“Sister Manman, I really don’t want to wear this,” Feng Yijiu murmured, sitting on the bed. She stared at the little dress in Cen Man’s hands like it was a monstrous beast.

“You’re a girl now…”

“I know. But I really don’t like it.” Feng Yijiu curled herself smaller. Nearly half a month post-surgery, overly feminine things still felt wrong—especially ones that screamed “girly” to outsiders.

“Alright,” Cen Man relented with a hint of regret. “Yijiu, with your natural beauty, you’d look stunning in a dress.”

Feng Yijiu offered only an awkward yet polite smile. *A dress? Absolutely not. Not in this lifetime.*

Even after ten-plus days, her body still felt unfamiliar. That hollow sensation in a certain place never faded.

But… appearance-wise, the change wasn’t drastic.

Staring at the androgynous girl in the mirror, Feng Yijiu felt strange. As a “boy,” her face had seemed delicately soft. Now, as a girl, it blended feminine grace with subtle angular lines—a lingering trace of masculine charm.

*If I cut my hair short and dress more boyishly… would others still see me as male?* Ridiculous, yet somehow fitting.

Yet the reflection captivated her. Hair once long for a boy had grown slightly—still short for a girl, but paired with her delicate features, it radiated quiet serenity. A faint melancholy, the loose hospital gown, the slightly exposed pale collarbone, her slender frame… all wove a fragile, ethereal beauty.

“Mesmerized by yourself, Yijiu?” Cen Man teased. “See? Long hair suits you. I’ll grab a wig!”

“I’m not sure…” Feng Yijiu whispered, unsure how those words even landed.

“Done!” Cen Man bustled out, returning minutes later with clothes. “Try this! I took three bus rides for it. If it weren’t reimbursable, I’d cry.”

“This…” Feng Yijiu eyed the intricate white Hanfu.

“It’s Hanfu. Let Sister help.” Before refusal, Cen Man moved. Dazed, Feng Yijiu stood still.

“Wow! My taste is flawless!” Cen Man’s eyes lit up as the wig settled.

Feng Yijiu froze. She’d thought herself a pretty-boy type before—but in this?

The wig completed her. Cherry lips slightly parted—a hint of innocent charm, a touch of life that made the painted beauty breathe.

Cen Man snapped a photo, sent it to Feng Mingdong, then hesitated… and saved it as her wallpaper.

“I…” Feng Yijiu jolted back, hands flying toward the dangerously androgynous outfit. *Wait… did I just feel… attracted to myself?*

“No, no!” Cen Man grabbed her arm, pleading. “For Sister? Just today. You’re discharged tomorrow…”

Feng Yijiu wavered. Cen Man had been so kind… but being seen like this? Pure social death.

“We’ll wear masks,” Cen Man pressed. “Please? Just this one last little request? Okay? Okay?”

“…Fine.” Two lifetimes without being coaxed like this—Feng Yijiu gritted her teeth. *Mask on. Quiet hospital hallway. Nothing bad will happen… right?*

“Your tiny steps aren’t steps at all!” Cen Man laughed, exasperated. “Relax. No one knows you. Gynecology ward. Mask on. You’re safe.”

…

“Mom, Dad made soup today,” a young man said, handing a thermos to an elegantly mature woman in another room.

“Oh, Gou Gou, go play ball with Xiao Lin. I’m just here for acupuncture,” she shooed him like a fly.

“Shoo! Young people should explore! Following us won’t magically conjure a girlfriend.”

“I’m starting high school. What’s the rush?” Gou Gou rolled his eyes.

“You rascal! Start early or good girls get snatched. And as long as no pregnancies happen, Mom and Dad handle the rest…”

“Alright, alright,” Gou Gou muttered, stepping into the hallway for air.

His gaze drifted to the garden behind the ward—and froze.

A girl in white Hanfu stood beside blooming gardenias. She shyly lowered her head as a nurse tucked a fresh blossom into her hair.

Distance blurred her; a large mask hid all but her eyes. Yet the mask couldn’t veil her aura.

Glossy black hair crowned with a white gardenia. Eyes speaking without words. A hazy, dreamlike grace—like an immortal maiden who’d slipped into the mortal world, pure and untainted.

When Gou Gou reached the garden, only the gardenia’s fragrance remained. The vital spark of life was gone.

Heart aching, he glanced around, gently plucked a bloom, and watched it spin slowly between his fingertips.