Summer Cicadas

The cicadas were screaming in the sycamore trees that lined the dirt road leading to the construction site, their rhythmic buzz rising and falling like the heat shimmering off the asphalt. Zhang Jie wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, then turned to look at Mengmeng walking beside him, two duffel bags slung over his shoulder, her small suitcase dragging behind her through the dust. Her cheeks were flushed from the walk, and a few strands of dark hair had stuck to the corner of her lips. She smiled at him, that shy, full-toothed smile that made his chest tighten every time.

“You tired, babe?” he asked, shifting the bags.

“A little,” she admitted, her voice soft. “But it’s okay. We’re here now.”

The construction site loomed ahead like a steel-and-concrete beast mid-construction, scaffolding wrapped around its skeleton, floodlights already blazing against the deepening orange sky. The dormitory building was a low, rectangular structure off to the side, gray concrete with barred windows and a metal door that creaked when Zhang Jie pushed it open. The hallway smelled of sweat, cigarette smoke, and cooked cabbage. Their room was at the end: Room 104.

He unlocked the door and swung it open. The room was narrow but clean, white fluorescent light flickering overhead. Three single beds lined the walls, each covered with a thin, faded mattress. The gap between them was barely twenty centimeters—you could reach out and touch the person in the next bed without stretching. A small private bathroom sat at the far end, a toilet and a rust-stained sink with a mirror that had a crack running diagonally across it.

“Not bad,” Zhang Jie said, dropping the bags on the middle bed. He tested the mattress with his palm. Firm, but okay. “We’ll put our stuff here. That’s ours.”

Mengmeng sat down on the edge, her hands smoothing the worn blue sheet. She looked around the room, her eyes lingering on the narrow gaps between the beds. “It’s tight in here. The other beds are so close.”

“That’s fine,” he said, grinning. “We’ll just whisper. Nobody will hear.”

She blushed and elbowed him lightly. “Zhang Jie!”

He laughed and pulled her into a hug, breathing in the scent of her hair—jasmine and something sweeter, something only she had. “I’m just kidding. But seriously, it’s only for the summer. We save up, and then we get our own place. You’ll see.”

Just then, heavy footsteps approached from the hallway, accompanied by a woman’s voice, high-pitched and cheerful. “This the room? Oh, look, it’s nice and clean!”

The door swung open. A middle-aged man with a square face and a pleasant, honest smile stepped in first, a worn duffel slung over his shoulder. He was stocky, with calloused hands and a balding head, but his eyes were warm and crinkled at the corners. Behind him came a woman in her forties, plump and smiling, her hair pulled back in a practical bun. She carried a small bag and a thermos. And then, behind her, a small figure shuffled into the room.

He was tiny—barely reaching the woman’s waist—with a round face, large eyes, and a thatch of messy black hair. His clothes were too big for him, and he clutched a stuffed rabbit that had lost one button eye. He looked up at Mengmeng with a child’s vacant, trusting gaze, and then he smiled, showing a gap where his front teeth should have been.

“Oh my,” Mengmeng breathed. She stood up immediately, her heart going out to the little boy. “Who is this?”

The stocky man, Li Yongqiang—Old Li, as he introduced himself—let out a hearty laugh. “This is my boy, Xiao Dou. Eight years old. He’s a good kid, but he’s a bit slow, you know. Born that way. Doctors said his brain didn’t develop right. But he’s sweet, ain’t he?” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “Say hello, Xiao Dou.”

The dwarf blinked several times, then shuffled forward, dragging the rabbit. He stared up at Mengmeng with wide, innocent eyes. “Pretty lady,” he said in a high, lisping voice. “You smell nice.”

Mengmeng knelt down so she was at his level. Her face was full of tenderness. “Hello, Xiao Dou. I’m Mengmeng. That’s a very nice rabbit. What’s its name?”

“Bunny,” he said, and then he wrapped his short arms around her neck in a clumsy hug. His body was small and warm against hers. She patted his back gently.

Old Li’s wife, who introduced herself as Aunt Wang, smiled warmly. “He doesn’t usually take to strangers like that. You must have a kind heart, girl.”

Zhang Jie puffed up a little with pride. He stepped forward and put an arm around Mengmeng. “This is my girl. Mengmeng. We just got married—well, not officially yet, but we’re engaged. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Old Li’s eyes swept over Mengmeng quickly—up and down, from her delicate face to her slim waist to her small, soft hands. His smile remained fatherly. “You’re a lucky young man. She’s a beauty. A real treasure.” He winked at Zhang Jie. “You keep her happy, you hear? A happy woman keeps a man strong.”

Aunt Wang laughed and set her thermos on the nightstand by the bed nearest the door. She claimed the third bed for her and Old Li. Xiao Dou’s bed was the one by the window. “We’ll be like a little family in here,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Get along, help each other out. Young Jie, if there’s anything you need, just ask. We’ve been doing this work for years. And of course, we’ll take good care of the little girl too.”

Mengmeng smiled gratefully, still holding Xiao Dou’s hand. “Thank you, Auntie.”

That night, after the other three had settled in and the lights dimmed, the cicadas outside continued their relentless chorus. Xiao Dou was curled up on his bed, the rabbit clutched to his chest, his breathing slow and even. Old Li and Aunt Wang lay on their bed, facing each other, a low murmur of conversation that eventually faded into silence.

Zhang Jie and Mengmeng lay on the middle bed, barely fitting on the narrow mattress. He pulled the thin blanket over them, then cupped her face and kissed her slowly. Her lips were soft, tasting faintly of mint tea. She wrapped her arms around his neck and sighed into his mouth.

“I missed you today,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

“We were together all day,” she whispered back, a quiet laugh.

“Still missed you.”

He slipped his hand under the hem of her cotton shirt, his fingers finding the smooth skin of her stomach. She shivered. He worked his hand higher, over her ribs, until he cupped her breast. Even through the thin fabric of her bra, he could feel its firmness, the perfect weight in his palm. He unhooked the clasp with a single practiced motion—he’d done it a hundred times—and she let out a little gasp as his thumb brushed over her nipple.

“They’re asleep?” she breathed, turning her head to glance at the other beds.

“Yeah. Don’t worry.” He pushed her shirt up, baring her breasts to the dim light from the window. They were perfect—pale, full, with pink nipples that tightened under his gaze. The faint scent of her skin rose, musky and sweet at the same time. He lowered his mouth to them, licking and sucking gently. She arched her back, her fingers tangling in his hair.

“Careful, sweetheart,” she whispered. “Don’t wake them.”

