The snow of my hometown, the feelings of my hometown.

page views:1 Publication date:2022-09-28

The river splashes only when restrained by its banks, and my soul sings in its excessive tranquility. The Jiangnan town where I live is otherworldly. Whenever I look out from among the lush green willows, the Yangtze River under the rising sun shimmers with golden light, boats sailing on its surface, their white sails rippling like drifting clouds on a silver river. After the Beginning of Spring, a gentle drizzle falls, and the hibernating grass begins to reveal its verdant eyes; in summer, the scorching sun beats down, and tall sycamore trees provide shade; after the Beginning of Autumn, the autumn rains bring fluctuating temperatures, and the sycamore leaves first turn yellow, then bronze, and then fall one by one with a metallic sound—winter is fast approaching. What I remember most vividly is the winter of my hometown, the snow of my hometown, holding within it so many memories, both sweet and bitter. When I was seventeen, after the winter solstice, the biting north wind grew stronger day by day. As evening approached and dusk deepened, most people had already closed their doors, except for a few stalls and shops still open. The biting wind, though kept out by my door, seeped in through the cracks in the old ancestral home, weathered by sun and rain, howling and chilling. At this time, my mother and I would cut strips of wood paper we'd bought, mix some glue, and seal all the gaps with these strips, preparing for winter. "Qiao'er, do you think your father has arrived yet? It's so cold; I'm worried the coat I asked him to take isn't warm enough," my mother said, her pale face filled with worry. "Mom, don't worry," my father replied, "Dad wore plenty of layers when he left, and with so many colleagues on the train, he'll be fine. You're just worrying unnecessarily." He was wearing the greyish-blue crepe leather robe passed down from my grandfather, with an old-fashioned overcoat over it. As an accomplished paleontologist, my father's eyes would light up at the mere mention of a new species, and despite his frail health, he would insist on going to the site. This time, the Zhejiang Provincial Cultural Relics Bureau had invited him to identify a newly discovered dinosaur fossil, reportedly a medium-sized dinosaur, six or seven meters long, that was both herbivorous and carnivorous. The rescue and excavation work was about to begin. "Sigh, I was just worried about his health. The traditional Chinese medicine your grandfather prescribed for him finished this morning, so I had to ask him to take some Western medicine with him. If I had known, I would have prescribed more, and things wouldn't have turned out this way… sigh!" My mother sighed deeply, turning her gaze back to the distance, a faint light flickering in her eyes. "I just didn't expect it. Looking at the weather, it looks like it's going to snow. If the snow closes the mountains, I don't know what will happen. Dad's just so stubborn, I can't persuade him." I felt both worried and a little resentful. My mother usually did all the housework, juggling work and family responsibilities. Moreover, my father's health has always been poor, and my mother has always taken care of him tirelessly. The couple has never argued or quarreled, which explains why my family has been recognized as a model family by the neighborhood committee every year. "Yes. This time he said he would be back in two or three days, or at most a week. But man proposes, God disposes. If it really snows heavily, it will be a terrible thing. Sigh, Qiao'er, what do you think?" My mother rubbed her hands together to warm them, and her breath immediately formed a thin layer of mist on the window. "Mom, are you cold? Come on, let's light the stove." I took my mother's hand and placed it in my palm. It was indeed icy cold. My mother's small hands were round and delicate, an incomparably exquisite and skillful pair of hands. With her small hands, she could make Suzhou Pingtan famous all over the world. "No, I'm not cold. Qiao'er, there's still some lotus and corn porridge that I made. Have another bowl." My mother gently pulled away and let me hold her hand. A slight blush appeared on her originally fair face. I took a deep breath. My mother, standing gracefully before me, was so dignified and beautiful. This was the mother who gave me life and raised me; her blood beat in my veins. I couldn't ignore this beauty; this feeling was innate, constantly lingering in my dreams, impossible to shake off. I often longed for its arrival when I was troubled. Lu Xun wrote in "Call to Arms," "Lately I've only been