Chapter 55: I’m Ready, Come On

“Cheng Simin, don’t be so polite—let me handle it...”

Shi Ying followed her to the sink, reaching out to take the plate from her hands. His gentlemanly spirit wouldn’t allow Cheng Simin to wash dishes in his home—it was hard labor, something better suited for someone stronger and more capable.

Besides, doing chores for a girlfriend was only natural. Whether it was mopping the floor, washing clothes, or performing manual labor, none of it was beneath him.

But Cheng Simin insisted on competing with him over even this small task. She bumped him with her round, corgi-like butt, pushing him aside as her soapy hands scrubbed the plate with a “squeak-squeak” sound.

Her expression showed slight impatience. “Oh, stop being polite. One plate and two pots? That’s nothing. Go answer the door already. My hands are all wet—you’re just getting in the way.”

Lovers naturally wanted to help each other in every little detail, which showed how much Cheng Simin cared about him. She also seemed concerned about whether his dry hands would get wet.

Shi Ying felt happy inside, and words bubbled out of him like soap bubbles, flowing endlessly from his throat.

Just walking from the kitchen to the front door, he chirped incessantly, like a sparrow.

“Did you order bubble tea? Or ice cream?”

“Tell me your favorite desserts—I’ll take care of ordering them for you in the future. Spending a little money to make my girlfriend happy isn’t an issue. Please, don’t save money on my account—give me some face.”

Shi Ying opened the door, took the plastic bag from the delivery person, thanked them, and closed the door.

It wasn’t one of the familiar bubble tea brands. When he peeked inside the bag, his tongue was metaphorically stolen by a cat—he became speechless.

What nonsense had he been spouting earlier? And what kind of dessert was this?

Latex products in chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla flavors, categorized into three types: ribbed, dotted, and ultra-thin.

The living room remained silent for a while. By the time Cheng Simin finished washing the plate and dried her hands, Shi Ying had finally walked over with the three large boxes from the plastic bag and placed them in front of her.

Shi Ying didn’t speak, and neither did Cheng Simin.

Both stared at the contents of the plastic bag, pretending to be aloof. Psychological warfare wasn’t Cheng Simin’s strong suit. Her nerves weren’t resilient enough—she lacked the makings of a spy. The moment Shi Ying fell silent, she couldn’t help but guess what he might be thinking. Her fingertips tingled, and her whole body buzzed with restlessness.

Her toes curled nervously inside her house slippers. After taking a deep breath, Cheng Simin hesitantly looked up and asked, “Should I head back tonight? You can prepare a bit more.”

“Next time, next time we’ll… um, wait until you’re not tired…”

Cheng Simin, with good intentions, tried to give him a graceful excuse. But to Shi Ying’s ears, it sounded somewhat insulting, as if doubting his stamina and ability.

Shi Ying’s face turned pale, his dark eyes shimmering like fish swimming in cold water. With a deep gaze, he trapped Cheng Simin in his net, suddenly reaching out to pinch her waist and lifting her onto the quartz countertop.

“It’s settled,” he murmured, leaning forward until his nose touched her cheek. His thick lashes cast delicate shadows that reflected in her irises.

“Huh? What?” The new stove in Shi Ying’s home was raised, nearly ninety centimeters high. Sitting on it, Cheng Simin’s lower body dangled in the air. She swung her legs slightly, feeling unsafe, her voice tinged with panic.

“We’ll work things out well. Let’s aim for a good outcome. We should think long-term about our relationship.”

The idea of being together for life held endless allure for him. Even in old age, holding hands while watching the sunset on a bench was a beautiful vision. He wanted to guide her down this path together.

“Of course.” Cheng Simin tilted her head upward as Shi Ying’s kiss landed. Unlike before, this kiss wasn’t soft—it was aggressive, pressing against her lips and invading her space.

Between their kisses, fragments of Cheng Simin’s words escaped. She said, “Unless you…”

Unless you change your heart. But she thought that if Shi Ying ever did, given her indecisive nature, she’d probably cry and beg him to stay before truly letting go.

