Commonly called “hermaphroditism,” the medical term is intersex condition—an extremely rare disorder. It’s broadly divided into true hermaphroditism and pseudohermaphroditism.

In true hermaphroditism, an individual possesses both ovarian and testicular tissue—either as separate organs or combined within a single gonad (known as an ovotestis). Chromosomal patterns may be 46,XX; 46,XY; or a mosaic of both. External genitalia can appear female, male, or ambiguous. The exact cause remains unknown.

Pseudohermaphroditism, on the other hand, is further split into male and female types—essentially, when the gonads and external genitalia don’t match in sex.

After the doctor’s explanation, Shen Hao still felt utterly confused—almost as if he’d misheard. So, cleverly, he pulled out his phone right there in the office and looked it up. A flood of detailed medical information appeared before his eyes.

When he finally looked up—face blank—he stared at Dr. Guo, who had patiently waited for him to finish reading. In a flat, emotionless tone, Shen Hao asked, “So, Doctor… you’re saying I’m intersex?”

“The CT scan confirms it,” Dr. Guo nodded. Seeing that Shen Hao seemed to be holding up, he stood and picked up a pointer from somewhere, gesturing at the images. “Look here…”

…Shen Hao couldn’t recall much of what the doctor said afterward. All he remembered was a ringing in his ears as he left the office, his mind completely seized by two words: True Hermaphroditism. Nothing else registered.

What the hell kind of twisted world is this?!

He’d lived as a man for twenty-four years—had a girlfriend, wasn’t a virgin—and now a doctor was telling him he wasn’t really a man… or a woman… but something in between?  

Could this get any more absurd?

His mind was a complete mess. He didn’t even remember how he got back to his apartment.

Only when he opened the door, collapsed onto the living room sofa, and glanced around at his familiar surroundings did he snap back to reality. His eyes fell on the medical report and CT film lying on the glass coffee table.

What on earth am I supposed to do with this?

A bitter smile crossed his face. He slumped deeper into the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling, paralyzed by indecision.

This was too big. Too serious. How could he possibly explain this to his parents? Could he even stay at his job? Would he be socially erased? Did he even want to live anymore?

Overwhelmed, he began repeatedly banging his head against the sofa backrest.

The cushion bounced back each time, the dull thuds oddly soothing—as if physical pain could purge his mental chaos and bring clarity.

After a while, he suddenly stopped. A sharp, familiar cramp twisted through his abdomen—again, without warning. He clutched the area, curled forward, forehead resting on the cushion, silently enduring the pain until it passed.

It was already noon. Though hungry, he had no appetite and no will to move. He just lay there on the sofa, eyes closed, playing dead.

But reality couldn’t be avoided forever. No matter how painful or confusing, life demanded a response.

Though his mind had gone blank at the hospital, he’d still absorbed some of what Dr. Guo said—especially the two options presented.

Option one: Remove the ovaries and uterus and continue living as male.  

However, since these “extra” organs had already developed into rudimentary but functional forms, simply excising them wasn’t straightforward. Such a crude approach would severely damage his body—possibly not causing paralysis, but certainly shortening his lifespan, weakening his immune system, and leaving him prone to constant colds, fevers, and headaches.

The recurrent abdominal pain? That was these developing organs already beginning to function—producing secretions with no outlet, causing internal buildup.

Option two was far simpler: undergo gender-affirming surgery.  

Since he already had a uterus and ovaries, a surgical transition—“making his brother into a sister,” so to speak—along with creating a vaginal canal and starting estrogen therapy, would allow him to live fully as a woman. Medically, it was the safer, cleaner solution.

The only problem? His mind.

Shen Hao was unquestionably heterosexual—a straight man through and through. In college, he’d dated a girlfriend and even lived with her for a while. They broke up only because their post-graduation paths diverged.  

Now, asking a psychologically healthy, traditionally masculine young man to become a woman? That felt no different than castration.  

He was living a perfectly normal life as a man—good job, promising career, no desire to be anything else. Why would he willingly restart his entire life as a woman? He wasn’t transgender; he didn’t want to be a girl. He was a man, damn it!

The thought of someday marrying, giving birth—living as a woman—sent chills down his spine and triggered a wave of visceral revulsion. His sexual orientation was crystal clear: he was not attracted to men!  

This second path was unthinkable. Absolutely out of the question.

