My name is Lin Xiaoxi. I’m male, just turned sixteen last month, and a first-year student at Hyde High School.

Right now, I’m curled in the corner, shivering slightly, tears of grief and fury welling in my eyes.

Because in seconds… I’m about to lose my precious virginity.

Standing before me is Wang Bili, the internationally acclaimed “body art performer,” licking his thick, sensual lips while greedily scanning my body.

By the door, a crew stands ready with cameras.

Waaah! I don’t want my first time stolen by a man—especially *him*, this so-called paragon of virtue and artistry!

It all began with a sudden misfortune.

My parents worked at a large state-owned engineering firm. Frequent business trips came with their roles. Income wasn’t huge, but stable.

Three months ago, they vanished mysteriously during a trip. No trace since.

Worse, they left behind a mortgage and high-interest loans taken for investments. With them gone, creditors turned to me.

Their savings drained fast. Bank reps and loan sharks swarmed my home. How could a sixteen-year-old high schooler pay interest?

So they moved in—claimed the house, took everything. Even my cherished Qiong-chan figure, the one I adored daily, was seized. Every day, they smoked, drank, and played mahjong in the living room like it was theirs. No peace. My grades plummeted.

I called the police. Useless. The debt was documented. “A son repays his father’s debts”—supposedly natural law. Until I paid, they wouldn’t leave.

Friends? I have one. His family’s comfortable, but this debt? Enough to make any middle-class household flinch. He couldn’t help.

With my parents still missing, creditors grew impatient. They needed quick returns—from *me*.

How could a sixteen-year-old boy earn that much?

Luckily… I’m delicate-featured. Even in boys’ clothes, strangers sometimes call me “young lady.”

So they forced me into adult videos. Hired Wang Bili, the city’s “renowned performance artist,” to star with me in a gay BL-style clip. Planned to sell it online—pre-sales already live on Bilibili.

Monsters! Absolute monsters! Targeting a minor!

Wang Bili stood there in tight star-spangled briefs, flexing his biceps, flashing a robust, cheerful grin.

“Yoooooooooooooooooo~”

Creditors cheered: “Actor ready! One, two, three—ACTION!”

I huddled in the corner, clad only in a white tee, casual shorts, and worn slippers, trembling.

He flexed his sculpted pecs. His towering frame loomed over me. A strangely philosophical smile played on his lips. A thick wave of masculine pheromones hit me.

Adrenaline surged. From nowhere, courage sparked. I snatched the windowsill flowerpot and swung it hard at Wang Bili’s—*ahem*—groin.

“Yowch!”

While he doubled over clutching himself, I shoved the window open and leaped out.

Second floor. Soft grass below. Lucky.

“Don’t let him escape! Grab him!”

Creditors bolted toward the entrance like rabid dogs.

I sprinted onto the street outside the compound. But they chased relentlessly, closing in.

“Help!”

My cries only drew idle, spectator stares. No hero stepped forward.

Leading the pack? None other than Comrade Wang Bili. A “pure” American artist—this wasn’t just about money. It was *art*.

Making me part of his legacy.

I rubbed my sore butt, lungs burning. But my stamina? Pathetic. A lifelong PE failure—always dead last. How could I outrun these red-eyed adults?

Waaah! Stop chasing me! I can’t run anymore!