troubled; trouble is like a great poisonous snake coiling around my soul." He wrote so well, capturing my inner world perfectly. Because I always felt that trouble was incredibly demonic; it came from nowhere, and once it clung to me, I could never escape, just like the great poisonous snake in the Indian forest, considered both sacred and eerie. "Alright, go light the stove, I'll go get some more charcoal." My mother pulled my little hand away from my lips, turned, and went into the storage room. Her slender figure was like a light blue-ochre impressionistic painting. I followed closely behind her, the closed room seemingly filled with her alluring fragrance, a subtle scent that wafted into my nostrils, and I could almost see the pink clouds in the sky. "Mom, I miss you… I want you…" I hugged my mother's soft body from behind, feeling my heart pounding. "You know what? I barely slept last night, just listening to you and Dad…" "Ah, no, don't… Qiao'er… you, you promised me…" My mother tried to break free from my embrace, but she was powerless; my strong arms were her own. I could feel her hands and feet were frozen, her whole body trembling. I pressed my face against her back, my arms still tightly wrapped around her, her firm breasts in my grasp, igniting a burning desire within me. "Mom, Mom, just let me hug you, even just like this." I pleaded, my deep baritone voice trembling like willow catkins in the wind, dancing wildly in the sky with a frenzied, drunken state, echoing the fragments of my dreams. "Good child, listen to me... This isn't good, it's really not good. Let me go, I'm your mother!" My mother choked back tears, her silvery voice ringing in my ears. My soul felt like it was lying on a dream net, swaying gently, ethereally, and serenely in her fragrant embrace. I was as intoxicated as if I had drunk fine, aged wine. "Mom, isn't it nice to just hug you like this? Didn't you say you liked it when I hugged you like this? Mom, I haven't been happy these past few days, so unhappy!" I lifted my face and brought my lips to her pointed earlobe. My mother's ear hooks were old-fashioned pure gold hoops, gleaming in her cloud-like black hair. The sky outside the window was low, the clouds were dim, and the north wind howled across the rooftops and ditches. Countless withered leaves swirled and scattered in the wind, and the trees trembled in the wind, just like my mother in my arms at this moment. "Ah, Qiao'er, Mom can't make mistakes again. Let go of Mom, my good child..." My mother's voice was broken and intermittent, like a half-dried stream hidden by white clouds, or the desolate sound of autumn. I was silent. My mother's tone was low, like a mermaid lost in the dark night sobbing. I read it, appreciating all the shock and poignant beauty it brought on this gloomy winter day. In the past, my soul had long been corroded by that great serpent, and sometimes I even wished for that pain to return, because it was accompanied by joy and could slightly lift my gloomy spirit. I had neither the courage of Hemingway to commit suicide, nor could I let this deathly silence permanently erode my soul. So, I could only make mistake after mistake. In silence, I persisted in my resolve. My left hand slipped under her clothes, and my mother's breast, full and delicate, possessed the typical grace of a woman from the Jiangnan water towns. It twisted and swayed in my grasp, its soft curves like a gentle whisper. But what ignited my burning desire was her docile, exquisite vulva, which, under the touch of my right hand, went from cold to hot, swirling like clouds. My mother stopped struggling. The room was quiet, but the pulse of our excitement beat within it. A mysterious, natural language slowly seeped into the depths of my soul. I believed my mother felt the same way. In this utterly silent realm, my heart soared like a wisp of smoke, recalling that beautiful day, that time, the lingering melancholy after the party, that tender affection, and that profound helplessness! My mother wept. My charming, gentle, passionate, and inherently fragile mother trembled, and a warmth spread to my fingertips. I turned my mother around. Her bright eyes were dazzling, tinged with a hint of sadness, and the bamboo fence in my heart crumbled once more. I gently picked her up. Her rosy lips were like blooming violets, their color so vibrant they seemed cut from paper, and her eyes, shimmering with autumn light, seemed to float with a lush green. I couldn't help but recall a line of poetry: "In her autumn waters, verdant meadows pass by." "Qiao'er...you, you put the mosquito net down..." My mother's timid, soft voice, like the chirping