After his shower, Long Ge dumped the garish red-and-green outfit straight into the washing machine. As she did, I spotted several cigarette burns of varying sizes on the fabric—who even knows how often she buys new clothes?

I pulled a pair of outgrown jeans from the closet and a plain white tee for her. They fit Long Ge perfectly. She gave a satisfied nod, then fussed over room choices before claiming my old bedroom—and my computer—to dive straight into grinding Dungeon.

When she first realized she’d turned into a woman, aside from wailing in despair about her junk vanishing, she seemed oddly the least shaken of all.

Lao Chu remained statue-still in the living room, chin propped on one hand, deep in thought.

I carefully cleared the instant noodle cup in the kitchen. Truth be told, I still hesitated to speak to her—she was probably still wondering if *I* had caused her transformation.

I’d always been wary of Lao Chu. Even Long Ge held a hint of caution around her.

Picture this: Suppose you had catastrophically bad luck and offended both heavyweights at once. Long Ge? She’d likely knock you out cold and cost you a few teeth—but she’s upfront. If things got too hot, you could just call the cops.

Then came Lao Chu. You’d lick your sore gums from Long Ge’s beating, endure two days of agony. On day three, thirsty, you grab a water bottle—*gulp*—something’s wrong. It’s laced with highly concentrated Paraquat. You report it. As pulmonary fibrosis tightens its grip, you wait in torment for answers. The police find nothing. After six months of dead ends, you finally succumb.

And knowing Lao Chu’s deviously calm nature? She’d probably visit your deathbed, smile serenely, and say, “Oops. My bad.”

Thankfully, pure speculation. *Ding-dong.* The doorbell rang again.

Lao Chu stayed silent. I got up to answer.

A girl with shoulder-length hair stood there, noise-canceling headphones slung around her neck, face peeking from under a black hoodie—delicate, strikingly pretty. Hands tucked in pockets, she had that quiet, artsy vibe.

Had to be Lao Han. Among everyone I knew, only she wore hoodies daily.

I gestured her inside. She glanced at the pile of shoes by the door, slipped hers off, and followed me to the living room. She opened her mouth—then froze, eyes darting to the unfamiliar girl silently seated on the sofa. She shot me a puzzled look, words dying on her lips.

She didn’t recognize Lao Chu, but squinted as if piecing together a memory.

I set a cold cola on the table. After so many shocks, numbness kicked in—and a mischievous grin. “Hey Lao Han, up for checking out the women’s basketball game today? Plenty of legs to admire.”

A classic sore-spot jab. Lao Han didn’t flinch. Smiling sweetly, she rolled up her pant leg, pressed her foot against my face, and chirped, “Look! Go on, *look*!”

I nudged her ankle aside. She plopped onto the sofa, laughing. “I nearly screamed staring in the mirror this morning. Xiao Yao and Mom are asleep next door—if they saw a strange woman in the house? Straight to the police station.”

“Bold move, just walking out,” I said.

She sighed. “What else? ‘Mom, I turned into a girl! Check out my hips!’?”

“You say that,” I deadpanned, “and she’d skip the station and drag you straight to the psych ward.”

Still chatting, Lao Han kept glancing at silent Lao Chu. She turned to me, tentative. “And this is…?”

“Chu Minghai.”

Her expression shifted—exaggerated, but understandable. If a notoriously sharp-edged guy suddenly became a silent girl? Anyone would stare.

Then it hit me. “Where’s Xiao Shen?”

Lao Han blinked. “Probably sleeping. Called him this morning—no answer. He’s a night owl, always grinding that game…” She trailed off. Eyes widened. We locked gazes.

“Wait,” she murmured.

I sighed. “Yeah. I think Xiao Shen’s… about due.”

Lao Han sucked in a sharp breath.

Then she perked up, eyes glinting. “Hold on—why are *we* all women now, and *you’re* perfectly fine? Couldn’t get a girlfriend, so you hexed *us*?”

Even Lao Chu turned her head, gaze fixed on me, unblinking.

Cold sweat prickled my neck. “Don’t be ridiculous! I can’t magic four guys into girls!”

Lao Han clicked her tongue, thoughtful, then leaned back silently.

Lao Chu studied me a moment longer before turning back to the coffee table, as if deciphering ancient script carved into the wood.

I kinda wanted to catch the game. Should I ask Lao Han?

Just then, a shout erupted from my room: “Lao Lu! GET IN HERE!!”

Lao Han shot me a curious glance, eyes twinkling toward the door.

I sighed. “What blew up?”

No answer. Just, “Lao Lu! GET IN HERE!!”

Heart thumping, I stood and crept toward the room.

I’d braced for something wild—Long Ge sprawled on the bed, batting eyelashes, whispering seductively, “Lao Lu… come here~”

Instead, she sat normally at the desk, clutching her chest, face pinched in pain.

My curiosity deflated. “What’s wrong?”

“Ever since I came over,” she groaned, “chest’s tight, can’t breathe. Just looked it up online—says I have lung cancer!”

“Say again?”

She shoved the screen at me, panicked. “It says *lung cancer*!”

I glanced once and headed for the door. “Baidu search?”

Long Ge froze. “How’d you know?”

“Last time I had diarrhea,” I called over my shoulder, “Baidu told me I had cervical cancer.”

Back in the living room, Lao Chu still stared at the table. Lao Han lounged on the sofa, hands in pockets, craning toward my room. “That Long Ge? She got hit too? What’s her deal?”

“Nah,” I said, flopping onto the couch. “Just diagnosed with cervical cancer.”

Lao Han gave me a look—like I’d lost my mind.

“You going to the game or not?” I asked.

She considered it. “Sure. But you’re buying my essentials too. My parents are back from abroad for a week—they’ve been here five days. Can’t go home like *this*. Crashing here a couple days.”

“What about Xiao Yao?”

“Bring her too.”

Xiao Yao was Lao Han’s little sister—big sparkling eyes, always in frilly sundresses, a bunny-print leather crossbody bag slung over her shoulder. Like she stepped straight out of an anime. Boys in her class fought just to make her smile… damn, those precocious little brats.

I winced. “How? My place’ll explode. How many people is this now?”

Lao Han waved it off. “Xiao Yao’s no trouble.”

“It’s not about trouble! Five people in a 150-square-meter apartment?”

She sidled up, coyly wrapping her arms around my arm. “Lao Lu~~"

A shiver ran down my spine. Back when he was a guy, this act was gross. Now? With soft warmth pressing through my sleeve… my pulse skipped.

I gently pushed her face away. “Scram.”

Lao Han laughed, hands back in pockets, eyes crinkling. “You’re such a tease.”