Crossdress Ch3

The footsteps stopped right across from his bed. Someone answered a call while rummaging through the desk.

“I have class.”

It was Wen Sinian’s voice, cold as ever.

“Tomorrow too,” he sounded mildly annoyed, “yeah, every day.”

“So who are you again?”

The person on the other end must’ve said something that annoyed him further, because Wen Sinian let out a low laugh. “Call me again and I’ll report you for harassment.”

He hung up. The rummaging resumed.

Xu Yan hadn’t intended to eavesdrop. Now he didn’t dare breathe. His arms had gone numb from holding still. He tried to lower them slowly—but in the process, one of the back ribbons suddenly snapped.

Ping.

Xu Yan nearly had a heart attack. His hand froze midair again.

He even controlled his breathing. His mind went blank.

I’m done for.

He’s going to realize someone’s on the bed.

He’s going to find me.

But after a long, tense silence, nothing happened.

The sounds on the other side of the curtain softened. Then the footsteps retreated. The door slowly closed.

…?

Xu Yan was stunned. Had he not noticed?

Two more minutes of silence passed. Xu Yan carefully lifted a small opening in the curtain to peek outside.

He was gone.

Letting out a huge sigh of relief, Xu Yan quickly stripped off the skirt, put the garter back in the bag, and inspected the damage—one of the ribbons had snapped. He’d have to compensate Shang Jia.

He changed back into his regular clothes, noticing some red marks on his chest and waist—left from the night he got slammed into the counter. They still ached slightly.

He didn’t dwell on it. After getting dressed, his eyes landed on the bunny plush on his pillow. Its dark button eyes stared blankly at him, almost as if judging him for secretly putting on skirts like a pervert.

Xu Yan pinched one of the bunny’s ears and flopped it over its eyes.

See no evil.

He had no classes that day and spent the entire afternoon alone in the dorm.

While throwing out the packaging from his backpack, he accidentally pulled out a lighter from one of the side pockets. It was the one he’d found under a shelf at the convenience store that night—after searching for ages.

The lighter was black with gold accents, edged in platinum, and marked by a raised Spade-K emblem. At the bottom, a small engraving read “NO.01/88”—looked like a limited edition.

But the surface was smeared with dried blood. Some of it had crusted in the crevices. It was disgusting.

Xu Yan grabbed a cotton swab, dipped it in alcohol, and began cleaning it under his desk lamp, careful to get every corner. Thankfully, the blood came off, and the casing hadn’t been damaged.

The heavy metal lighter sat cold and solid in his palm. Curious, he searched the model online—and after double-checking the number of zeros on the price tag, he stared wide-eyed in disbelief.

This lighter was expensive enough to buy a house in his hometown.

It was too precious to casually hand off to someone else, and he didn’t dare leave it on Wen Sinian’s desk. If it went missing, not even selling himself ten times over could cover the cost.

Better to return it in person—and thank him properly. Last time in the store, Wen Sinian seemed to have misunderstood something. If he could explain, that’d be even better.

That evening, when Li Huaiche returned to the dorm, Xu Yan offered him an apple.

“Senior, do you still have a lot of classes?”

Wen Sinian had moved his things in, but hadn’t stayed a single night.

Li Huaiche took the apple and thanked him. “It depends. Some people still need a lot of credits to graduate, so they have heavier schedules.”

“What about senior Wen? Is he really busy too?” Xu Yan asked. “I just haven’t seen him around, and I have something to return to him.”

Li Huaiche bit into the apple mid-reply. “He probably already completed most of his credits by junior year. Seniors usually don’t have much class. I don’t know his exact schedule though. What are you returning?”

Xu Yan nodded quickly. “Could you ask him for me? His lighter is with me—I want to know how I should return it.”

Li Huaiche sent a message. A few moments later, he said, “Wen-ge says you can just hold onto it. Give it to him next time you see him.”

That was a relief. Xu Yan would feel safer returning such a pricey item in person.

“Okay,” he said.

***

Shang Jia insisted that Xu Yan didn’t have to compensate her for the snapped ribbon. In fact, she told him to keep the skirt. Unfortunately, the other design didn’t fit either, so he packed everything else up and returned it to her.

He browsed a few options online, sorted by price, then looked at the remaining balance in his account.

You have to spend money to make money.

He closed his eyes and placed an order for two new skirts.

By the second week of school, elective classes had begun.

Xu Yan and Shen Nanli had worked like mad last semester just to grab a spot in “Love Theory and Practice.” The class was held in the evening, but the instructor was a literal angel—never held them late, no weekly homework, no final exam. All you had to do was submit a 1,000-word paper. Effort over quality. Everyone got a 95 or above. A must-take for boosting GPA.