of a bird with wings, murmured. "Yes, Mom." I obediently lowered the beaded gauze mosquito net, even though it was just the two of us in the room, she still insisted on doing so. The large, carved mahogany bed that my mother had brought with her as part of her dowry swayed and rocked, a rhythmic, undulating movement. My mother's tenderness flowed out bit by bit in her plaintive moans, each utterance like a clear spring initially flowing laboriously and quietly through a crack in the rocks, then, drawn by me, gushing forth in a torrent. My mother's vulva was initially somewhat inexperienced, like the verdant grapes of the south, its color amber, vibrant with a reddish glow. I felt my strong member racing across the vast countryside, or like a small boat with a plain sail, moored in the middle of a paddy field. All my worries vanished. I gazed at the lush green grass, listening to my mother's melodious song, like birdsong, and the world was filled with wondrous sounds. "Qiao'er, be gentle... I want it, I'm almost... I can't take it anymore..." my mother cried out.As the rhythm slowed, the complex cadence harmonized, the long and short notes, the gusts of wind and the songs of rain, a languid yet joyful expanse. I slowed my pace, gently stretching my growing limbs. Through the white gauze curtain, I saw the latticed screen covered with faded blue silk, and the grid paper my mother and I had pasted together. I turned my gaze back; my mother's body was a pearly white, shrouded in a misty silver vapor, her whole body like a wordless book unfolding before me. My mother's voice rose, melodious, lingering in the air, filled with a faint floral fragrance… gentle, fresh, giving me boundless joy. About three to five minutes later, I heard the patter of raindrops on the grass, the soft, trembling sounds of my mother's murmurs, a mixture of joy and cadence. This clear, melodious chirping, for some reason, made me smile slightly, yet also brought tears to my eyes. How could the gentle breeze, the splashing of spring water, compare to this most tender melody of human intimacy? "Mmm...mmm, hum...ah..." my mother murmured again, the down comforter covering her arching, and without realizing it, my mother and I stretched our legs out, basking in the sunlight, without feeling the cold. I listened intently; her clear voice floated all around, like the chirping of spring insects, the murmur of flowers. Wasn't this scene the very image of that eternal day? That night, the night was beautiful, the world eerily quiet. No painter's brush could capture that scene, and it is forever etched in my heart! "Mom, I want to do it here, okay?" I gently placed my fingers on her anus, the folds revealing a hazy mountain, shrouded in mist, like a fairy draped in a milky-white veil. I often fantasized about one day wandering among them. My mother was shy; I had tried to do it from behind before, but she refused. I knew that unusual position made her feel humiliated, and I understood. Therefore, I tried to guide her, taking advantage of this beautiful scene, this intoxicating moment. "No, no, this won't do, how can this be? We're not animals, besides, it's so dirty there..." My mother's reserve and shyness made her refuse this position that made her feel ashamed. However, I knew. I knew she had done it with my father; I had seen it by chance once. That was when I was thirteen, just as the cicadas were shedding their last chirps and flitting across the branches. That day, the summer heat was fading, and a refreshing autumn breeze was blowing… “Brother Qiao, I caught another cricket today! Let’s go find Da Sha’s ‘Ever-Victorious General’ and have a fight!” My neighbor, Er Leng, pushed open my door, holding a small earthenware jar. The chirping coming from inside was loud and powerful; I could immediately tell this cricket was a formidable fighter. Sure enough, when I opened it, it was long, with a large mouth and strong legs, a dark brown color—a top-quality cricket. I gently nudged it with a blade of grass, and it immediately opened its mouth, flapped its wings, eager to fight, and chirped. “Where did you find it? Hey, this time it’ll definitely beat that kid!” I exclaimed with delight. Yesterday, Da Fu and I had spent ages rummaging around at the foot of the old blue brick wall behind my house and in the damp ruins, but we hadn’t found a good fighting cricket. The most we found were fat, large three-tailed crickets, which were useless. "Hehe, I found this by the ancient tomb on the back mountain last night. How about that? Pretty impressive, right?" Erleng looked smug, like a cricket strutting around in a clay pot. I laughed and grabbed him. "Come