Zheng Xuemei's Midnight Confession About Her Empty Marriage, and I Go Home and Fuck My Wife Until Her Eyes Roll Back

(Author's note: The scoring in the first two chapters was wrong; the end of Chapter 2 has been corrected to settle at 110 points, and the end of Chapter 3 has been corrected to settle at 130 points. Use this revised version as the standard.)

Things took a turn on a Wednesday the week after next.

At around 2:30 that afternoon, I was at my desk revising a proposal when my phone suddenly vibrated. It was a WeChat message from Zheng Xuemei:

"Chen Mo, are you free? There's some data in a spreadsheet I'm not quite sure about. I wanted to ask you to take a look. It should be pretty closely related to the budget you handled before."

There was also a screenshot attached, an Excel sheet exported from the finance system, with several mismatched figures circled in red.

I replied almost immediately: "Sure. I'll come over right now."

I grabbed my laptop and charging cable and headed for the finance department. The air-conditioning in the hallway was strong enough to wake you up, but it couldn't keep the faint excitement in my chest from building.

The finance department wasn't very busy that afternoon. Most of the staff were heads-down reconciling month-end accounts, with only the occasional clatter of keyboards and soft voices on the phone.

Zheng Xuemei's desk was by the window. When she saw me coming, she half stood and gestured for me to sit in the empty chair beside her.

"Sorry to bother you," she said quietly, with a hint of fatigue in her voice.

"No problem." I set my laptop down on her desk and pulled out the chair.

We were sitting so close that our shoulders almost touched.

I could clearly smell that familiar perfume on her... a clean citrus top note mixed with the warm body scent unique to a grown woman, even stronger than it had been in the pantry.

Zheng Xuemei turned the screen toward me and pointed at a few lines of data. "These two spots don't match in the way they're being consolidated. I adjusted the settings before, but when I exported it again, it reverted."

I leaned in and studied it carefully for a moment.

It really was a system export template issue... the auxiliary accounting fields for two accounts hadn't been checked, which meant the finance-side numbers and the business-side numbers couldn't auto-match.

I nodded. "It's not the data itself. The export settings in the system weren't configured correctly. I'll fix it for you."

She turned sideways, opened the permissions, and pushed the mouse over to me. I took it, and my fingertip accidentally brushed hers; that brief warmth made my heart skip a beat.

I quickly entered the backend settings, ticked the key fields back on one by one, adjusted the summary dimensions, and re-exported the spreadsheet.

The data lined up perfectly in an instant, and every red error marker disappeared.

"There." I pushed the mouse back to her.

Zheng Xuemei lowered her head and checked the numbers for a moment, clearly relieved.

Then she turned to look at me. Our faces were very close. In the soft light by the window at three in the afternoon, her eyes had a warm amber sheen, and the fine lines at the corners carried the softness of time settling in.

She didn't speak right away. She just looked at me for two seconds, then said softly, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I said with a smile, preparing to stand. "It's no big deal."

"Sit for a moment," she said, not too loudly. "I want to ask you something."

I sat back down and looked at her.

Zheng Xuemei lowered her head, as if she were looking at the screen, but her gaze was really unfocused. After hesitating for two seconds, she asked, "Does your wife... know you've been coming to the finance department so often lately?"

I froze for a second.

The question came out of nowhere, but from a thirty-nine-year-old woman like Zheng Xuemei, it felt especially real.

Mature women don't like playing vague little games. They prefer to put things out in the open.

"She knows," I answered honestly.

Zheng Xuemei looked up and met my eyes. "You told her?"

"Yeah," I said. "We don't keep secrets from each other."

She stared at me for three seconds. Something complicated flickered in those eyes of hers, then she slowly nodded and said in a low voice, "She doesn't mind?"

"She told me to mind my boundaries," I said with a smile. "But she doesn't mind us having normal meals and talking."

Zheng Xuemei fell silent for a moment. The corner of her mouth curved very slightly, and when she spoke again, her voice was gentle, with an obvious sense of relief. "She's... pretty interesting."

"Yeah," I said, nodding. "She's always been pretty interesting."

"You like her," Zheng Xuemei said. It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

"Yeah." I didn't deny it.

"That's good." She lowered her head again and kept looking at the screen. Her voice softened, but there was a rare gentleness in it. "A man who likes his wife makes people feel secure."

I quietly glanced at the number above her head:

[91].

I stood up and said I'd head back first. She gave a soft "Mm," not looking up, but her fingers slowed noticeably on the keyboard.

I walked back to my desk, sat down, and kept replaying that conversation in my head.

Zheng Xuemei asking whether my wife knew about it meant she already had a very clear idea of where this was heading. She was seriously evaluating the risk.

She wanted to know whether I was the kind of person who could be trusted, someone who wouldn't drag her into some ugly secret mess.

That's how mature women are.

They've been through marriage, seen the world, and they don't like the coy, push-and-pull games younger girls play.