He moved lower, sliding her shorts and panties down her slim hips. Her legs were long and smooth, her feet small and elegant, the toes perfectly shaped, the arches delicate. He kissed the inside of her knee, then her ankle, then the instep of her foot. She gave a quiet, breathless laugh.

“You like my feet?” she asked, shy.

“I like everything about you.”

He settled between her legs. The heat of her welcomed him. He entered her slowly, inch by inch, and she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. The bed creaked. He paused, listening. No sound from the other beds. He began to move, a gentle rhythm at first, then deeper, faster. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, a soft moan escaping her throat.

Her body began to tremble beneath him. Her skin was damp with sweat, flushed pink in the dark. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, while his hips kept driving. She bucked against him, her legs wrapping around his waist.

“I’m close,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“Let go, baby. I’m right here.”

She came with a shudder that ran through her entire body. A sudden gush of warmth soaked his lower belly—she always did that when she climaxed, a sweet, clear fluid that pooled between them. Her whole frame quivered, her breasts bouncing gently, her toes curling, her back arching off the mattress. She cried out softly, then bit her lip to stifle it.

He came a moment later, buried deep inside her, his face pressed into the crook of her neck.

Afterwards, they lay tangled together, sticky and breathless. He propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at her. Her breasts were still slick with sweat, and tiny beads of milk had formed on her nipples. He had discovered her secret a month ago: she still lactated, even though there was no baby. The milk was sweet and fragrant, with a hint of honey. He lowered his head and lapped at her nipple, and she sighed, stroking his hair.

“You’re like a child,” she murmured.

“I love it,” he said between sips. “I could drink this forever.”

She blushed in the darkness. “Don’t let anyone know. They’d think we’re weird.”

“They’re the ones missing out.”

He suckled gently until the flow stopped, then kissed her lips, the taste of her milk still on his tongue. She snuggled against his chest, her ear over his heart. The cicadas hummed. The ceiling fan whirred overhead.

From across the room, in the bed by the window, a pair of small eyes watched the shadow of their embrace. Xiao Dou smiled in the dark, a smile that no one could see, his little hand moving beneath the blanket.

He turned over, facing the wall, and pretended to sleep.

The cicadas were already screaming by seven in the morning, a relentless buzz that hung over the construction site like a second sun. Zhang Jie wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and glanced over at Mengmeng, who was sitting on a stack of cement bags under the awning, fanning herself with a crumpled newspaper. She had insisted on coming with him today—said she wanted to see where he worked, wanted to spend every possible minute together before the summer ended. But now she looked wilted, her cheeks pink from the heat, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her collarbone.

"Baobei, you're just gonna bake out here," Zhang Jie said, walking over and crouching in front of her. He gently pinched her knee through her thin cotton dress. "Go back to the dorm, get some rest. I still got four hours of mixing concrete. No point in you sitting here watching me sweat."

Mengmeng pouted, her big eyes soft with reluctance. "But I want to be with you."

"I know, I know." He stood up and kissed the top of her head. "But when I get back, we'll have the whole evening. Go open that Taobao shop you keep talking about. Get some orders in. Then you can buy me something nice." He grinned, winking.

She laughed, a light, bell-like sound that cut through the noise of shovels and hammers. "Fine. But you owe me a popsicle tonight."

"Deal."

She stood up, brushed off her dress, and walked back toward the cluster of temporary dormitories at the edge of the site. The sun was already brutal, and she was grateful to step into the narrow, dim corridor of the workers' dorm. The room she shared with Zhang Jie was small—just a bed, a wardrobe, a folding table, and a fan that rattled like it was about to take flight. But it was cool compared to outside.

She opened her laptop, a secondhand Lenovo with a cracked corner, and pulled up her newly registered Taobao shop. She had spent two days photographing the women's shoes and socks she'd bought wholesale from a supplier in Yiwu—simple flats, canvas sneakers, ankle socks with lace trim. But the photos were terrible. She had no idea how to make them look appealing. The shoes just sat there on the floor, lifeless.

A knock at the door made her jump.

"Mengmeng? It's Aunt Wang." The voice was warm, honeyed, with the cadence of someone used to smoothing things over.

Mengmeng opened the door to see the woman from two rooms down—fiftyish, round-faced, with a perpetual smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. She carried a bowl of sliced watermelon and wore a floral apron.

"Thought you could use something cold," Aunt Wang said, stepping in without waiting for an invitation. Her eyes swept the room and landed on the laptop. "Oh, you're setting up a shop? Let me see."

Mengmeng brightened. "Yeah, women's shoes and socks. But I'm not good at the photos."

Aunt Wang set down the watermelon and leaned over the laptop, scrolling through the images. She clicked her tongue. "Girl, you're doing it all wrong. No one wants to see a shoe sitting on the floor. You need to show how it looks *on* someone. Make the customer imagine wearing it."

"But I don't have a model," Mengmeng said, nibbling a piece of watermelon.

Aunt Wang looked at her—looked her up and down, slowly, professionally. "You've got a model right here. Look at your feet. Small, slender, perfect arch. Proper toes, no bunions, no calluses. That's a rare thing, girl. You should show them off."

Mengmeng blushed. She had never thought about her feet that way. "Really?"

"I'm not flattering you." Aunt Wang pulled up a chair and sat down. "Here, let me help. Take off your sandals, put on a pair of those lace socks, and prop your foot up on the stool. I'll take the photo with your phone—the lighting in here is good, soft from that window."

Half an hour later, Mengmeng had a dozen new product images: her feet in various socks and shoes, posed on a clean towel, on a wooden stool, curled on the edge of the bed. Aunt Wang directed every shot with an authority that made Mengmeng feel like a real model.

"Perfect," Aunt Wang said, handing the phone back. "Now, one more thing. Some customers like close-ups of the sole, the arch, the toes. Shows the quality of the shoe. That means you need to hold your foot up close to the camera. Want me to show you?"

Mengmeng hesitated, but Aunt Wang was already kneeling on the floor, arranging a pair of white canvas sneakers. "It's just business, dear. Nothing to be shy about."

Before Mengmeng could answer, a commotion outside made both of them turn. A child's voice—high-pitched, whining—followed by a thud and then a wail.

Mengmeng rushed to the door. In the corridor, a small figure was sprawled on the concrete floor, face down, arms splayed. It was Little Bean, the son of Old Li from the next room. He looked about eight years old, with a large head and stubby limbs, and he was crying—loud, theatrical sobs.

"Little Bean! Are you okay?" Mengmeng knelt beside him, gently turning him over. His face was dirty, streaked with tears and snot, and his eyes—oddly old for a child—were squeezed shut.

