Deng Ying lifted his robes and sat down again before Yang Wan, the book still resting on his knees.
Sometimes Yang Wan would ponder: in this world, during the first intimate encounter between man and woman, was it the woman who guided the man, or the man who led the woman? Or to pose a different question – in an age before civilization imposed concepts of “shame” and “love” upon intimacy, which gender derived more pleasure from these pure physical sensations?
Lost in thought, she looked at Deng Ying.
Deng Ying clearly couldn’t answer questions that even history and sociology struggled to trace. He sat silently before Yang Wan, tree shadows from outside the window falling across his body. At this moment, Yang Wan saw in him a conceptual “purity.” She found herself asking without thinking.
“Deng Ying.”
“Mm?”
“When a man and woman are together, who do you think is happier?”
Deng Ying’s fingers tightened on his knee.
“By together, you mean…”
“Intimate relations.”
Deng Ying hesitated for a moment, looking down at his hands clasped on his knees, and replied, “The man.”
“Why?”
“Because the man doesn’t feel pain.”
As he said this, his brows furrowed slightly.
Yang Wan’s heart suddenly clenched, “Deng Ying…”
Deng Ying didn’t respond.
Yang Wan called his name again more loudly, and only then did he look up at her.
“What is it?”
“Deng Ying, do you feel pain?”
“What?”
“Do you feel pain?”
Deng Ying looked at Yang Wan in bewilderment. She sat hugging her knees on the couch, head slightly tilted, brows furrowed, waiting for his answer.
“Yes.”
After uttering this word, he unconsciously lowered his head.
That pain came from scars left by the wound, where scar tissue had grown. Along with sensations of pleasure came an unusually acute pain. No normal man would experience such needle-like pain during intimacy. Recalling his own experiences, Deng Ying’s hand quietly slipped from his knee.
Yang Wan looked at Deng Ying’s lowered hand, her throat tight.
He had simply and directly answered a question that Yang Wan considered difficult to trace, yet he belonged to neither gender.
Yang Wan had thought her previous research on Deng Ying had already broken new ground beyond her predecessors. But now, she discovered another entry point in understanding this person’s physical existence.
His self-pity, self-blame, and self-destruction stemmed from the destruction of his gender identity.
“Come lie down.”
As she spoke, she moved inward to make room.
Deng Ying obediently took off his shoes and lay down beside Yang Wan.
Yang Wan looked at the damp marks on the wooden beams above, gently grasping Deng Ying’s arm.
Deng Ying turned his head to look at Yang Wan, submissively extending his arm toward her, “Wan-wan, let me wash my hands…”
“Don’t go.”
Yang Wan held Deng Ying’s hand, “I don’t want to do anything else, just want to lie here with you for a while.”
Deng Ying didn’t resist Yang Wan further, straightening his legs to lie quietly.
Yang Wan leaned against Deng Ying’s shoulder, silently closing her eyes.
The wind stirred shadows of withered trees on the window, filling the room with autumn shadows, while leaves rustled against the window frame.
“Are you asleep?”
“Don’t you want to eat something? Li Yu gave me an egg.”
“Not hungry.”
Yang Wan turned over, curling up entirely under the blanket, “Deng Ying.”
“Here.”
“I won’t read that book anymore.”
“Why?”
Yang Wan curled up tighter, “That book can teach you what to do, but it can’t teach me.”
Deng Ying looked at Yang Wan’s hair exposed outside the blanket and said softly, “You don’t need to do anything.”
He turned over to face Yang Wan’s back, “I will serve…”
Before he could finish saying “you,” Yang Wan pinched the back of his hand hard. Deng Ying furrowed his brows and swallowed the rest of his words.