They prefer clarity, honesty, and a sense of controllable safety.

Telling her my wife knew was really my way of telling her: I'm an open book. No matter where this goes, I won't be sneaking around behind anyone's back.

That was why she said I made people feel secure.

After the audit incident passed, the atmosphere in the company changed in subtle ways.

On Friday morning, the group's audit feedback officially came in.

That problematic historical data passed the review without issue, and the finance director tagged Zheng Xuemei in the department group chat, publicly praising her for "handling it promptly and explaining it clearly, helping the department recover its image."

The message was followed by a flood of likes and flattery, and Zheng Xuemei only replied with a simple "Thank you, everyone."

But privately, things were not nearly so simple.

I could clearly feel that a few people in finance looked at me differently... with curiosity, envy, and a faint hint of hostility.

Especially that old finance employee who had argued with Xiao Jiang in the meeting before. When he ran into me in the cafeteria on Friday at noon, he said in a sour, sarcastic tone, "Chen Mo's getting pretty close to finance these days, huh? Nice proposal work."

I smiled and said nothing, but I knew exactly how this worked: in the workplace, when someone helps you once, there are always people who think you're riding their coattails.

And I wasn't idle with my own work either.

This week, the advertising proposal I was responsible for had been sent back twice in a row by team lead Zhao Tao.

At the weekly meeting, in front of everyone, he said, "Chen Mo's version is still too conservative. There's no standout point. The client definitely won't like it," in that usual tone of disdain and superiority.

After the meeting, he even called me into his office for a one-on-one "guidance" session that lasted half an hour, every line a classic piece of workplace PUA: "Young people need to learn more," "Don't always think you're so capable," and all that nonsense.

On the surface I nodded obediently, but inside I was calm. Because I had the system now, and I knew the bright red [-37] above Zhao Tao's head had never changed.

Against that backdrop, my interactions with Zheng Xuemei became even more natural, and more frequent.

Monday morning, while waiting for the elevator, we ran into each other again.

Today she was wearing an off-white knit top and a black pencil skirt. Her waist looked slender, but her hips were pulled so taut by the skirt that they looked incredibly full.

We stood side by side in the elevator, and she suddenly asked in a low voice, "Did you rest well over the weekend?"

"Pretty much," I said with a smile. "I just spent some time thinking through a few ideas."

She gave a small nod. "If you need help with anything, you can always come find me."

When the elevator doors opened, she walked out first, her heels clicking crisply, and those heavy hips swayed lightly under the pencil skirt. I watched for two seconds, and a secret thrill stirred in my chest again.

On Tuesday at noon, I "happened" to run into her while lining up for lunch in the company cafeteria. She came over with her tray and said softly, "Want to sit together?"

We found a spot by the window. She picked a small piece of braised pork and put it on my plate, smiling. "You said last time that you like this."

At that moment, I noticed the glances from the coworkers at the nearby tables, and I felt both pleased and conflicted... pleased by the change in Zheng Xuemei's attitude toward me, conflicted by my guilt toward Wang Youmin.

On Wednesday afternoon, when she ran into me in the pantry again, she took the initiative to bring up the audit. "This time I really owe you. Otherwise I probably would've gotten chewed out by leadership again."

As she spoke, she turned slightly, and the curve of her full chest under her blouse was clearly visible. I fought hard not to let my eyes linger too long, and answered with a smile, "It's nothing. If you ever need anything, just say so."

With every brief encounter, her affection level rose slowly but steadily. I didn't use a single system point. I relied entirely on natural interaction and pushed our relationship forward little by little.

And in the process, I became more and more aware of a contradictory feeling inside myself:

On one side was the sense of accomplishment and secret excitement of being gradually accepted by a mature woman; on the other was the intense guilt and love I felt every time I went home and faced Wang Youmin.

I enjoyed the ambiguity, yet I was also afraid of sinking deeper and deeper into it.

After that, two things happened almost at the same time, pushing Zheng Xuemei's affection for me to a new level.

The first was that I helped her deal with a fairly big problem.

That month, the company received an external audit from the group.

The auditors sent in two middle-aged men, supposedly veterans from the group's audit department, hard-edged types who especially liked digging into details and finding fault.

They were stationed in finance for two days, tore through the historical accounts from the past three years, and in the end zeroed in on an engineering settlement payment from two years ago, raising serious questions about the data standards and demanding that finance produce a detailed written explanation within three days. Otherwise the payment wouldn't pass the audit, and it could directly affect the company's quarterly performance evaluation and bonus distribution.

As the finance supervisor, Zheng Xuemei was pushed straight to the front line.

She burned through three full days on this matter. The first version of the explanation was sent back by the auditors, who said it was "logically chaotic and vaguely expressed"; after she revised it a second time, they found fault again, saying it "lacked key supporting materials and wasn't professional enough."

