopping at North Street—far from City No.1 High—beneath a skyscraper.

We step out, watching the driver vanish underground. Yejia Yin tugs my arm, pointing up.

I look: "Lily Love Bridal" spans the third to sixth floors.

"Let’s go. Pre-booked." Her tone stays flat, face unreadable.

—But she’s doing this on purpose.

That glaring "Lily" drains my will.

"Lily" is otaku slang for lesbian love. Normal folks rarely know it. The shop owner probably doesn’t. Customers likely don’t. But Yejia Yin? She knows.