But Shi Ying interrupted her, misunderstanding her conditions. He pressed fervent kisses on her neck and declared, “No exceptions. I won’t make any mistakes.”

Being meticulous in handling relationships was his strength. Pleasing his girlfriend with it wouldn’t be difficult. Moreover, this wasn’t just anyone—it was Cheng Simin. He’d put extra effort into it.

Her jacket came off, bunched at her wrists. Cheng Simin wore only a simple tank top with built-in padding underneath, featuring thin stripes. However, due to its fullness, the fabric stretched awkwardly across her chest.

Shi Ying gazed at these curves, gently tracing the edges with his fingers, as if handling a fragile porcelain vase.

Even the lightest touch could stir storms within her.

A fiery heat surged from Cheng Simin’s tailbone, and her parted legs tensed instantly.

The fabric wrinkled under his movements, shortening the hem and exposing her soft abdomen, trembling like freshly opened fish oil.

Shi Ying found the way her flesh gathered endearing. His fingers followed his gaze downward. As his thumb brushed over her waist, it triggered palpitations. Cheng Simin grew tense, and tension bred worry.

They were still kissing, and Shi Ying’s fingertips lazily grazed Cheng Simin’s exposed skin—arms, collarbones, waist dips, belly buttons. When his hand reached her ankle and slowly moved upward, Cheng Simin teased herself dryly, “I’ve been eating a lot these past few days. Do you think my waist looks fat?”

Her thighs, too, were somewhat thick due to rapid development during puberty. Some faint stretch marks adorned her quickly expanding hips and bust. Because of these imperfections, she rarely stood in front of the mirror to admire her body.

But now, her ordinary body was about to be fully examined by another person, which indeed made her uneasy.

Noticing Cheng Simin’s self-consciousness about her figure, Shi Ying cupped her waist with both palms, voicing strong disagreement. “How thin does one have to be to not be considered fat?”

An average person’s body wasn’t meant to be an object of desire. Even the angel sculptures in cathedrals had slightly protruding bellies. Cheng Simin shouldn’t feel timid about such things.

“You’re not fat. My hands can almost wrap around your waist completely—if you get any thinner, I’d be afraid of accidentally breaking your bones.”

“You’re human—with fat and skin. Even sitting will create folds. You’re not a plastic toy.” Though he spoke reassuringly, Shi Ying still considered her feelings, embracing her and asking for her opinion: “Do you feel shy? Let’s go to the bedroom—I’ll turn off the lights.”

“Alright.”

She was lifted again, and Shi Ying effortlessly carried her into the bedroom.

Together they sank into the soft mattress. Cheng Simin lay on her side, cradled in Shi Ying’s arms, kissed tenderly. In the darkness, his cool scent enveloped her, melting her entirely.

A strand of hair slipped through where their lips met, tickling her taste buds like tiny insects nibbling. Soon, this invisible bug crawled to the hollow of her neck.

Tracing the dip of her collarbone, it climbed to her sternum and ribs. Each of her twenty-four ribs had been counted by Shi Ying through her clothes. Unable to resist, Cheng Simin hooked her leg, slipping into the fold of his knees.

With eyes open or closed, there was no light.

They couldn’t tell whose hands undressed whom—their sight taken away, the remaining four senses became especially acute.

Cheng Simin’s palms sweated lightly, exploring velvety textures in all directions. A single hand couldn’t grasp everything; when she lost her grip, there was a startling “snap” sound. Beyond this eerie noise, the air carried the soft rustling of fingers stirring syrup—a gentler sound emanating from her body.

With curtains drawn, the bedroom’s stagnant air felt warm and viscous. Every sound was amplified and echoed, like a magician’s trick. From all sides, countless versions of Shi Ying seemed to be touching her.

And countless versions of her embraced him.

This adult game of pressing against each other—bullets not yet loaded—already risked accidental discharge.

