Summer's Secret

The summer heat pressed down on the city like a wet blanket, and even with the air conditioner humming, Zhang Jie could feel the sweat beading at his temples. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching Mengmeng drift through their small apartment in a sleeveless sundress the color of pale lemon. The thin straps sat delicately on her shoulders, and the cotton fabric clung to the curves of her full figure as she bent to pick up a stray sock from the floor. Her skin glowed, dewy and soft, and her face—that round, babyish face with its wide eyes and pouting lips—held no trace of the shadow that had settled over his heart.

He loved her. He loved her so much it ached, a dull, persistent throb behind his ribs. And that love made the lie forming in his chest all the more unbearable.

“Jie?” Mengmeng turned, her ponytail swishing against her neck. She held up two pairs of shorts, one white and one blue. “Which one do you think is nicer for the trip? Or should I bring both?”

Zhang Jie forced a smile. “Both. You always look good in everything.”

Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and she set the shorts down on the growing pile of clothes on the bed. “I’m so excited! I haven’t been to the countryside since I was a little girl. Your uncle’s house is near the river, right? You said we could swim.”

“Yeah, there’s a big pond behind the property. It’s quiet out there. No traffic, no noise. Just the sound of cicadas and the breeze through the cornfields.” He stood and walked to her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. She leaned back into him, her head resting against his chest. He could feel the warmth of her body through the thin fabric, could smell the faint scent of jasmine from her shampoo. For a moment, he wanted to call it all off, to pull her away from the plan and take her somewhere far from this scheme. But the image rose unbidden: a small child with Mengmeng’s eyes, running through a sunlit yard, laughing. His child. His heir.

The longing was a physical pain, sharp and insistent.

Mengmeng twisted in his arms to face him, her hands coming up to cup his cheeks. “What’s wrong? You’ve been looking a little sad lately. Is it work?”

“No, just tired.” He kissed her forehead. “I want you to have a nice break. The countryside will be good for you. Fresh air, good food. Maybe…” He paused, the words catching in his throat.

“Maybe what?” Her eyes were so trusting, so full of love.

“Maybe we can try again out there, without the stress of the city. You know. To… relax.”

Her face turned crimson, and she buried it in his chest. “Jie! You always talk about that.”

“I can’t help it. I want a child with you more than anything.” That much, at least, was true.

She pulled back, and her expression softened into something dreamy. “I want that too. I’ve been thinking of names, actually. If it’s a boy, I like Zhang Xiaolong. And if it’s a girl… Zhang Meili. It sounds so pretty, don’t you think?”

“Beautiful names,” he said, and the words were sand in his mouth.

She turned back to the pile of clothes, chattering happily. “I should bring some of those baby books I’ve been reading. And maybe that lotion the doctor recommended. Oh, and the vitamins! I almost forgot the vitamins.” She darted into the bathroom, and Zhang Jie heard the rattle of bottles.

He stood frozen for a moment, then walked to his phone on the nightstand. His fingers trembled as he pulled up the contact. Uncle Daniu. He stared at the name for a long time, the cursor blinking mockingly at him. Then he pressed call.

It rang twice before a gruff voice answered. “Jie? What’s up, boy?”

“Uncle, I need to talk to you. About… what we discussed.”

There was a pause, and then a low chuckle. “The thing for Mengmeng?”

“Yes.” Zhang Jie swallowed. “We’ll be there tomorrow. I told her it’s just a relaxing trip to the countryside. She doesn’t know anything.”

“Good, good. You leave it to me. I’ve got plenty of experience with these things, you know. I’ll take care of everything—the timing, the method. She won’t suspect a thing.” Uncle Daniu’s voice was oily with confidence. “You just make sure she’s comfortable and happy. Let me handle the rest.”

Zhang Jie’s throat tightened. “Uncle, please… be gentle with her.”

“Of course, of course. She’s family, isn’t she? I’d never hurt a hair on her head. This is just helping out. Giving you what you want. And who knows, maybe it’ll be a blessing for me too—a single old man like me, finally getting to pass on something.” He laughed again, a rough, knowing sound.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Zhang Jie said, and hung up before he could hear more.

He stood still, the phone slick in his palm. From the bathroom came Mengmeng’s voice, humming a sweet, aimless tune. She emerged holding a bottle of prenatal vitamins, her face bright.

“I’m all packed! Well, almost. Do you think I need a hat? The sun might be strong.”

“Bring a hat,” he said, his voice hoarse.

She bounded over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for taking me, Jie.” Then she looked at him with sudden tenderness, her hand resting on her flat stomach. “Maybe this time, we’ll get our miracle.”

He could not meet her eyes. He turned toward the window, where the summer sun blazed through the glass, relentless and unforgiving.

The car rattled to a stop at the end of a winding dirt lane, and Mengmeng pressed her face to the window, her eyes wide with delight. The old countryside house stood before them, its whitewashed walls glowing softly in the fading afternoon light, climbing roses tangled around the wooden porch. A rooster strutted across the yard, and somewhere a dog barked lazily.

"Oh, Jie, look at the flowers!" Mengmeng pushed open the door before Zhang Jie could help her, stepping out into the tall grass. Her white dress caught the breeze, fluttering around her thighs. She spun in a slow circle, her short bob bouncing, her baby face flushed with wonder.