on, let's go find Da Sha." "Qiao'er, you haven't eaten yet?" My mother rushed out, wearing a light purple woolen coat and holding an unpeeled water chestnut. "It's okay, Mom, I'm not hungry. You and Dad eat..." I replied as I ran, the passion of battle burning within me, encouraging me. I wanted to defeat that smug guy immediately. But I lost that battle badly. When I returned home dejectedly, it was late at night, the moon hidden by the treetops. I walked around the pond behind the old house towards home. I looked up and saw the old house standing alone by the water, with sparse curtains hanging low in front of the windows, and several graceful autumn willows gently brushing against the clean white marble slabs in front of the door. I didn't enter through the main gate. Instead, I climbed over the crumbling old wall and jumped into the courtyard. The autumn night air was filled with the rich fragrance of locust blossoms. Through the glass window, I saw my father's study, bright as an autumn pool, radiating a soft, clear light. On the exquisite ebony table by the window sat an animal skeleton, apparently my father's new specimen. My father and mother admired the specimen side by side; my father pointed at it, while my mother nodded in praise, her lowered eyes sparkling with admiration and joy. All the wonder was in ninilu.Dom, perhaps it's a case of loving the house because of the house; my mother also cherished every one of my father's works. That mutual understanding and connection often amazed me in the years that followed. The clear, watery lamplight illuminated my father's white hair and my mother's rosy cheeks. Occasionally, they would look up, their eyes meeting, revealing a deep and unforgettable love between them. My father grew up in poverty, his hair turning white in his youth, yet he excelled academically, highly regarded by the school and industry—truly a top student. My mother met my father through my maternal uncle, who was my father's classmate. The year he graduated from university, my father visited my uncle and met my mother. My mother said she was attracted by the deep, ethereal wisdom flowing in my father's dark eyes, not by his frail appearance, but by love at first sight, a love that would last a lifetime. My father's outstanding success in his academic field can be said to be inseparable from my mother's virtuous support. "Peijiang, I'm going to Beijing tomorrow. What do you want me to buy for you?" Father gently pulled Mother into his arms, lowered his head to kiss her temples, and his hands roamed over her body. "Hmm, I don't need anything. I just hope you can finish your business and come back soon. You should buy some toys for Qiao'er; he's been a bit too wild these past few days, and I really don't know how to teach him." Mother's voice was sweet and cloying, like glutinous rice paste mixed with sugar. "You always spoil him like this; you'll spoil him rotten." Father was slowly undressing Mother, but then Mother broke free from him, went to the window, and drew the curtains. In my haste to hide, I caught a glimpse of her milky white skin beneath her neck. My heart pounded, and I jumped into Mother's bedroom. I knew Mother's temperament; she wouldn't do that kind of thing with Father in the study. "You know, it's the same in the study, why do you insist on coming back to the bedroom?" As I expected, Father couldn't resist Mother's insistence and had to follow her back to their bedroom. "No, how can we do this there? What if Qiao'er suddenly comes back? Yu Nong, please don't turn on the light again." After closing the door, Mother took off her underwear and neatly placed it on the bedside table. The light was still on, but Father ignored her; he wanted to savor and admire Mother's beauty. Desire stirred within me with surging passion. This passion rose from my lower abdomen, rising higher and higher, as if to burst through my heart and then spread in all directions. Mother's breasts were small and delicate, not as enormous as the neighbor's mother's, but more refined and rounded, with pale purple nipples adorning her firm breasts. Father stroked Mother's abdomen, where there was a mark left from giving birth to me. "Jiang, you're so beautiful. Look, you're all wet..." "Hmph... Yu Nong, stop touching me..." Mother closed her eyes, and I could feel the rising desire within her, just as it burned within my own chest, making me gasp for breath. My burning penis proudly erected its tent for the first time. "Alright, my little darling, I'm coming..." Father thrust his penis deep into Mother's body, his voice hoarse. He lifted Mother's legs in his hands, in a position like a spear