Jiang Xuehan slept soundly, not waking until past nine the next morning. After washing up, she slipped into a black T-shirt and wide-leg jeans. She combed her messy short hair, checked her reflection, and headed early to the internet café.

At 10 a.m., the café was quiet. A veteran staffer named Li Xiuxiu guided Jiang Xuehan through the routines. The job was simple—handling payments, issuing membership cards, making light snacks, and serving orders. Her past experience in restaurants and supermarkets helped her adapt quickly.

Clad in a red cap and apron stamped with the café’s logo, she moved deftly between machines like a seasoned pro.

By 3 p.m., her shift ended. She removed her cap and apron, bid the manager goodbye, bought two steamed buns from a stall near the school gate for lunch, and headed straight back to her dorm.

Back in her restaurant days, Jiang Xuehan often worked nonstop for over ten hours. But since becoming a girl, her stamina had plummeted. Just four hours on her feet left her ankles aching. She planned to soak them back in her room.

Early September in Eastern Sea City was sweltering, especially at this hour. Most girls in Dorm 7 dressed lightly—some strolled the corridors in sheer silk nightgowns, creamy thighs flashing with each step. Jiang Xuehan’s throat went dry. She hurried to her room.

*Huh? A new roommate.*

A long-haired girl sat on a chair, wearing a lace-collared white blouse and a blue skirt. Her fair, delicate face lit up as she stood to greet Jiang Xuehan: "Hi! I’m Xia Ziying. We’ll be roommates for the next four years!"

"Jiang Xuehan. Nice to meet you." Their hands brushed briefly—a soft, feminine touch that sent a ripple through Jiang Xuehan’s chest.

A middle-aged couple was arranging the bed—likely Ziying’s parents. Jiang Xuehan approached warmly: "Uncle, Auntie, need help?"

"No, no! Such a thoughtful girl," Ziying’s father beamed, crow’s feet deepening. "Jiang Xuehan, right? Ziying’s never lived away from home. I hope you’ll look out for her."

"You’re too kind. She seems very independent."

"This child," Ziying’s mother chuckled, "has such a sweet mouth."

Jiang Xuehan’s year drifting after dropping out hadn’t been wasted. She knew how to read people—a skill that made her seem mature among fresh graduates.

Even after the bed was made, the parents lingered. Ziying’s mother clutched her daughter’s hand, rattling off advice: study hard, avoid boys, use mosquito repellent, eat balanced meals—as if cramming a lifetime of warnings into one moment.

Ziying’s patience wore thin. She nudged and hinted until they finally left. She exhaled dramatically: "Phew! Freedom at last. Mom treats me like I’m still six."

Unseen by Ziying, a shadow flickered in Jiang Xuehan’s eyes.

*If only my mother were still here to nag me… how happy I’d be.*

As a boy named Meng Han, he’d sneak to internet cafés and arcades after school. His mother would scour every game parlor to drag him home. Seeing his joyful face, she’d sigh softly, pat his head: "Xiao Han, let’s go home."

Her words held magic. He’d abandon his games willingly—only to face his father’s scolding at home.

But fate was cruel. At fourteen, Meng Han lost his mother to a sudden accident.

At her funeral, he stood like a wooden puppet—face blank, voiceless, tearless.

Afterward, he stopped visiting arcades. Instead, he’d crouch alone by busy streets, hollow-eyed. He’d watch waterfalls flow upward, dandelion seeds gather into fluffy spheres, the sun rise in the west. Only then, returning home, could he smell her cooking, hear her voice, see her kind face.

"Jiang Xuehan? Hey!"

A small hand waved before her eyes. She snapped back, forcing a smile. "What is it?"

Ziying’s face was inches away, carrying the faint scent of moisturizer. "You zoned out! I’m Xia Ziying—call me Ziying. What should I call you?"

"Xiao Han."

*Xiao Han*—same pronunciation as her old name, *Xiao Han*. It wouldn’t feel strange.

"Got it! Xiao Han, when did you arrive?"

"Yesterday noon."

"Wow, so early? You know campus well then—show me around?"

Her legs ached, and memories clung like cobwebs. But those bright, pleading eyes were impossible to refuse.

As they stood, Jiang Xuehan grimaced inwardly. With shoes of equal height, Ziying still towered half a head above her.

*Height mattered to boys. Especially when you’re shorter than your roommate.*

"Ziying… how tall are you?" she blurted.

"166 cm."

The old Meng Han would’ve looked down on her. Now, Jiang Xuehan had to tilt her head up.

They’d barely stepped out when Ziying did the unthinkable—she laced their fingers together.

Eighteen years. No girlfriend. No hand-holding. Not even as the top live-streamer "Meng Han," where female fans might’ve been catfishing guys anyway.

But this was real. A living, breathing girl—soft, fragrant, clinging to her hand.

Jiang Xuehan felt like a human steam engine, heat billowing from her scalp.

"Xiao Han? Your face is crimson!" Ziying pressed a cool palm to her forehead. "Heatstroke?"

"I’m fine… just hot…" Jiang Xuehan mumbled, cheeks burning.

"Right! It *is* scorching." Ziying unfurled a purple parasol outside, pulling Jiang Xuehan closer under its shade.

*This is a girl’s body? Soft. Warm. Safe.* Jiang Xuehan inhaled subtly, savoring the clean, floral scent of youth.

"Touring" meant wandering aimlessly—no fear of getting lost. Ziying bubbled with energy, snapping photos of distant views, posing Jiang Xuehan for shots, or flagging down strangers for selfies.

Though uneasy with the closeness, Jiang Xuehan steered conversations smoothly, drawing out Ziying’s stories. Soon, the bubbly girl found her petite roommate utterly endearing—and probed deeper: "Xiao Han… do you have a boyfriend?"

Jiang Xuehan nearly choked. "No! Absolutely not!"

"But petite girls like you are popular with guys!"

"Guys prefer… curves, I think?"

*Yes. She was legendary for being flat-chested.*

"Curves?" Ziying poked Jiang Xuehan’s chest playfully. "Hmph! Princess Flat-chest!"

Jiang Xuehan flinched—the touch grazed a sensitive peak. "It’s practical! No burden when walking!"

"Poor flat-chested girls always say that."

"Y-yours isn’t huge either…" Jiang Xuehan stole a glance.

"Mine’s B-plus! Yours is barely an A!" Ziying teased. "Want to compare by touch?"

"T-touch?" Jiang Xuehan’s hand trembled as she reached out. "Can I…?"

Ziying stood proudly—then dodged at the last second, sticking out her tongue. "Silly girl! You’d really grope me? With everyone watching?"

"Uh…" Jiang Xuehan withdrew her hand, crestfallen. "What about… back in our room…?"

"Pfft! Maybe later!"

Jiang Xuehan’s sharp instincts flared. *This beautiful roommate doesn’t mind girl-on-girl groping?*

Revenge and reclaiming her streaming throne still drove her. But a little reward along the way—like touching a girl’s chest—wouldn’t hurt.