Compared to those shaky clips shot by random passersby earlier, this full video gave me a much clearer look at what happened during my blackout.

It was like I’d become someone else entirely—like an alternate personality, or even a ghost, had temporarily hijacked my body. Even now, I still couldn’t believe the confident, bubbly girl in the video was actually *me*.

Weird… Why did I black out? The details just wouldn’t come back…

I checked the views and comments again. Posted barely fifteen minutes ago, the video had already climbed to homepage recommendations—over 3,000 views, more than 100 danmaku. At this rate, it might hit top three in the whole section by tomorrow.

“Xiaoxi, open the comments too,” she said.

The girl who’d tormented and humiliated me all this time suddenly felt… genuinely gentle. She leaned close to my ear, guiding my finger to tap open every comment about the video—

Unlike danmaku, these comments fixated on *me*:

“Sister Xixi’s Weibo link please! Kuaiyin account works too!”

“Sister Xixi is so cute and sings beautifully—I’m officially a fan!”

“Found her Weibo: @DaidaiDashixiong”

I scrolled down. The top-liked comment read:

“Sister Xixi? Are you there? Everyone who liked this—handsome guys, lovely girls—we’re all waiting for you!”

—Already at 100 likes… and climbing fast. Crazy.

“Are… all these people really looking for *me*?” I turned to her, disbelief tangled with curiosity.

“Not all. Many are paid posters I hired.”

In that moment, she carried an effortless, untouchable coolness. Well… this *was* her.

Someone this candid didn’t seem like a liar.

“But paid posters aren’t magic,” she added. “Only truly great content wins real fans. Hype alone fades fast.”

I knew that. Like those Bilibili clickbait accounts—high views, near-zero followers. Exactly.

“See?” She took my phone, shifted closer on the bench. A soft, sweet scent drifted near as she refreshed the screen: views climbing, favorites surging, comments and shares spiking with every tap.

“Right now, total strangers who know nothing about you are watching, praising you. They’ll remember ‘Xixi-chan.’ They’ll follow your Weibo, your accounts.”

3,000 views jumped to 6,000 in seconds. Comments swarmed with my name.

That “waiting for you” comment? 210 likes now.

She pocketed the phone, stretched back against the bench with a relaxed smile. “Perfect, Lin Xiaoxi… You’ve already surpassed my plan. I *knew* I hadn’t misjudged you.”

“But I remember *nothing*…” I muttered, frustration thick.

And why did she sound like this was all premeditated?

She offered only a cryptic smile. Flagged a taxi. Gestured for me to get in. Slipped the driver a red bill. Gave my address.

As the car accelerated, I jolted awake—head thrust out the window. “Wait! I can’t go home now! Creditors are lying in wait!”

Just picturing Wang Bili’s bulging pecs and that robust, philosophically cheerful grin sent a cold dread shooting through me.

“Relax,” she said calmly. “Reward for your performance today. I handled them. Your house is empty.”

Huh? *That* capable?

Before I could reply, the taxi pulled away. Her petite figure shrank in the rearview. She waved, lips curved in that devilishly bright smile, cherry-red mouth forming silent words:

“Lin Xiaoxi… we’ll meet again soon.”

——————————

Even after getting home, my head spun. I barely recalled stepping out of the taxi or walking inside.

All I remembered were the strange stares from passersby—making me feel like I was on pins and needles. Head down the whole way. Wishing I could dig a tunnel home.

Thankfully, the devilish girl and that scheming manager kept their word. The house stood empty. Creditors gone. Wang Bili vanished.

Of course… the sold furniture wasn’t coming back. Nor my beloved Qiongmei figure—the one I cherished daily—now probably in some random otaku’s hands.

Hey… be gentle with her! Don’t… *overdo* the admiration!

I slammed the door shut, ripped off the wig, shed the humiliating dress. Dug out my usual men’s T-shirt and sweatpants. Washed my face hard in the bathroom.

Without makeup remover, faint traces remained—but not too obvious. Probably fade by morning.

I still couldn’t believe it… if not for that crumpled dress on the floor.

I stuffed the dress, shoes, socks, and wig deep into the closet. Someone else’s things. Return them later.

But next time… would I have to wear women’s clothes again for another ad?

And what did she mean by “make me the center of attention”? I’m just a low-key, quiet high school guy. I *really* don’t want to spend my teens labeled a cross-dresser!

But… they held leverage. I was at their mercy. Though… being *her* exclusive “fish” didn’t sound… entirely awful.

I sighed. Ordered cheap takeout chow mein. Played a few games. Checked homework. Packed my bag. Went to bed early…