At the weekly meeting, the finance director publicly criticized her by name for "not being careful enough and dragging the department down."

On the surface Zheng Xuemei kept a calm face, but in reality she'd been working overtime until two in the morning for two nights straight, her eyes bloodshot.

I hadn't known any of this until she came to me on Wednesday afternoon.

Around four o'clock that afternoon, she sent me a WeChat message: "Chen Mo, are you free? I've written this audit explanation three times and it still won't pass. Could you help me take a look? It's tied pretty closely to the budget you handled before."

I replied at once: "Yes. I'll come over now."

I took my laptop and walked to finance. Her desk lamp was on, and her desk was piled with printed documents and red-pen revisions. When she saw me, she visibly relaxed, though her voice still carried exhaustion.

"Sorry to trouble you... the audit side is pushing hard. The final version is due tomorrow morning."

I pulled out a chair and sat beside her.

By then, most of the finance department had already left, with only a few people staying behind to work overtime.

Zheng Xuemei handed me the document. I only had to glance at the original text to spot the core problem... the way it was phrased was completely off.

She had written it in the classic finance style: rigorous, cold, full of jargon and passive voice. But what the auditors needed was a clear chain of logic, an explicit causal relationship, and a narrative that non-finance people could also understand.

The two sides weren't even speaking the same language.

I spent an entire afternoon tearing the explanation apart and rebuilding it from scratch, reorganizing the language around the structure of "what the problem is -> where the data came from -> what the basis for the standard is -> what the conclusion is -> what the potential risks and responses are," translating stiff finance jargon into something clear and easy to understand, while adding supporting materials and a timeline at the key points.

Throughout all of it, Zheng Xuemei sat right beside me, our shoulders almost touching.

Every so often she leaned over to check the changes I'd made, and I could smell the faint perfume on her mixed with the exhausted body scent of someone who had been working overtime for too long.

That smell carried the warm weight of a mature woman, and it threw me off more than once.

After I finished, I sent her the final version. When she read it, her eyes visibly brightened, and she said quietly, "This way of writing... is really much clearer."

The next morning, the auditors responded: the explanation was clear, well-structured, and complete in its evidence chain, with no issues; it could be filed and kept for reference.

Zheng Xuemei sent me a WeChat message longer than any she'd sent before:

"This really helped a lot. Thank you. If it weren't for you, I probably would've had to stay up late revising it for a fourth time."

I replied: "Organizing text is what I do for a living. Your finance team really isn't great at this. If you run into anything like this again, you can come find me."

She sent back a "Mm," and about ten minutes later she sent another message:

"Are you free after work? I'll buy you a drink to thank you properly."

The system immediately popped up a prompt:

[Detected a mature woman actively inviting the host to meet face-to-face. Reward: 20 points. Current remaining points: 150.]

For the second time. She had invited me out on her own for the second time, and this time it was for drinks, not dinner.

I thought it over in my head, then messaged Wang Youmin about it, adding: She wants to buy me a drink. Should I go or not?

Wang Youmin replied very quickly, with only three words: [Go for it. Why wouldn't you?]

Then she added: [Come back early.]

Then she added one more line: [Bring back a bottle of red wine while you're at it. The supermarket sells it; I'll check the price and send you a link.]

I replied: [...Okay.]

Wang Youmin really was an incredibly down-to-earth person.

She could always use something as ordinary as "buying wine" to pull an interaction that sounded vaguely flirtatious back down into the level of everyday life.

For some reason I found that funny, but at the same time I also found it reassuring.

I replied to Zheng Xuemei with a time, and she said she knew a good little bar nearby, and we could go there after work together.

So I went with her.

The bar was on a quiet side street. Its facade was understated but tasteful, and the moment you pushed the door open, you could smell faint wood and the mellow depth of red wine.

The place wasn't big. The lighting was set to a warm yellow glow, the decor was mostly dark wood, rows of bottles sat behind the bar, and the background music was soft jazz. You didn't have to lower your voice on purpose, but your conversation wouldn't drift to the next table either.

Zheng Xuemei was obviously a regular.

When we walked in, the owner smiled and greeted her. "Xuemei, brought a friend today?" Her eyes paused on me for a beat, carrying a slightly knowing smile.

She arranged for us to sit in a quiet booth by the window, a concealed spot with the dim streetlamps and the occasional passerby outside.

We sat facing each other.

The deep wine-red knit dress she wore today looked especially soft and fitted under the warm light, the waist nipped in just right, making her full, heavy chest look even more prominent, the fabric rising and falling slightly with her breathing.

What drew the eye most of all was the pair of huge, fleshy hips beneath the skirt... the knit fabric clung to the curves of her plump ass like a second skin, and when those round, high, heavy cheeks settled into the chair, they were pressed just enough to form a luscious, weighty curve.

After we sat down, she took the menu, flipped through it casually for two pages, and suddenly looked up at me. "What do you usually drink?"

