Chapter 15: Oh My, Signs of Early Romance Discovered

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I glanced over at my bed: two meters long, one and a half meters wide, with freshly changed sheets and a comforter so clean, adorned with adorable panda patterns—it was quite charming... yet there were two pillows; the room was decorated in an unmistakably feminine style.

But the boy I had become was actually a girl... How absurd! A man trapped in a woman’s body—who would believe such a thing if told?

I sat at the desk, staring at the schoolbag for a while, my mind racing. Surely this boy had friends at school, but were they boys or girls? Was he—or rather, she—involved in any early romantic relationships? From what I knew, some sixth graders were already dating; perhaps influenced by websites on their phones, not fully understanding what dating truly meant. Some parents called it false love. Now, this boy was fifteen—did he have such false romances at school? Who were these people? I was deeply curious.

Next, the boy was me. Otherwise, why would the lady keep such close watch over me, telling me to call her mom?

I opened the schoolbag and emptied its contents—nothing familiar. The homework notebook was labeled Xin Shota, with her name scribbled all over the book covers, decorated with pictures a young girl would like.

These books fascinated me. I flipped through them all, although the content was something I had once learned; there was much I no longer understood...

But now, the boy was me. Isn’t it laughable? How could a man in his forties find himself in the body of a fifteen-year-old girl? And this was an unchangeable fact!

Then, what about my parents? Where were they? I opened a webpage on my phone, typed a few words into the search bar, clicked, and instantly the news flashed: there had been a massive earthquake near our home, magnitude eight, over a thousand kilometers away, with frequent aftershocks—the entire area reduced to rubble.

“Oh my God! I wanted to go home! What about my mom and dad? And my little sister—what if...”

Grief overwhelmed me; I couldn’t help but cry aloud, covering my eyes tightly with my hands.

The boy’s father passed by the door, saw me like this, and glared with a grunt: “You’re upset because you have to study hard, huh? Feeling wronged? You can’t keep up, can you?”

I screamed in a girl’s voice: “Don’t bother me! You’re not my dad! Whether I study well or not has nothing to do with you!”

His heart turned cold; his face long, he bellowed harshly: “I know, you’re not my child! But I raised you for fifteen years, if not for merit, then at least for effort! Who do you think you’re talking to?”

My voice was so loud it startled the lady, who was hanging laundry. I could faintly see neighbors quietly peeking through their windows to watch.

The lady tightly grasped her husband’s hand, fearing he might hit me, and pleaded, “Honey, can you please say a little less?”

The boy’s father lost all composure, eyes wide as peaches—angry and shouting wildly: “It’s all your fault! Your recklessness before marriage made me a sucker! Who is he? Why is Shota’s hair like that? Why are her eyes all blue?”

The lady tried to calm him down softly, “There’s a child here; I’ll tell you later. Come, let’s go to the other room.”

The father was resentful and cursed loudly: “A bastard! I was blind to raise someone else’s kid! What is this thing?”

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The lady didn’t get angry; she scolded him while pulling him inside the main room—likely to confess who she had been involved with.

I felt life in this household would be difficult. My original family was gone; whether my parents and sister were still alive, I did not know.

The earthquake had wrought great devastation, with bodies everywhere. Rescue workers struggled desperately; survivors were less than ten percent. With such grim statistics, could my family still be alive?

The closest to me was my sister, two years younger. Her bed was opposite mine; on frightened nights, she would crawl into my bed and share her thoughts with me. If she was bullied, she told me too.

I had learned martial arts from my master and wanted to test my skills. For my sister’s sake, I sometimes had to resolve matters for her.

I heard that those who bullied her were a group of top students, both boys and girls; my sister was timid and often stopped on the way to be extorted for money. If she couldn’t pay, she was beaten and returned home with bruises, too scared to tell our parents. I secretly dealt with it.

One male top student, a year older than her, often robbed her money and threatened worse.

He was unlucky. On the way home from school, surrounded by people, I blocked their path. There were three of them; I punched each one down. For the boy who threatened, I stomped hard on his neck twice.

Seeing him gasping on the ground, eyes rolling back, soon near death, I proudly left with my sister.

The students who gathered knew they were top students but didn’t intervene and scattered far away. Later, I heard he hadn’t died but was terrified whenever he saw my sister. She asked, “Brother, how did you manage to fight three at once?”