---

The subway car swayed gently. Outside, the occasional whoosh of wind rushed past the windows.

Shen Hao stood gripping a handrail, face expressionless, heart icy cold. His future felt utterly dark.

Nanzhou City was a southern metropolis in the heartland of the country—not as grand as Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou, or Shenzhen, but steadily growing thanks to its strategic location and government support.

He worked in Huihai District, Nanzhou’s new development zone, but his family home was in Baisha District. Even by subway, the commute took an hour and a half—bearable, but tedious enough that he’d rented an apartment near the office, where he lived comfortably alone.

After two transfers, he finally exited the subway station.

Normally, he’d take a bus for the last leg, but today, he chose to walk. He strolled along the sidewalk, watching crowds flow past, heading slowly toward home.

His family home was a two-and-a-half-story standalone villa in a semi-open residential cluster. A wide concrete road looped through the neighborhood, lined densely on both sides with houses of varying heights.

By the time he arrived, it was already past 4 p.m. The house was empty—his father, Shen Wanghai, and mother, Wen Huixiang, were still at work.

His father worked at a seed company; his mother at a garment factory. Both were long-time employees in management roles—steady 9-to-5 jobs, rarely requiring overtime.

He also had an older sister, Shen Yue, twenty-nine, unmarried, working out of province. She only came home during holidays. With Lunar New Year and even the Lantern Festival long past, she was, of course, not here.

He easily located the hidden spare key, unlocked the gate, then carefully re-concealed it. Then, from another discreet spot, he retrieved the front door key, unlocked it, and hid it again.

This system made it convenient for him or his sister to come home unexpectedly—or in case either forgot their keys.

Usually, he didn’t bring much when visiting—just some fruit or groceries. But this time, he carried a plastic bag of fruit… and the medical report with the CT film tucked inside.

He still hadn’t decided what to do—but whatever the choice, he knew he had to tell his parents. Their input might help him make a clearer decision.

Back home, he went straight to his room, sitting in silence, wrestling with his thoughts.

Before he knew it, dusk had fallen. At 5 p.m., the sound of the courtyard gate opening echoed from outside—his parents were home.

Seeing the inner door ajar, his mother called from downstairs: “Xiao Hao? Is that you?”

“Yeah, Mom, it’s me,” he replied, rising from the bed. Without turning on the light, he descended the stairs in the dimming twilight and found his parents in the living room.

“Dad. Mom,” he greeted them, then followed his mother—carrying shopping bags—into the kitchen.

“You’re back today? Did you take leave?” she asked while setting down her bags.

“Mm. Took three days off,” Shen Hao said, squatting to unpack the groceries.

Aside from a whole fish, everything else was vegetables.

“You didn’t even call to say you were coming! We could’ve bought something nicer,” his mother chided as she put some vegetables in the fridge.

“This fish is already great,” Shen Hao said, lifting it into the sink. He grabbed a knife and began cleaning it.

“Let’s braise it in soy sauce!” his mother tied on an apron.

Shen Hao didn’t respond, focusing on his task.

From the living room, TV commercials blared—his father was already watching.

To Shen Hao, this was the essence of his family: ordinary, stable. His parents had come from the countryside, married young, and never once fought. His father was honest and grounded; his mother hardworking and diligent. Their values had shaped both him and his sister.

Neither sibling had achieved extraordinary success, but both had found steady paths. Soon, it would be time—his sister to find a husband, him to find a wife, get married, start families. Life was supposed to unfold predictably, peacefully.

But now… everything had shattered.

After finishing the fish, he handed it to his mother and stayed nearby to help—chopping vegetables, fetching utensils.

Once dinner was ready, he went to the living room to sit with his father and watch TV.

At first, the room was quiet, filled only with the sound of the television. But soon, as usual, his father began asking about work. Shen Hao answered, sharing updates about his job.

They talked like this until his mother called from the kitchen: “Dinner’s ready!”

He sprang up to help carry dishes, set bowls and chopsticks.

After the meal, the family gathered again in the living room, watching TV together.

Shen Hao felt the moment had come. He went upstairs, retrieved the medical report and CT film, and came back down. Sitting on the single-person sofa opposite his father, he spoke in a solemn, steady voice:

“Dad. Mom. There’s something I need to tell you.”

His words immediately captured their full attention. Both parents turned toward him at once.