"Depends on my mood," I said with a smile. "If I want to relax, I drink whiskey. If I want to talk a little more, I'll have a cocktail. What about you?"

She gave a slight smile. "Today I want something a little sweet... Boss, a Penicillin, with extra ginger and honey."

Penicillin is a classic whiskey cocktail. Built on Islay smoky whiskey and mixed with lemon juice, honey, and ginger juice, it has both a smoky complexity and a sweet-spicy balance, which suited her perfectly in her relaxed state today.

I nodded at the owner. "I'll take a Lagavulin 16, neat, no ice."

Zheng Xuemei raised an eyebrow, surprise flickering across her face. "You drink Islay single malt? You have taste."

"I drink it occasionally. Sixteen-year is pretty balanced," I said with a smile. "The smoke is strong but not harsh, with a bit of seaweed and peat saltiness, and the finish has a faint sweetness. Personally, I think ice kills the smoke too much. Neat is the only way to really taste the layers."

The drinks arrived quickly.

Her Penicillin was a lovely pale amber, with a few slices of ginger floating on top. When you smelled it, the sweetness of ginger and honey hit first, with the smoke lingering underneath.

My Lagavulin 16 was more direct. The liquor was a deep golden amber, like melted amber in the warm light, with no garnish at all, just lying quietly in the glass.

Zheng Xuemei gently swirled her glass, sniffed it first, then took a small sip and narrowed her eyes in satisfaction.

"You really know your whiskey," she said, looking at me with a faint smile on her lips. "Did you study it before?"

"Not really. I just like drinking randomly," I said, shrugging as I lifted my glass and swirled it slightly so the liquor would coat the sides. "Among Scotch whiskies, I like the Islay style best. Lagavulin, Laphroaig, Ardbeg, they've all got a lot of character. Especially Lagavulin 16. It's got a strong peat note without being pungent, and a touch of sweet orange and chocolate. What about you? Which style do you like?"

"I prefer Speyside," she said, stirring the ginger in her glass lightly with a small spoon. "Something like Glenfiddich or Macallan has more obvious fruit notes, and it drinks gentler. The smoke on Islay is too heavy; I can taste it once in a while, but I can't drink it every day."

I nodded. "I get it. A lot of people, the first time they touch Islay, think they're drinking hospital disinfectant."

Zheng Xuemei laughed at that, her voice soft. "Exactly, that's the feeling! The first time I drank Laphroaig, I almost thought it had gone bad."

Once the topic opened up naturally, I kept going:

"Japanese whiskey has also become really strong in the last few years. Suntory's stuff, Yamazaki 12, Hibiki, they blend Scotch technique with Japanese delicacy beautifully. The aroma from mizunara oak is really distinctive, with a bit of coconut and tropical fruit. It's more impressive than a lot of entry-level Scotch."

"Right, I had Yamazaki once, and it really was impressive," her eyes brightened. "But the prices are through the roof now... Have you tried domestic whiskey?"

"Ive drunk a few brands," I said honestly. "Like Taiwan's Kavalan, Sichuan's The Chuan, Fujian's Daqin, Hunan's Gaolang, and Yunnan's Lingyun. They've improved a lot, easily up into the 70-point range. It's a completely different world from ten years ago. But compared with Scotland and Japan, there's still a gap in barrel aging and technique. Still, the value for money is excellent."

Zheng Xuemei nodded in agreement and asked, "What about besides whisky? What other base spirits do you like?"

"As for base spirits, I like London Dry gin, crisp with a piney note. For rum, I prefer heavy Jamaican rum, that ester funk and banana note really do it for me. With tequila, I only drink reposado and anejo, either neat or in an Old Fashioned. For liqueurs, I use Chartreuse and amaro most often when I'm mixing drinks, to add complexity."

She listened very seriously, nodding from time to time, and the admiration in her eyes grew more and more obvious.

"Then do you drink Chinese baijiu?" she asked suddenly.

"I do, but not much," I said with a smile. "I've had Maotai and Wuliangye. The really good stuff does have layers, but it's too strong, and it's easy to get drunk. These days I prefer whisky, or lighter clear spirits like Fenjiu. Baijiu and whisky actually have a lot in common - it's all about age, technique, and terroir."

Zheng Xuemei rested her chin on her hand and looked at me. The light gilded the fine lines at the corners of her eyes with a soft glow. She took a sip of her cocktail and said quietly, "Chen Mo, do you know... talking with you is really comfortable. You don't deliberately try to sound profound, and you don't just nod along when you don't know anything. A lot of men, once the subject turns to liquor, only know how much a bottle of Maotai costs, or can only say, 'This is good.' But you can talk about the difference between Islay and Speyside."

I lowered my head and smiled, not taking the obvious compliment, just lightly clinking my glass against hers.