Zhang Jie watched her, his heart aching. He loved her so fiercely in that moment—her innocence, her joy. But the needle of guilt pricked sharper than ever. He forced a smile.

From the doorway, a big shadow emerged. Zhang Daniu wiped grease from his hands onto his overalls, his grin wide and yellowed. "So this is the bride! Welcome, welcome! The city girl comes to see how the country folk live."

Mengmeng giggled and ran to him, offering her hand. "Uncle Zhang, thank you for having us! The house is so charming. And you have chickens!"

"Yeah, they're a noisy bunch," Zhang Daniu said, his eyes sweeping over her figure. He kept his voice warm, avuncular. "Come in, come in. I've made a proper dinner. Nothing fancy, but hearty."

Inside, the house smelled of wood smoke and soy sauce. A simple table stood in the center of the kitchen, laden with braised pork, stir-fried greens, and a clay pot of steaming rice. Zhang Daniu gestured grandly. "Sit, sit. You must be starved from the drive."

Mengmeng settled onto a wooden stool, her white dress pooling around her. Zhang Jie sat beside her, his knee bouncing under the table. His uncle poured three cups of clear liquid from a ceramic bottle.

"Home-brewed sorghum liquor," Zhang Daniu said, sliding a cup to Mengmeng. "Tries it, girl. It'll warm your bones."

Mengmeng shook her head, her cheeks dimpling. "Oh no, Uncle. I don't drink. A little stomach issues, you know. Water is fine."

"Water, then," Zhang Daniu said, pushing a clay mug toward her. "Fresh from the well. Sweetest water you'll ever taste."

Zhang Jie's throat tightened. He watched as his uncle refilled his own cup, laughing about the harvest last year. The moment Mengmeng turned to admire the embroidered cloth on the sideboard, Zhang Jie's hand moved. He had crushed three sleeping pills into a fine powder in the car, stored in the fold of his pocket. His fingers trembled as he unrolled the paper, letting the powder cascade into the water. He stirred it with his thumb, his heart slamming against his ribs.

*This is for us,* he told himself. *For our family.*

Mengmeng took the mug and drank deeply. "Oh, it is sweet," she said, licking her lips. "Thank you, Uncle."

Dinner passed like a fever dream. Mengmeng chatted about the village, the fresh air, the old well in the yard. Zhang Jie answered in monosyllables. His gaze kept flicking to her mug, watching it drain.

By the time the dishes were cleared, Mengmeng's eyelids were drooping. She yawned, covering her mouth with a small hand. "I'm so tired all of a sudden. The country air must be—" Another yawn. "Making me sleepy."

Zhang Jie stood quickly, his chair scraping the floor. "Let me take you to bed. You must be exhausted from the journey."

He wrapped an arm around her waist, leading her down the narrow hallway to the small bedroom. The mattress was thin, the sheets clean but rough. Mengmeng sank onto it like a doll losing its strings, her head lolling to the side.

"Jie," she murmured, her words slurring. "Come to bed soon?"

"Soon," he whispered, pulling the quilt over her. "Sleep, sweetheart."

Her breathing deepened within minutes. Her lips parted, her face slack and trusting. She looked so young, so fragile, lying there in her white dress, now wrinkled from the drive.

Zhang Jie stood over her, his hands clenching and unclenching. *I can still stop,* a voice screamed inside him. *I can say no. I can take her home tomorrow.*

But then he pictured his mother's disappointed face. The silence in their apartment. The empty cradle that haunted the corner of their bedroom.

He turned and walked out.

Zhang Daniu was waiting in the sitting room, sitting on a low stool by the window. He looked up, his expression unreadable. "She is asleep?"

"Yes," Zhang Jie said. His voice cracked.

Zhang Daniu stood, his big frame blocking the fading light from the window. "Then why are you standing here? You know the plan."

"I know." Zhang Jie's hands were cold. He wiped his palms on his trousers. "Uncle, are you sure—"

"Sure of what?" Zhang Daniu stepped closer, his voice dropping low. "You came to me, boy. Not the other way around. You said your wife can't get pregnant. You said you need a strong child. I told you what I could do. Now you're having second thoughts?"

Zhang Jie shook his head, but his eyes were wet. "She trusts me. She's so innocent. She would never suspect me. That's what hurts. That's what makes me a monster."

Zhang Daniu's hand landed on his nephew's shoulder, heavy and grounding. "You're not a monster. You're a man who loves his wife and wants a legacy. This is the only way. She doesn't have to know. You'll tell her it's your child. You'll raise it together. She'll be happy. You'll be happy. Everyone wins."

Zhang Jie stood there, trembling. The air in the house felt thick, suffocating. He could hear the crickets outside, the creak of a floorboard settling.

Finally, he nodded. "Alright."

Zhang Daniu grinned and patted his shoulder once. "That's my boy. Wait here three minutes. Then come. But don't come too early." He turned and walked into the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him.

Zhang Jie stood alone in the dark hallway, listening to the silence. The clock on the wall ticked. His wife slept on, unaware. And he had just handed the only key to his uncle.

The late afternoon sun slanted through the curtains, casting long shadows across the bedroom floor. Zhang Daniu stood in the doorway, his broad frame filling the space as his eyes landed on Mengmeng's sleeping form. She lay on her side on the bed, one hand tucked under the pillow, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. A thin sheet covered her, but it did little to hide the soft curves beneath—the gentle swell of her hips, the full roundness of her breasts shifting with each breath. Daniu swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He had always known his nephew's wife was beautiful, but seeing her like this, vulnerable and unguarded, stirred something primal in him. His fingers twitched at his sides, and he had to force himself to look away.