“Of course, it’s martial arts. First, you must hit vital points. Since they outnumbered me, each punch had to count.”

I demonstrated for her, but she didn’t understand why striking vital points mattered. For example, hitting the eyes—what if it blinds someone? I had to teach her properly to prevent her from being bullied.

“Although the eyes are vital, don’t kill anyone. Usually, you can hit the bridge of the nose, the mouth, and the jaw. Pay attention to the upper three and lower three routes.”

My sister blinked her bright eyes, eager to learn.

It was a matter of practice—training daily until every move was precise.

For instance, a kick to the lower three routes, even if it doesn’t kill, will disable the opponent. A few such kicks and they’d be half dead.

For my sister’s sake, I got up early every day to teach her beside the small bed. One day she came home joyfully, saying she had personally knocked down a female top student. From then on, I felt relieved.

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Yet, that was in the past; I had no idea where she was now. I was thirty-seven, two years older than the lady.

The more I thought, the more painful it became. I couldn’t help but bury my face on the desk and sob.

The boy’s parents hadn’t emerged from their bedroom. I despised her father for calling me a bastard; ever since the paternity test, he had changed. Was the boy really his?

I took out the language book and flipped through it casually. A few pages were dog-eared; opening one revealed a pile of boys’ photos. Judging by today’s standards, there were effeminate boys, married pretenders, and peacock men.

I wondered if Shota had been involved with any of them. Why were there such photos in her pencil case? Now that I was the boy, I needed to remember these faces in case someone asked and I’d have no answers.

So, who were these effeminate boys, married pretenders, and peacock men in school? How to find them? There were three possibilities: first, Shota was enemies with them; second, she was romantically involved; third, they bullied her. Whatever the case, I had to find out.

I knew effeminate boys—people like Molly Ping. Married pretenders were clear too—married men who claimed to be single to win girls’ trust, cunningly luring them in. Peacock men were no mystery either—men more concerned with grooming themselves than girls, who bragged endlessly about knowing everything, half of the world’s secrets above ground and all the secrets underground; they might keep a girl’s little secrets from others, but never from themselves.

I had known these types since high school. Peacock men were the worst—just look at their appearance; it was obvious they were desperate for female attention, driving themselves mad. They had no idea how disgusting they were or that young girls despised them most.

Next were married pretenders—adults who were married yet still eyeing school girls—truly vile. Did Shota have anything to do with a married pretender? Think about it: what student would have the nerve to buy those silly things in the pencil case from a pharmacy?

I secretly made a note to myself. School started tomorrow. If I could find them, that would be perfect.

With these thoughts, I scanned all the books again but found nothing else. It seemed Shota truly had problems, and the lady was still in the dark.

With these doubts, I searched the internet on my phone. The pages that appeared stunned me: “What to do about early romance in children,” “Causes of early romance,” “How to prevent early romance.”

“Oh my God! I’ve lived this long without knowing what early romance means? I didn’t expect Shota to have already entered early love! If the lady finds out, she’ll break her legs for sure!”

Now I was Shota—no way could I let the lady see this. Flustered, I hurriedly packed everything back into the schoolbag and studied the content on the phone.

For example, what is “early romance”? Precisely, it refers to romantic relationships among children aged 10 to 18, minors in their adolescence—a period when their bodies and minds develop rapidly, and they develop feelings for the opposite sex. With little experience, they often idealize the other person, leading to emotional harm that affects both physical and mental health, causing declining academic performance. Worse still, some fall deeply in love, unable to extricate themselves, leading to pregnancy, abortion, or expulsion—serious consequences. Schools and parents are urged to implement strict management to prevent such occurrences.

Secondly, pay attention to children’s behaviors: are they often with classmates of the opposite sex, smoking in groups of three or four, goofing off, giggling excessively, or unusually happy? These are warning signs—they may have entered early romance, accompanied by bad habits like smoking.

Thirdly, if none of these behaviors are present, yet a previously good student with high grades suddenly declines, it’s a cause for concern. Emotional instability—alternating between joy and sorrow—is also a sign of early romance.

To summarize: first, observe usual behavior; second, monitor academic performance; third, notice associations with opposite-sex classmates.

Reading this, I realized the school and parents already had established protocols for handling early romance. Yet the lady remained oblivious to Shota’s situation. Wasn’t that utterly foolish?