thrusting into the sun. I heard Mother's tears of joy, and the air was filled with the sound of fine sand rubbing together. I was drawn in and listened carefully. It didn't sound like their genitals intertwining, but rather like three or five small blue dragonflies rubbing their thin wings together, a babbling brook. The sound seemed to be tinged with vibrant colors, and I could almost see the damp green, near and far, shrouded in a misty haze. "Ah..." Father cried out, a long, desolate cry, tinged with despair. He shifted his body a few times, then lay motionless on top of his mother. Time seemed to stand still; the night was long, and the room was deathly silent. I could only hear my own breathing, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry... Jiang, it's been so long since we've done it, I thought... I thought... who knew..." Hiding behind the curtains, I held my breath, afraid to speak. The chill of the late autumn night rose from between my toes. I heard my mother sigh deeply. "It's alright, Ming-ge. You've always been in poor health, and you've been working so hard lately, you might have been distracted. It's okay, we'll start again." My mother sat up, her naked body like a melancholy goddess, pure and beautiful, emitting a sapphire-like glow. I finally saw my father's coral-like fluid, dripping onto her soft pubic hair, a mixture of lust and despair. "Come, let me help you." My mother grasped my father's limp penis, slowly rubbing it until it revived. "Jiang, I heard there's a way to stimulate me..." The father inserted his finger deep inside the mother, his eyes shining. His alluring wife lay sprawled under the orange light, delicate and fragile, just like her bride days. "What?" the mother gasped. She gently stroked the father's face, her tenderness like that of a goddess in a dance. "I heard you can insert it here too. Jiang, let's try it, okay?" In his haste, the father pressed his thumb against the mother's anus. "Ah, how can this be? How could you even think of that? It's so dirty." The mother's face flushed red with shame, and she pushed the father away. "No, it's okay, really. Jiang, just let me try." The father's stubborn voice held anxiety and pleading. "It's so small here, how can it fit? And it will hurt a lot." The mother hesitated, and under the father's caresses, her vulva secreted some fluid, glistening under the light. "How will you know it won't work if you don't try? Come on, Jiang... even if it's just for me..." Father, perhaps imagining the sensation, had a rock-hard penis that he stretched open in Mother's hands. Mother's unease slowly subsided. She looked at the penis and murmured, "Okay, just this once." She propped her elbows on the bed, her rounded buttocks facing me. Her pubic hair was half-wet, half-dry, her tender pink labia half-open, revealing delicate, smooth, and glistening flesh. My lips, dry and parched, imagined the sweet juice and tender pink flesh, and finally, saliva welled up at the corners of my mouth. "Ah, it hurts... it hurts..." Mother's buttocks were smooth and flawless, unlike the overgrown pubic area. I could clearly see Father's glans inserted into her anus. "Just bear with it, you've forgotten, the first time is always like this..." Father placed his left hand on Mother's smooth buttocks, while his right hand reached around to her breasts. He then stepped back slightly and thrust forward again. Although I couldn't see Mother's expression from behind, I could still hear a hint of pleasure in her painful groans. I thought Mother was in pain, yet also experiencing joy. In the hidden darkness, my engorged penis throbbed in my hand, vast and boundless, like a lone wolf roaming the grasslands in search of food. Mother's panting and groans echoed in the quiet night, ethereal and mysterious, carrying the delicate moans and sobs unique to Eastern women. "I'm going to die... I'm really going to die..." I seemed to feel the loneliness of a bamboo shoot breaking through the soil, and I even saw the blood, the cruel red... "Qiao'er, get up, okay?" Mother's gentle tone was as usual, carrying a faint fragrance. "Hmm, Mom, I'll go heat up some wine, let's have a few cups, okay?" My hand gently rested on my mother's warm mons pubis, slow and tender, like caressing a newborn baby. Outside the window, yellow leaves fluttered against the old windowpane; the wind grew stronger, the sky darker. "I'll go, you stay in bed, it's warmer." My mother lifted herself from my strong abdominal muscles, her voice soft and melodious, like pearls rolling on a jade plate, gentle and round. She turned her back, her delicate back shimmering with a crystalline light, and tears