I rubbed my eyes, doubting I’d seen wrong.

Me—Lin Xiaoxi. Sixteen. Male. Into girls.

As a model, shouldn’t I be shooting sharp, stylish menswear? Why’s this list packed with nothing but little dresses?

“Uncle Cheng? Did… you mix something up?” I closed the file with a helpless, correcting tone, pointed at my face, and gave that same wry smile I’d worn a thousand times before. “Yeah, I might look girly—but I’m one hundred percent, genuinely, a boy!”

“Of course we know that,” Cheng Shun said with a sly, charming smirk.

“But the contract says *dresses*? Sailor uniforms? All kinds of skirts? That’s a mistake! How can a guy shoot women’s clothing ads?!”

“Hmph…” Cheng Shun didn’t answer right away. He reached for a cigarette out of habit, then paused—remembering I hated smoke—and chuckled, tucking it away. Fiddling with his lighter, he asked, “Lin Xiaoxi… do you understand one thing?”

“What?”

“Signing a contract is serious. At sixteen, you’re bound by its terms. It clearly states: contracted models can’t object to the company’s reasonable arrangements or slack off. Didn’t… you read that?”

“Wait—forcing a guy into women’s clothes is ‘reasonable business’?!”

“Because I say it’s reasonable, it is. Take it to court—I’d still win.”

“You—!”

Rage boiled over. I shot up, slammed the table hard, and declared, “Remember this: I’m a guy! Pure, undiluted male! Even if I starve, I will NOT wear women’s clothes for your ads!”

I spun around with defiant flair, ready to storm out.

He’d hit my sore spot.

Since childhood, my looks had been painfully delicate. In kindergarten, strangers always cooed, “What a cute little sister!” In elementary school, my male deskmate gifted me free spicy strips daily. First PE class? Always sorted into the girls’ line. Early in middle school, I even found a love letter in my desk—from a boy in the next class…

Ugh. Total cringe black history.

As a sunny-hearted guy, nothing pissed me off more than being mistaken for a girl. Whenever some stranger called me “Miss” or “Cutie,” I’d snap back:

“‘Miss’ my foot! Blind? Your whole family’s ‘Miss’!”

And now this middle-aged Uncle Cheng—*knowing* I’m a guy—wanted me as a female clothing model? Unforgivable! The audacity!

But before I reached the door, his voice drifted calmly behind me: “2.31 million.”

Huh?

“Contract penalty: one million. Plus your existing debt: 1.31 million. That’s 2.31 million. Little Xi… you’re in high school. Forgot basic math?”

My feet locked mid-step.

Right. The clause *was* there. I just never thought I’d breach it.

Damn it. I’d been set up.

Trembling, I turned back toward his devilish smile, words trapped in my throat.

“A person’s repayment ability has limits—and at sixteen, you absolutely can’t cover two million, right?”

“You…! You…!” My whole body shook.

“I’m asking: you *can’t* pay it, can you?”

“…”

“And you were cornered at home by debt collectors… nearly becoming a ‘philosophy’ boy?”

…Weirdly wrong. Weirdly right.

“So to save you, I was entrusted to find you.”

“Entrusted? By *who*?” My pulse spiked.

“Huh? Did I say that? Well… not important. You’ll know soon.”

*Soon* again? That dismissive tone left a sour itch under my skin.

He went on, “I can’t name her yet—but I *can* tell you about your future job: bright prospects, guaranteed big money… women’s clothing model! *Female* model! *Model!*”

Don’t add your own echo effects! And what the hell is this “big-money female model”?!

“Hey! I keep saying—I’m a *guy*!”

“A guy… makes big money?”

“Uh… kinda tough…”

Furious as I was, I had to admit it. A sixteen-year-old boy with no diploma, no skills, no strength? Job rejections everywhere. Big money? Dream on.

“So it’s the girls’ era now! Cute ‘little sisters’ are walking cash printers—you get it? *Get it? It?*”

Hey! Stop the echo effects! And why’s Uncle Cheng suddenly sounding… sad?