Jiang Juan was chatting with his livestream viewers when a purple comment caught his eye.
**CuckooBird:** *"Juan-er, what’s your take on homosexuality?"*
That nickname—*Juan-er*—made the practiced smile Jiang Juan always wore off-camera crack just a hairline fracture.
*Why ask this? Could it be…?* The thought flashed and vanished. He switched to a warm, confiding tone.
"I respect them. Whether gay or straight, love should be free."
**CuckooBird:** *"What about people who… y’know, girls dressing as guys, guys as girls? Thoughts?"*
*Why dig into such sensitive topics? Are you a reporter?* Jiang Juan inwardly grumbled, but his reply stayed polished: "It’s not their fault. Their souls just landed in the wrong bodies."
*"Wow. That explains everything and nothing."*
*"Is CuckooBird trying to be his catgirl BFF?"*
*"Gay guys in Zhenjiang, add me."*
Beyond the screen, Gu Yan listened through his earphones. He pictured a boy raised as a golden child—constantly watched, strictly disciplined by parents until his true self suffocated. Only in high school, living alone, could he split his days: perfect student by sunlight, anonymous comfort-seeker in the digital dark.
*No wonder he’s smooth-faced. Those hairless legs… must be tough for him.* Gu Yan’s own family scars made him ache in sympathy. Sometimes, even well-meaning stares cut deep.
**CuckooBird:** *"Exactly. We can’t choose our gender, but we choose love. Being yourself matters most."*
*"Truth is… I’m gay. Terrified my family’ll find out. They keep pushing me to marry."*
*"Streamer’s legs are insane—over a meter long?"*
*"Sassy bottom seeking burly top. DM me."*
Jiang Juan read CuckooBird’s messages, his suspicion hardening. Memories of his own hollow childhood flickered—starved for acceptance, craving safety. *He must want validation too.* Softly, he murmured, "I agree completely."
*So this is why he cross-dresses on stream,* Gu Yan realized with a quiet sigh. *No wonder he overreacted when I saw him with Lin Qingya.*
He must yearn for real love but fear reaching for it under everyone’s expectations.
Across the digital divide, two overthinkers forged a fragile thread of kinship.
*He’s not easy,* they both thought in unison.
———
As Jiang Juan waved goodbye and the stream cut off, Gu Yan set down his phone. He’d decided: he’d pretend not to know about the cross-dressing. No one knew his own shameful dreams. No one knew the campus heartthrob Jiang Juan hid a girl inside—a girl who loved twirling in skirts and mewing like a kitten.
"Pubg? Add me," Gu Yan said, rubbing his still-swollen cheek as he glanced at Zhang Ning on the neighboring bed.
"Perfect. I can’t carry Zhao Zhuoyu’s noob ass anymore. Come on."
After packing his streaming gear, Jiang Juan shed the dress, leaving only his underclothes. Barefoot, he stepped onto the scale tucked in his bedroom corner.
"59.4 kg. A bit lighter than before." He stared at the number, whispering to his reflection.
Still barefoot on the cool wood floor, he walked to his walk-in closet. Rummaging through storage bins, he pulled out a soft measuring tape, a retractable ruler, and a compact mirror. Grabbing a random book and a mechanical pencil from his desk, he stood rigidly against the doorframe. He balanced the book atop his head, using the mirror to ensure it stayed perfectly level.
Once aligned, he tossed the mirror onto his bed. Left hand steadying the book, right hand gripping the pencil behind his ear, he marked the doorframe.
"174.5 cm. No change." Satisfied, he returned the book and pencil to his desk.
Chest, waist, shoulders, hips—he’d never measured these before. After recording each number with the soft tape, he sat back in his gaming chair. On his laptop, he opened a fresh Excel sheet and logged every figure.
Today’s pain was faint—less ache, more like tingling currents under his skin. Uncomfortable, yet bearable.
*I hope I’m wrong,* Jiang Juan thought. His curled lashes cast shadowed crescents in the lamplight, mirroring the quiet worry in his heart.