The class was in the largest lecture hall on campus, and by the time they arrived, it was packed.

They found a small corner seat in the back.

“Yanyan, that mermaid photo you posted is going viral!” Shen Nanli scrolled through his phone. “Everyone’s copying the pose and the BGM, but none of them look as good as yours. People are calling it a miracle.”

Xu Yan leaned over to look and genuinely complimented, “They’re all really nice.”

“Nah,” said Shen Nanli. “You’re way better. Even Shang-Jie agrees. And guess what—I saw Song Ning’s account. She tried to copy it too.”

Song Ning was the class beauty—always elegant, always admired. She’d had admirers since day one of freshman year. Xu Yan didn’t know her well. In two years, they’d barely spoken ten words.

Song Ning’s photo included her face and had nearly 100k likes—probably the best of all the imitators.

“I mean, it’s fine she posted it,” Shen Nanli said. “But she could’ve at least tagged you. Even used your BGM edit. Isn’t that kinda disrespectful to the original creator?”

Xu Yan said, “Maybe she messaged me privately. I haven’t logged into my account lately.”

Just then, the class bell rang, and the teacher entered. But unexpectedly, a wave of murmurs suddenly swept through the lecture hall. The commotion spread from the back toward the front, causing everyone to turn and look toward the rear door—followed by a chorus of surprised gasps.

The cold hallway lights were sliced apart by a tall figure entering. Dressed entirely in black, his broad back faced Xu Yan as he made his way to an empty seat on the far side of the classroom.

Before the whispers had settled, another person appeared at the door. His hair was loosely tied at the back, and his refined, borderline-beautiful features were lit up with a casual smile as he addressed the podium: “Sorry I’m late, teacher.”

Despite his words, Xu Yan couldn’t detect a trace of genuine apology on that face.

The teacher seemed to recognize him and didn’t press the matter. “It’s fine. Take a seat. Let’s begin.”

The whispers gradually died down, though scattered muttering lingered.

Xu Yan couldn’t help but glance over out of curiosity. From his seat, only half of the cold, angular profile was visible—blocked by too many heads.

He hadn’t expected Wen Sinian to be in the same elective. He quickly rummaged through his backpack, but unfortunately, the lighter was hidden deep in the wardrobe. He’d been too afraid of losing the gold-plated lump to carry it around. And today, of all days, he’d left it behind.

Shen Nanli leaned over and whispered, “What are the odds? Your roommate’s in this class too. Do you know the guy sitting next to him?”

Xu Yan shook his head.

“That’s Lin Xingxian,” Shen Nanli whispered. “From the arts department. I told you about him before—one of the ‘Tanuki Trio.’”

“You know them?” Xu Yan asked.

“I know of them—they don’t know me,” Shen Nanli grinned, covering his mouth. “I just lurk the forums. There’s always gossip about those rich second-gen heirs.”

Xu Yan nodded. “Oh.”

“You were gonna return that lighter, right?” Shen Nanli added. “He’s right here. Perfect chance.”

Xu Yan pouted slightly. “I didn’t know he’d be in this class. I forgot to bring it.”

“Ah well,” Shen Nanli sighed. “But he hasn’t been back to the dorm either. Where else are you going to run into him?”

Xu Yan thought for a second. “I’ll go talk to him after class anyway.”

During the ten-minute break, Xu Yan used the vending machine outside to buy a bottle of mango juice. He remembered Wen Sinian had chosen this exact brand at the convenience store.

It cost 35 yuan. That was two meals’ worth. Xu Yan nearly wept as he paid and returned to class.

Although Wen Sinian and Lin Xingxian were clearly the center of attention, no one dared get close—except one roommate clutching the bottle of mango juice, wearing an expression of pure innocence.

Wen Sinian was lounging against the back of his seat. The classroom chairs were slightly low for him, and his long legs were bent apart under the desk. A laptop sat in front of him. His sleeves were casually rolled up, revealing clean, sculpted forearms laced with pale veins—tense, powerful.

Then, a bottle of golden liquid appeared in his field of view. Pale fingers gently held the glass neck, condensation collecting on the frosted surface, trailing down to dampen the faintly pink tips of those fingers.

A soft voice sounded in front of him.

“Um… sorry to bother you,” said a soft smile, eyes dewy like a little deer, “I found your lighter at the convenience store and held onto it for you. But I forgot to bring it today. Is it okay if I return it next time? Also… thank you for that night.”

Wen Sinian didn’t reply. His bent legs shifted slightly—only to bump into something.

That same innocent-looking boy was standing between his knees.

Wearing shorts.

That didn’t even reach the knees.

He narrowed his eyes. From beneath the desk, he could see two pale, slender legs exposed to the air.

So white.

So slim.