Chapter 9: That Purpose Was Even More Apparent

Molly Ping was an experienced hand, her movements practiced and smooth, quickly igniting sparks between us; the car horn honked a few times from behind before she finally released the steering wheel...

I found it strange—my body was female, yet my mindset was that of a man. I had longed to kiss a woman for years; never did I expect it to happen so unknowingly—sweet, tinged with shyness, my mind a blur.

The car stopped in a parking spot, and for some reason, she got out.

In a flurry, I opened the door and stepped out into an unfamiliar environment, glancing around. Various cars were parked here; besides the parking spaces, the area was spacious.

Molly Ping locked the car door, slung her purple handbag over her shoulder, and her footsteps echoed lightly, like a woman of high status.

Her sheer, thigh-length skirt did not reveal anything beneath; she wore flesh-colored tights tightly, appearing perfectly normal.

Her attire was carefully chosen—both beautiful and elegant; it fully captured the gaze of the opposite sex, showcasing her best features to the fullest.

I wouldn’t have done the same. Foolishly, I waited for women to come to me. After high school, failing to get into university, I found temporary work but was unhappy doing it. Until now, I didn’t even know how I had ended up here.

I followed closely behind Molly Ping, catching the scent of her perfume—dazed and wandering, I saw someone on an electric scooter wearing a helmet and delivery uniform stop beside her. Not knowing if they were acquainted, she greeted the person and spoke; she received two takeout meals, handing one to me.

I wondered how long she had ordered the delivery.

She held her handbag with confidence, striding ahead; the tear stains in her eyes had long since vanished. Upon seeing someone she knew, she smiled warmly...

I trailed behind, my head barely reaching halfway up hers, timidly lowering my gaze as we walked. I wondered what her home was like. This newly developed district was filled with new buildings; few people, very quiet.

Sleepily, I slipped into a large building, unable to make out the unit numbers clearly. After climbing a few flights of stairs, we stopped before a brown solid wood door. Molly Ping opened it, motioning for me to enter and shut the door behind me.

Inside, the decor was beautiful, modern in style, with vivid and tasteful colors that gave off a joyful atmosphere.

I dreaded meeting her family; my heart pounded wildly as I stepped into the living room...

Molly Ping asked me to place the takeout meals on the coffee table and tossed her handbag onto the sofa before sitting down...

I hesitated, unsure whether to stand or sit.

She abruptly pulled me close, holding my head tightly, then let out a satisfied sound.

This was our second kiss—though special, it brought many confusions. I pushed her away firmly and asked, “Aren’t you a woman? Why don’t you look for a man?”

Molly Ping smiled, a look of innocent puzzlement on her face. She tapped my forehead and said, “Are you silly? Ever heard of lesbians?”

That ugly word left me dumbfounded; I was always worried someone would appear from somewhere. Uneasy, I asked, “What are you talking about?”

“I’ll show you a magazine, then you’ll understand!”

I thought we’d have to go far to find an answer; unexpectedly, it was simple. She casually grabbed a thick magazine from the second layer of the coffee table and placed it before me. “Look for yourself; let’s eat first!”

Molly Ping unpacked the two takeout meals from plastic bags, placing one on the table before me and opening the other herself. She added casually, “Eat while you look!”

Though curious, I didn’t open the colorful magazine. My stomach growled; the phone showed 2 p.m. I focused on the food: three small compartments held different stir-fried dishes, and a rectangular section contained about two taels of rice. The taste was quite good.

Besides eating, my eyes couldn’t help but fixate on the magazine cover—two women appeared. That was the first time I understood what “lesbian” meant.

They used certain tools… I felt I began to grasp the meaning; she wanted to corrupt me.

“Women call it lesbian, but what about men?”

The images chilled me, sending shivers down my spine. How could this be?

If that was so, why seek the opposite sex? My heart was unsettled; I couldn’t accept it.

Having been kissed by Molly Ping earlier, my mind raced: though my heart was male, my body was female. Was she really that foolish? Could she not distinguish between men and women?

Now it seemed the fool was me; she was an expert driver, and I was still a rookie, knowing nothing...

Before I realized it, the meal was finished, with used takeout containers piled on the table. My eyes stayed glued to the colorful images; two sunny women in their twenties were holding...