For the final kiss, Shi Ying pressed heavily on Cheng Simin’s forehead, then raised the white flag. Reaching into the package, he pulled out a piece, unwrapped it, and the industrial oily chocolate scent clung to his fingers all the way up to his wrist.

Fumbling clumsily, Shi Ying stretched out flat on his back, surrendering to Cheng Simin beside him: “I’m ready. You come on.”

Shi Ying’s voice carried weight, pulling Cheng Simin atop him. Kneeling on either side of his body.

Her hair blocked her kiss, so Shi Ying’s left hand became a makeshift hair tie.

As for his right hand, perhaps due to its cooler temperature, it still felt somewhat chilly. The back of his hand occasionally touched her, like a block of ice gliding over uneven terrain.

Each time he chilled her, she shivered.

After several attempts, whether due to angle or size, Cheng Simin failed, frustrated. She gripped his hands, pinning them under the pillow, her nose brushing his chin, her voice tinged with urgency and on the verge of tears: “Stop moving! I can’t do it like this.”

“Should I be on top?” Hearing Shi Ying’s laughter hovering near her ear, Cheng Simin almost sensed him mentally calling her an idiot. Her nose broke into a sweat, and she pressed down firmly with both hands.

Like slicing meat with a dull knife—perhaps only the tip—her hot sweat flowed backward. She moaned, covering herself and collapsing sideways on the bed.

“What’s wrong? Cramps?” Shi Ying sat up, moving slowly like a blind man. He reached out, gently touching her hair, and tried to turn on the light. Cheng Simin stopped him, biting her lip and pulling his hand back, feigning strength: “No, nothing. This position isn’t working. You should be on top.”

Four hands and feet tangled like skipping ropes—two adults behaving like little girls flipping red rubber bands.

Outside, the northwest wind howled fiercely, but inside, it was as hot as if heating season had already begun.

This time, Cheng Simin sprawled on the bed like a fish fillet, waiting for him. Shi Ying knelt up, fumbling for a while. Poor visibility meant finding the right spot took considerable time. But once he did, Cheng Simin let out varied cries of agony.

On the final attempt, he was fully inside her. Cheng Simin seemed to lose her breath—she wasn’t breathing at all.

Shi Ying collapsed his spine, patting her cheeks to urge her to breathe. But as his fingers touched her face, he realized tears were streaming from her tightly shut eyes, soaking the pillow.

He withdrew, sounding like burning charcoal doused with cold water, bewildered. “Did I make you uncomfortable?”

Unable to see her expression, relying only on instinct, he had assumed they were both feeling something.

Had he been the only one?

His words hung unfinished in the air, like a withered plant.

Cheng Simin finally gasped for air, quickly picking up where he left off, propping herself up indignantly: “The beginning was comfortable—but who knew it would hurt so much once inside.”

As she spoke, she brushed a strand of hair stuck to her eyelashes, sincerely cursing: “Damn it, novels really lie. What first-time mild discomfort followed by soul-consuming pleasure? Bullshit pleasure—it’s like a big train entering a small tunnel.”

What enormous thing had he been born with? It was a miracle she hadn’t split apart. Who was it online boasting about baby-arm thickness and eighteen centimeters? Truly misleading.

As she spoke, Cheng Simin collapsed again, tears flowing uncontrollably—not from grievance, but purely from pain.

Even a wild boar couldn’t handle fine bran.

That pain was strange—a dull bruise, an unbearable agony akin to sudden menstrual cramps during one’s period.

Shi Ying was dumbfounded, forgetting everything else. He turned on the bedside lamp, handed her the tissue box first, then spoke.

“Wait, Cheng Simin, what about before? Hey! Aren’t we the same age?”

“You said I’m twenty-six. What about you?”

In the oval glow of light, the pitiful figure raised her short middle finger at Shi Ying—not to insult him with “fuck,” but to wipe her tears while explaining the tool of the crime: “Yes, we’re evenly matched. I’ve been doing it myself too.”