It was already September, yet the heat showed no signs of abating.
In an old residential neighborhood of Minghai City, on the 21st floor of a certain apartment building, inside a particular bedroom—
The room was sparsely decorated. The only thing remotely worth noticing might have been the light-blue wood-grain wallpaper covering all four walls. It was clear the room's previous owner had carefully applied it—no gaps left behind, and even the wood grain patterns aligned perfectly at the seams.
Because of the lack of tidying, the space looked a bit messy—but then again, considering this had once been a boy's room, the level of disorder was still fairly tolerable.
But why did I say "had once been"?
Because it wasn't anymore.
The air conditioner hummed quietly, filling the room with a coolness that felt worlds apart from the sweltering heat outside. At the corner of the room, a large bed sat askew, its blanket kicked to the side in disarray. In the center sat Shu Yuxin, completely still, staring blankly at the mirror embedded into the surface of the wardrobe directly opposite the foot of the bed.
The mirror reflected a girl.
She wore a loose-fitting sleep shirt that hung loosely over her slender frame. Silky black hair tumbled messily over her narrow shoulders. Her face seemed to embody nearly every classical ideal of East Asian feminine beauty. If this was her bare-faced look, then with just a bit of makeup, she could easily step straight into the lead role of a campus romance drama—as far as facial features went, she'd already scored a perfect ten. Her jawline was soft, her expression pure and innocent—she looked just like a high school girl.
But don't be mistaken: our heroine was already 19 years old. And that expression on her face wasn't actually "pure and innocent"—she was just… blank.
So why was she sitting there, staring at herself like this? Well, that story began a year ago.
Back then, our heroine hadn't been a heroine at all. She—well, *he*—was named Shu Yumo. As the only child of the Shu family, he'd been doted on by his entire family his whole life. His father, in particular, indulged his every whim, hoping the boy would grow up to achieve great things someday. As everyone knows, among ten kids showered with affection like this, at least six tend to go off the rails—and that's putting it mildly. But young Master Shu was clearly not one of them. On the contrary, he was cheerful, sociable, never smoked or drank, never fought or dyed his hair. He had almost no bad habits and plenty of good ones—the classic "someone else's perfect child," except for one thing: his grades weren't great. Still, his father was quite satisfied with him, which only encouraged Shu Yumo to live exactly as he pleased—even during senior year of high school, when he'd regularly sneak out to internet cafes after evening study sessions, his dad would just turn a blind eye.
At least, back at the start of his senior year, everything in their household had been perfectly ordinary.
Then, in the third month of the first semester, Shu Yumo was diagnosed with a terminal illness. The doctor gave him less than two years to live.
The news struck like a bolt from the blue, nearly shattering the little family's happiness. His parents went frantic, dragging him from hospital to hospital, seeking miracle cures. At their most exhausted, they went three days straight without food—so worn down they seemed ready to collapse before their son even did.
Just when all hope seemed lost, a miracle appeared.
A medical research institute approached them, claiming they could cure their son. Desperate, his parents didn't hesitate—they handed over every last penny they had saved and secured an experimental treatment slot for their boy.
Yes, Shu Yumo became a participant in a medical trial. The procedure involved using genetic material from his relatives, combined with cutting-edge bio-cultivation techniques, to grow a completely new body. Then—somehow—his consciousness, soul, or whatever "essence" defined him would be transferred into that new body. (It definitely wasn't just a brain transplant.) The institute claimed that if successful, this experiment could revolutionize modern medicine. They went on at length about its significance—but honestly, even they didn't fully understand it themselves. (And to be fair, neither do I.)
Before the surgery, the lead researcher warned Shu's parents: the experiment had a high failure rate. Already, seven terminally ill patients like their son had permanently fallen into comas during previous attempts. Still, after careful deliberation, the couple decided to go through with it.
During the preparations, Shu Yumo once asked his father what would happen if the experiment failed. Without hesitation, his dad replied, "What else? Even if we're broke, we can still afford two bottles of pesticide."
Fortunately, the experiment succeeded—otherwise, there'd be no story to tell. Though the research team was thrilled by the outcome, one success wasn't enough to validate the procedure. They needed more trials. But that was no longer Shu Yumo's problem.
Let's return to our protagonist. The life-saving experiment began five months ago. Four of those months were spent growing the new body, meaning Shu Yumo had absolutely nothing to do during that time. In his own words, those were the most relaxing months of his life—though, granted, he hadn't lived very long. Days filled with nothing but eating, sleeping, playing games, and napping again… he doubted he'd ever experience such luxury again. So bored at one point that he actually took the national college entrance exam (Gaokao)—and shockingly, despite missing almost the entire senior year, he still managed to get accepted into a decent second-tier university. This delighted his father immensely.
Ten days ago, Shu Yumo finally underwent the final transfer procedure.
Watching his parents weep uncontrollably, and seeing the researchers' solemn, almost heroic expressions, he genuinely thought he was about to die. But fate—and luck—smiled upon him. The experiment succeeded.
Yet perhaps Lady Luck felt she'd given too much. As she let go of her skirt, she gave him one swift kick.
And just like that… *he* became *she*. Shu Yumo became Shu Yuxin.
Apparently, during the earliest stage of body cultivation, a tiny error occurred: one of his Y chromosomes mutated into an X. Thus, a perfectly healthy boy was reborn as a girl. Technically, the team could've corrected the mistake early on and started over—but instead, they kept it secret. Only after the successful transfer did the Shu family learn the truth. Because they'd assumed the new body would look exactly like the old one, Shu's parents had never requested to see it beforehand—and so, through a series of misunderstandings and oversights, the transformation was finalized.
Why did the researchers choose to hide the truth? Two reasons:
First, they thought she was stunningly beautiful—destroying her body would've been a waste.
Second, they honestly never believed the experiment would succeed in the first place.
That explains the researchers' grim expressions right before the surgery.
So it goes—fate is mysteriously marvelous.
Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Shu Yuxin finally understood the true weight of those words.