Chapter 17: Illusion
The afternoon sun blazed as Xiahou Ming stepped out of the school gate, squinting instinctively.
It felt like being dragged from a dark cave into blinding daylight, her body prickling with discomfort.
Ling Yicai led her not toward home but to the town’s bustling commercial street.
“I…” Xiahou Ming finally spoke, voice hesitant. “I’m sorry about this morning. I shouldn’t have snapped.”
Ling Yicai stopped, surprised.
“I didn’t mean to get mad,” Xiahou Ming continued, eyes down. “I’ve just… been annoyed lately.”
She thought to herself: After becoming like this, she’s the only one still by my side. I should rein in my temper, at least with her.
Ling Yicai’s tense expression softened. “No, Xiao Ming, I should apologize. I got too worked up this morning.”
“I’m just… so worried about you.”
She took Xiahou Ming’s hand, her familiar gentle smile returning.
“Come on, I’m treating you to dinner,” she said brightly. “No refusing! It’s our mutual apology.”
In that moment, Xiahou Ming felt a rare sense of security.
The morning’s tension and estrangement dissolved in their clumsy apologies, as if they’d returned to their childhood days as inseparable friends.
Ling Yicai brought her to a clean, bright fast-food restaurant, ordering mushroom chicken rice and a golden fried egg for Xiahou Ming.
“You used to love this, right?” She smiled, pushing the plate forward.
The lunch was warm and comforting.
They chatted about trivial memories—Xiahou Ming fighting an older boy in elementary school to reclaim Ling Yicai’s stolen rubber band, or both oversleeping after a late-night study session in junior high.
Wrapped in nostalgia, Xiahou Ming briefly forgot her current identity, the humiliations, the struggles.
After eating, they strolled the lively street.
A lingering issue nagged at Xiahou Ming.
Going to that place alone was daunting, but with Ling Yicai? Maybe it’d be less nerve-wracking.
She stopped. “Ling Yicai…” Her voice was awkward. “Can you… come with me somewhere?”
“Where?” Ling Yicai asked, smiling.
“It’s…” Xiahou Ming took a deep breath, rushing out, “I want to… look at… underwear. Just to see how much it costs.”
Ling Yicai’s smile froze briefly.
But she quickly recovered, her tone sunny. “Oh, that’s all? Come on, I know a good shop!”
They entered a small lingerie store, more a general shop selling socks, towels, and cheap women’s products.
Ling Yicai headed straight to a shelf of men’s underwear, picking up plain cotton boxer briefs.
“How’s this?” she asked, turning. “Breathable. I know you sweat a lot in summer.”
Xiahou Ming blinked, realizing she hadn’t been clear. “No…” She glanced at her skirt, then nodded toward the bras on the opposite shelf. “I meant… those.”
“What?” Ling Yicai followed her gaze, confused.
“You know… what girls wear…” Xiahou Ming’s voice was barely a whisper, cheeks burning.
Ling Yicai went quiet.
She pulled Xiahou Ming into a tiny fitting room behind a curtain.
In the cramped, mold-scented space, a dusty mirror hung on the wall.
Ling Yicai locked eyes with her. “But you’re a boy, aren’t you?”
Xiahou Ming, caught in her earnest gaze, was speechless.
“You don’t need those,” Ling Yicai said, her voice softening to a chilling gentleness. “Yu forced you to wear that skirt, didn’t she? Xiao Ming, listen—no one can make you wear those things.”
“You don’t have to pretend to be a girl with me.”
Xiahou Ming stared at her reflection—skirt, confused expression—then at Ling Yicai’s near-paranoid intensity.
She felt like she was losing her mind.
“But I am…” She pointed at her chest, hidden under the school jacket.
Ling Yicai’s gaze followed, a flicker of complex pity in her eyes.
“Come on, take it off.”
Her tone was hypnotic, gentle but eerie. “Take off that skirt that isn’t yours. Let me see the real you.”
Under her gaze, Xiahou Ming’s hands trembled.
She gave in.
Turning away, avoiding the mirror and Ling Yicai’s eyes, she stripped.
The boys’ school jacket.
The stolen dark blue dress.
Until she stood naked.
She felt like a skinned rabbit.
“Look…” She turned, voice pleading. “This is my body now… You’re a girl, you get it, right? I need those…”
Ling Yicai’s eyes lingered on her body.
Then she reached out.
Xiahou Ming flinched but had nowhere to hide.
Ling Yicai’s cold fingertips traced her collarbone, her arms, her slightly rounded stomach.
Xiahou Ming stood rigid, feeling Ling Yicai’s trembling hands.
Finally, her hand stopped on Xiahou Ming’s chest, gently cupping one side, thumb and index finger circling as if measuring.
The act sent blood rushing to Xiahou Ming’s head.
In that tiny space, Ling Yicai confirmed what she dreaded most.
Xiao Ming was really a girl now.
“If you really need…” Ling Yicai withdrew her hand, looking at Xiahou Ming’s flushed, shamed face. “I’ll help.”
She left the suffocating fitting room.
Choosing quickly, she barely considered Xiahou Ming’s preferences, gesturing at herself before grabbing a simple bra set from the shelf.
When Xiahou Ming, dazed, emerged dressed, Ling Yicai handed her the bagged underwear.
“Let’s get groceries! I’ll cook tonight!”
At the vegetable market, Ling Yicai was a cheerful lark, back to her talkative self.
She raved about roadside sugar-roasted chestnuts, complained about the cafeteria’s potato-chip-like shredded potatoes.
As if nothing had happened.
Xiahou Ming didn’t respond.
Her mind replayed the fitting room—Ling Yicai’s touch, words, gaze—like a needle in her nerves.
At the market, Ling Yicai took charge.
“Boss, how much for these tomatoes?”
“Xiao Ming, scrambled eggs with tomatoes tonight? Your favorite.”
She picked ingredients happily, oblivious to Xiahou Ming’s silence, a shadow clutching a shopping bag.