"I want milk," he wailed. "I want milk, I want milk."

Mengmeng helped him sit up. "Milk? You mean—like cow's milk? I can get you some from the canteen."

"No! No!" He shook his head violently. "Mama's milk. I never had it. Everyone else had it. I didn't."

Mengmeng froze. She had heard about this—some kids who didn't get breastfed as babies grew up craving the comfort of it, even as a psychological thing. But she had never encountered it in person. Her own body, her breasts that were still tender from the nights with Zhang Jie, suddenly felt very present.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, patting his shoulder. "I can't help with that. But I can get you some warm cow's milk, okay?"

Little Bean just cried harder.

From behind, a deep sigh. Old Li shuffled out of his room, shaking his head, his face a mask of tired regret. "Ah, Little Bean, what am I going to do with you? Every day it's the same. He never had his mother's milk, you see. She passed when he was born. He gets these fits. Forgive him, Miss Mengmeng."

Mengmeng's heart twisted. "That's so sad. He must really miss that comfort."

Old Li nodded, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "He does. Sometimes I think if he could just have a little, once, he'd get over it. But who would give a grown boy—" He stopped, smiled apologetically. "He's not really grown, is he? Looks like a child, thinks like a child. It's a curse."

Little Bean had stopped crying now and was staring at Mengmeng with big, wet eyes. "You're pretty," he said, his voice small. "You smell nice. Like flowers."

Aunt Wang, who had watched the whole scene from the doorway, cleared her throat. "Well, it's a pity. But a girl has to be careful. Come on, Little Bean, let's get you cleaned up."

She took his hand, and Old Li shuffled them both away, leaving Mengmeng alone in the corridor, feeling a strange mix of pity and unease.

That evening, Zhang Jie returned, covered in dust and smelling of sweat and cement. He stripped off his shirt and collapsed onto the bed while Mengmeng told him about her day—the photos, Aunt Wang's help, and Little Bean's outburst.

Zhang Jie listened, then laughed. "That kid? He's harmless. Just a little slow in the head. Never had a mother's love, that's all. If he asks for milk again, I mean, it's weird, but he's basically a child. Don't overthink it."

Mengmeng bit her lip. "You think so? Aunt Wang seemed to think I should be careful."

"Aunt Wang's an old hen. Always clucking about something." He reached up and pulled her down onto the bed beside him. "You're too kind-hearted. That's your only problem. But that's why I love you." He kissed her neck, his hands already moving to the buttons of her dress.

Later, in the dark, with the fan rattling and the cicadas buzzing outside, they made love again. Mengmeng's body responded eagerly, but her mind wandered. She remembered Little Bean's eyes, those strangely mature eyes set in a child's face.

"Zhang Jie," she whispered, her breath hitching as he moved inside her. "About Little Bean—"

"Shh." He kissed her forehead. "He's like a kid. Don't overthink it. Just focus on me."

She closed her eyes and let herself be carried away. But in the back of her mind, a small bud of sympathy had taken root, and she wondered if she had done the right thing by saying no.

The afternoon sun slanted through the dusty window of the small rented apartment, casting a warm golden rectangle across the worn linoleum floor. The cicadas outside were buzzing away, a steady hum that seemed to wrap itself around the heat of the day. Mengmeng sat cross-legged on the thin mattress, her bare feet peeking out from under her floral sundress. She was laughing at something Aunt Wang had said, her cheeks already pink from the warm weather.

Aunt Wang had just finished clearing the dishes from their simple lunch. She wiped her hands on her apron and smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You know, Mengmeng, I was thinking we could have a little fun this afternoon. Have you ever played card games?"

Mengmeng tilted her head, curious. "Card games? Like poker? I didn’t bring any cards."

Old Li, who had been sitting in the chair by the window, pretending to read a newspaper, looked up. "Aunt Wang always carries a deck in her bag. She loves to play." He winked at his wife, a slow, easy gesture that seemed harmless.

Aunt Wang disappeared into the bedroom for a moment and returned with a worn deck of playing cards. She sat down on the floor opposite Mengmeng, motioning for Old Li to join them. From the corner of the room, Little Bean, who had been quietly playing with a toy car, looked up. He shuffled over on his knees, his small frame and childlike face making him look no older than eight.

"Can I play too?" Little Bean asked, his voice high and innocent.

"Of course, sweetie," Aunt Wang said, patting the floor beside her. "Come sit with us."

Mengmeng beamed. She loved games. Back in the village, she and Zhang Jie would play cards with the neighbor kids for hours. It felt familiar, comforting. She shifted to make room for Little Bean.

Aunt Wang explained the rules. It was a simple game, a variant of slapjack but with a few twists. The loser of each round had to take a drink—Aunt Wang produced a bottle of cheap baijiu from under the sink, pouring a little into a teacup. "Just for fun," she said, laughing. "We’re all adults here."

Mengmeng hesitated. She had never really drunk alcohol before. But Aunt Wang’s smile was so warm, and the game looked innocent enough. "Okay," she said, her voice a little shy. "Just a little."

They began to play. Mengmeng was quick, but the rules were new. She lost the first round. Then the second. Each time, Aunt Wang cheerfully pushed the teacup toward her. "Down the hatch," she said. "No hard feelings."

Mengmeng took the cup and sipped. The baijiu burned her throat and made her eyes water. Old Li and Aunt Wang laughed, and Little Bean clapped his hands. By the third loss, Mengmeng’s cheeks were flushed a deep rose. Her movements became a little uncoordinated, and her laughter came more easily.

"It’s your turn again, Mengmeng," Aunt Wang said, dealing the cards.

Mengmeng leaned forward, squinting at her hand. She was sitting cross-legged, and her bare feet were stretched out in front of her. Little Bean was beside her, his small hands clutching his own cards. As she reached for a discard, she felt a light touch on the sole of her foot. It was feather-soft, like a brush of fingers.

She looked down. Little Bean’s hand was near her foot, but he was staring intently at his cards, his expression blank. Mengmeng thought maybe he had shifted his weight and accidentally brushed against her. It didn’t hurt, and he seemed completely unaware. She said nothing and returned her focus to the game.

The touches happened again, a little more deliberate. Little Bean’s fingers grazed her arch, then her toes. Mengmeng felt a faint tickle but dismissed it. He’s just a kid, she thought. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Aunt Wang won the next round. "Drink up, little sister," she said, sliding the teacup toward Mengmeng.

