The sharp tang of nail polish clawed at my nostrils, a chemical sting that made my eyes water. I was crouched under Fu Xiaoya's bed, dust tickling my throat, my heart hammering so loud I swore she'd hear it. I hadn't meant to end up here—not like this, not hiding like some thief in the night. But the photo album, the one with Mom's fading smile tucked between its pages, was somewhere in her room. I'd only slipped in to grab it, to hold onto the one piece of my past that still felt real. But then she'd come home early, her heels clicking on the hardwood, and I'd panicked, diving beneath the bed like a cornered rat.
Achoo!
The sneeze ripped out of me before I could stop it, loud and traitorous. The tiny glass bottle of polish slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a sharp 'clink' that echoed like a gunshot in my ears. To me, it was a death knell.
I froze, my mind a blank void of terror. *This is it. I'm screwed.*
Fu Xiaoya's head tilted down slowly, her eyes finding mine in the dim shadow beneath the bedframe. For a fleeting moment, shock widened her gaze—those sharp, almond eyes that always seemed to cut right through me. Then her lips twisted into a cold, contemptuous smile, the kind that could slice through bone.
"Get. Out."
Her voice was calm—too calm, like the still air before a storm breaks. My face burned as I crawled out, clumsy and humiliated, clutching the hem of my shirt like it could anchor me. My hands trembled, my knees scraped against the floor, and I stood before her like a criminal caught red-handed.
"I… I'm sorry, sis…" My voice was barely a whisper, choked with shame.
*Slap!*
Her hand cracked across my face, the sting blooming hot and immediate. My ears rang, the room tilting as I staggered.
"You pathetic creep!" she spat, her eyes blazing with disgust, her voice sharp enough to draw blood. "Hiding under my bed, watching me like some sick pervert? Do you ever look in the mirror? With that disgusting face, you think you can *have* me? Pah! You make me want to vomit!"
"I—I wasn't—" My hand flew to my burning cheek, words stumbling out in a desperate rush. "I just came to get my photo album…"
Another *slap* landed, this one harder, leaving my head spinning and my vision blurred. I tasted copper on my tongue.
"Save it!" she snapped, cutting through my protest like a blade. "You were in my room to pull something filthy, don't even try to deny it. You're a perverted loser with no shame!"
"I didn't…" My voice cracked, weak and useless.
"Well, you have now." She gave a cruel little laugh, bending to snatch her stockings from the floor. With a deliberate tug, she tore them at the crotch, dangling the ripped fabric in front of me like a prosecutor presenting evidence. "Look at this, Zhou Yan. Look at what you've done."
Rage surged in my chest, hot and wild, but guilt and fear smothered it before it could catch fire. I wanted to scream, to tell her she was wrong, that I wasn't what she thought. But the words died in my throat, crushed under the weight of her stare.
"Listen," she said, her voice dropping low, dripping with menace. "If you're any kind of man, you'll leave this house tonight and *never* come back. Or…" She let the word hang, her eyes glinting like polished knives. "I tell Dad. And then? He'll beat you to death."
The threat landed like a punch to the gut. Dad. Lately, he was a walking disaster, his business crumbling under the weight of failed ventures—pagers that no one wanted, those clunky "Little Smart" cellphones that tanked just as fast. He came home every night reeking of cheap liquor, his temper a live wire, his apologies to Xu Li slurred and pathetic. To me, he offered nothing but curses, his eyes full of hate. Xu Li—Fu Xiaoya's mother—hadn't helped. She'd quit her job to play the doting housewife, spending her days dabbling in fortune-telling, whispering to Dad that I was his cosmic curse, that our stars were misaligned, destined to clash. And Dad, desperate for someone to blame, believed every word.
If Fu Xiaoya told him I'd tried something with her… I wouldn't just be kicked out. I'd be lucky to crawl away with my bones intact.
"I'll go," I said, the words scraping out of me like broken glass. My fists unclenched, my shoulders sagged. My chest felt hollow, like something vital had been carved out.
"Good." Her smirk widened, sharp and triumphant. "Remember this: You're a worthless coward. No woman will ever want you. You're doomed to die a virgin. Forever."
The words burned hotter than her slaps, each syllable a blade twisting in my gut. The cruelest insult a man could take, and she knew it. But I swallowed it, all of it, the shame and the rage and the despair, letting them settle in my stomach like poison.
I turned, numb, and shuffled to my room. My hands moved on autopilot, grabbing my ID and the two thousand yuan I'd scraped together from tutoring kids who barely listened. Then I walked out, the door clicking shut behind me, soft as a whisper but heavy as a coffin lid.
The night swallowed me whole. The wind howled, biting at my skin as I drifted down the streets like a dead leaf, a hollow shell with no soul, only despair. Through glowing windows, I glimpsed families gathered around steaming plates, their laughter warm and distant, like a language I'd forgotten. They were whole. I was nothing—a ghost without a home.
