By late autumn, a persistent drizzle fell.

The gentle pitter-patter of rain tapped against Bai Xia’s umbrella as she walked along the residential compound’s pathway. A faint mist softened the quiet surroundings into a hazy blur.

Suhua was a city steeped in history, famed worldwide for its scenic hills, serene waters, and elegant gardens. As the saying went, such beauty nurtured remarkable people—and Suhua truly bred stunning men and women.

As a native, Bai Xia was undeniably pretty: fair skin, bright dewy eyes, a petite nose, rosy lips. Her neatly trimmed short hair and thin black-rimmed glasses gave her a quiet literary-girl charm.

Yet her frame was painfully petite—barely over 1.5 meters, with only a slightly protruding chest. Without context, no one would guess she was twenty. Come to think of it, she’d recently been mistaken for a middle schooler while shopping.

She sighed.

But height or chest size didn’t bother her. Any ordinary woman would fret—but she wasn’t one.

Not that she was abnormal. She simply… wasn’t a woman. More precisely—she wasn’t *Bai Xia*.

She’d woken up in this body half a month ago, convinced it was a dream.

Waking as a girl overnight? Pure fantasy. Anyone would laugh it off.

Worse—the entire world had shifted. Suhua existed here, but held no place in her memories. Suzhou? Nowhere to be found.

Technology surpassed her old world: streets hummed with fully automated mag-lev vehicles; communication relied on the sci-fi-esque “Tianxun.” Robots patrolled shops; holograms flickered everywhere. Yet humans still had no wings, no immortality—nothing like exaggerated sci-fi films.

“So seriously,” she grumbled, “it’s *year 9012*—why must I trudge downstairs for packages? Shouldn’t they sprout legs and leap into my arms?”

She knew it wasn’t the world’s fault. Just poverty.

Doorstep delivery existed. Smart assistants could sign for parcels. But her old-district apartment complex? Too dated, too maze-like. No service covered it.

No helping it. Poverty was the original sin.

This thought twisted her gut. Back then, she’d been a corporate drone—but well-paid. Good food, good drinks, leftover cash for gacha pulls, figures, toys.

Now? Waking as a girl was one thing—a “legal loli,” a “national treasure-level rare resource”—but being *this* broke? Ugh.

This appearance made job hunting hopeless. Show up anywhere, they’d think you’d wandered from kindergarten.

Lolis were cute. *Being* one? Not so much. Maybe *that’s* why the original Bai Xia was broke?

She’d checked the funds: barely enough for one month. Half was already gone.

No trace of parents. Orphan? If she couldn’t earn money in fifteen days… well, she’d probably have to resort to *that kind of work*.

Wait—*that kind of work*? With her “legal loli” looks? …NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT.

“Bai Xia,” she scolded inwardly, “you were once an upright man… fine, a genuine loli now. But DO NOT FALL.”

She shook her head hard, banishing the thought. This body wasn’t hers to misuse. And as a man who once stood tall? Unthinkable.

How to survive? A headache.

She’d brainstormed novel-protagonist tricks: plagiarize stories, sing, stream, animate films—rake in fortunes overnight.

Reality check? Impossible. No cheat system. No photographic memory. Recalling a million-word novel? Dream on.

This world’s entertainment was *more* advanced. Her old-world gems would barely ripple.

Video editing? Singing? Streaming *what*—crouching and covering her head in fear?

She was just ordinary. No legendary feats for her.

“…Did I offend a deity?” she muttered. “They promised transmigration meant glory! Yet in fifteen days, I’ll be tasting the ‘affection’ of older men and drowning in a sea of ‘milk’? Why so cruel? …Am I not the protagonist?”

Her steps froze. She felt she’d grasped the truth. Staring blankly ahead, her glasses reflected a cold gleam.

Thankfully, the original Bai Xia had the “pseudo-three-no” trait—inner chaos never showed outwardly. Otherwise? Total breakdown.

A shiver ran down her spine. The world felt malicious.

Autumn chill seeped in. *The Little Match Girl* flashed in her mind.

Would she… freeze this winter?

Nah. Pure nonsense. Even broke, she wouldn’t need matches for warmth.

But hunger? Inevitable. And as a self-proclaimed “foodie,” starving hurt worse than homelessness.

“So I *must* find work or income—ASAP,” she resolved. “Yeah, being a little girl is a pain… but I refuse to be history’s first transmigrator to die of poverty.”

Dying poor? Pathetic. Worse than turning from a grown man into a legal loli.

Stuck as a loli *and* broke? Misery compounded.

After returning home, she’d post online: *“Urgent: How does a suddenly-turned legal loli survive—and thrive—through legit means?”*

Advice needed. ASAP.