"If you know it, say it. If you don't, say you don't. No need to pretend to know what you don't. It's just drinking. Having a good time is what matters. You want to relax today, so I'll keep you company and talk about something that helps you relax."

Maybe it was because we'd changed environments and stepped out of the company's oppressive frame; maybe it was because she'd been grinding over that audit explanation for three days and had finally solved it, so her whole body had completely relaxed; or maybe it was because we'd already talked long enough that we knew roughly what kind of person the other was, and there was no need to keep testing each other, so we could speak plainly.

She held her glass, staring hazily at the ice cubes inside, and spoke softly.

"Chen Mo... I've been married for thirteen years. My husband started being away from home for long stretches many years ago. At first it was because of engineering projects, and later it just became a habit, or maybe an escape."

She paused, her voice very light, but carrying the exhaustion of years of repression.

"Things between us aren't exactly bad, but it feels like we're living separate lives. We call each other once in a while, and only come together during holidays. I can't even say where exactly something went wrong, and I can't say anything is especially good either... it's just... faded. Like a cup of tea that's been sitting there too long, with no taste left."

"Faded," she repeated, looking down at the table with her glass in hand. "Sometimes I feel that kind of fading hurts more than fighting. Fighting at least means the two people still care about each other, but fading means they really don't. It means the other person has become part of the background. It doesn't matter whether they're there or not."

I didn't offer any empty comfort, because with something like this, no amount of pretty words would mean anything. I just listened quietly, taking the occasional sip of whisky and staying with her.

She looked up at me, her eyes carrying a rare vulnerability.

"You and your wife aren't like that, are you?"

"No," I said with a smile, my voice calm but sincere. "We still annoy each other, which means we still care."

Zheng Xuemei froze for a moment, then laughed softly. This laugh was more genuine than any she'd given before. She said, "Mutual irritation is also a kind of relationship." Then she lowered her head and added softly, "You two are good."

That sentence was wrapped in all kinds of complicated feelings - emotion, envy, and a softness and loneliness I couldn't quite put my finger on.

I didn't dig any deeper, and I didn't break it open. I just stayed with her until she'd finished the whisky.

Along the way she mentioned a few trivial things about carrying the mortgage alone these years, looking after her parents, and handling pressure at work, and I listened carefully, responding from time to time.

When the drinks were finished, we left the bar.

The night wind was cool, carrying the damp scent of early autumn.

Zheng Xuemei's high heels clicked against the pavement in a steady rhythm, and with every step, the full, luxurious mass of her ass trembled lightly beneath her skirt.

Those two big, round slabs of meat swayed under the wine-red hem in an alluring arc - full, thick, and heavy with the weight that only a mature woman had. Every step carried a natural bounce that kept dragging my gaze downward again and again.

We stood by the street for a bit.

Zheng Xuemei said she'd take a car home, and I said I'd take the subway, which was in the same direction anyway, so we might as well walk to the station together.

So we walked side by side, slowly.

That little street wasn't wide, and there were few pedestrians at night. The streetlights stretched our shadows long.

When we reached the subway entrance, her ride-share car had already arrived and was waiting by the curb.

She turned back to look at me. Under the lights, her cheeks had a little post-drink flush, and her eyes were soft and bright.

"Thanks for tonight, Chen Mo. It's been a really long time since I talked this freely."

"That's the most times you've said thank you all night," I said with a smile. "Keep thanking me and it'll get awkward."

She smiled too, the corner of her mouth curving beautifully. "Then I won't thank you."

After saying that, she took two steps toward the car, then suddenly stopped and looked back.

"Another day... drink again?"

"Sure," I said, nodding.

She got into the car. The door shut, and it slowly pulled away.

I stood there watching the taillights disappear into the night, and only then did I turn and head into the subway station. Her last line, that hopeful "another day, drink again," kept echoing in my head.

I quietly checked the last number I remembered over her head, the one I had seen after she said "another day, drink again":

[97].

She was just three points short of a hundred.

On the subway, I sent Wang Youmin a WeChat message: [I'm heading home. Is the supermarket still open? I'm going to buy some wine on the way.]

Wang Youmin replied very quickly: [It's open. I'll send you a link. And get some fruit too.]

I replied: [Okay.]

Then she sent another message: [How was it tonight?]

I thought about it and replied: [She told me about her marriage.]

Wang Youmin stayed silent for about two minutes, then replied: [Then she really does think you're trustworthy.]

Then she added: [Okay, hurry up and buy the stuff. Get Hualiu apples, not Fuji.]

I asked: [Why?]

She replied: [Support domestic products.]

By the time I'd bought everything and got home, Wang Youmin was waiting in the living room as soon as I opened the door.

She was wearing that loose pale pink house dress, her hair casually pinned up, a few stray strands hanging by her cheeks. When she saw the shopping bag in my hand, she came over, took it from me, pulled out the apples, looked at me, and curled one corner of her mouth in a smile that was half-smile, half-not.