Mengmeng took it with both hands, the liquid sloshing slightly. She downed it in one go this time, feeling the warmth spread through her chest and limbs. Her head felt light, a pleasant buzz softening the edges of the room. She giggled at nothing.

Just then, the front door creaked open. Zhang Jie stepped inside, carrying a bag of groceries. He saw the scene—Mengmeng on the floor, flushed and laughing, Aunt Wang and Old Li smiling, Little Bean sitting quietly—and his face broke into a grin.

"Looks like I missed the party," he said, setting the bag on the table.

Mengmeng turned her head, her eyes bright and glassy. "Jie! Come play with us! We’re having so much fun."

Zhang Jie walked over and crouched beside her. He could smell the baijiu on her breath. "You okay, baby? You drink a bit?"

"Just a little," Mengmeng said, leaning into him. "Aunt Wang taught us a card game. I’m losing, but it’s fun."

Old Li cleared his throat. "Mengmeng here is a quick learner. She’s very smart. She caught on after just a few rounds." He smiled, his expression avuncular.

Zhang Jie felt a surge of pride. "That’s my girl." He sat down next to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Deal me in."

They played a few more rounds. Zhang Jie lost once and took a sip, but his tolerance was higher. Mengmeng lost another round and drank again, her eyes growing heavier. She leaned against Zhang Jie, her head lolling. Little Bean’s touches on her foot became bolder, but she was too tipsy to register them clearly. Zhang Jie was focused on his cards and the conversation with Old Li.

"She’s really something, this one," Old Li said, nodding at Mengmeng. "You’re a lucky man."

"Yeah," Zhang Jie said, squeezing Mengmeng’s shoulder. "I know."

The game wound down as the sun began to set. Aunt Wang suggested they stop for dinner, and everyone rose. Little Bean scrambled to his feet, his hand briefly pressing against Mengmeng’s ankle as he stood. She didn’t even notice. Zhang Jie helped her up, her legs wobbling.

That night, after a simple meal and goodbyes to Old Li’s family, the apartment fell quiet. Zhang Jie guided Mengmeng to the mattress. The alcohol had made her skin warm, her pupils dilated. She moved slowly, her usual shyness loosened by the drink.

He laid her down gently, kissing her forehead, her cheek, her lips. She responded eagerly, her hands fumbling at his shirt. Her body was more sensitive than usual—every touch sent a visible shiver through her. When his fingers traced down her side, she gasped, her back arching off the mattress.

"Mengmeng," he whispered, "you’re so beautiful."

She pulled him closer, her breath coming in quick, soft pants. Her skin was flushed, and when he kissed her neck, he could taste the faint salt of sweat mixed with the lingering sweetness of her natural scent—a light, milky fragrance that always drew him in.

He entered her slowly, and she cried out, a low, breathy sound. Her hips rose to meet his, her body moving on instinct. The alcohol made her uninhibited; she wrapped her legs around him, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Her eyes were half-closed, her lips parted. Every time he thrust, she whimpered, her body trembling.

Afterward, they lay in a tangle of limbs, the sheet twisted beneath them. Zhang Jie stroked her hair, her breathing evening out. He was still half-hard, content in the quiet.

"Mengmeng," he murmured, "you were amazing tonight."

She smiled, her eyes closed. "I liked the game," she said, her voice slurred with sleep. "Little Bean is so cute. He’s like a little puppy."

Zhang Jie chuckled. "Yeah, he’s a good kid. Smart, too."

"Mmm," she hummed, nuzzling into his chest. "I’m glad we met them."

"Me too," he said, kissing the top of her head. The cicadas outside had fallen silent, the night air thick and still. He held her close, feeling her heartbeat slow against his own. Everything felt perfect.

The afternoon sun slanted through the dusty window of the small apartment, casting a warm rectangle on the worn wooden floor. Aunt Wang had cleared the coffee table and spread out a soft white towel. She arranged a few pairs of new sandals and sneakers in a neat row, then turned to Mengmeng with a gentle, encouraging smile.

“Come on, sweetie, just sit on the edge of the sofa and let your feet rest on the towel. It’s simple,” Aunt Wang said, holding up her phone.

Mengmeng bit her lower lip, her cheeks flushing. She had never thought about her feet being photographed before. They were just feet—ordinary, a little small, with clean, unpainted toenails. She looked over at Zhang Jie, who was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, grinning.

“Go on, babe. You’ve got pretty feet. Show ’em off,” he said. His voice was full of pride, like he was showing off a new bike.

“They’re really not… I mean, who wants to see my feet?” Mengmeng murmured, but she sat down anyway. She slipped off her canvas shoes and white socks, then placed her bare feet on the towel. The wood floor felt cool through the thin fabric.

Aunt Wang crouched in front of her, angling the phone. “Just point your toes a little more. Yes, like that. Now cross your ankles. Beautiful.”

The camera clicked a few times. Mengmeng felt a strange mix of shyness and a little thrill. It was just feet, she told herself. Nothing wrong with it.

From the corner of the room, Xiao Dou waddled over. He had been sitting on a low stool, watching quietly with his round, childlike eyes. He came up close, his face only a foot away from Mengmeng’s feet.

“Big sister’s feet are so beautiful,” he said, his voice slow and simple, like a little boy’s.

Mengmeng’s heart softened. She smiled at him. “Thank you, Xiao Dou. You’re so sweet.”

Zhang Jie laughed. “See? Even the kid knows. You’re a natural.”

Aunt Wang took a few more shots from different angles—side view, top down, with the shoes half on. She was patient, always adjusting the lighting, asking Mengmeng to turn her foot this way or that. After about twenty minutes, she showed the results to Mengmeng.

“Look. These are really good. Clean, clear. The online store will love them.”

Mengmeng looked at the photos. Her feet did look nice in the pictures—smooth skin, neat toes, the shoes fitting perfectly. She felt a little shy pride.

That evening, Old Li helped upload the images to the store’s product pages. Within two hours, three orders came in for the sandals. By the next morning, there were twelve.

Zhang Jie was ecstatic. He grabbed Mengmeng around the waist and spun her in the tiny kitchen. “You did it, baby! I told you. You’re a natural saleswoman.”

Mengmeng giggled, but her ears were red. “It’s just my feet in the pictures. Anyone could do it.”

“No way. Nobody else has feet like yours.”

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to be useful, to help their little life take shape. Seeing the orders go up made her feel like she was contributing, like she wasn’t just a girl from the countryside tagging along.

A few days later, Old Li brought up the idea during dinner. He chewed his rice slowly, then said, “Photos are good, but videos sell better. If we can show the shoes in motion—walking, stepping, turning—customers will feel like they’re really wearing them.”

