Jiang Juan returned to his on-campus dorm. Due to personal reasons, he’d requested a single occupancy room—a request the school granted, perhaps out of kindness, or perhaps because his father had once donated three million yuan to the institution in his own name.
His dorm belonged to the faculty housing block. Quiet surrounded him. The one-bedroom unit came fully furnished with appliances and excellent soundproofing.
Jiang Juan shut the door, headed straight to the bathroom, and splashed water on his face. He lifted his head, gently patting his skin dry with a towel. In the mirror, the boy’s freshly washed face looked porcelain-pale. His sea-blue eyes held a distant chill. He’d inherited his father’s bone structure, but his features leaned toward his English mother’s side—sharper, more defined.
He left the bathroom for his bedroom. The space was minimalist: black and white dominated. Yet his desk clashed with the theme. A white PC tower sat beside dual monitors, a sound card, a camera, and peripherals. His keyboard was sakura-pink; his white mouse wore cartoon stickers. Two words summed it up: girlish.
Jiang Juan cleared small items off the desk, creating a tidy space. He turned toward the walk-in closet. Neatly hung men’s clothes filled the racks. He slid the hangers aside with practiced ease. At the back sat storage bins. He lifted the topmost small bin to the floor, then opened the one beneath it. Inside lay piles of women’s dresses and skirts.
His expression unchanged, he selected a black-blue-purple batwing-sleeve shirt, a plain white crop top, and from another bin, pale pink capri pants paired with a black belt.
He stripped down to his underwear. Slipping the capris on, he fastened them just below his navel with the belt. The white crop top followed, leaving a sliver of snow-pale waist exposed above the beltline. Finally, he shrugged on the batwing shirt.
Before the full-length mirror, the shirt hem fell a few centimeters above the capris, creating an effortlessly relaxed silhouette. Jiang Juan turned slightly, pushing the left sleeve up his wrist just a fraction. He fastened a platinum chain around it.
"Not bad." He nodded, satisfied.
"So wherever I go, joy ignites like a spark," he hummed, carrying the small bin to his desk.
Inside lay an array of cosmetics. He positioned the desk mirror, then began the meticulous process of applying "boyfriend-fooling makeup"—a natural, barely-there look. His fair complexion and naturally rosy lips needed little enhancement. He focused on subtle eyeshadow and eyeliner. Afterward, he dabbed a hint of lipstick onto his cheeks, blending it softly as blush to warm his complexion.
"Girls really do work hard," he murmured, packing the cosmetics away. He returned to the closet, reemerging with a black wig. Before the mirror, he secured a hairnet over his own hair, then carefully adjusted the wig until every strand looked natural.
He studied the reflection. His heart-shaped face, now framed by a center-parted wig with C-curve ends, appeared gentle. Gray contacts masked his striking blue eyes. The makeup amplified his porcelain skin’s translucent quality. The loose batwing shirt disguised his broader male frame. The gap between his white crop top and pink capris highlighted a sliver of flawless waist, the black belt making the skin there look even more delicate. The shirt’s long hem brushed the top of his capris—a lazy, early-spring aesthetic.
At 174cm, Jiang Juan wasn’t exceptionally tall, but his legs stretched 105cm. His greatest sacrifice for streaming? Probably his leg hair. He gazed at his smooth, straight legs and shook his head. "Who has it easy?"
He tilted his chin up, exposing his Adam’s apple. From the bed, he retrieved the final prop: a black lace choker.
"The soul’s touch," he declared with ritualistic care as he fastened it. He glanced back at the mirror. A flawlessly natural-looking girl stared back.
"The internet is terrifying," Jiang Juan said quietly.
"Hello, Juan’s Ear Cat," the "girl" in the mirror whispered, tilting her head. A sweet voice floated from his throat.