Zhang Jie stood by the bedside table, his hands trembling slightly as he arranged the items—a clean test tube, a sterile syringe, a small vial of lubricant. He glanced at his uncle, then at Mengmeng's peaceful face. Guilt gnawed at him, a sharp, persistent ache behind his ribs. But he pushed it down, burying it under the weight of his desperation. "Just hands and tools, Uncle Daniu," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "No direct contact. She can't know."

Daniu nodded, but his eyes lingered on Mengmeng's parted lips, the way her breathing hitched slightly in her sleep. He stepped closer to the bed, his footsteps muffled by the carpet. "I understand," he said, his tone low and rough. "But I need to get the sample. That's the only way this works."

Zhang Jie handed him the test tube, his fingers brushing against his uncle's calloused palm. The contact made him flinch, but he forced himself to hold steady. "Take your time. Just… be quick."

Daniu took the test tube and positioned himself near the foot of the bed. He could smell the faint scent of jasmine from Mengmeng's shampoo, mixed with the warmth of her skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring it. Then, he began to work at his own body, his hand moving with practiced efficiency. But as the seconds passed, he felt no release. His muscles tensed, his brow furrowed, but nothing came. He grimaced, frustration building. "No sensation," he muttered, his voice tight. "I can't do it just like this. I need something more."

Zhang Jie's heart plummeted. He leaned over the bed, his eyes wide and anxious. "More? What else can I do? I told you—no direct contact."

Daniu let out a slow breath, his hand still gripping the test tube. "I know what you said. But I can't get there from nothing. The tools don't help." He shook his head, the test tube rolling in his palm. "I'm sorry, Jie. It's not going to work."

Desperation clawed at Zhang Jie's throat. He looked at Mengmeng, still sleeping, blissfully unaware of the scene unfolding around her. He had come this far. He couldn't stop now. "Alright," he said, his voice cracking. "Alright. Just… do what you have to. But only with the tube. Stay away from her skin."

Daniu nodded slowly, a flicker of triumph hidden behind his stoic expression. He adjusted his position, the test tube held close, and began again. This time, he let his mind wander—to the curve of Mengmeng's hip, the way her lips parted in sleep, the thought of her skin warm under his touch. The sensation built, and within moments, he felt the release, the warm liquid filling the tube. He let out a shuddering breath and handed it to Zhang Jie.

Zhang Jie took it with shaking hands, his face pale. "Good. Now I just need to—" He picked up the syringe, drawing the collected fluid into the chamber. His hands were clammy, slick with sweat. He moved toward Mengmeng, kneeling beside the bed. Gently, he lifted the sheet, exposing her lower body. She lay on her back now, her legs slightly parted in her sleep. He felt a wave of revulsion at himself, followed by a desperate, hollow need.

He positioned the syringe, aiming carefully. His thumb pressed the plunger, and a thin stream ejected onto her thigh, missing its target entirely. "Damn it," he hissed, his voice tight with panic. He wiped the mess with the sheet, his heart pounding. He tried again, but his hands were too unsteady. The liquid spilled again, dribbling down her skin.

Mengmeng stirred. A soft moan escaped her lips as she twisted in her sleep, her legs shifting, her body turning slightly toward him. Her face scrunched up, then relaxed, a faint smile crossing her lips as if she were dreaming of something pleasant.

Zhang Jie froze, his breath caught in his throat. Guilt slammed into him like a physical blow. He could see the trust in her sleeping face, the innocence she carried like a shield. And he was defiling it. He wanted to stop, to throw the syringe away and crawl into bed beside her, to hold her and confess everything. But the thought of children, of a family, of the legacy he craved, pushed him forward.

He took a deep breath, steadied his hand, and tried once more. This time, the stream landed closer, but not inside. He cursed under his breath, his eyes stinging with frustration and shame. Daniu watched from the door, arms crossed, a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Looks like it's harder than you thought," he said, his voice flat.

Zhang Jie didn't answer. He looked at Mengmeng's sleeping face, her beauty and purity a stark contrast to his own dark purpose. He set the syringe down on the table, his shoulders slumping. "Maybe tomorrow," he whispered, more to himself than to his uncle. "Tomorrow, I'll do it right." But even as he said it, he knew the guilt would only grow, festering like an infection in the depths of his soul.

The evening air hung thick and heavy in the small apartment, carrying the faint scent of sesame oil from dinner. Zhang Jie’s hands trembled as he rinsed the dishes, the porcelain clinking against the sink like a countdown. Behind him, in the living room, Mengmeng hummed a soft tune while folding laundry, her movements slow and content. She had no idea. How could she? Her trust in him was absolute, a fragile glass he was about to shatter.

Zhang Jie dried his hands and walked to the hallway where his uncle, Zhang Daniu, leaned against the wall with a knowing smirk. The older man’s eyes glittered under the dim bulb, his work-calloused hands resting on his belt.

“Uncle,” Zhang Jie whispered, his voice strained. “Go to the spare room. Watch something… you know. Just get it done. I’ll call you when she’s asleep.”