Mengmeng’s chopsticks paused halfway to her mouth. “Videos? Of my feet?”

“Just walking around the room. Nothing more,” Aunt Wang said quickly. She reached over and patted Mengmeng’s hand. “I’ll be right there with you. We can make it fun. Like a little fashion show.”

Mengmeng looked at Zhang Jie. He shrugged. “Up to you, babe. But it could be big.”

She hesitated. The thought of a video felt more… exposed. But Aunt Wang’s warm hand on hers, and Aunt Wang’s soft voice, made it seem safe. Like a game.

“Okay,” Mengmeng said quietly. “I’ll try.”

That night, after the dishes were done and the apartment had grown quiet, Zhang Jie and Mengmeng lay in their narrow bed. The window was open, letting in the sound of summer cicadas buzzing in the trees. A warm breeze moved the curtain.

Zhang Jie was still high from the day’s success. He traced her shoulder with his fingers. “You’re really smart, you know? Thinking of this. We’ll save up money. Get our own place one day.”

“I just want to help,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re never a burden.” He turned toward her, his hand sliding down her arm, her waist. The familiar heat began to build between them, the easy intimacy they had shared since they were teenagers.

She welcomed him. Her body knew him completely. But tonight, after he had kissed her lips, her neck, her chest, he did something different. He moved down, past her belly, past her thighs. She felt his lips press against the arch of her foot.

She gasped. A shiver ran up her entire body, like a spark along a fuse. Her toes curled involuntarily.

“Jie…” she breathed.

He didn’t stop. He kissed the top of her foot, then each toe, softly, slowly. Her skin was sensitive there, more than she had ever known. A trembling ran through her, and she clutched the sheet.

“Your feet are beautiful,” he murmured against her skin. “I love them.”

She was too flustered to speak. A strange, intense pleasure mixed with shyness pulsed through her. She closed her eyes and let him continue, feeling the warmth of his mouth, the cicadas still singing outside, and the knowledge that she was doing something right, something that made him proud.

Every morning now, Mengmeng set up her phone on the little tripod Aunt Wang had lent her, positioning it just right on the living room floor. She sat on the edge of the sofa, bare feet resting on a soft mat, and tried to remember all the angles Aunt Wang had taught her.

“Point your toes a little more, sweetheart,” Aunt Wang said from behind the camera, her voice warm and encouraging. “That’s it. Now arch your foot just slightly. Beautiful.”

Mengmeng giggled nervously. “It feels so strange, Aunt Wang. Showing my feet to strangers.”

“Nonsense. You have lovely feet—dainty and clean. People appreciate beauty. There’s nothing wrong with sharing it.” Aunt Wang tapped the screen. “Now, do that little wiggle we practiced. The one that makes your ankle look graceful.”

Mengmeng obeyed, wiggling her toes and rotating her ankle slowly. The camera clicked and hummed as Aunt Wang captured several takes. After a few minutes, she handed the phone back to Mengmeng, who watched the short clips with wide eyes.

“They look… pretty,” Mengmeng admitted, a shy smile spreading across her face.

“Of course they do. I’ll help you edit them tonight. Just a little brightness, maybe a soft filter. Nothing too much—keep it natural.”

Mengmeng nodded, feeling a flutter of excitement. She had never thought of her feet as anything special, but Aunt Wang seemed to see something in her. And if this could earn a little extra money for her and Zhang Jie, why not?

Later that afternoon, while Mengmeng sat cross-legged on the floor reviewing the footage, Xiao Dou shuffled over. He moved with that awkward, childish gait that always made Mengmeng’s heart soften. He plopped down beside her, his short legs sticking out straight.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at the phone with a stubby finger.

“Just some videos, Xiao Dou. Nothing important.”

He leaned closer, peering at the screen. Then, as if by accident, his hand flopped onto her foot. “Oops!” He looked up with wide, innocent eyes. “Sorry, sister.”

Mengmeng laughed. “It’s okay, silly. You didn’t hurt me.”

But his hand stayed there, patting her arch curiously. “Your feet are so soft,” he said, his voice high-pitched and childlike. “Like a pillow.”

“They’re just feet, Xiao Dou.” She gently moved her foot away, but he followed, his fingers brushing against her sole. She tried not to flinch—it tickled a little, but it was probably just his way of exploring. He was simple, after all. “Don’t do that, it tickles.”

Xiao Dou grinned, revealing a gap in his teeth. “Tickle, tickle!” He poked her foot again, and Mengmeng squirmed, laughing despite herself.

“Stop, stop!” She pulled her feet onto the sofa, tucking them under her. “You’re too silly today.”

Aunt Wang looked over from the kitchen, a knowing smile on her face. “Xiao Dou, leave your sister alone. She’s working.”

“Okay, Auntie,” he said, but his eyes lingered on Mengmeng’s feet for a moment longer before he shuffled away.

Mengmeng shook her head, dismissing the encounter. He was just a child with a child’s curiosity. Nothing more.

That evening, Zhang Jie flopped onto their bed after a long shift, scrolling through his phone. Mengmeng cuddled up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. She watched his face as he looked at the photos she had sent him earlier.

“Babe, these are amazing,” he said, zooming in on one shot. “Your feet look… I don’t know how to say it. Pretty. Really pretty.”

“You think so?” she asked, her voice small.

“Yeah! I showed a couple of the guys at work. Old Li couldn’t stop staring.”

Mengmeng’s stomach tightened. “You showed them? To everyone?”

“Just a few. Why, is that bad?” He looked at her, puzzled. “I’m proud of you, Meng. I want them to see how lucky I am.”

She bit her lip. “It’s just… it’s my feet, Zhang Jie. It feels a little private.”

“They’re just feet, babe. And you’ve got nice ones. Everyone thinks so.” He grinned, nudging her. “Old Li said I hit the jackpot. He said you were a real catch.”

“Old Li?” she repeated, remembering the older man with the gentle eyes and soft voice. He seemed nice enough, but something about the way Zhang Jie described his comments made her uneasy.

“Yeah, he said you must be something special to get a girl like you. I told him you were the best thing that ever happened to me.” Zhang Jie put his arm around her, pulling her close. “You don’t mind, do you? Me showing off my girl?”

Mengmeng hesitated, then shook her head. “No, I guess not. If you’re happy…”

“I’m the happiest guy in the world,” he said, kissing her forehead. “And the prettier you are, the happier I am. So keep making those videos. Show the world how beautiful my girlfriend is.”