"Talk," she said.

I changed shoes and sat on the sofa with her, telling her everything about the night from beginning to end.

She sat next to me, peeling an apple as she listened.

When she heard Zheng Xuemei say the marriage had "faded," her hand paused for a moment, but she didn't speak.

When I finished, she pushed the sliced apple over to me and said calmly, with a hint of teasing, "Chen Mo, do you know what situation you're in right now?"

"She has feelings for me," I said. "Her favorability is almost at 100."

"It's not just a favorability issue," Wang Youmin said, turning sideways to look at me, her long leg naturally resting across my thigh. "She told you about her marriage because there's a gap in her heart, and your kind of person just happens to make her feel safe. This isn't ordinary attraction. She wants to let you fill that gap."

I took a bite of apple and didn't say anything.

Wang Youmin suddenly leaned closer, her finger drawing small circles on my chest. Her voice was low and soft, but carried a trace of jealousy.

"I'm not warning you when I say this. I'm trying to tell you that you need to think clearly about what you do next. You can keep things as they are, or you can push one step forward, but you need to know what you're doing. She's not just playing around with you. She's serious. Serious about you."

I looked at her. "Wife, the way you're talking sounds like you're speaking up for her."

"I'm speaking up for you," Wang Youmin said all of a sudden as she climbed onto my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck, her eyes wet-looking but domineering. "I know what kind of person you are. If you just muddle through outside and let someone get serious about you, you'll feel bad about it yourself too. So I'm telling you in advance. You decide for yourself."

As she spoke, the hem of her dress naturally slid up to the tops of her thighs, and the warm, soft opening of her cunt rubbed lightly against my already-hard cock through my pants.

I cupped her ass. "So now... you're jealous?"

"Jealous?" Wang Youmin bit her lower lip and twisted her waist a little, rubbing the hot, wet place harder against me. "Of course I'm jealous. But I like it even more when you finish telling me the story and then take all that fire out on me."

She lowered her head and kissed me, taking the initiative to push her tongue into my mouth, tangled with the sweet taste of the apple and my own breath.

At first it was a soft, deep kiss, her tongue like a nimble little snake curling around mine, gently sucking and teasing, sometimes wrapping around the tip of my tongue and drawing hard on it, and sometimes suddenly pulling back, leaving only her wet, warm lips rubbing again and again against my lower lip, leaving a sheen of moisture there.

Then she suddenly turned fierce, biting down on my lower lip and tugging hard, her teeth nibbling me lightly, as if punishing me for "teasing other women" outside today. Then she quickly softened again, licking the spot she'd bitten, soothing it.

"Chen Mo... when you were thinking about Zheng Xuemei outside today... did you ever think about coming home and kissing me like this?"

She panted the question, her voice soft and seductive.

I didn't answer. I just took over, grabbing the back of her head with one hand and deepening the kiss.

My tongue charged fiercely into her mouth, stirring her tongue, gums, and palate like I wanted to swallow her whole.

My other hand slipped under the hem of her dress and pressed unceremoniously over her already-soaked, luscious pussy. I spread her swollen lips apart with two fingers and shoved straight into that hot, tight cunt, quickly digging and rubbing.

Wang Youmin was kissed to the point where she could barely breathe, her breathing heavy, making soft little "mmh" sounds in her throat.

She took the initiative to lift her dress all the way up to her chest, exposing her pale, full body, then grabbed a freshly cut apple chunk from the coffee table, bit off a small piece, held it in her mouth, and lowered her head to kiss me, passing the tongue and fruit together - with the sweet juice of the apple - into my mouth.

So we kept kissing and trading the sweetness of the apple back and forth. Saliva mixed with fruit juice and dripped from the corners of our mouths, making a complete mess.

"So wet already?" I deliberately stirred two fingers quickly inside her cunt, my thumb circling her swollen clit. "Just hearing me talk about Zheng Xuemei and you started flooding down there? You little slut."

Wang Youmin trembled all over from my fingering, her waist twisting like a water snake. She buried her face in my neck, panting, her voice soft and filthy.

"Yeah... just hearing you talk about how to seduce her... I got this wet... Chen Mo... pull your cock out... shove it in... I want..."

I stopped wasting words and just undid my zipper, freeing my hard, purple, vein-bulging cock.

Wang Youmin lifted herself up on her own, took my cock in one hand, lined it up with her drenched pussy, and slowly sat down.

"Pssht..."

With an obscenely wet sound, all eleven centimeters of my cock sank into her hot, tight cunt, layered and snug all the way in.

She threw her head back and let out a moan of complete satisfaction, both arms locking around my neck as she started riding up and down on her own.

"Ah... so hard... so hot... husband... fuck me... fuck your slutty wife hard..."

I held her rounded ass and drove up into her with savage force, every thrust slamming into the deepest place.

The sofa gave off a steady creaking sound, and slick was pouring down the base of my cock in streams, soaking my pants and the sofa wet.