Zhang Daniu let out a low chuckle, the sound scraping against Zhang Jie’s nerves. “Fine, fine. Your little plan’s got legs, huh?” He slapped Zhang Jie’s shoulder and shuffled into the small room that doubled as storage, closing the door behind him.

Zhang Jie stood there, listening. The muffled sounds of a video—slick, synthetic moans and wet slaps—seeped through the thin door. He squeezed his eyes shut, guilt churning in his gut like spoiled food. *This is for us. For a child. It’s only biology.* But the excuse tasted like ash.

Twenty minutes passed. Twenty agonizing minutes of pacing the living room while Mengmeng yawned and kissed his cheek, retreating to their bedroom. Finally, the spare room door creaked open. Zhang Daniu stepped out, his jeans still buttoned, his face unreadable.

“Well?” Zhang Jie demanded, hating the desperation in his voice.

Zhang Daniu shook his head, scratching his stubbled jaw. “Sorry, nephew. Watching that stuff… just ain’t doing it tonight. My blood’s not flowing, you know? I need something real. A glimpse, maybe. Some… stimulation.”

Zhang Jie’s stomach dropped. “What are you saying?”

“Let me sit by her bed. Just for a minute. I’ll take care of it myself, quiet as a mouse.” Zhang Daniu’s voice was low, reasonable, but his eyes held a dark glint. “You want my seed, don’t you? Then give me something to work with.”

The silence stretched like a wire about to snap. Zhang Jie thought of Mengmeng’s trusting smile, her soft body curled under the sheets, her belly flat and waiting. He thought of the empty nursery, the pitying glances from neighbors. He nodded, the motion jerky and wrong.

“Fine. But only beside the bed. Don’t touch her. Don’t make a sound.”

They crept into the bedroom. The nightlight cast a soft orange glow across Mengmeng’s sleeping form. She lay on her side, her hair fanning over the pillow, her lips slightly parted. A thin blanket covered her from shoulder to calf, but one foot peeked out, pale and delicate.

Zhang Daniu lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, his weight creaking the mattress. Zhang Jie stood frozen by the door, his heart hammering. His uncle unzipped his pants with a soft rasp, and the sound of his own breathing grew ragged. The room filled with the metallic scent of his arousal.

Minutes crawled by. Zhang Jie watched his uncle’s hand move, a rhythmic, practiced motion. But nothing happened. No climax, no release. Zhang Daniu’s face was taut, his brow furrowed in concentration, yet his hand slowed, then stopped.

“Damn it,” he muttered, barely audible. “It’s no good. I need more… more *real*.” He looked at Zhang Jie, his eyes dark and pleading. “Let me just see a little skin. It’ll get me there, I swear.”

Before Zhang Jie could answer, Mengmeng stirred. She turned over in her sleep, her bare thigh slipping free of the blanket. The skin was smooth and pale, catching the dim light like polished cream. It curved from her hip to just above her knee, flawless.

Zhang Daniu’s breath hitched. His hand resumed its motion, faster now, his gaze fixed on that exposed thigh. His jaw tightened, and a low growl rumbled in his throat.

Zhang Jie’s nails bit into his palms. He wanted to scream, to shove his uncle out, to cover his wife. But his feet were rooted, and his voice was dead. He could only watch as Zhang Daniu’s eyes burned with a hunger that had nothing to do with children or plans—only raw, selfish desire.

The workshop was stifling, thick with the smell of burnt copper and stale sweat. Zhang Daniu wiped his hands on his already greasy trousers, a sly grin playing on his lips as he eyed the small, unassuming glass vial on his workbench. The semen sample, still warm from Zhang Jie's nervous hands just an hour earlier, glistened under the bare bulb. He picked it up, swirling it gently, watching the viscous fluid coat the glass. "A shame, really," he muttered to himself, his voice low and rough. "A fine specimen, but it's not your time, boy."

He flicked on a small propane torch, adjusting the flame to a precise, near-invisible blue. With a practiced hand, he held the vial a few inches above the flame, rotating it slowly. He wasn't boiling it—that would be too obvious, too crude. No, he needed a gentle, sustained heat, just enough to render the swimmers sluggish, lifeless, useless. He counted under his breath, a rhythm he'd honed over months of this secret ritual. Thirty seconds. Forty. Fifty. The glass grew warm to the touch, but not hot. Satisfied, he set it down on the cool metal surface, watching the fluid settle. Deactivated. Perfect.

He corked the vial and slipped it into a small leather pouch, then headed out to the living room where Zhang Jie paced like a caged animal. The younger man's face was pale, his hands trembling slightly. "Uncle, is it ready?"

"Easy, boy." Daniu handed over the pouch with a paternal clap on the shoulder. "It's all there. Just follow the instructions I gave you. The tube, the syringe—gentle. She won't feel a thing if you're careful."

Zhang Jie clutched the pouch as if it were a holy relic. "Thank you, Uncle. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Ah, family helps family." Daniu's smile was warm, his eyes hooded. "Now go. Your wife's waiting."

That night, the bedroom was dim, lit only by a single bedside lamp. Mengmeng lay on her back, her plump body soft and trusting, a thin sheet pulled up to her chin. Her baby face was serene, her dark hair fanned across the pillow. Zhang Jie sat beside her, the test tube and syringe hidden in his palm, his heart hammering. He'd practiced the motion a dozen times in the bathroom—draw the semen into the syringe, attach the soft catheter, insert it gently into her vagina, and depress the plunger. Simple. Clinical. It felt monstrous.

