"Shu Tingyun, do you think we can still get along even if we return to our past relationship?" He Xiaohan watched tears slide down her face, his tone softening instantly.

"I understand your sorrow, know your unease, and am aware you like me," he continued.

"But you should realize this happened long ago. Both of us have changed significantly," He Xiaohan said, his voice tinged with helplessness. "You know full well we're on different paths now. I stay by your side only because you're too fragile—I must give you an outlet to vent."

"He Xiaohan is no longer the He Xiaohan from before. The current He Xiaohan is just scum," he added, his expression carrying a trace of self-mockery.

Little Wensu looked at her mother's tear-streaked face, her eyes showing a hint of confusion.

The adult world was too complex for her to grasp.

"You've avoided this too long. The facts are clear: Wensu is born. Everything is set in stone," He Xiaohan's voice turned cold again.

"Stop fantasizing about me. I should have left your side long ago," his expression grew complicated.

"Wensu is your child. She might be a shackle binding you to this family, but she's innocent. I understand you hate this home, that you crave freedom—but this is reality. You can't abandon Wensu, yet you lack the strength to support her."

"Then change your mindset."

He Xiaohan fell silent for a long moment before speaking lowly.

"He Xiaohan..." Shu Tingyun's voice trembled with grievance, hoarse and raw.

"I might promise to care for you and Wensu now. But she's not my flesh and blood. How can you guarantee I won't change my mind?" A sudden smile appeared on his face.

Shu Tingyun looked up at He Xiaohan, tears covering her cheeks.

"Hearts change. I have my own dreams—and they don't involve you."

He Xiaohan watched her wipe tears away. The light in his eyes softened slightly, but his face remained calm, devoid of life.

"Your future choices don't concern me. You have a family. I no longer feel as I once did. We're adults—you must wake up."

"You have two options: accept this life and give Wensu stability, or build your strength until you can support her and leave."

...

He Xiaohan stepped onto the street. He pulled a cigarette pack from his pocket, lit one with a lighter.

He inhaled deeply. Smoke curled around his hollow, hazy eyes.

In their high school graduation year, Shu Tingyun's poor exam scores led her family to arrange her marriage.

He Xiaohan gazed at the bustling street, memories flooding back.

He'd never forget that night—Shu Tingyun sobbing on the phone, confessing she'd slept with that man.

She'd poured all her pain to him. When Wensu was born, Shu Tingyun nearly broke—too afraid to resist, drowning in regret.

Time soothed her surface emotions. But He Xiaohan saw she stopped complaining not from acceptance or resolve, but from clinging to fantasies about him.

He took another drag, checked his phone. Messages from Ji Qingying glowed on screen.

"Why no reply?"

"Just woke up. Insomnia last night," He Xiaohan typed back. "Wanna hang out? Catch a movie."

"Now? I haven't done my makeup."

"Then when you're ready."

"Okay."

...

Xuye Cheng belatedly recalled something crucial.

He'd forgotten to measure his shoe size. As a girl now, his feet had shrunk—his old shoes wouldn't fit.

He stood, glanced at the two sleeping on the bed, and slipped into the bathroom.

Clothes cost under a hundred yuan. Shoes always ran over a hundred.

Xuye Cheng locked the door, donned the mask. His clothes slid off. He wiped the sink dry with paper, then sat on it.

He rolled up his pant legs, removed shoes and socks. Tender white feet appeared—thin skin on the instep revealed faint veins. Plump, petite toes glowed pink. Xuye Cheng sighed. The crisp sound echoed. He froze, clapping a hand over his mouth.

What the hell was he doing!?

His heartbeat spiked.

After confirming silence outside, he measured his foot.

Admittedly, it was oddly pleasing to look at...

He wasn't a foot fetishist, but the fair, smooth skin was undeniably lovely.

Size thirty-seven.

He lowered his legs. His toes barely touched the floor.

Such long legs?

Xuye Cheng stiffened. His height was barely 1.7 meters, right?

If a girl like this existed in reality...

She'd be incredibly cute.

He felt this beautiful shell was wasted on him—a rough guy inside, unable to match the exterior's sweetness.

No. A cute girl like that would never notice trash like him anyway.

Xuye Cheng sighed helplessly.

He stepped down, brushing hair from his face.

Long hair had a strange texture. Bangs fell across his forehead. Every movement sent strands tickling his skin—an itch fading with time.

Lowering his head made hair curtain his vision, trapping him.

Might as well practice combing it.

Xuye Cheng pulled a comb from his pocket, adjusted his pants, and began.

He gathered a handful of jet-black hair—silky to the touch. Tilting his head, he met the woman's gaze in the mirror. Shame surged through him.

He was actually leisurely combing his hair.

He felt himself drifting closer to becoming a cross-dressing expert.