She smiled, letting his words wash over her. He was proud of her. That was a good thing, right? She wanted to make him happy. That was all that mattered.

Later that night, after they had turned off the lights, Mengmeng lay awake, thinking. The room was warm, filled with the sound of cicadas buzzing outside the window. Zhang Jie’s breathing had evened out, but she knew he wasn’t asleep yet. She could feel the tension in his body, the way he shifted beside her.

Slowly, she slid her foot over, brushing against his calf. He tensed, then relaxed. She did it again, this time running her toes up his leg.

“Meng?” His voice was husky with surprise.

“Shh,” she whispered, emboldened by the darkness. She pushed the sheet aside and moved her foot higher, tracing the line of his thigh. He sucked in a breath.

“What are you doing?”

“Showing you something,” she said, her voice soft but playful. She used her toes to tease the hem of his shorts, hooking them slightly. “You liked the videos, right?”

“Yeah, but…”

She didn’t wait for him to finish. She pressed her foot against him, feeling him harden under her touch. A small thrill ran through her. He had always been the one to initiate, but tonight she wanted to do something for him. Something that showed she trusted him completely.

Zhang Jie groaned, his hand reaching down to grasp her ankle. “Meng, that feels… wow.”

She giggled, using her other foot to play along his stomach, then lower. He gasped and bucked slightly. The new angle, the novelty of her using her feet, made everything feel fresh and exciting.

“Is this okay?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“More than okay. Don’t stop.”

She didn’t. She moved her feet together, experimenting with pressure and rhythm, learning what made his breath hitch and what made him moan. He guided her with his hands, showing her where to rub, how to curl her toes.

When they finally came together, it was different from before—clumsy and awkward in some ways, but also intimate and surprisingly tender. He pulled her close afterward, her feet still tangled with his legs.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured into her hair. “I love you, Meng.”

“I love you too,” she whispered back, her heart full.

But as the cicadas sang their endless summer song, she couldn’t shake the image of Xiao Dou’s small hand on her foot, or the way Old Li had supposedly looked at her videos. She pushed the thoughts away, burying her face in Zhang Jie’s chest.

He loved her. That was enough.

The afternoon sun slanted through the dusty windows of the break room, casting long shadows across the worn linoleum floor. Mengmeng had just finished wiping down the counters when she heard a small whimper from the corner where Xiao Dou sat huddled on a plastic chair.

His face was flushed, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead despite the cool breeze from the open window. His tiny hands gripped the edges of the chair, and his breathing came in short, labored gasps.

"Xiao Dou?" Mengmeng set down her rag and hurried over, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead. The heat radiating from his skin made her gasp. "You're burning up!"

Old Li emerged from the storage room, his face creased with practiced worry. "Ah, it's his old condition. He gets these fevers when the seasons change. I gave him some medicine this morning, but it doesn't seem to be working."

"Why don't you take him to a doctor?" Mengmeng asked, already reaching for a clean towel and a basin of water.

"We went yesterday. The doctor said it's just a viral thing, needs to run its course." Old Li sighed heavily, rubbing his tired eyes. "I have to finish this shift, or we'll lose the overtime pay. His medication costs so much..."

Mengmeng's heart clenched. She looked at Xiao Dou, whose eyes were glassy and unfocused. He looked so small, so helpless. Without thinking, she wet the towel with cool water and gently pressed it to his forehead.

"Let me take care of him," she said softly. "You go finish your work."

Old Li's expression shifted to one of grateful relief. "Are you sure? I don't want to impose..."

"It's fine, really. I'm almost done here anyway."

Once Old Li had shuffled away, Mengmeng pulled a chair close to Xiao Dou and began carefully wiping his face and neck with the cool cloth. His skin was so hot it seemed to steam where the water touched. He whimpered again, his small body trembling.

"Ssh, it's okay," she murmured, dabbing at his temples. "The fever will break soon."

Xiao Dou's eyes fluttered open, red-rimmed and watery. "Sister... I feel so bad..."

"I know, sweetie. Just rest."

She helped him sip some water, then crushed a fever reducer tablet into a spoonful of honey, coaxing him to swallow it. He made a face but obeyed, his tiny hand gripping her wrist with surprising strength.

Half an hour passed. The fever seemed to ease slightly, but Xiao Dou grew restless, tossing his head from side to side on the makeshift pillow she'd arranged from her folded jacket.

"Sister..." his voice cracked, thin and pitiful. "I'm thirsty."

"More water?"

He shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. "I want... I want mommy's milk. I never had it. My real mom died when I was born, and stepmom... she never..."

His voice dissolved into sobs, and Mengmeng felt her own eyes sting with sympathy. She had heard stories of children who missed out on that primal comfort, but seeing Xiao Dou's raw longing broke something inside her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, not knowing what else to say.

Xiao Dou looked up at her, his gaze landing on the slight swell of her chest beneath her blouse. "Sister... you're a girl. Do you... do you have milk?"

Mengmeng's face flamed. "I... well, yes, actually, I do. But it's for babies, Xiao Dou."

"I am a baby," he whimpered. "I never got to be a real baby. Please, sister. Just a little. I'll be good. I promise."

The words tugged at her heart with hooks made of guilt and pity. She thought of Zhang Jie, of how he always said she had the kindest heart he'd ever known. What would he think? But then she looked at Xiao Dou's pitiful face, his trembling lips, his fever-flushed cheeks.

"Okay," she heard herself say. "Just a little. But you have to promise to rest after."

She went to the small kitchenette, found a clean ceramic cup, and retreated to the storage room. Her hands shook as she unbuttoned her blouse and expressed a small amount of milk into the cup. The familiar sweet scent filled the air, and she felt a confusing mix of embarrassment and tenderness.

When she returned, Xiao Dou's eyes locked onto the cup with an intensity that made her uneasy for a moment. But she pushed the feeling aside and knelt beside him.

"Here. Drink slowly."

He took the cup with both hands, bringing it to his lips with trembling reverence. The first sip made his eyes go wide. He drank the rest in small, greedy swallows, his tongue darting out to catch every last drop.

"More," he whispered, looking up at her with something that bordered on desperation.

"I can't. That's all for now. You need to rest."

He nodded obediently, but his eyes never left her chest as she buttoned her blouse. A strange, hungry look flickered there, gone so quickly she convinced herself she'd imagined it.

Later that evening, Old Li and Aunt Wang came to thank her. Aunt Wang pulled her aside, her eyes glistening.

"Mengmeng, I don't know how to thank you. Xiao Dou hasn't smiled like that in years. You've given him something we never could."