"Jie, what's wrong?" Mengmeng's voice was sleepy, laced with affection. "You've been quiet all evening."

"Just... tired, sweetheart." He leaned down and kissed her forehead, tasting the faint salt of her skin. "Close your eyes. I'm going to take care of you, okay?"

She giggled, a soft, girlish sound. "You're always taking care of me." She obeyed, her eyelids fluttering shut, her lips curved in a trusting smile.

He positioned himself under the sheet, his movements hidden. The catheter slid in with a slight resistance, and he held his breath. Mengmeng tensed for a second, then relaxed. "Mmm, what was that?"

"Just my hand, darling. Relax." He depressed the plunger, emptying the warm fluid into her. The act felt hollow, a mechanical betrayal of everything intimate between them. He withdrew the catheter and discarded it into a paper towel, then lay beside her, his arm around her waist. She snuggled into him, her breath evening out into sleep.

Weeks passed. They repeated the ritual—Daniu heating the sample, Zhang Jie injecting it, Mengmeng drifting into oblivious slumber. Each time, Zhang Jie's hope dwindled. Each morning, Mengmeng would wake, rub her belly, and look at him with those wide, trusting eyes. And then the question would come, always the same, always crushing.

One morning, as sunlight streamed through the curtains, she propped herself up on an elbow. Her nightgown had slipped, revealing a creamy shoulder. "Jie," she whispered, her voice shy and hopeful, "when will we have a baby? I've been feeling so... ready. I want a little you running around."

Zhang Jie froze, his hand frozen mid-reach for his glasses. The words hit him like a physical blow. He saw the pure, unsuspecting love in her face, the innocent desire for a child she believed they were trying for. And he knew, with a sickening clarity, that his uncle's method had failed—or perhaps Daniu's method was the failure. The real failure was his own cowardice.

He broke. His shoulders shook, and a dry, ragged sob escaped his throat. "Mengmeng... I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Her face crumpled with concern. She sat up, pulling him into her arms, her hands stroking his hair. "What's wrong? Tell me. Please."

He couldn't. He couldn't tell her about the vials, the injections, the sterile, loveless ritual. All he could do was hold her and let the tears fall. And in that moment of wretchedness, a dark resolve took root. He needed a different solution. A real solution. A man's solution.

Later that day, he found Daniu in the workshop, fiddling with a tangle of wires. The uncle looked up, his expression carefully neutral. "No luck again, eh?"

"It's not working." Zhang Jie's voice was flat, defeated. "The temperature, the handling, something's wrong. Or maybe it's me. I can't do it right."

Daniu set down his pliers, crossing his thick arms. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying—" Zhang Jie swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I want you to do it. Directly. No test tube, no syringe. Just... you and her. Please, Uncle. I can't bear to see her disappointed anymore."

The silence stretched, punctuated only by the hum of an old refrigerator. Daniu's heart jumped, a wild, triumphant beat. He schooled his face into a mask of reluctance, furrowing his brow, stroking his chin. "Jie, that's... that's a serious thing. Your wife. She's innocent. She trusts you. If she ever found out—"

"She won't. We'll do it the same way, at night, when she's half asleep. She'll think it's me. I'll... I'll prepare her." Zhang Jie's voice cracked. "Please. I'm begging you."

Daniu let out a long, heavy sigh, shaking his head slowly. "I don't like it. It's a sin, boy. But... for family? For your bloodline?" He paused, letting the weight of the sacrifice sink in. "I'll do it. Once. If it doesn't take, we stop."

"Yes. Once. Thank you, Uncle." Zhang Jie's relief was palpable, pathetic.

Daniu clapped him on the shoulder, his grip firm. "Don't thank me yet. We'll see how this goes."

As Zhang Jie turned and walked away, shoulders still slumped, Daniu allowed himself a slow, wicked smile. His hands itched with anticipation. He'd waited months for this, for the moment the boy's desperation would override his shame. And now, the prize—Mengmeng's soft, trusting body, ripe and willing, believing she was in her husband's arms.

He picked up a fresh vial, holding it to the light. This time, there would be no heating. This time, the sample would be potent, virile, ready. This time, he would make sure his own seed took root. And Zhang Jie, the fool, would thank him for it.

The evening air was thick with the scent of jasmine from the garden, drifting through the open window of the bedroom. Zhang Jie stood by the nightstand, his hand trembling slightly as he held the small white pill. He had crushed it into a fine powder and stirred it into Mengmeng’s evening tea, a cup of chamomile she loved to drink before bed. She sat on the edge of the bed, her round face glowing under the soft lamplight, her hair tied in a loose bun. She smiled at him, that innocent, trusting smile that made his stomach twist.

“Did you add extra honey tonight?” she asked, taking the porcelain cup from his hand. Her fingers brushed his, warm and soft. “It tastes a little different.”

“Just a bit more,” he said, his voice steady despite the pounding in his chest. “To help you sleep.”

She giggled, a light, melodic sound. “I don’t need help sleeping when I’m with you, Jiejie.” She took a sip, then another, her lips parting as she drank. He watched her throat move with each swallow, counting the seconds. She finished the cup and handed it back to him, her eyelids already beginning to droop. “Mm, I feel so relaxed,” she murmured, lying back on the pillows. “Come to bed soon, okay?”