welled in my eyes. I was moved. My mother lived fully in my past years, the most vibrant and vivid seventeen years of my life. It was in these days that I understood the secrets of the sky and nature, glimpsed the secret love between mountains and clouds, became familiar with the tender embrace of rice paddies and land, and participated in the rendezvous of the ocean and sandy shore… At home were sixteen jars of "Daughter's Red" wine that my mother had brought with her as part of her dowry. My father didn't drink, and neither did my mother. It wasn't until I was sixteen, when my maternal grandfather came to visit, that my mother took it out of the storeroom. She opened the jar; the wine was a deep crimson, a powerful color that embodied the tenacious emotions of life, containing a rich tapestry of meaning: death and rebirth, lingering affection and liberation, disillusionment and reality, imprisonment and freedom… "Qiao'er, this is my mother's homesickness." I was jolted. My frail and delicate mother had been away from her family home for over a decade; her hometown, Huilin Town, was quite a distance from here.The pregnant woman was not far away, yet I had never seen my mother return. Why, I didn't know. However, today, seeing her solemn face for the first time, I felt a strange melancholy in the shimmering shadows of the wine. Warm flames danced in the charcoal stove, mingling with the wine. "Mom, are you homesick?" A slight pang of pity welled up in my heart. Perhaps, as one grows older, homesickness comes and goes like the tides. Two large tears welled up on my mother's pure and elegant face. She shook her head slightly, "No. Qiao'er, you're still young, you don't understand..." Her voice was as light as smoke, drifting across the aged red window frame. "Mom, when will I go home with you? I've never been to Grandma's house." My mother's eyes were shimmering and dreamy, captivating my heart. I gazed intently at the charming dimples at the corners of her lips, where so much tender affection and lingering happiness were hidden. I just stared, wishing I could see the world as dust on my eyelashes. "Okay, we'll go back after your college entrance exam next year." My mother said with some joy. "Actually, you've been back before, but you were only two years old then, and you've long forgotten." "Come on, Mom, let's have a drink." I picked up my bowl; the wine, as crisp as the cold winter outside the window, melted in my warm heart. My mother, with her jade-like hands, also picked up her bowl and drank it all in one gulp. I never knew my mother had such a high tolerance for alcohol. I looked at her slightly smiling lips with surprise. She was radiant on the mountaintop of my heart, clear in my entire sky. How could I not love her? Lost in ecstasy... As I gazed at her, a blush suddenly rose on my mother's beautiful face. "Still not enough, you silly boy..." My mother's coquettish scolding shattered my senses. How could I not be enough? I gazed into those deep, ocean-like eyes, those whispered words, that deep longing that time could not take away. In the depths of those captivating eyes, I had already lost myself. ...I sank into that sea once more, surfing happily. My mother, in her murmured murmurs, opened herself up, embracing my strength, her face possessing a melancholic, elusive beauty. Finally, we were united again, my mother whom I had longed for day and night, the one I dreamt of! I heard her soft, melodious moans, gentle and tender, like the ocean's lament, shrouded in a golden mist. My mother arched, swayed, but who knew? Beneath the calm lake lay a herd of wild, furious horses! I silently gazed at her, and she gazed back at me with her deep, tender eyes. – In the depths of those eyes, I felt an irresistible allure. "Oh…bridge…" she moaned. I sipped the delicate, purplish-red, lustrous pearls, taking a small bite, the milky aroma tempting my palate. I was startled by her trembling, and my inner self was immediately drawn back into that warm sea of love. It was gentle and serene, bold and passionate, profound and deep, mysterious and transcendent… The shouts of passersby came from outside the door, “It’s going to snow!” And just as expected, the snow began to fall. Soon, there was a soft sleet, large raindrops accompanied by natural hexagonal crystals tapping against the black tiles of the roof, like a mother’s nimble hands gently gliding across the strings of her violin, tinkling and melodious… The mother sat up, her anxious eyes peering through the latticed paper window, “It’s snowing, it should be here by now…” Outside the window, the snow, chased by the wind, swirled and danced, drifting and