"Ah, thanks," Feng Yijiu murmured, accepting the mint candy. Seeing Li Hao’s genuinely warm smile, a faint warmth bloomed in her chest. *This guy… when he wasn’t being a jerk, he was actually pretty normal.*

Meanwhile, Li Hao watched the sticky note plastered squarely on someone’s back. He bit back a grin, jaw tight with effort.

Right in the center of Feng Yijiu’s back, the bold, sharply penned Chinese character for “silly” (dāi) drew curious glances from passing classmates. Yet human nature being what it is, everyone stifled their laughter and marched past with exaggerated solemnity.

Ironically, it helped Feng Yijiu—attention fixated on the note, the thin camisole hidden beneath her two layers of clothing went unnoticed.

Unaware of any of this, Feng Yijiu popped the mint into her mouth and slumped onto her desk, stealing a few moments of rest before class.

Next was Chinese literature. Only after the class monitor called “Stand!” did a drowsy Feng Yijiu slowly rise.

“Alright, everyone—take out a sheet of paper. We’re doing a dictation from the Analects,” Teacher Wang said with a gentle smile. “Then I’ll call two students: Number One and Number Fifty-One.”

Hearing her number, Feng Yijiu instinctively headed toward the blackboard.

Li Hao, just pulling out his scratch paper, lunged to rip the note off her back—but grasped only empty air.

“Hahahaha…” As Feng Yijiu turned at the podium, the large black “dāi” character blazed on her back. The classroom erupted in laughter.

Bewildered, Feng Yijiu froze. Teacher Wang calmly stepped behind her and peeled the note away.

“Handwriting’s quite good,” she remarked, scanning the room. “Who wrote this?”

Li Hao raised his hand.

No leniency today. Teacher Wang strolled over and stuck the note squarely on his nose. “You wear this too. Don’t remove it until after afternoon self-study.”

“Hahahaha—” Laughter swelled again.

“Silence!” Teacher Wang’s homeroom-teacher aura crashed down. The room fell dead quiet.

When Feng Yijiu turned back and saw the note slapped on Li Hao’s face, a teasing smirk tugged her lips. She’d pieced it together now—and inwardly scoffed at his childishness. *Foolish of me to think he gave me candy out of concern. Hmph.*

After class, she couldn’t resist kicking him while he was down.

“Oh? Nice penmanship!” She eyed the note pasted on his forehead like a zombie’s talisman. “Next time I meet a ghost, I’ll have you write my protective charm.”

Li Hao rolled his eyes. He *wanted* to retort—but every breath fluttered the note. Awkward.

“Tsk tsk… Really necessary?” Feng Yijiu shook her head.

Soon, Li Hao’s rowdy friends swarmed him. Feng Yijiu gladly ceded the battlefield—their teasing struck straight for the jugular.

*Or maybe… I just can’t hold on much longer.*

She rubbed her stomach. This ache dwarfed even the agony of a groin kick back when she was a guy. Burst damage versus sustained damage—that was the difference.

Unconsciously, she pressed her legs together.

*PE and politics this afternoon…* She felt her limits fraying. One more step, and her secret might shatter.

With a sigh, she pulled out the sick-leave note Cen Man had prepared long ago.

…

The politics bell rang. Li Hao stared at the empty desk ahead, puzzled. Feng Yijiu wasn’t the most diligent student—but she never skipped class.

After everyone left for PE, he pulled out his phone.

Li Hao (Muzi): You there?

Feng (Maple): What’s up?

Li Hao (Muzi): Why weren’t you in class?

Feng (Maple): Took sick leave. Not feeling well.

Li Hao (Muzi): …

Li Hao (Muzi): You left your homework. English quiz sheet and politics workbook.

Feng (Maple): They hadn’t arrived when I left.

Li Hao (Muzi): I’ll bring them. Address?

Feng (Maple): Nah, I’ll come early tomorrow.

Li Hao (Muzi): Just repaying last time’s favor.

…

Curled under the covers, phone in hand, hot water bottle warming her stomach, Feng Yijiu set the device down with a weary sigh. *Stubborn, thick-headed blockhead.*

“Yijiu, drink some warm sugar water,” Cen Man said, entering with a bowl. She noticed Feng Yijiu’s expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. A school friend’s bringing homework tonight,” Feng Yijiu replied lightly.

“Oh.” Cen Man set the bowl down and gently massaged her stomach. “If the pain gets bad, tell your sister. Try not to take medicine, okay?”

“Mm.” Feng Yijiu nodded. “Sis Manman… could you close the door on your way out? I need to rest alone.”

Cen Man hesitated, then left.

Feng Yijiu sat up weakly, staring at her delicate frame. *Where’s the boyishness now? Pure soft-girl mode.*

Her period was manageable—just discomfort. But her body’s changes…

Her gaze dropped to the two slight mounds beneath her pajamas. *How long will the band-aids hold?*

She laid her slender hands over them. Through the thin fabric, smooth friction brushed her tender skin; a soft, yielding warmth bloomed beneath her palms.

A light press. A faint blush crept up her cheeks.

*So embarrassing…* She snatched her hands back, heart thudding.

Then—a chilling thought: *What if my chest becomes undeniably feminine? What then?*

Anxiety prickled. Her time for self-deception was running out.

*Wait… doesn’t development slow by high school?*

Nervously, she opened an incognito tab and searched “female development stages.”

After reading, she exhaled deeply.

At her age, significant changes were unlikely. She was past that phase.