Chapter 11: Gaze
Xiahou Ming pushed open the classroom door.
She could feel Ling Yicai’s gaze, fixed on her like a searchlight.
She forced herself not to look at her.
With an expressionless face, she took a step forward.
The ten-meter distance from the door to her “throne” by the window in the last row felt like a thorny road of judgment.
The class monitor, buried in his workbook, paused his pen and glanced up through thick glasses, his eyes filled with curiosity about this “unusual thing.”
A few early students exchanged glances and began whispering, as if witnessing an incredible scene.
Xiahou Ming heard their excited, hushed murmurs.
“Fck… skirt…”
“She really wore it…”
The words crawled over her like ants.
She tried to straighten her back, mimicking her old arrogant stride, but the more she tried to “walk like a man,” the more ridiculous and pathetic she appeared in this outfit.
Her legs trembled, and she didn’t know where to put her hands, so she clenched her fists tightly.
When she reached her seat, her movements were stiff.
She instinctively pressed down the hem of her skirt with both hands to avoid “exposure.”
This defensive “girl” gesture made a front-row classmate burst out laughing.
Xiahou Ming lowered her head further.
Ling Yicai followed and stood beside her desk, hesitating to speak.
“Xiao Ming…” Her voice was soft, trembling. “Where did you get this skirt?”
Xiahou Ming couldn’t answer.
She stayed silent, turning her head to the window, pretending to look at the scenery.
A commotion erupted at the classroom door.
Lin Xiaomei and her clique walked in, chatting and laughing.
When Lin Xiaomei saw Xiahou Ming in a skirt, she froze, then her small eyes gleamed with ecstatic malice.
“Oh my God!”
Her unrestrained laughter echoed, drawing all eyes back to Xiahou Ming.
“Look!” She pointed, as if presenting a circus animal. “Our Brother Ming is really wearing a skirt! What? Did he steal it from your mom’s closet?”
The word “steal” made Xiahou Ming’s heart stop, her blood freezing.
How could she know?
The thought struck like lightning, splitting her mind.
She looked up at Lin Xiaomei, eyes filled with unconcealed horror.
Lin Xiaomei, unaware she’d hit the truth, reveled in humiliating the former “king.”
Seeing Xiahou Ming’s shocked expression, her grin widened.
“Look at him! He really thinks he’s a woman? I’m dying of laughter! Should I call you Sister Ming now?”
The surrounding students erupted in laughter, filling the classroom with a festive air.
“Don’t do that!”
Ling Yicai’s face flushed red as she stood up, arms spread like a hen shielding her chicks.
“Xiao Ming… he’s just sick!” she shouted, her voice sharp with emotion. “What he needs is our concern, not ridicule!”
…Sick?
Ling Yicai’s “righteous” defense felt more humiliating to Xiahou Ming than Lin Xiaomei’s mockery.
As expected, the words didn’t quell the laughter but made it more unrestrained.
“Oh—sick!”
“Then we should care about him!”
Xiahou Ming was nailed to a pillar of shame as a “poor patient” in front of everyone.
She lowered her head, clutching the skirt’s hem, nails digging into her thighs.
Amid the malicious noise, a figure passed by calmly.
It was Yu Yuhui.
Holding a thermos, likely to get water, she whispered as she passed Xiahou Ming, her voice barely audible to others: “Good taste. At least you didn’t choose the pink one.”
Xiahou Ming’s head snapped up, staring at her back in horror.
“What do you mean!?” she hissed back, voice low.
Yu Yuhui didn’t turn around, continuing forward as if the words were Xiahou Ming’s hallucination.
During the first class, Xiahou Ming didn’t hear a word.
She felt like an exhibit, pinned to her seat under scrutiny from all sides.
Unable to bear the gazes, she buried her head in her arms on the desk, trying to shut out the world.
The noise of classmates and the teacher’s lecture droned on as she lay still like a stone.
After a while, she felt a hand gently rest on her head.
Thin, with little flesh, its fingertips carried a lingering chill from years without sunlight.
It didn’t press hard, just stroked her hair twice, soothingly.
Xiahou Ming stiffened.
She looked up sharply.
No one was there.
But something new was on her desk.
A White Rabbit milk candy.
Its wrinkled but clean wrapper, with a blue rabbit, lay quietly on her exercise book.
Her heart skipped a beat.
She turned sharply toward the corner by the corridor.
Yu Yuhui was back in her seat, flipping through a book, as if she hadn’t made the intimate gesture.
Xiahou Ming stared at the candy.
She’d never eaten one.
First, she couldn’t afford it.
Second, in her old world, such milky, soft candy was “sissy.”
She knew what this was.
A “reward” for her “obedience.”
She wanted to throw it away or crush it.
But she didn’t.
Her hand reached out, picking up the candy.
She felt its hard edges against her fingertips.
Amid the whispers and the teacher’s dull lecture, she lowered her head and peeled off the damp wrapper.
She placed the oblong white candy in her mouth.
A cloyingly sweet milk flavor filled her mouth instantly.
It was unlike the acrid tobacco or blood she was used to from fights.
This was a “girl’s” taste.
Nauseating.
She thought.
But her mouth betrayed her, saliva softening the candy, melting it into sweet, sticky syrup that slid down her throat.
She looked up at the corner again.
This time, Yu Yuhui looked back.
Their eyes met in the chalk-dust-filled air.
Yu Yuhui’s face was expressionless, but her dark, bottomless eyes conveyed a clear message to Xiahou Ming.
—”You see, at least sugar is still sweet.”