The Unveiling Truth

Outside the door, at the end of the corridor, Jiang Chen did not immediately go downstairs. He leaned against the cold wall, tilting his head slightly as he closed his eyes.

Ever since he first noticed the subtle changes in Zhou Yi, an ill-timed sense of gnawing anxiety had taken root. An instinctive pull to be near them, a fierce protectiveness—all had grown too strong for him to ignore.

Yet, he didn’t resist it. Instead, a nearly obsessive need for confirmation stirred within him.

It was an urgent impulse to dispel the fog, to reach the very core of the truth.

He needed to verify.

He needed to verify if the answer he’d pieced together from myriad clues and a vague intuition deep within his heart—an answer that seemed preposterous yet was the only one that made sense—was truly real.

He had to confirm whether this “brother,” whom he had known for so long and seemed so intimately familiar with, was in fact… not a “brother” at all.

Even more crucially, he needed to ascertain if this roommate, with whom he shared a room, was the “she” he had vaguely yearned for in his heart, yet could never quite grasp.

Just moments ago in the dorm, Zhou Yi’s panicked demeanor—as if wishing he would vanish instantly—and the subtle shifts in their body and contours, which even a large jacket couldn’t entirely conceal, had all registered in his mind.

Then there was the infirmary. The nurse had repeatedly referred to Zhou Yi as “your girlfriend” and “little lady,” while the doctor spoke of “dysmenorrhea,” “abdominal pain,” and “menstrual reactions” with absolute certainty.

Everyone else seemed to take it for granted.

It was as if he alone had been kept in the dark.

No, perhaps it wasn’t that he had been deceived. Rather, his own eyes had been clouded by the ingrained notion that “Zhou Yi is a boy” and his own rigid perceptions.

But now, that barrier had shattered.

When all clues pointed in the same direction, and every other possibility was eliminated, the remaining answer, no matter how improbable it seemed, had to be the truth.

No matter how incomprehensible or unbelievable it appeared, that was likely the truth.

He laid out all these fragmented clues, piecing them together. He also found himself, from time to time, comparing Zhou Yi to the girl who often drifted through his thoughts.

Now, he was almost one hundred percent certain.

The conclusion was undeniable: Zhou Yi *was* her. Not merely a resemblance, not just a similar feeling, but… *her*.

But how could this be? How could Zhou Yi be “her”?

And when had this transformation begun?

What about the memories of that girl swirling in his mind? What did they mean?

He was absolutely certain he had never experienced those events in his current reality.

Yet the feelings within those memories were intensely real.

Her focused profile during late-night library discussions, the lingering warmth of his jacket on her shoulders on an autumn night, the radiant smile blooming on her face as they stood side-by-side on the awards stage, the soft, warm embrace backstage…

Every single detail possessed a breathing, authentic warmth.

Even if the memories were fragmented like a jigsaw puzzle, scattered in pieces, what he recalled were only disjointed images and vague sensations.

Yet, for some inexplicable reason, he was utterly convinced that the events within those memories were true. The emotions he had poured into them were also genuine.

This realization offered a profound explanation for why his concern for Zhou Yi’s illness had been so intense, so fraught with anxiety. It wasn’t without cause.

This discovery, in turn, inexplicably eased the tightness in his chest.

However, a far more potent desire for confirmation arose in its wake. He couldn’t rely solely on conjecture. He needed proof—more irrefutable evidence.

Not just inferences based on clues, nor the ambiguous fragments of memory in his mind, but her own admission, or an undeniable fact.

The core outline was now clear.

All that remained was to wait until she was ready to speak, or… to find an opportunity to prove it himself.

Zhou Yi undoubtedly knew something, but he understood this was not the moment to expose her.

At the very least, he couldn’t push her while she was still feverish, vulnerable, and frightened.

At this moment, he needed to find something concrete to do, to quell the urge to rush back and demand answers.

He straightened up, pulling his jacket collar higher to shield himself from the cold wind gusting through the stairwell, and set off towards the convenience store.

****

The face in the mirror—its contours grew clearer, increasingly resembling… the “her” from the simulator.

Zhou Yi’s trembling fingers traced her own neck.

There… there should have been a small, distinct protrusion.

Now, it felt utterly smooth.

Her Adam’s apple… was gone too.

The last external physiological marker that proved she was “male” had also vanished.

She parted her lips, only to find her throat terribly dry. Even the sound she managed to produce was hoarse and weak, yet it carried a soft, delicate lilt at the end.

She had a premonition that her voice had definitely changed.

Currently, it was masked by the raspiness of a severe cold and post-fever hoarseness, making it impossible to discern the true extent. But once the fever subsided, and her throat recovered… what kind of voice would she utter when she spoke?

‘Would it be… sweet, gentle, like Senior Zhou Yi’s voice in the simulator… a woman’s voice?’

‘How would she speak in front of Jiang Chen, in front of her classmates, then?’

‘Wouldn’t a single word give everything away?’

Her mind was a tangled mess. Dazed, she dragged her feet out of the bathroom and collapsed onto the edge of her bed.

‘What was she going to do next?’

‘The most critical issue was her chest. It was so obvious. How could she hide it?’

‘Thicker clothes? A binder? How long could she maintain it? Would it be too uncomfortable?’

Her face also seemed to be changing; though her features were still her own, the contours appeared increasingly soft. If this continued, she would be found out eventually.

‘And her voice. Would she have to pretend to have a cold and a hoarse throat from now on?’

A torrent of questions crashed down upon her. She clutched her head, feeling as if her brain was on the verge of overloading.

She had no idea if these changes would ever cease. If they simply continued, how much longer could she keep it a secret?

*Screech.*

The sound of a lock turning echoed from outside the door. Jiang Chen was back.

Her heart lurched. Frantically, she yanked the zipper of her down jacket all the way to the top, then swiftly sat on the edge of her bed, grabbing her phone and pretending to scroll.

Her heart hammered wildly in her chest.

The door opened, and Jiang Chen stepped inside, carrying a takeout bag.

He walked to the side of her bed, subtly observing her, wrapped tightly in her down jacket.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked, his gaze casually sweeping over her tightly pressed lips and the lingering redness at the corners of her eyes.

“Yes, much better.”

“I bought the porridge,” Jiang Chen said, placing the bag on the table and taking out its contents, which included some vegetable soup.

“Thank you,” Zhou Yi replied, putting down her phone and lowering her gaze as she got off the bed.

Jiang Chen appeared completely oblivious to her stiffness and discomfort. He calmly unwrapped the packaging and pushed a warm bowl of porridge toward her. “Eat it while it’s hot.”

Zhou Yi took the warm bowl, her head bowed, and mechanically stirred the rice porridge with her spoon, yet couldn’t bring herself to take a single bite.

Her mind was consumed by the drastic changes in her body, by the uncertainty of her future, and by how others would perceive her. Would they be curious? Or would they be disdainful?