Chapter Fifty-One: Overwhelmed by Shame and Fury

On summer nights, the room was quiet despite the cicadas and frogs singing outside.
"You drive me mad," Wang Mengzi said again, standing still without moving.
She waited a long time without any response from Zhang Ye, and a strange feeling crept over her. She hurriedly turned around to find Zhang Ye kneeling and sprawling on the floor; her anger dissipated by more than half.
"Get up! What are you doing, kneeling like that?" she said, rushing over to help him up.
But as she tried to pull Zhang Ye to his feet, something felt off—his whole body was limp and powerless, as if... The sound of his snoring reached Wang Mengzi’s ears. Instantly, she was infuriated. She pinched his hand hard, but he didn’t move at all, like a dead pig.
"You little brat, you drive me mad," Wang Mengzi muttered, nearly beside herself with anger. She had thought Zhang Ye was remorseful, had knelt down, and if he spoke a few soft words, she would forgive him. But instead, he succumbed to the wine and fell asleep, like a pig, and she had to take care of him.
Sighing, Wang Mengzi forced a bitter smile. "What a mess," she said, then bent down to pull Zhang Ye up.
"He's so heavy—he’s grown up," she murmured, her cheeks flushing red. He really had grown up; he knew how to bully his aunt now.
Previously, Zhang Ye was only muddled from the drink, not fully asleep. But now, his entire weight pressed down on Wang Mengzi. She was just a woman, never accustomed to heavy labor, and her strength was pitifully small; she couldn't support him. Her feet slipped, and she fell onto the sofa behind her, Zhang Ye's entire body landing on her.
Because she was helping him, Zhang Ye, though taller than her, collapsed perfectly onto her chest, his hot breath and lips pressing against her, sending waves of heat through the thin T-shirt and scanty undergarment she wore. Wang Mengzi was so mortified she nearly lost her mind.
She quickly propped herself up and moved Zhang Ye's head to the side, then crawled up herself. Perhaps out of anger, she smacked Zhang Ye's backside twice, muttering about how he bullied her.
There was no helping it; Zhang Ye needed care. After catching her breath, she resumed her efforts, carefully dragging him up. Several times she nearly lost her balance, but at last, after half an hour, she managed to lay Zhang Ye on the bed, which was suffused with her own rich, fragrant perfume.
Wang Mengzi left the room for a glass of water, troubled once again.
Though Zhang Ye hadn’t vomited, the scent of alcohol was thick on his body and clothes, especially his shorts, which were damp—likely from spilled liquor. She thought that sleeping in those clothes would be unbearable.
So, swallowing her embarrassment, trembling, she reached out and began to undress him.
The shirt was easy enough; she propped him up and stripped it off. But the pants—well, they weren’t exactly pants, but a pair of boxer shorts worn as outerwear.
Thinking of Zhang Ye’s masculinity, Wang Mengzi felt a wave of shame and anger. Her cheeks were redder than when Zhang Ye had kissed her earlier, more enticing and more flushed.
"Ah, you little brat, you’re driving your aunt mad, truly mad." Maybe it was the friction from undressing him, or perhaps the urgent need to pee after drinking, or maybe something he dreamed…
Whatever the reason, Zhang Ye was aroused.
That hot, masculine feature tented his shorts like an umbrella, twitching with vitality.
Wang Mengzi felt utterly defeated, wanting nothing more than to punch him hard. It was outrageous.
Yet, she cared for Zhang Ye. Thinking he’d be uncomfortable wearing those shorts, she overcame her fear, trembling as she reached out and slowly pulled them down—
"Ah!"
This time, Wang Mengzi was genuinely startled.
No underwear!
Zhang Ye, in pursuit of coolness, hadn’t worn briefs.
It wasn’t unusual in summer, but fate played a cruel trick. As Wang Mengzi pulled, Zhang Ye’s masculine feature sprang free, brushing against her nose as it bounced past.
Wang Mengzi was mortified to the point of despair.
No word could describe her feelings. Sometimes she’d been curious about such things, but facing it now, its grandeur and unique scent made her fearful.
Unable to bear the pressure from young Zhang Ye, Wang Mengzi turned and fled the room.
Half an hour later, she returned timidly, grabbed a rug, and hurried out again, nearly bumping her head in her haste.
At that moment, Zhang Ye lay with his shorts hanging off one leg, fully exposed, snoring thunderously.
...
"Ugh... my head hurts..."
Early in the morning, Zhang Ye was awakened by faint sounds—perhaps someone chopping vegetables or cooking.
Rubbing his aching temples, he blinked and glanced toward the door, which was closed but there were noises outside.
He vaguely recalled scenes from last night and froze for a moment. "A dream?" He looked down—nothing, only a pair of shorts hanging from one leg, creased across the fabric.
"Not a dream?"
Zhang Ye blinked, suddenly wide awake.
Last night, he seemed to have done something earth-shattering.
What was it?
Oh yes, he kissed Aunt Wang, confessed, and something else?
Zhang Ye was jolted awake by the memory of last night. Kissing? Confessing? Was that something he could do now? Of course, he’d long had the intention. But the timing—it wasn’t right.
It was the alcohol.
Alcohol caused trouble. Zhang Ye patted his head, a hint of worry appearing on his face. "Did Aunt Wang undress me?"
But why think about that? Would she be angry? Surely. Would she forgive him? Would she tell his parents?
Zhang Ye’s mind was in chaos, and he forgot to dress, lying back down naked. His thoughts were in turmoil, his heart uneasy and anxious.
"Probably not, or my dad would already have come after me with a stick." Zhang Ye felt a twinge of guilt. How could he have done such a thing last night?
"In any case, I have to apologize to Aunt Wang." Zhang Ye thought it over, organized his words, and planned how to make amends. He got up and dressed.