Hoping and hoping, Friday finally arrived.

True to their bet, the duo quietly stayed behind after school. Feng Yijiu had planned to take him home, but remembering Feng Mingdong’s near-murderous glare from two days prior, she decided playing it safe was wiser.

Luckily, Li Hao was a Boya Academy veteran who knew the campus like the back of his hand. He swiftly led Feng Yijiu to an empty classroom in the art building, fished the key from a hidden corner, unlocked the door, and they stepped inside the spare room.

“Cough… cough…” Feng Yijiu coughed slightly as dust tickled her throat. “Why is there so much dust…?”

“Your voice?” Li Hao glanced at her—her pitch was noticeably higher than usual.

“Just dust stuck in my throat,” she quickly corrected. “Hurry up. Here’s the western-style skirt, shirt, stockings… and the wig.”

The wig was the one Cen Man had given her before—repurposing it on Li Hao felt fitting.

“Change right here?” Li Hao hesitated.

“What else?” Feng Yijiu rolled her eyes. “Go ahead and change outside if you want.”

Li Hao fell silent, then looked at her.

“What?”

“I’m changing. Can’t you step out first?”

“So many demands,” Feng Yijiu stood up. “Hurry. One minute—or I’m coming in.”

“Done yet?”

“Almost.”

“Damn it, it’s been ten minutes! Three pieces of clothing—what are you *doing*?”

“Almost, almost!”

“One minute. Seriously.”

…

When guys cross-dress, unless naturally gifted, people watch their expressions more than the outfit. Li Hao was no exception.

“Hey, laughed enough?” he grumbled, watching Feng Yijiu’s hands shake from giggles.

“Sorry! These black-stockinged legs are just too funny!” Her face still twitched. Li Hao’s athletic legs had sharp contours—and stubborn leg hair poked defiantly through the nylon, turning elegant stockings into “hairy socks.”

“Looks bad on me? *You* try it,” Li Hao snapped—then his gaze dropped to Feng Yijiu’s long, fair, perfectly straight legs.

“Whoa, pervert!” Feng Yijiu shivered, stepping back hastily.

Li Hao’s mind suddenly conjured an image of his deskmate in a dress…

Seeing his creepy smile spread, Feng Yijiu didn’t hesitate. She whipped out her phone, snapped a photo in a flash, and bolted out the door.

Li Hao, still lost in fantasy about a feminized Feng Yijiu, jolted awake—instinctively chasing, then freezing mid-stride at the sight of his own outfit.

“Damn it… you win,” he grumbled.

At home, Feng Yijiu scrolled through her photo, chuckling.

“Yijiu, what’s so funny?” Cen Man asked, handing her a papaya milkshake. Feng Yijiu grinned like a fool.

“N-nothing.” *No way she’d admit the twisted thrill of seeing a guy in stockings.*

“Oh, your dad said dinner tomorrow night—with Uncle Li, the one who helped you get into Boya.”

“Got it,” Feng Yijiu nodded.

…

For reasons unknown, Li Hao smuggled the outfit home.

“Gou Gou, join us tomorrow for dinner with Uncle Feng. Family gathering. Skipping last time wasn’t great—and you’re both Boya students.”

“Fine,” Li Hao mumbled gloomily. He shoved the “hazard” under his bed and flopped down.

Then he remembered—the gardenia pressed beneath thick textbooks. Flattened, dry, yet its sweet scent still enchanted him.

Something felt forgotten… like a tiny worm wriggling in his mind. But what? He couldn’t grasp it.

That night, Li Hao dreamed.

A girl stood with her back to him, a gardenia tucked in her flowing hair. A fitted dress hugged her frame; familiar-style stockings clad her shapely, softly curved legs. Nylon gleamed under lamplight—Li Hao swallowed hard.

He crept closer… then froze.

The face was Feng Yijiu’s—but delicate features sprouted a beard uncannily like Zhang Fei’s.

“Wahahaha! So you’re a pervert, huh?” Dream-Feng’s voice boomed. She flashed a classic smirk. “Well… I’ll *reluctantly* agree.”

“No! Stop! Don’t—!” Li Hao screamed.

“Huff… huff…” He jolted upright, chest heaving, palms damp. Pitch-black sky outside. Still shaken.

*Damn it—why that dream?!*

*Do I… actually like Feng Yijiu?* He flushed. *Puberty. Too long without a girlfriend. Even a demon like her looks… good-looking now.*

*All Feng Yijiu’s fault!*

--- Mini Theater ---

“I get we’re not broke,” Feng Yijiu lounged lazily on the bed, glaring at the silly masterpiece beside her, “but can you *stop* treating my stockings like disposables?”

The only reply: wandering hands.

“Wait—stop! I wasn’t finished!” Panic flickered as her chest was claimed.

Then—a forced roll, warm lips sealing her words.

The light clicked off.

Tonight, the night would be her most beautiful gown.

...

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