scattering, sometimes turning and soaring into the air, sometimes stretching out its arms, and then rushing headlong into the earth that eagerly awaited its embrace. This snowy scene should have been a paradise of joy for children; the neighborhood kids had already cheered and rushed into the streets and alleys, stumbling and falling, but their hearts were full of joy. I looked away. My mother's rosy lips were now pale with a melancholy. "Mom, Dad will call when he gets here. Don't worry, it's not his first time going out. He's been through much more dangerous things before, let alone this snow." My mother stretched out her snow-white arm, gathering the beaded gauze curtains. "You're just happy by yourself, not worried at all, how heartless..." Her voice held a hint of displeasure, a soft scolding tinged with a touch of coquettishness. "Mom, you've misunderstood me. My love for Dad is the same as yours, no different. I was just saying, even if we worry here for ages, it's useless. What's meant to happen will happen, and what's not meant to happen won't happen. There's no need to worry too much." I felt a little wronged, withdrawing my fingers that were still inserted in my mother's vagina. The strong smell of semen, like the aroma of fine wine, slowly faded. "And you still say that? Look at you..." My mother trembled slightly, glared at me, put on her cotton coat, and closed her eyes in meditation. I was speechless. In my position, I truly didn't know what to say. I fell into a dreamlike state within reality, and this dreamlike state seeped into my life. I was lost, as if I had exhausted myself in the search, as if I were still hesitating and wandering the streets of dreams, lost in the thick fog. My thoughts, in the instant my heart slightly opened, were lost... I don't know if this counts as love. My mother doesn't acknowledge it, and I am completely bewildered. When I ran almost hysterically across my mother's vast grassland, all I knew was that the caresses that delighted me, the whispered words that intoxicated me, and the melodies and rhythms that stirred my emotions—everything in the world seemed incomparably beautiful and radiant, incomparably pure and harmonious. In the great fusion and harmony of heaven and earth, I melted and merged, heaven and earth became one. In my intoxication, I forgot my father's existence; in my infatuation, I forgot the ethics of a son. It felt like a fleeting moment, yet also like an eternity. I can't recall how many days I've enjoyed such warmth, sweetness, and beauty… I also don't know if, as my mother said, one day I'll find that comfort no longer so intoxicating, those whispers no longer so moving, and my mother's jade-like body will gradually turn yellow, her vibrant flower will wither day by day, and her firm, full breasts will shrivel like fruits in the dead of winter. Then I will understand. I was startled, confused, and terrified… Perhaps one day, the sun I thought would never set will finally fall, and I will stand alone on the vast, twilight-shrouded earth, crying out to the boundless sky in solitude. My father finally called. They had arrived safely at their destination and had already set up camp, telling us not to worry. My mother happily lay back in bed, the radiance of love bathing everything. For the first time, I gazed at my mother with rational eyes. Her emerald-like face was filled with auspicious peace; asleep with her eyes closed, she was a holy and beautiful goddess! Tranquil and clear, dazzling and mesmerizing. I gently placed my hand on my mother's mons pubis, her crescent-shaped vulva…soothing my thirsty heart. My heart slowly settled in this stillness, slowly drifting into sleep… "When you bite into an apple, you say to it in your heart: 'Your seed will live within me, your future sprouts will grow in my heart, your fragrance will become my breath, and we will spend all the years together happily.'" – Kahlil Gibran, *The Prophet* I looked at my mother sitting before her dressing table. In the mirror, her delicately arched eyebrows were furrowed, like a sorrowful young woman. Her thin lips parted slightly, a soft, shallow smile revealing a row of neat, white teeth. A few shallow lines appeared at the corners of her lips, and from these lines, the whole smile held a touch of awkward shyness and trepidation. The dressing table was an antique style, made of red sandalwood, and along with the huge red sandalwood bed and bedside table, it was brought by my mother from her family home. There were several cosmetics and perfumes on the dressing table, but I never saw my mother use them; they were just displayed in rows. She was naturally beautiful and didn't