Xuye Cheng got out of bed, a chill running down his spine.
Why could everyone’s thoughts be so filthy?
He was a reserved person, never bringing up sexual topics around others.
Unlike Zheng Wenxuan—whose name sounded scholarly but who often gave impromptu anatomy lessons.
Young men naturally had urges, but lately Xuye Cheng’s mind was oddly clean.
Maybe night shifts had worn him out.
He took out the mask, feeling uneasy just looking at it.
What if it wouldn’t come off?
He’d just have Zheng Wenxuan shout again.
His palms grew slightly warm, an inexplicable excitement bubbling up.
Maybe he truly looked good wearing it.
Or perhaps that different body offered a thrilling new experience.
Xuye Cheng’s life had always lacked novelty.
Every day was a grind: classes, labs, reports, homework, pointless credit lectures.
The enslaved routine of a modern college student.
Sometimes he envied Zheng Wenxuan. His family was comfortably well-off.
Liu Xianlin slacked off too, but didn’t budget tightly while juggling work and studies.
Most of all, Xuye Cheng envied He Xiaohan—always charming, vibrant, surrounded by girls wherever he went.
Compared to them, his life was a pile of crap.
He sighed helplessly, gaze fixed on the mask in his hand.
Had heaven sent this to compensate for his misery?
But it only made him a worker with a flashy gimmick.
He walked into the bathroom and locked the door.
Bathrooms weren’t safe—doors could be unlocked from outside with a key.
But those two forgetful losers probably didn’t have it.
Rumor said inexplicable university rules meant something jaw-dropping had happened there.
He took a deep breath, pressing the mask to his face.
That suction hit again. Clothes slid off his shoulders.
His body slimmed down instantly. Coarse fabric brushed his chest, sending an unfamiliar tingle.
His face flushed. In the mirror stood a delicate, sweet-faced girl.
His clothes hung loose. Pants sagged like wilted dried vegetables.
Seeing his messy reflection, his blush deepened.
Holy crap, this was so damn hot—he could barely handle it.
Reaching to pull up his pants, he glimpsed his newly slim waist.
Skin like snow, smooth and pale. Hips curved softly, full and flawless.
Even his navel looked strangely alluring.
He’d shrunk too—down from 175 cm to about 170 cm.
Blood rushed to his cheeks. He shook his head, dropping his clothes.
Focus! He was here for serious business.
He grabbed his phone, lowered the volume slightly. Zheng Wenxuan’s voice played.
The mask fell off. His view rose slowly. Tingling sensations faded away.
It really worked!
He breathed a sigh of relief.
If it hadn’t come off, that’d be a whole other story.
He exhaled again, finally understanding how to use it.
He’d chosen this path.
Goal: become a cross-dressing pro, save for a new phone.
Honestly, it wasn’t so bad. Survival justified any hustle.
This gadget even made cross-dressing dignified.
He tucked the mask into his pocket and stepped out.
One problem left: his clothing size.
Must fix it fast—he couldn’t keep the store manager waiting.
Online shopping would take time too.
He checked his phone: 4 PM.
Exhaustion crashed over him.
So tired. Why did others have it easy while he felt like a dog daily?
Whatever. Pointless. Goodbye, world.
Venting like this eased his heart a little.
Just stress relief.
Life served you a pile of crap—you ate it or starved.
Wear a suit, use a fork, and they’d call you elegant for suffering.
He straightened his clothes, the mirror-girl’s image flashing in his mind.
If he looked that good, he’d be happy too.
Envy surged again.
This overpowered item hadn’t changed much. With guts, he could’ve stolen using it—no one would suspect that face.
He froze mid-thought.
Earlier, as a girl, his fingerprint unlocked his phone.
So this body connected to the original? Same prints?
Convenient—at least he could slack off at work without typing passwords.
But theft plans were ruined now.
He stored the mask, tidied up, and left.
Walking slowly to the cafeteria, the dimming sky threatened rain.
He reminded himself: bring an umbrella later or get drenched like a drowned rat.
He never cared what to eat.
Grabbing a beef rice bowl, he sat down and opened Taobao to browse women’s wear.
Prices were steep.
No cheap 9.9-yuan junk—less comfy than plastic bags.
How long since he’d bought clothes anyway?
“Hey, Brother Cheng, what a coincidence.” A soft, clear voice cut through the noise like a mountain breeze.