“Soon,” he promised, setting the cup aside. He watched her eyes close, her breathing slowing, her chest rising and falling under the thin fabric of her nightgown. He waited five minutes, then ten, until her body was completely limp, her face peaceful, her lips slightly parted. She was in a deep sleep, drugged by his own hand.

The door creaked open. Zhang Daniu stepped in, his heavy boots muffled by the rug. He was a large man, thick-necked and broad-shouldered, with a weathered face and small, greedy eyes. He had been waiting in the living room, pacing like a caged animal. Now he stood at the foot of the bed, his gaze fixed on Mengmeng’s sleeping form. “She’s out?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

Zhang Jie nodded, not trusting his own voice. His uncle grinned, a flash of yellowed teeth, and began unbuckling his belt. The sound of leather sliding through loops was obscenely loud in the quiet room. Zhang Daniu dropped his pants to his ankles, then his underwear. Zhang Jie’s eyes involuntarily dropped. He had seen his uncle naked before, in the communal bathhouse, but never like this, never with such deliberate intent. The organ that stood erect between his uncle’s thighs was thick and long, at least eighteen centimeters, veined and dark. A surge of revulsion and jealousy shot through Zhang Jie. He looked away, his jaw clenched.

“Don’t be nervous,” Zhang Daniu said, climbing onto the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. “I’ll be gentle with her. You want a child, don’t you? This is the only way.” He knelt beside Mengmeng, his hands hovering over her body. Zhang Jie forced himself to watch, his fists balled at his sides.

Zhang Daniu reached out and slowly, almost reverently, parted Mengmeng’s legs. The nightgown rode up, revealing the smooth, pale skin of her thighs. She didn’t stir. He spread her knees wide, and Zhang Jie could see the delicate folds of her sex, completely bare, as pink as a flower bud. A rosy pink, innocent, untouched except by him. Zhang Daniu let out a low, shuddering breath. “Fuck,” he whispered. “She’s like a little girl down here. No hair at all.”

“Shut up,” Zhang Jie hissed, his voice cracking.

But Zhang Daniu was beyond listening. He positioned himself, his massive body looming over Mengmeng. He took his penis in his hand, guided it to her opening, and pressed. The head slid against her wetness—her body had responded even in sleep, a cruel betrayal of her innocence. He pushed slowly, inch by inch, his face contorted with concentration and pleasure. Zhang Jie watched, his stomach churning. The sight of his uncle’s thick shaft disappearing into his wife’s body made him want to vomit. He saw her face twitch, her brow furrowing in her sleep, a small frown creasing her forehead. But she did not wake. Her lips moved slightly, forming a silent word, perhaps his name, perhaps a protest lost in the depths of the drug.

Zhang Daniu paused, buried fully inside her. He let out a long, satisfied groan. “Tight,” he breathed. “So tight. You lucky bastard.”

Zhang Jie stood frozen, guilt and jealousy warring inside him. He had done this. He had brought this man into his bed, into his wife’s body. And now he could not look away, could not stop the tears that burned behind his eyes. He watched his uncle begin to move, slow and deep, and he felt a piece of his soul wither and die.

The night had finally come. Zhang Jie stood in the dimly lit bedroom, his hands trembling as he watched his uncle, Zhang Daniu, enter through the back door. The air was thick with tension, the only sound the soft hum of the ceiling fan.

"Remember," Zhang Jie said, his voice a hoarse whisper, "no touching. Only insert. You don't touch her body anywhere else."

Zhang Daniu nodded, his eyes already fixed on the sleeping figure of Mengmeng on the bed. She lay on her side, her voluptuous curves visible even under the thin sheet. Her baby face was peaceful, her lips slightly parted. She had no idea what was about to happen.

"I understand, nephew," Daniu replied, his voice low and rough. "Just the job. Nothing more."

Zhang Jie's heart clenched. He watched as Daniu moved closer to the bed, his uncle's hands hovering over Mengmeng's body. The rule was clear—no contact except for what was necessary. Jie had set it to protect what little dignity remained in this twisted plan. But every fiber of his being screamed to stop it.

Daniu pulled back the sheet, revealing Mengmeng's bare legs. She stirred slightly but didn't wake. Zhang Jie had given her a mild sleeping pill earlier, claiming it was for her anxiety. The guilt burned in his stomach.

With practiced silence, Daniu positioned himself. He parted her thighs gently, careful not to let his fingers linger. Zhang Jie watched from the shadows, his jaw clenched so tight it ached.

Daniu entered her slowly. He was thick and long, and even in her sleep, Mengmeng's body responded. A soft moan escaped her lips. Daniu began to thrust, each motion deliberate and controlled.

Then Zhang Jie noticed something unusual. A faint, sweet fragrance filled the room—like honeysuckle and fresh cream. It was coming from Mengmeng. Her body was secreting that fragrant liquid, a natural response he had never witnessed before. His wife had always been sensitive, but this was different. The scent intoxicated the air, and Daniu’s nostrils flared.

"Easy," Zhang Jie hissed from the corner. "Remember the rule."

Daniu grunted, his knuckles white as he gripped the headboard instead of Mengmeng's hips. He wanted to touch her, to feel her soft skin under his calloused hands. But Jie's rule held him back. He could only thrust, his body sheathed inside her, while his hands remained at his sides.