need any adornment. My mother was skilled at playing the pipa, and her singing was melodious and clear. I think the description in Bai Juyi's "The Song of the Pipa"—"The sounds of the pipa are mixed and varied, like pearls falling onto a jade plate"—is most fitting. My homeroom teacher, Wang Shan, was also a Chinese language teacher. She always favored me in the class, which I think stemmed from this poem, "The Song of the Pipa." I remember last year when we were studying Bai Juyi's "The Song of the Pipa," Wang Shan happened to ask me a question about my views on the poem, and I spoke eloquently. I said at the time that "The Song of the Pipa" is not only a unique narrative poem full of vitality, but if it were rewritten as a novel, it would also be an outstanding short story. This is because it has a rigorous story structure and vivid character descriptions; it can be said to be a true work of pure literature, a good work that one can read again and again without getting tired of it. Perhaps it was from that day that Wang Shan changed me from the class monitor to the language arts representative, thus entering my private life. "Qiao'er, what are you staring at? Aren't you going to school?" My mother saw me looking at her and smiled slightly. She was so beautiful when she smiled! Her soft features had a classical splendor, yet were so lively and graceful. "Ah, Mom, you're so beautiful..." I abruptly withdrew my unrestrained gaze and my wild thoughts. "Yes, I'm going to school today. Teacher Wang Shan said she'd assign some homework." Because of the snow, the school had to suddenly close for the holidays, and the classes hadn't had time to assign homework. "Well, then hurry up and go. Stop dawdling here..." my mother chided, tapping my nose. Her hand exuded a cool, pleasant fragrance, and the smile on her lips was graceful and subtle, like a crape myrtle flower blooming in the corner. My heart fluttered, and I pulled her into my arms. The light was dim, and so were we; I, too, was like the morning mist, my vision blurred.It was like a dream, like reality. "Go away, haven't you had enough after a whole night of tossing and turning..." My mother playfully pushed me away, turned and walked towards the kitchen, still humming: "In the prime of youth, one wanders the ends of the earth, adding a year, losing a year. As dusk approaches, the crows fly home, opening one window screen, closing another. Rain falls softly, wind whispers gently, gathering fallen petals, scattering fallen petals. Bored and helpless, I sing a pipa tune, I pluck a pipa tune. My body has nowhere to rest, I call out to my nemesis, I curse my nemesis." I recognized it as Feng Weimin's Northern Double Tune – Toad Palace Tune "Four Scenes of a Woman's Lament" from the Ming Dynasty. Her voice was clear and melodious, and for a moment, I was mesmerized... I pushed open the door, and my eyes were immediately brightened. The world that had been hidden from me by the tiled roof and paper windows last night was now a pure white expanse. Yesterday, the courtyard, littered with fallen leaves and looking quite messy, was now covered by a blanket of snow, like a huge, white handkerchief. The two jujube trees that my mother and I planted together stood majestically, clad in silver armor, proudly stretching their snow-white arms towards the sky. The river, less than ten meters away, was frozen solid, and the sound of its flow was inaudible. I didn't cross the bridge, nor was a bridge necessary; the other side was open field. I walked through the snow towards the school. Wang Shan's house wasn't actually in the school grounds, but behind it. It was a three-room house with stone walls and a tiled roof. When I arrived, Wang Shan was wearing an apron, her beautiful hands sticky as she rolled out dumpling wrappers. Her cheeks were rosy. "Come in quickly, it must be really cold outside. Look how frozen your little face is!" I smiled at her, bowed, and went into her kitchen. The room was dimly lit. On the wall facing the door was a faded New Year's picture of a chubby child riding on a goldfish with a curled tail. In the center of the room was a wooden square table and several benches. In the corner, some unwashed clothes were piled up, with Wang Shan's bra prominently placed on top.

URL 1:https://www.sex3p.com/htmlBlog/203332.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=203332&aspx=1

Last access time:

Previous Page : Stocking-clad slut female teacher

Next Page : A trapped beast's struggle

增加

comment Open a new window to view comments

Contact Information

The snow of my hometown, the feelings of my hometown.

comment Open a new window to view comments