"I just wanted to help," Mengmeng said, feeling warm inside.

"You're a saint," Aunt Wang declared, squeezing her hands. "A real, true saint."

Zhang Jie arrived just as they were leaving. He saw Mengmeng's flushed face and Xiao Dou sleeping peacefully in the corner, and his expression softened.

"What happened?"

Mengmeng explained, leaving out the milk part at first. But Zhang Jie's eyes widened when she finally admitted it, and for a moment she feared he'd be angry.

"You fed him?" he asked slowly.

"He was so pitiful, Jie. He never had a mother's milk. His real mom died..."

Zhang Jie was quiet for a long moment. Then he pulled her into a hug, his voice thick with emotion. "You're too good for this world, you know that? You're like a mother to him."

That night, as they lay in their small rented room, Mengmeng couldn't stop thinking about Xiao Dou's face when he drank.

"He's really pitiful," she said, staring at the ceiling. "His family is complicated, and he's always sick. I wish I could do more."

Zhang Jie rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. "You already did plenty. Most people wouldn't have done what you did."

"It felt right."

"Because you have a pure heart." He kissed her forehead. "You're going to be an amazing mother someday."

The words sent a warmth through her, and when Zhang Jie's hands began to wander, she didn't resist. Their lovemaking was slow, tender, charged with a new intimacy. As he moved inside her, Mengmeng felt a familiar tingling in her breasts, a warmth building that she'd come to recognize.

When he finished, he stayed inside her, his head resting against her chest. A drop of milk beaded at her nipple, and he caught it with his tongue.

"Still producing?" he murmured, his voice drowsy and content.

"I guess so. It happens when I'm... emotional."

He smiled against her skin and began to drink, slowly, reverently. The sensation sent shivers through her, and she ran her fingers through his hair, feeling a deep, primal satisfaction.

"Don't ever stop being you," he said between swallows. "Don't ever let the world harden that heart of yours."

She held him close, listening to the summer cicadas singing their relentless song outside the window, and felt, for the first time, like she truly belonged somewhere.

The evening air was thick with the lingering heat of a summer day, and the small apartment buzzed with a restless energy. Aunt Wang clapped her hands together, her bracelets jangling. “We’ve been sitting around too long. How about a game to liven things up?”

Mengmeng looked up from the magazine she was flipping through, her eyes wide with curiosity. “A game? What kind of game?”

“Truth or Dare,” Aunt Wang said, her voice smooth like honey. “It’s simple. You pick truth, and you answer a question honestly. You pick dare, and you do something silly. Nothing too crazy, just fun.”

Mengmeng glanced at Zhang Jie, who was sprawled on the couch, nodding enthusiastically. “Sounds good. We haven’t played anything like that in a while.”

Old Li, seated at the kitchen table with a half-empty beer can, grinned. He looked harmless, his face weathered but friendly. “I’ll play referee. Keep things fair.”

Little Bean shuffled closer from his corner, sitting cross-legged on the floor. His small frame and oversized T-shirt made him look like a child, but his eyes moved too quickly, too sharp. “Can I play too?”

“Of course, sweetie,” Aunt Wang said, patting his head. “Just follow the rules.”

They formed a loose circle in the living room. Aunt Wang produced a coin. “We’ll flip for who starts. Then we go in a circle.”

The first round landed on Mengmeng. She bit her lip, unsure. “I’ll pick truth.”

Aunt Wang’s smile widened. “All right. First question—who’s the most beautiful girl you know?”

Mengmeng blushed, her cheeks turning a soft pink. “Me? I mean… I don’t know. Maybe my mom?”

“Come on,” Zhang Jie teased from the couch. “You’re the prettiest to me.”

Mengmeng giggled, her shyness fading. “Okay, okay. I guess… I think I’m okay.”

The questions grew bolder, fueled by Aunt Wang’s gentle prodding. When it was her turn again, Mengmeng chose truth once more.

Aunt Wang leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “All right, sweetie. What’s the most intimate thing you’ve done with Zhang Jie?”

Mengmeng’s face turned crimson. She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, glancing at Zhang Jie. He grinned, curious and proud. “Go on,” he said. “Tell them.”

“We’ve… you know,” she stammered. “Kissed. And… cuddled.”

“That’s it?” Aunt Wang laughed lightly. “There’s nothing wrong with being close. You’re a couple. Tell us more. Does he make you feel good?”

Mengmeng looked down, her voice barely audible. “He does. He’s… gentle.”

Zhang Jie puffed up his chest. “Of course I am.”

The game continued, and the room grew warmer. Aunt Wang guided the conversation effortlessly, drawing out details about their relationship that made Mengmeng’s ears burn but also made her feel grown-up, part of a secret world of adults.

During a lull, Little Bean reached for a glass of water on the floor. His hand slipped, and his palm pressed squarely against Mengmeng’s chest, right over her breast.

Mengmeng gasped and jerked back.

“Oh! Sorry, sorry!” Little Bean’s face crumpled into an expression of genuine panic. “I didn’t mean to. I’m so clumsy.”

“It’s okay,” Mengmeng said quickly, her voice soft. She rubbed her chest absently. “It was an accident.”

Zhang Jie frowned for a moment but then shrugged. “Kids will be kids. Don’t worry about it, Bean.”

Aunt Wang smiled thinly. “Accidents happen. Let’s keep going.”

Later, Old Li stood up, swaying slightly. His cheeks were flushed from the beer. He raised his can in a clumsy toast. “I gotta say,” he slurred, “your girl there has a real nice figure, Zhang. You’re a lucky man.”

Zhang Jie’s grin widened. He slung an arm around Mengmeng’s shoulders, pulling her close. “Thanks, Uncle Li. She’s the best.”

Mengmeng blushed but smiled, pleased by the compliment. She nestled into Zhang Jie’s side, feeling safe and admired.

As the game wound down and the others drifted off to their rooms, Zhang Jie and Mengmeng retreated to the small bedroom they shared. A thin curtain separated their space from the rest of the apartment, but they had grown used to the lack of privacy.

That night, the air between them was charged. Zhang Jie kissed her deeply, his hands roaming her body. Mengmeng responded, her shyness melting away as she remembered the game, the excitement of being talked about, of being desired.

When they made love, she was more open than before, her movements bolder, her gasps louder.

“That game was fun,” she whispered afterward, her head on his chest.

Zhang Jie chuckled, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her shoulder. “You’re becoming more open, babe. I like it.”

Mengmeng smiled, a warm glow spreading through her. She felt free, grown-up.