What was this damned magazine doing in Molly Ping’s home?

She leaned over kindly, gently wrapping her arm around my shoulder, saying, “It’s a trend; for example, I found an old man over eighty. He’s wealthy and gives me some money any time I want, so I never have to work again. Isn’t that great? Now I have a house, a car, and live in the city. Life is pretty good; food is delivered, and I often buy beautiful clothes. My wardrobe is overflowing, yet I keep buying. I don’t even want the clothes I’ve worn once! As for life, if my husband can’t satisfy me, you can take his place—let’s share this wonderful life together. How great would that be!”

I was about to lose my mind! So she wanted me to become a lesbian. I hated that the most; it was utterly disgusting! Women should find men, but she refused to do so...

Still, Molly Ping’s aura was pleasant—she seemed even purer than I was. Being with her didn’t seem like such a bad deal.

She didn’t mention the lost pearl again. Could this jade bracelet really be worth so much? Or was she just showing off?

When it came down to it, whether I agreed or not, I felt confused and hazy.

Molly Ping threw all the empty takeout containers into the trash, then grabbed a towel from the second layer of the coffee table, wiped the surface, tossed it back, and said, “All done. Let’s take a shower first, then go to sleep!”

I worried there might be someone else in the house and asked, “Are you the only one here?”

She poked my forehead hard and smiled, “Are you silly? Who would bring you here? From now on, this place belongs to the two of us!”

I had just learned about her husband but didn’t know who he was. Taking the opportunity, I inquired.

The answer was simple: “Haven’t you seen him at the hospital? He’s the chairman of a company and still goes to work every day.”

“Can an eighty-year-old still work?” I was stunned.

Molly Ping smiled impatiently, “I’m not explaining more. Don’t you understand anything? It’s his own company!”

I was truly out of touch, half-understanding her words. At such an age, even if it was his own company, could he really work? What could he possibly do?

Molly Ping went into the shower room; I hesitated and followed awkwardly. It was a small room, at least eight square meters, tiled in bright white, with a soft-colored stained glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling, creating a warm and comfortable atmosphere.

My home was worse. Though also in a ten-story building, it was over twenty years old, constantly patched up here and there. My mother said I was born there.

The apartment was only eighty square meters: two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a small balcony.

My parents slept in the large room; my sister and I shared the smaller one, where two ninety-centimeter single beds barely fit, making it cramped.

Only upon entering high school did I realize it was inconvenient for boys and girls to share a room. But money was tight, so we made do.

My mother had long implied that once I got into university, the smaller room would belong to my sister.

However, things didn’t go as hoped. Once a man reached adulthood, his mind became muddled, constantly thinking about finding a girlfriend. I failed my graduation exams; my father was furious and told me to fend for myself. I stayed home, causing trouble and living off my parents. Nearly forty and still single, I couldn’t stay any longer and found work waiting tables at a restaurant. Somehow, I ended up like this...

What puzzled me most was that I had an older sister in her forties and a niece in her twenties. Where did all that come from? I still hadn’t figured it out.

It felt like I had entered another world—everything was strange, even the architecture. I longed to understand where I was and whether I could fly home.

Just then, Molly Ping’s voice called out, “Young master, are you dazed? Come here!” She had filled the bathtub. I knew her intentions clearly. She turned her head, our eyes met, and I understood.

Women with women also had strong curiosity. I recalled in first grade, when the teacher first gave a public lecture on physiology, the most unforgettable thing was the diversity—no two were alike. Even bodily functions and forms varied. Photos were used to compare; truly identical people only exist as twins, and even their birthmarks differ...

Molly Ping was about to undress, shouting, “Hey, what are you thinking? Let’s soak in the tub first; I’ll wash your back!”

I was reluctant to undress, feeling uneasy in this strange place.

Sensing my hesitation, Molly Ping was displeased and commanded me, offering some comforting words: “I’m the only one here. My husband doesn’t come, and if he does, he calls first.”

“Wash yourself! I want to go home!” I protested. This shameless woman insisted I undress, but I felt something was off, wavering.

Molly Ping’s expression darkened as she glared at me, saying ominously, “Didn’t you agree? Why are you changing your mind now?”