Mengmeng's body began to move in response. A slight spasm ran through her thighs. Then another. Her toes curled. Zhang Jie's heart ached as he saw pleasure flicker across her sleeping face. She was enjoying this—not fully aware, but her body knew. And that knowledge cut him deeper than any blade.

Daniu continued, his breathing ragged. The fragrant liquid made the act smoother, warmer. He fought the urge to speed up, to grip her waist and drive deeper. But he obeyed. For now.

After what felt like an eternity, Daniu shuddered. He pulled out abruptly, leaving a trail of his seed on the sheet. Without a word, he dressed quickly and left through the back door, his duty done.

Zhang Jie waited until he heard the door click shut. Then he stripped off his own clothes and climbed onto the bed. He positioned himself behind Mengmeng, pressing his body against hers. She was still warm, still slick with the evidence of what had happened.

He entered her in one smooth motion. Mengmeng stirred, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "Mmm... husband..."

"It's me," Zhang Jie whispered, his voice breaking. "It's me, baby."

He thrust, faster and harder than he ever had before. He needed to erase the memory of what had just happened, to replace it with his own. Mengmeng moaned, her hips rising to meet his. Her body accepted him eagerly, still sensitive from the earlier encounter.

When he finished, he held her close, burying his face in her hair. Tears streamed down his face, but he made no sound.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains. Mengmeng stretched like a cat, a lazy smile on her lips. She turned to face Zhang Jie, who lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

She snuggled into his chest, her voice soft and coy. "Honey, you were so fierce tonight. I barely remember anything, but... wow." She giggled, her cheeks flushing.

Zhang Jie forced a smile. His hand trembled as he stroked her hair. "You liked it?"

"I loved it," she whispered. "I want to have your baby, Jie. I want it so much."

He closed his eyes, the weight of his secret pressing down on him. "I want that too, Mengmeng. More than anything."

The summer heat clung to the small bedroom like a second skin. Zhang Jie sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the pregnancy test stick on the nightstand. Its single line glared back at him, mocking and final. He had watched Mengmeng pee on it that morning, held her hand while they waited the agonizing three minutes, and felt her hopeful squeeze turn into a limp, trembling release when the result stayed stubbornly negative.

Again.

Month after month. The calendar on the kitchen wall was marked with red circles, X’s, little hearts—a desperate cartography of fertility. Zhang Jie knew every date by heart, had timed their lovemaking with the precision of a man trying to thread a needle in a hurricane. But the needle never went through. The hurricane just kept blowing.

“Maybe I should see a doctor,” Mengmeng had whispered last night, her voice small and bruised. She lay curled against his chest, her soft hair spilling over his arm. “Maybe there’s something wrong with me.”

“No.” The word came out too sharp, too fast. He softened his tone, kissed the top of her head. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re perfect.”

But he knew the lie tasted like ash on his tongue. He had already gone to the clinic alone, sat in the sterile waiting room, given the sample. The results had come back in a sealed envelope that he had torn open in his truck, parked behind the hardware store. Low sperm count. Low motility. The doctor had used words like “reduced fertility” and “possible treatments,” but all Zhang Jie had heard was a death sentence for his dream of a son, a daughter, a family that looked like him and Mengmeng mixed together.

He hadn’t told her. He couldn’t. The shame was a fist in his throat.

Now, as the afternoon sun slanted through the dusty window, his uncle Zhang Daniu leaned against the doorframe, wiping grease from his hands with a rag. He had come to fix the faulty ceiling fan, but the job was done, and the fan spun lazily overhead, doing little to stir the thick air.

“Still no luck?” Daniu’s voice was casual, but his eyes held a knowing glint.

Zhang Jie didn’t answer. He just picked up the test stick and tossed it into the trash can beside the desk.

Daniu walked over, sat down on the wooden chair across from the bed, and stretched his legs out. He was a big man, broad-shouldered and thick-necked, with hands that looked like they could crush stone. But those hands moved with surprising gentleness when he worked on wires and circuits. He was forty-three, never married, and everyone in the family whispered that he had “needs” he took care of in the city, with women who didn’t ask questions.

“You know,” Daniu said slowly, scratching the stubble on his jaw, “maybe the problem ain’t just biology.”

Zhang Jie looked up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Daniu leaned forward, lowering his voice, “sometimes the body needs extra… encouragement. Especially when a man is stressed. And you, nephew, are about as stressed as a cat in a bathtub.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re wound up tighter than a spring. And that affects… performance. Depth. Duration.” Daniu’s eyes flickered toward the bedroom door, where Mengmeng was taking her afternoon nap. “The woman needs to be fully stimulated for the seed to take root. That’s just farming sense.”

Zhang Jie’s jaw tightened. “We’ve tried everything. Positions. Timing. The doctor said—”

“Doctors don’t know everything.” Daniu waved a dismissive hand. “Look, I’ve been around. I’ve seen things. Sometimes a man’s body needs a little help to get where it needs to go. And sometimes…” He paused, letting the silence hang. “Sometimes the woman needs to be so aroused that her body opens up completely. Every nerve awake. Every muscle relaxed. That’s when conception happens.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Zhang Jie’s voice was bitter. “I’m already doing everything I can.”

“You’re doing what you can. But maybe you’re missing something.” Daniu stood up, walked to the window, looked out at the empty street. “Maybe she needs more than just you. More touch. More stimulation. From someone who knows what they’re doing.”

