Tangled Diagnosis

"Nngh... it's too full... pull out a little..."

The soft, delicate whimper carried a hint of petulant complaint—a throaty moan seeping through the wall from the neighbor's room.

The living room lay in pitch-black darkness. Through the thin partition, she could feel the rhythmic thud of the headboard against the wall. Even though the movements were deliberately restrained, each impact against the shared wall was unmistakable.

Forceful. Precise. Relentless.

Shen Nanchu lay on the sofa. The living room had no windows, and with the lights off, she felt dissolved into the darkness, her consciousness adrift like a dream—floating through clouds, feet never touching ground—while the sensual sounds filtered through the closed door.

Shen Nanchu had come looking for work.

This was the apartment Ye Tong shared with her boyfriend—a cramped one-bedroom with no spare room, leaving Shen Nanchu no choice but to sleep on the living room sofa.

She used to work in the internet industry, but with the economic downturn, her company's performance had worsened. Earlier this year, she too became part of the wave of layoffs.

Jobs were hard to find. Months of sending out resumes yielded nothing but silence.

As Shen Nanchu's savings neared depletion, Ye Tong had enthusiastically invited her to come to S City for job hunting, even offering free lodging: "There are plenty of big tech companies here. Your small town doesn't have the same opportunities—it makes sense you can't find anything there."

It was a reasonable point. A major city offered more employment prospects than staying stuck in a small place.

When Shen Nanchu first arrived, she was surprised. Though she hadn't known Ye Tong long, she knew she came from a comfortable background, an only daughter doted on by her parents. She never expected to find her living in such a cramped space in an urban village.

Later, she learned the apartment belonged to Ye Tong's boyfriend.

Ye Tong's boyfriend, Lu Shiyan, worked at the nearby People's Hospital. In this area, aside from the urban village, other neighborhoods were prohibitively expensive.

Lu Shiyan wasn't just employed well—he reportedly came from an excellent family. But his family opposed his choice to study medicine, so he'd cut ties with them and moved out on his own.

He paid his own living expenses and tuition, lived frugally, and had chosen this cheapest corner of the urban village for his home.

Ye Tong had gathered all this information somewhere, describing him as coming from serious money—quite the catch.

Armed with this knowledge, she'd gone all in to secure him. The girl who'd never lifted a finger in her life had, for his sake, deceived her parents and moved into this cramped, dark apartment with him.

Between the sofa and the bedroom bed stood only one wall.

The headboard rocked, hitting the wall, and with each impact, the sofa trembled faintly, the force of the man's thrusts transmitting subtly to Shen Nanchu's body.

It was almost as if he were thrusting into her.

With that primal intensity unique to the male—fierce and aggressive—a stark contrast to the man's refined features.

Shen Nanchu had understood Ye Tong's attraction the moment she saw Lu Shiyan.

Fair-skinned, with exquisitely sculpted features—every detail seemingly measured against perfection, his brow and contours flawless. Yet there was a coolness to his bearing. In his white shirt, he was simply stunning.

With his excellent family background, it was no wonder the proud Ye Tong had willingly moved into this cramped space to live with him.

"No... stop... get out... I don't want anymore..."

Within two minutes, the pounding against the wall abruptly ceased. Ye Tong's voice was thick with need, tinged with that unreasonable imperiousness.

Lu Shiyan's voice remained completely inaudible.

Soon, the bedroom door opened, spilling light into the darkness.

The man emerged, backlit, his tall figure edged in platinum from the light behind him, his face lost in shadow, his silhouette outlined in soft relief.

Shen Nanchu had closed her eyes the moment the door began to open. She slowed her breathing deliberately, willing herself into nothingness, sinking completely into the dark.

She didn't want them to know she was awake.

A guest in their home, caught listening to their lovemaking—how excruciatingly awkward would that be?

Even though she'd already heard.

Lu Shiyan, well-mannered, had dressed before coming out, mindful of the presence beyond the bedroom. His movements and breath were deliberately softened.

Shen Nanchu heard him enter the bathroom, closing the door with care, careful not to disturb her.

The sound of the shower filtered through the door, a gentle susurrus like a faulty old television.

Even with the man's efforts to mute himself, the thin bathroom door provided scant insulation. Shen Nanchu could clearly discern, woven through the water's flow, the man's hoarse, unrestrained gasps.

His lips were likely pressed into a taut, bloodless line, yet his breathing remained stubbornly heavy—ragged gasps escaping like those of a beast lurking in shadows, its ravenous hunger forcibly reined in.

Shen Nanchu had a fair idea what Lu Shiyan was doing in there.

She recalled those marathon phone sessions with Ye Tong, who never tired of dissecting her boyfriend.

Lu Shiyan possessed abundant virtues, and by Ye Tong's account, no shortage of flaws either. But his greatest drawback was this...

"He's too big, and his stamina's relentless—I simply can't take it..." The words came laced with shy exasperation, yet carried an unmistakable note of pride: "Still, he's considerate. Whenever I don't want to continue, I tell him straight out, and he never forces me."

Shen Nanchu doubted Ye Tong was ignorant of how damaging it could be for a man to halt mid-act.

Ye Tong had once been uninhibited in her romantic dealings, yet with Lu Shiyan, she played the ingénue—untouched, unworldly.

It seemed Ye Tong genuinely liked him, and possessed her own arsenal of tactics for managing men.

The water ran in the bathroom for over half an hour, the man's hoarse breathing filtering through—sounds of enduring something unbearable, almost agonizing. But from the bedroom, Ye Tong's patience frayed. She poked her head out to call: "Shiyan, aren't you done washing yet?"

A pause. Then from the bathroom, a resigned sigh. The water ceased. The door opened.

As he passed the sofa, a scent washed over Shen Nanchu—faintly bitter, mingling with body wash and something else: a chill, faintly acrid smell, moist and cold, slightly pungent, yet it made her throat tighten inexplicably.

The scent of chestnut blossoms. The scent of semen.

The bedroom door closed. Muffled, she caught Lu Shiyan's low, gentle voice: "Don't wake our guest."

"Mmm... I forgot..." Ye Tong's voice filtered through, indistinct: "Nanchu won't mind. She's so easygoing..."

A faint smile touched Shen Nanchu's lips at these words.

Of course she wouldn't mind.

That Ye Tong had invited her to stay was already more than Shen Nanchu could have hoped for. Gratitude, after all, demanded nothing.