She rode faster and faster, her white breasts bouncing wildly in front of my eyes. I lowered my head, took one pink nipple into my mouth, sucked hard and bit down, tugging it, while whispering in her ear,

"When Zheng-jie leaned on my shoulder tonight... all I could think about was coming home and pinning you on the sofa and fucking you until you were spraying everywhere..."

That sentence shot Wang Youmin straight to the peak. Her whole body convulsed violently, her cunt clamping down on my cock as she cried out my name.

"Ah...!!! Chen Mo...!!!"

I held her through the orgasm and kept thrusting savagely, then snatched the little fruit knife beside us, flashed it in front of her face, and used the back of the blade to lightly scrape over her sensitive nipples and collarbones.

The cold back of the blade made her both scared and excited, and her cunt muscles spasmed and tightened again and again.

Before the orgasm had even fully faded, I suddenly flipped her over and made her kneel and sprawl on the sofa, ass high in the air, switching to rear entry.

I grabbed her hair with one hand and pulled her back, held her slim waist with the other, and slammed into her like a pile driver, every thrust driving up to her cervix with loud, wet slaps of flesh on flesh.

"Wife... your slutty cunt is especially tight today... is it because I told you about another woman, so you wanted me to fuck you even more?"

"Yes... ah... that's it... fuck me... fuck me harder than you fuck Zheng Xuemei... fuck me broken..."

I fucked her harder and harder, and in the end I lifted her up, turned her to face me, and sat her on the sofa armrest with her legs spread wide in an M-shape, holding her ass as I drove upward furiously.

In that position I was buried deep, every thrust feeling like it was going to split her open.

Wang Youmin had already been fucked so hard she was completely out of it, eyes teary, tongue out, saliva running down her chin, but she was still crying out in broken, wanton gasps.

"Husband... I'm dying... cum for me... all of it... fill my slutty cunt..."

I couldn't hold back anymore. I growled and slammed my hips forward, violently blasting hot, thick semen into the depths of her womb in one gush after another. I shot seven or eight heavy spurts before I could finally stop.

After I came, I didn't pull out right away. I held her tightly against me, keeping my cock buried in her cunt, feeling her muscles still clenching around my cock after the orgasm as they squeezed every last bit of seed out of me.

The milky semen mixed with her slick slowly overflowed from where we were joined, sliding down the crack of her white ass and the top of her thighs, dripping onto the sofa and leaving filthy wet marks behind.

Wang Youmin lay against my chest, her whole body soft as water, her voice hoarse but satisfied.

"Chen Mo... you came so much today... you filled me all the way up inside..."

I lowered my head and kissed her sweaty forehead, and my heart was full of love and something complicated.

The matter became clear to me three days later.

That afternoon, Zheng Xuemei sent me another message asking if I had time over the weekend, saying she'd found a newly opened photography exhibition and asking if I was interested in going with her.

I stared at the phone screen for several seconds, a complicated feeling welling up inside me. In the end, I put the phone down, walked into the living room, called Wang Youmin over, and handed her the message to read.

Wang Youmin took the phone, read it carefully, handed it back to me, and asked calmly, "Do you want to go?"

"I do," I answered honestly. "But I wanted to ask you first."

She was silent for two seconds. Something in her eyes flickered lightly, but she still said in her usual flat yet heavy tone, "Chen Mo, do you remember the line I drew?"

"I remember."

"Then it's good that you remember." She paused, then softened her voice a little. "For something like an exhibition, go."

"Wife..."

"Go," she repeated. Her tone didn't change, but there was a complicated emotion hidden deep in her eyes that I couldn't quite read. "Go to the exhibition and tell me about it when you come back. That's fine."

My chest tightened a little, but I still picked up my phone and replied to Zheng Xuemei: [Sure. What time?]

Zheng Xuemei's reply came very quickly, as if she'd been waiting: [Ten in the morning. I'll send you the address.]

The system dinged.

[The system detected a mature woman taking the initiative to invite the host out (third time). Reward: 20 points. Current points remaining: 170.]

I put my phone away, walked over, and hugged Wang Youmin from behind, resting my face on the top of her head. She stood there without moving. After a few seconds, she slowly placed her hand on my arm.

"Youmin," I said.

"Mm."

"Don't worry."

She didn't say anything, but her fingers tightened slightly, as if answering me in silence. I knew she was reassured, and I also knew that precisely because she was reassured, I couldn't let her become uneasy.

Those two things were, in the end, the same thing.

I won't go into detail about the exhibition on Saturday here. After all, this is a story about a system and mature-woman favorability; the exhibition itself is just a setting.

But there was one thing worth mentioning.

One section of the exhibition was dimly lit, a photography display about the city's nightscape.

The photos were all large-scale prints, covering an entire wall. As the visitors walked through the middle, it felt like walking down a corridor surrounded by the city's night. Underfoot was shifting light and shadow, and overhead were pinpricks of light like a star river.