The words hit Zhang Jie like a slap. He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “What are you saying?”

Daniu turned, his expression calm, almost paternal. “I’m saying I could help. Just touching. Nothing more. You’d be right there. I’d just… prepare her. Get her body ready. Make sure every nerve is firing. Then you do the rest. It’s not like I’d be replacing you. I’d be setting the stage.”

“That’s insane.”

“Is it?” Daniu stepped closer. “You love her, don’t you? You want a child. You want to see her belly swell with your baby. You want to hold your son or daughter in your arms. Is a little temporary discomfort worth that?” He put a heavy hand on Zhang Jie’s shoulder. “I’m not asking for anything for myself. I’m doing this for you. For the family.”

Zhang Jie shook his head, but the image had already planted itself in his mind: Mengmeng, her pale skin flushed, her lips parted, her body arching under someone else’s hands. His stomach churned. But then another image followed: Mengmeng holding a baby, her face radiant with joy. The two images warred in his chest, twisting and tangling until he couldn’t tell which was real and which was nightmare.

“She’s asleep,” Daniu said, nodding toward the bedroom door. “She won’t even know. She’ll think it’s you. And when she wakes up, you’ll be there, and she’ll be relaxed, ready. It could work.”

“No.” The word came out weak.

Daniu didn’t push. He just walked to the door, paused, and looked back. “Think about it. For the family, Zhang Jie. For your future.”

He left. The front door clicked shut. The ceiling fan hummed its useless circle.

Zhang Jie stood frozen for a long time. Then, slowly, he walked to the bedroom. Mengmeng lay on her side, curled into a loose fetal position, her cheek pressed against the pillow. She wore a thin summer nightgown, pale pink, with tiny flowers printed on it. The fabric had ridden up slightly, exposing her thighs—smooth, creamy, flawless. She was breathing softly, her lips slightly parted, one hand tucked under her chin. She looked like a sleeping doll. Innocent. Trusting.

He sat on the edge of the bed, watching her. The guilt was a live thing, gnawing at his ribs. But beneath the guilt, something darker stirred. A desperate, selfish hunger for a child. For proof that he was a man, a real man, capable of creation. The shame of his low count was a secret he couldn’t bear. Daniu’s suggestion was obscene, but it also offered a twisted hope: if Mengmeng was more aroused, if her body was more receptive, maybe the sperm that did exist would find its target.

He thought of his mother, who had cried when she learned he was married, and whispered, “Give me a grandchild before I die.” He thought of his father, who never said much, but whose eyes always lingered on other people’s babies with a longing that hurt to see.

He thought of Mengmeng, who had said just last week, “I want to give you a son so badly. I dream about it.”

His hand moved before he fully decided. He reached out and touched her thigh. The skin was warm, impossibly soft. She stirred slightly, a small sound escaping her throat, but didn’t wake.

“It’s just me,” he whispered, though she couldn’t hear. “I’m just… getting you ready.”

He heard the front door open again. Footsteps. Daniu had come back. Zhang Jie didn’t turn around. He kept his hand on Mengmeng’s thigh, his heart hammering.

Daniu stepped into the doorway. He didn’t say anything. He just watched.

Zhang Jie closed his eyes. The shame was a fire, but the need was a flood. He nodded once, barely perceptible.

Daniu crossed the room. His footsteps were heavy on the wooden floor. He stood beside the bed, looking down at Mengmeng. Then he knelt, his big frame folding with surprising grace, and placed his hand just above Zhang Jie’s on her thigh.

“Easy,” Daniu murmured. “We’ll do it slow. She won’t feel a thing.”

But she did.

As Daniu’s rough fingers traced a slow path upward, ghosting over the hem of her nightgown, Mengmeng’s breath hitched. She shifted in her sleep, rolling onto her back, her head tilting to the side. A soft moan escaped her lips, unconscious, primal.

Zhang Jie’s insides twisted. He wanted to stop it, to shove Daniu away, to wake her up and beg for forgiveness. But his hand stayed where it was, trembling.

Daniu’s hand moved higher, brushing the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip. His thumb pressed gently into the soft flesh, circling, testing. “She’s responsive,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “Good. That’s good.”

Mengmeng’s lips parted further. Her chest rose and fell faster. In the dim light, Zhang Jie could see the flush spreading across her cheeks, down her neck. She was responding to the touch—not as a violation, but as a caress. Her body thought it was his.

That was the worst part.

Daniu slid his hand around to the small of her back, his fingers splaying wide. He leaned close, his breath warm against her shoulder. “She’s ready,” he said. “You take over now.”

Zhang Jie stared at his wife’s face. She was smiling in her sleep, a soft, contented smile. She trusted him. She loved him. And he had just allowed another man to touch her, to feel her, to map the landscape of her body while she lay vulnerable and dreaming.

His hand moved, placing himself between Daniu and Mengmeng, shielding her from his uncle’s gaze. “Get out,” he said, his voice cracking.

Daniu stood, unhurried. He wiped his hand on his pants, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Whenever you need me,” he said, and walked out.

Zhang Jie didn’t watch him leave. He pulled Mengmeng close, burying his face in her hair, breathing in her scent. She stirred, murmured his name, and nestled deeper into his arms.

He held her, but the warmth between them felt like ice. He had opened a door he couldn’t close, and the draft was already creeping in.