Fortunately, though Lin Beixing’s mother said she’d accompany “Lin Beixing” while studying,

she simply sat nearby—quiet, unobtrusive.

Holding a book and a cup of coffee, she stayed beside Lu Yu without a word.

Nothing like that old woman… ah, now “Teacher Gu”—who’d constantly lean over, pointing and critiquing Lu Yu’s work.

Lu Yu adored this respectful, hands-off companionship.

He could freely scribble notes and doodle in the margins.

Settling with a classical Chinese text, he stayed seated the entire afternoon.

Both were science-stream students; falling behind in most subjects was hard to recover from—but Chinese was different.

Lu Yu’s foundation remained solid. Even after slacking off three years, his classical Chinese comprehension held up.

And so the afternoon passed.

Before dinner, Lin’s mother checked “Lin Beixing’s” progress.

Result? Everything normal—except slightly messy handwriting.

Noting the tired glint in “her” eyes, Lin’s mother assumed “she’d” pulled an all-nighter, hence the wild, unrestrained script, and let it slide.

Lu Yu had genuinely tried mimicking Lin Beixing’s handwriting.

But he’d trained in cursive.

Flowing, connected strokes boosted efficiency—his characters danced with fluid grace, messy yet orderly.

He’d practiced relentlessly for three middle school years, even winning a youth calligraphy award.

(Though he hadn’t written properly since graduation.)

After a dinner portion fit for a cat, Lu Yu’s unexpectedly chaotic day finally ended.

Stepping out of the bathroom, he let out a long sigh toward the mirror.

Moments ago, he’d wrestled his pants off with heroic effort.

No choice—his body hadn’t switched back all day. Even Lu Yu had limits.

Truthfully, using a girl’s body to pee wasn’t that strange.

He’d squatted before, even as a guy.

So aside from missing his little “water gun,” not much differed.

Except Lin Beixing’s toilet had a heated seat—still on in summer. Lu Yu grew uncomfortably warm within seconds.

He washed his hands, then admired his own reflection with quiet appreciation.

Then it hit him.

Lin’s mother mentioned his phone kept ringing at noon.

Lu Yu pulled out Lin Beixing’s phone and opened unread messages.

A flood of notifications scrolled wildly.

Lu Yu froze.

Exclamation marks galore, followed by repeated cries of stomach pain.

Diarrhea??

His body rarely acted up.

Yet Lin Beixing ran to the bathroom three times after one meal?

Arctic Little Star: What did you eat?

Lu Yu carried the phone back to bed.

No reply after waiting.

Hesitating, he dialed his own number.

"Mmm… Hello?"

Hearing his own sweet, girlish voice again after so long—

Lu Yu really wanted to punch himself.

"Is this… Lu Yu?"

No contact name saved, but Lin Beixing recognized the number.

Only he’d call right now.

Lu Yu cut straight to it: "What did you eat?"

"Fried skewers, cola, iced water…"

Her voice lazy—sleepy or weak, hard to tell.

"Anything else?"

Lu Yu ate like that too when he could. One meal shouldn’t wreck his body.

"Nothing else…" she whispered faintly.

"Did you buy from that alley near my place?"

Lin Beixing recalled carefully.

"Maybe… yeah."

Lu Yu sighed. "That shop’s shady. Low turnover—food sits too long."

"Feeling better?"

(It was his body, after all. A flicker of concern was unavoidable.)

"Mostly… Your body recovers crazy fast."

"…But the food was so good! Your body handles spice like a champ. I wanna go again!"

"Don’t. No cola tonight—only room-temp mineral water."

"Aww, why?!"

Rare chance to live freely in Lu Yu’s body… she hated giving it up.

"You have diarrhea. Think."

Lu Yu softened the voice slightly—unexpectedly gentle.

Lin Beixing heard her own tenderness clearly for the first time.

A quiet pause. Then Lu Yu added quickly:

"This is *my* body. You ruin it, *I* suffer."

"I’m paying the price… Ugh, it’s acting up again."

"Go downstairs. Buy medicine—Huoxiang Zhengqi Shui. Twenty-five yuan for ten bottles. Drink one."

"…What water?"

Sheltered her whole life, Lin Beixing knew zero about common meds. The name tangled her tongue.

"Never mind," Lu Yu guessed her cluelessness. "I’ll order medicine via your phone. Okay?"

"Fine… but I don’t wanna take it," she murmured.

Lu Yu ignored that part. Pain would change her mind.

He minimized the call, scanning the home screen for the yellow delivery app.

No app. Lin Beixing never ordered out.

After a futile search, he opened the app store to download it.

"Lu Yu…"

A faint voice drifted through the receiver.

"Hmm?"

"How was your day… Did Teacher Gu give you trouble?"

"Fine. Faked my way through morning. Afternoon—your mom watched me read classical Chinese, do exercises. She didn’t comment."

Just recalling those texts gave him a headache.

Today’s study load nearly matched his entire high school effort.

"I see…"

Her tone lightened noticeably.

After a brief silence, her voice brushed softly against the mic:

"Thank you, Lu Yu."

Lu Yu’s finger, hovering over the address field, stilled—then lowered.

"It’s nothing."

"We made a deal. I promised—I’ll keep it. I’ll do my best until we switch back. You can rest easy."

After placing the order and entering the password, he added:

"Medicine’s on the way. Take it when it arrives."

"Mm…" No more protests about bitterness.

Lying on Lu Yu’s bed, she gazed at the cobweb-dusted bulb, turned toward the glowing screen, and whispered:

"I will…"