Zheng Xuemei walked beside me. Neither of us said anything; we just moved slowly along, looking at those frozen lights and that loneliness.

When we reached a very large nightscape photo, she stopped, and I stopped too.

We stood side by side. I turned and glanced at her.

In the dim light, the profile of her face was beautiful... a beauty given by time, with a few fine lines at the corners of her eyes, yet they only gave her expression more layers, more dimension, and added a gentleness that had been soaked in by life.

She wasn't looking at me. Her eyes were still on the photo, but her shoulder slowly and lightly leaned over and touched mine.

She didn't say anything, and she didn't lean in any further. She just touched me once, gently, tentatively, and then returned to her place as if nothing had happened.

I didn't move, and I didn't speak.

In that moment, the air turned thick and ambiguous, carrying a kind of unspoken understanding.

She turned to look at me, something hidden in her eyes, like undercurrents stirring beneath the surface of water, but in the end she only said softly, "Beautiful."

"Yeah," I said. "Beautiful."

At that moment, we were very close. I could smell the faint scent of shampoo in her hair mixed with a mature woman's body fragrance.

Her shoulder still carried the warmth of that brief contact, transmitted through the thin fabric to my body.

At that moment, the system popped up a prompt:

【Detected a mature woman in a public place giving the host flirtatious looks and taking the initiative to make physical contact for more than five minutes. Reward: 10 points. Current remaining points: 180.】

I noticed the number, but what I was thinking about at the time wasn't the points at all.

I was thinking about Zheng Xuemei, thirty-nine years old, and how she had spent so many years walking alone through a marriage that had slowly gone stale.

She wasn't someone who got close to other people easily.

That light brush of her shoulder might already have been the heaviest signal she could give.

When the exhibition ended, the sunlight outside was bright. We sat in the café nearby for a while and talked about some easy topics, neither of us bringing up the moment of tension that had just passed in the gallery.

When it was time to part, she stood in the sunlight and looked at me, saying softly:

"Today was really good. Thank you for coming with me."

"You were the one who asked me out," I said. "I should be thanking you."

She smiled and said, "Then we'll just thank each other." Then she looked at me again and lowered her voice. "Next time... if you have time, we can go out together again."

The system didn't pop up with anything, but I knew that was the most proactive thing she had said yet.

I said, "Okay."

That night, when I got home, Wang Youmin was sitting on the balcony with a book in her lap, but she wasn't really reading.

She was just sitting there in the sun, a thin silver chain looped around her ankle... something I had given her for our first wedding anniversary.

I changed shoes and went out to the balcony, sitting down in the chair beside her.

She didn't ask me anything right away. She just turned her head to glance at me, then took her eyes back to the book she clearly wasn't reading.

I said, "Today was pretty good."

"Mm," she said. "And the favorability?"

"I scanned it on the way back," I said. "Ninety-nine."

She turned a page and said calmly, "One point short."

"That one point," Wang Youmin said, "is something she'll cross herself. You don't need to push."

I looked at her profile. Sunlight fell across her face, and there was something hidden in her eyes... serious, yet deliberately kept from showing on the surface.

"Youmin," I said.

"Mm."

"Today she leaned on me once, in the exhibition. Just once, very lightly, and then she let go," I said. "I didn't move. I didn't say anything."

Wang Youmin's fingers paused on the page, then kept turning it as she said, "I know."

"I wanted to tell you," I said. "I wanted to tell you myself."

She was silent for about five seconds, then set the book down and turned to look at me seriously. She held my gaze for three or four seconds before she spoke.

"Chen Mo, sometimes you're really..." She stopped, as if searching for the right word, and finally just let out a soft sigh. "Forget it. Go heat up last night's leftovers. I don't feel like cooking."

I got up and walked to the doorway when she called after me, "Chen Mo."

I turned back. "Yeah?"

She kept her head down, her fingers lightly rubbing the book's spine. "Getting home early, that part was good."

I went to heat up the leftovers.

That night, after we ate, I washed the dishes while she sat at the dining table scrolling on her phone.

Neither of us said much, but the silence felt comfortable, the kind of silence that comes from being together for years, where nothing needs to be said.

After I finished washing the dishes, I went over from behind and hugged her, resting my chin on top of her head. She didn't even put down her phone, just let me hold her. After a while, she nudged me lightly with her head and said:

"Your hands are cold. Don't touch my neck."

"Okay."

I tucked my hands into her coat pocket to warm them, and she kept scrolling on her phone.

Outside, it was already dark. The streetlights were on, and a little orange light leaked through the curtains. The room was quiet and steady.

I thought that no matter what level the system eventually reached, and no matter where Zheng Xuemei's favorability ultimately ended up, this scene tonight was something I wanted to keep in my heart.

This had nothing to do with the system.