I thought of Mom, her face a blurry memory from before the divorce. We hadn't spoken in months, maybe years. Did I still matter to her? Even a little? I found a phone booth, its glass streaked with grime, and fed coins into the slot with trembling hands. I dialed her number, the one I still knew by heart.
It rang. And rang.
No answer.
I tried again. And again. Each unanswered ring chipped away at the fragile hope I'd clung to. Finally, I stepped back into the cold, my eyes burning, my breath fogging in the wind. "Where do I even go?"
I wandered aimlessly—down endless streets, through a park where the swings creaked in the breeze, into a narrow alley that smelled of garbage, then back to the main road. Midnight crept in, the lights growing sparse, the air colder, my heart darker still. Exhaustion dragged at my limbs, and I stumbled into a shabby little place called Sunrise Inn. The landlady, a woman with a smoker's rasp and eyes like a hawk, sized me up like I was an easy mark.
"One hundred for the night," she said, her tone daring me to argue.
Robbery. But I was too tired to fight. I peeled the bills from my fist, took the key, and trudged to the room. When I pushed open the door, a small card slipped to the floor, fluttering like a fallen leaf.
Curious, I picked it up—and froze.
A photo of a woman stared back at me, bare shoulders framed by heavy makeup, her smile practiced and hollow. Below, in bold, shameless letters: Factory girls, College girls, Lonely housewives, Home massage services. A red phone number glared at me from the bottom.
I knew what it meant. Everyone at school had whispered about things like this, their voices hushed but eager, swapping stories they probably made up. Disgust curled in my gut, and I nearly tossed the card—until Fu Xiaoya's words sliced through my skull again.
Worthless coward. Die a virgin.
Heat surged through me, shame twisting into defiance. My fingers tightened around the card, bending its edges. "Fine," I thought, my pulse pounding. I won't die a virgin. Not tonight.
Tonight, I'd stop being a joke.
My hands shook as I picked up the phone and dialed the number. A man's voice answered almost instantly, low and oily.
"You looking for a massage?"
My throat was dry, my voice barely a croak. "…Yes."
"What type you want?"
"I—I don't know…" My voice cracked, betraying me.
He chuckled, a sly, knowing sound. "First time, huh? Don't worry, I'll send you a good one. Eight hundred for an hour. No overnights. Price is fixed."
Eight hundred. A fortune to me, half my savings gone in a single hour. But I gritted my teeth and said, "Yes." Gave him the room number. Hung up before I could change my mind.
My heart pounded so hard it hurt. Eighteen years old, and I'd never even held a girl's hand. Now a woman—a "real" woman—was coming to my door. What would she be like? My mind spun, conjuring images of soft curves and sultry smiles, equal parts thrilling and terrifying.
I showered, the hot water doing nothing to calm my nerves. Brushed my teeth twice, though my stomach growled, empty since morning. I paced the room like a caged animal, nerves sizzling, fear and excitement tangling in my veins. Every creak of the floorboards made me jump.
Half an hour crawled by, each minute heavier than the last.
Then—knock, knock.
I swallowed hard, my palms slick with sweat, and opened the door.
A girl stood there, her face half-hidden by a mask, her body wrapped in a tight dress that clung to every curve. Black stockings, high heels, a figure so perfect it stole my breath. Her eyes—wide, dark pools—locked onto mine, and for a moment, they flickered with shock.
Then recognition hit me like a truck.
Even with the mask, I knew that smooth forehead, those sharp cheekbones. And when her voice burst out, hoarse with rage, there was no mistaking it.
Fu Xiaoya.
"…You?" My voice broke, barely audible. My hands shook, my mind reeling.
Her eyes darted up and down the hall, frantic, before she shoved me inside and kicked the door shut. The mask came off, revealing her face, crimson with fury. She grabbed my collar, her nails digging into the fabric, and hissed, "Zhou Yan! You worthless piece of trash! Pretend to be all innocent at home, and now you're out here buying women? You're filth. Lower than a dog!"
"I—I'm not—" My voice cracked, my hands raised in defense. "You've got it wrong—"
"Wrong? Ha!" She snatched the card from the nightstand, waving it in my face like a weapon. "Caught red-handed, and you're still denying it? You disgusting loser! Can't get a girlfriend, so you have to—"
She stopped, mid-sentence, her eyes widening as something shifted in the air between us.
And then I laughed—a bitter, shaking sound that clawed its way out of me. I stepped closer, my voice low, sharp as a blade.
"Sis," I said slowly, each word deliberate, "if I came here looking for a woman… why are " you" the one who showed up?"
Her face froze, her grip on my collar loosening. For the first time, I saw something flicker in her eyes—fear, maybe, or shame. The room felt smaller, the air thick with the weight of what neither of us could unsee.
I didn't know what came next, but for once, I wasn't the only one caught in the trap.