Across the thin wall, in the adjacent bed, Little Bean lay still, his eyes wide open. He had pulled the thin blanket up to his chin, but his breathing was steady, controlled. He listened to the muffled sounds, the rising cadence of Mengmeng’s cries, the creak of the bed frame. His small hands clenched under the covers.

He was not asleep. He had never been asleep.

The late afternoon sun slanted through the window of their small rented room, casting a warm glow across the clutter of shoeboxes and packing materials. Mengmeng sat cross-legged on the floor, her phone propped against a stack of boxes, her fingers flying across the screen as she replied to customer inquiries. The numbers on her seller dashboard had been climbing steadily for three days now—twenty-three orders today alone.

Zhang Jie came in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his pants, and leaned over her shoulder. "How's it going, babe?"

"Look!" She tilted the screen toward him, her eyes bright with excitement. "I've already made back the money we spent on the first batch. And there are still fourteen pairs left to sell."

He let out a low whistle and dropped down beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist. "See? I told you. You're a natural at this. All those hours you spent shopping online back home finally paid off."

Mengmeng giggled and elbowed him gently. "Hey, I'm doing work here. This is serious business."

"It is serious business. My girl is becoming a businesswoman." He kissed her temple, then glanced at the pile of shoes waiting to be shipped. "You need help packing?"

"Almost done. Just five more to wrap up." She set down her phone and reached for a pair of white canvas sneakers, smooth and clean. "Aunt Wang came by earlier. She said I should try doing a live stream to sell. She said people buy way more when they can see the product on a real person."

Zhang Jie frowned slightly. "A live stream? Like, on camera?"

"Yeah." Mengmeng's cheeks flushed a little. "She said I could just show the shoes, talk about them. Maybe try them on so people can see how they look. Some of the big sellers do it every day."

He thought about it for a moment. The idea made him a little uneasy—strangers watching his girlfriend on the internet—but Mengmeng seemed excited, and her confidence had been growing. He didn't want to be the one to hold her back. "If you want to try it, I think you should. I'll be right here if you need me."

"You will?" She looked relieved. "I'm a little nervous. What if I mess up or say something dumb?"

"You won't. You're the smartest person I know." He squeezed her hand. "And if you do mess up, it'll be cute. Just be yourself."

The next afternoon, Mengmeng set up a corner of the room with a clean blanket spread on the floor. Zhang Jie helped her adjust the phone on a tripod he'd borrowed from Old Li, who had stopped by to offer encouragement. Aunt Wang arrived just as they were finishing, carrying a small ring light she said she'd picked up at the market.

"The lighting is everything," Aunt Wang said, positioning the ring light in front of Mengmeng. "You want your face lit, but not too harsh. And the shoes need to be visible. Here, sit like this." She guided Mengmeng to sit cross-legged on the blanket, then arranged a few pairs of shoes around her. "Perfect. You look like a real主播."

Mengmeng's hands were trembling slightly as she reached for her phone. "Okay. I'm going to start the stream now."

"You got this," Zhang Jie said from the edge of the room, trying to stay out of frame.

She took a deep breath, tapped the button, and the live stream began. For the first ten seconds, nothing happened. The viewer count stayed at zero. Mengmeng's smile faltered, and she looked at Aunt Wang for guidance.

"Just start talking," Aunt Wang whispered. "Tell them what you're selling."

Mengmeng cleared her throat. "Hi, everyone. Welcome to my stream. Today I'm showing some really cute canvas shoes. They're super comfortable and perfect for summer."

A number popped up: 2 viewers. Then 5. Then 12. Her heart raced. "Um, these ones here are white, but they also come in light pink and blue. I'm wearing a pair myself right now." She lifted her foot toward the camera, showing the white sneaker on her foot. "They're really light. Like, you can barely feel them on."

The comments started rolling in.

*Pretty feet.*

*Nice shoes.*

*Can you show more angles?*

Mengmeng's face turned pink, but she smiled. "Sure. Let me show you the side." She turned her foot, pointing her toes. The viewers kept praising her feet, and she felt a warm glow of acceptance. They weren't making fun of her. They actually liked what she was showing.

Nearby, Xiaodou had toddled into the room, his small body wobbling as he tried to reach a shoebox on the floor. He grabbed the edge of the blanket and pulled, nearly toppling the tripod. Mengmeng glanced over and couldn't help but laugh.

"Hold on, everyone," she said into the camera. "My little friend is causing trouble."

Xiaodou made a grunting noise and started stacking the shoeboxes into a wobbly tower. Mengmeng reached out to steady him, and he grabbed her bare foot, hugging it like a stuffed animal. She laughed again, her nervousness completely gone. The viewers seemed to love it.

*So cute!*

*The baby is adorable.*

*More foot content, please.*

Aunt Wang quickly swooped in, scooping up Xiaodou with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, he's just excited. Go on, Mengmeng, you're doing great."

The stream lasted another forty minutes. By the time Mengmeng ended it, she had sold twelve pairs of shoes and gained thirty-seven followers. She practically glowed as she turned off the camera.

"I did it," she said, her voice full of wonder. "I actually did it."

Zhang Jie came over and pulled her into a tight hug. "You were amazing. Seriously. I couldn't believe how natural you looked."

Aunt Wang patted her on the shoulder. "You have a bright future, child. A very bright future."

That night, after Aunt Wang and Xiaodou had left, Zhang Jie lay on the bed with Mengmeng's phone in his hand, watching the replay of the live stream. The screen showed his girlfriend laughing, adjusting her hair, showing off her feet with innocent pride. She looked so happy, so radiant, like a flower blooming in concrete.

Mengmeng came out of the bathroom, drying her hair with a towel. "Are you watching that again? I probably looked so silly."

"You looked perfect." He set the phone aside and reached for her hand, pulling her onto the bed beside him. "Mengmeng, you're going to make it. You're going to become a real city girl, I swear."

She blushed deeply, burying her face against his chest. "Don't say that. I'm still just me."

"No, you're more than that." He tilted her chin up, looking into her eyes. "You're smart, you're beautiful, and you're working so hard. One day you'll be running a whole store."

Her heart fluttered. She felt shy, almost overwhelmed by his belief in her. "Jie…"

He kissed her, slow and deep, and she melted into him. Later, when they were tangled together in the dim light, her body still humming from his touch, she whispered against his shoulder, "Do you really think I can do it?"

He kissed the top of her head. "I know you can. And I'll be right here the whole time."

She smiled, her eyes closing, feeling safe and hopeful and loved. The summer cicadas sang outside the window, loud and unending, but inside their little room, everything was quiet and warm.