The TV had been turned off. The living room fell into complete silence—so heavy it felt suffocating.

Shen Hao’s father sat opposite him on the single-person sofa, brow deeply furrowed, chain-smoking cigarette after cigarette. Smoke that hadn’t yet dissipated clung to his face like a shroud before drifting into the air, filling the small living room with a haze as thick and lingering as the morning fog in the mountains.

The glass ashtray on the coffee table was nearly overflowing with cigarette butts—some long, some stubbed short. A few still smoldered, wisps of white smoke curling upward.

His mother sat in the center of the three-seater sofa, her expression clouded with worry, lips pressed tight, saying nothing.

Shen Hao had already said everything he needed to say and explained all he could. Now, faced with what came next, he truly felt lost.

“Is… is all this confirmed?” His mother asked again, still unwilling to fully accept it, hoping for a different answer.

“Yes,” Shen Hao replied firmly. He wasn’t the type to deny reality. Once something happened, he wouldn’t shut his eyes and bury his head like an ostrich—he faced it head-on and sought solutions.

“Where did you get the examination done?” his father asked.

“Nanzhou Third People’s Hospital,” Shen Hao answered quietly.

“Third People’s… That’s a Grade-3A hospital. Then it must be accurate,” his mother murmured, half to herself, half to his father. Then she added, “What did the doctor say?”

“He… he suggested I undergo gender-affirming surgery,” Shen Hao said with a bitter smile.

“Gender-affirming surgery?” His mother frowned. “Is that the only option?”

“There’s another choice—surgically remove the ovaries and uterus. But that’s riskier, and even if successful, it would seriously affect my long-term health,” Shen Hao explained.

“And the surgery wouldn’t have those problems?” his mother pressed.

“Well… the doctor said transitioning would actually be simpler and safer,” Shen Hao sighed.

“How much would the surgery cost?” his father suddenly cut in.

Shen Hao thought for a moment. “Not too expensive—probably around thirty or forty thousand yuan.”

He was referring only to the basic genital reconstruction surgery—not additional cosmetic procedures like breast augmentation or liposuction, which were entirely optional.

In other words, this 30,000–40,000 yuan covered just the core procedure: “turning his brother into a sister.” With current medical technology, it was considered a relatively minor operation—many specialized cosmetic hospitals could perform it. Still, for something this significant, a reputable Grade-3A hospital like Nanzhou Third People’s felt far more trustworthy.

“That’s not bad at all!” His mother visibly relaxed upon hearing the cost. “I thought it might be hundreds of thousands!”

“…” Shen Hao stared at his mother, speechless.

“Then get the surgery,” his father declared decisively. “It’s not some terminal illness—if it can be fixed, of course we should fix it!”

Fix it? Shen Hao’s heart twisted. Dad, you’re deciding this so fast—you haven’t even considered how your son feels! Still, he kept his tone measured: “But I never imagined I’d become a woman.”

“What else are you going to do? Are you planning to die?” His father’s voice sharpened the moment he sensed resistance.

“No, it’s not that…” Shen Hao lowered his voice slightly. He still feared his father, Shen Wanghai.

Indeed, he didn’t want to die—but the idea of becoming a woman filled him with deep inner conflict, a profound sense of discomfort.

“Why do you have to be so harsh?” his mother quickly jumped to Shen Hao’s defense. “Of course Xiao Hao is worried! It’s not you undergoing surgery—you can afford to talk like it’s nothing!”

“It’s just… there’s no other way, is there?” His father took another drag and exhaled heavily.

Ignoring him, his mother turned to Shen Hao. “Earlier, you mentioned the doctor said you have a uterus and ovaries inside your body?”

“Yes,” Shen Hao nodded awkwardly. Discussing such intimate medical details with his parents made him deeply uncomfortable—even if he had no choice but to admit it.

“Are they… functional?” she asked.

“I think… maybe?” Shen Hao wasn’t entirely sure.

His mother simply nodded, not pressing further. Instead, she said gently, “Given what you’ve told us, I agree with your father. You should have the surgery. If it’s truly simpler and safer, why choose the harder, riskier path?”

“But—” Shen Hao tried to interject, to voice his own feelings.

His mother cut him off before he could finish. “I know this feels wrong to you. Of course it does—any man would feel that way. But just because it feels wrong doesn’t mean we can ignore reality, right?”

Then, as if struck by a sudden memory, she added, “By the way, do you still remember Wenjia Village?”

“Of course I do. Isn’t that our hometown?” Shen Hao was puzzled. Why was his mother bringing this up now?

Wenjia Village was indeed their ancestral home. His parents had often told him their story: after they married, they left the village to seek work in the city, where they had his older sister, Shen Yue.

Five years later, his mother became pregnant with him.

At the time, China’s strict one-child policy was in full enforcement. To avoid penalties, his mother returned to Wenjia Village early in her pregnancy. That explained why his intersex condition hadn’t been detected prenatally—rural clinics in the mountains back then simply didn’t offer prenatal ultrasounds.

Ironically, that lack of medical screening is precisely why he’d been born at all. Had they discovered the anomaly during pregnancy, he might never have existed.

After giving birth, his mother stayed in the village to breastfeed him before returning to the city to resume work—leaving baby Shen Hao behind in Wenjia Village.

Over the years, his parents and sister visited occasionally, but they didn’t take him with them. It wasn’t until he turned six that they finally brought him out to enroll in primary school.

In the early years, they still made annual trips back for holidays. But after the family moved from a city relatively close to Wenjia Village to Nanzhou—a much greater distance—they gradually stopped going. Now they only returned once every year or two. The last visit had been two years ago.

So of course Shen Hao remembered. He just didn’t understand why his mother was suddenly bringing it up—it seemed utterly out of context.

“And do you remember your cousin Zhiqiang?” his mother continued, as if playing a guessing game.

“Of course I remember him! He used to take me out to play all the time,” Shen Hao replied. Childhood memories surfaced instantly at the mention of his cousin’s name.

Wenjia Village was named as such because most residents shared the surname Wen—though there were exceptions, like his father. Still, the Wens formed the overwhelming majority.

His cousin’s full name was Wen Zhiqiang.

The last time they met, a few years back, Zhiqiang had just graduated from university and was job hunting. At the time, Shen Hao was still in college, and the two had talked at length about their futures.

It had been three or four years since then. Everyone was busy, contact had dwindled—Shen Hao wondered silently: Has he found a good job? Is he married yet?