The office of Chen Yuan, the village doctor, smelled of medicinal herbs and hand sanitizer—that clean scent that clings to white walls and dark wood furniture. The afternoon hung heavy over the town, and the ceiling fan spun lazily, moving the warm air that filtered through the cracked window. Outside, the rustle of dry leaves swept by the wind mingled with the distant hum of a tractor engine. Inside, the silence was broken only by the rustling of paper as Chen Yuan noted something in the file of his latest patient.
The man who walked in limping, sweaty and with his face contorted in pain, was not a familiar face in town. He wore a flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, stained with earth and sweat, and work pants. He adjusted his straw hat between his fingers as if that could alleviate the discomfort gnawing at him.
"Doctor, it's just... I can't take it anymore," he grunted, his voice hoarse from embarrassment or pain. "It hurts as if a knife had been driven in down there."
Chen Yuan looked up, his eyes behind his round glasses shining with a curiosity that went beyond the professional. He laid his pen on the desk and leaned back in his chair, crossing his fingers under his chin.
"Sit down, please," he said, pointing to the stretcher lined with crisp white paper. "Tell me how long you've been feeling the pain."
The man obeyed, but every movement seemed to cost him. He sat on the edge of the stretcher, hands squeezed between his thighs. Chen Yuan approached, the soles of his leather shoes squeaking slightly against the tile floor. With precise movements, he took a pair of latex gloves from the box on the counter and pulled them on, stretching the fingers one by one.
"Can you lower your pants? I need to examine you," he asked, his voice calm, almost clinical, but there was a hint of something else in his tone.
The patient nodded, teeth clenched. He unbuckled his belt clumsily. As he lowered the zipper, the relief seemed instantaneous, though the pain did not disappear.
Chen Yuan leaned in, bringing his face only as close as necessary to observe. The scent of masculine sweat and something earthier reached his nostrils. He took a deep breath.
"There is inflammation," he murmured, more to himself than to the patient. "Have you had recent relations?"
The man cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "No, doctor. I've been alone for weeks, working in the fields."
Chen Yuan nodded, but his fingers were already moving toward his desk drawer. He took out a small jar of lubricant as if it were just another instrument of his examination.
"I need to palpate the area to rule out an infection or some type of obstruction," he explained, pouring a drop of the transparent gel onto his fingers. "You might feel a bit of pressure."
The patient nodded, but when Chen Yuan's cold fingers brushed him, a spasm ran through his body. Chen Yuan noticed the change—the way the man's muscles tensed. His fingers slid smoothly, pressing here and there.
"Does it hurt here?" he asked. The man gasped but shook his head. "No, doctor. It's... strange."
Chen Yuan smiled, a fleeting gesture that vanished before the patient could notice. "I understand," he said, stepping back. "It might just be muscle tension. But to be sure, I need you to relax completely."
He moved away a step, then added in a voice that sounded far too casual: "My wife could help us. She has... very soft hands."
The man blinked, confused. "Your wife?"
Chen Yuan was already heading toward the door that connected the office to the back of the house, where Mei Lin was peeling apples in the kitchen. When he entered, she looked up, her dark eyes bright under her black hair.
"Darling," Chen Yuan said, coming up right behind her, "the patient needs a more... intimate massage. Could you give me a hand?"
Mei Lin didn't ask. She never did. She just nodded, drying her hands on her apron before following him back to the office. Her steps were light, almost imperceptible. But when she entered and saw the man on the stretcher, her cheeks flushed a soft pink.
Chen Yuan closed the door behind them; the click of the lock sounded like a gunshot in the silence.
"This is my wife, Mei Lin," he introduced with a gesture. "She will help you relax."
***
[The scene continues as they engage with the patient to relieve his tension.]
Chen Yuan cleaned himself with a handkerchief. He approached them, placing a hand on the patient's shoulder.
"I believe the treatment has been... effective," he said, with a smile that tried to hide nothing. "Do you feel better?"
The man nodded, still breathless, his eyes shining. "Much better, doctor."
"Excellent," Chen Yuan replied, helping Mei Lin up. "Then, you may get dressed. And if the pain returns, do not hesitate to come back."
The man nodded, but his eyes did not stop following Mei Lin as she adjusted her skirt, her face still flushed. Chen Yuan knew he would be back. They all come back. Because in this town, he isn't just the doctor. He is the man who shares his wife. And that, more than any medicine, is a remedy everyone wants to try.