My cousin, a female teacher from the countryside

The maple leaves have turned red, painting the entire forest in vibrant hues; even the water seems to have been rendered vividly colorful.

This is autumn, and autumn has its own stories.

On a hillside on the outskirts of the city, there is a maple forest. A small river, its source unknown, flows down the hillside, dividing the burning forest into two parts: one part yearns to rush towards the wild mountains, the other longs for the small town visible in the distance below.

A boy walks along this dividing line, carrying simple belongings: a schoolbag and a water bottle, slung in an X shape across his chest. In his hand, he holds a newly broken branch, which he flicks at the tree trunks standing beside the path as he walks. He occasionally looks up at the mountains to the northwest, a slight smile on his face.

There is someone in those mountains whom he is searching for. His father is a respected figure in that small town, and he himself has lived a life of prestige since childhood. But he no longer wants it; he has left quietly, without even leaving a note for his father.

As he climbed the hill, he glanced back at the faintly visible town, a pang of guilt rising in his heart. His father had been good to him, but since his mother's passing, the man and the boy had spoken little. Every evening after dinner, a heavy, leaden silence enveloped them.

This predicament had seen a glimmer of hope when Sister Qiao came to the county town to accompany her father to the doctor. Sister Qiao's father was her father's distant cousin, a retired village teacher who had spent his life inhaling chalk dust. He was ill with lung disease, coughing incessantly. He wrote a letter to his cousin, who was well-known in the county town. The gist of the letter was: "I still remember when I was first assigned to the rural elementary school, you came to visit me. That summer was the happiest time of my life. We fished for loaches and crabs in the river and roasted them; we even climbed the persimmon tree behind the school to pick persimmons… Now, I am old and sick, and I often recall those days. I wonder if I will ever see you again in this lifetime."

The day after receiving the letter, her father personally took his driver back to the village school, a hundred miles away, to bring her cousin to the county town and take him to the county hospital. Sister Qiao also came in the car. When she first met Feng, Qiao was only nineteen, while Feng was just approaching twenty.

Qiao smiled timidly at him, a hint of ingratiating in her smile. He, true to form, nodded faintly and turned to go back into the inner room. Her father's affairs seemed to have nothing to do with him; he closed the door, shutting out anyone and anything he didn't want to deal with.

The country girl, wrapped in a floral cloth and with fairly delicate features, didn't attract the boy's attention for the first few days. Qiao always carefully went to the hospital to take care of her father before dawn, returning only after dinner. Her father noticed her inconvenience and gave her a key. Qiao would then use her lunch break to prepare lunch, wait for Feng to return, and then clean up the dishes.

Qiao's cooking was excellent, which made the boy feel somewhat favorably towards her. One evening after dinner, his father called him over and said, "Qiaoqiao is the math teacher at the village school. If you have any questions, you can ask her." The boy's face flushed red. He didn't want Qiao to see his terrible math test, nor did he want her to teach him. He angrily left the table and slammed the door shut behind him. He could vaguely hear his father's disapproving voice and Qiao's soft words of comfort outside.

From then on, something was always different. The boy began to intentionally or unintentionally avoid Qiao. Sometimes, when they met face-to-face, his face would involuntarily turn red, and he would turn his head away or walk past her.

Time passed quickly, and Qiao's father finally breathed his last in the hospital. He died contentedly because his cousin, the county magistrate, had promised to take care of his only daughter—Qiao.

The boy watched from afar as the people busily carried out the funeral arrangements. His gaze became fixed on Qiao, the sorrowful girl dressed in white mourning clothes. She sat quietly before the brazier, oblivious to the commotion and arrangements around her. Her only task was to place sheets of yellow paper into the flames. Not a tear streamed down her face, yet she exuded an overwhelming sorrow.

The funeral lasted three days, and the boy watched from afar for all three. Several times, the girl caught a glimpse of him, a bitter smile playing on her lips. He nodded, then immediately moved on, looking at her from another spot. On the fourth day, the old man was to be taken back to the countryside for burial. His father, unable to attend, went as his representative.

The village took the funeral very seriously; many people came to pay their respects—the old man's students, their parents, and even some minor officials hoping to curry favor with the county magistrate. He, as his father's representative, walked behind Qiao, his heart inappropriately fluttering as he gazed at the woman's graceful form beneath the white veil.

The boy didn't take the highway; he took a mountain path, one he'd seen on a map—a small map hanging on his father's study wall that clearly marked mountain trails like hunter's paths. This path intersected with the highway in a few places, but it was almost half the distance, and mostly followed the river.

Just as the boy had hoped, the scenery along the way was beautiful; even the fallen maple leaves on the path filled him with a strange melancholy. With each step closer to her, his heart beat a second faster. He thought about her face, afraid he wouldn't recognize her when they met again—in fact, the boy had never really gotten that close to see her face directly.

He kept thinking about what his first words should be when he saw her. Should he act casual, saying he was just visiting for a few days; or tell her he'd been thinking of her constantly since the day she left?

He didn't know how she would react—would she reject him? Be surprised? Be sad? Let out a giggle? He imagined hundreds of scenarios of their reunion, but each one immediately gave way to a new thought. In this state of heightened excitement, the boy continued onward, traversing forests and hills, crossing rivers and streams. When he reached the mountain pass and saw the village school nestled in the valley below, a sweet feeling welled up from his stomach to his tongue.

He knew she was in one of the classrooms below, teaching mathematics to boys around his age. He could even imagine her slender, white hands, chalk scribbling across the blackboard.

The boy descended the hillside in a sweet, dreamlike state and entered the old school. The village school was quite famous in the county; wealthy and powerful people from the city habitually sent their unmotivated children to this mountain school. Its history could be traced back to the early Republic of China, founded by a young man who had studied abroad. His belief in saving the nation through education, though not bearing much fruit here, had nonetheless influenced the local community.

The school still maintains its original size: two two-story brick buildings with eighteen classrooms, subtly corresponding to the number two and nine. In front is an earthen playground, with a row of student dormitories to the west and a small courtyard to the east where married teachers mostly live, while unmarried male teachers live in a row of bungalows behind the teaching buildings.

The boy checked the time; the second period of the afternoon was about to end. He stood far away under a chinaberry tree by the playground, waiting for her on the way to her dormitory. The bell finally rang, and the school erupted in the usual cheers. Boys and girls poured out of each classroom like a school of fish released into the sea, rushing to the playground in moments. No one paid special attention to the boy under the tree, which was exactly what he had been waiting for. He searched carefully and finally saw her appear in the corridor on the second floor. A playful hand suddenly grabbed his heart, squeezing it tightly.

He saw her smile at everyone who greeted her, her lips slightly upturned, her eyes filled with laughter. Then she disappeared around the corner of the stairwell, and a minute later, she reappeared at the entrance of the first-floor stairwell. He waited for her, but his legs felt weak. He didn't know if he would have the courage to call out to her as she walked past him. While the boy hesitated, she had already reached the playground and was walking towards him.

As Qiao walked under the lush chinaberry tree, she felt someone watching her. She looked up and saw the boy.

Qiao stopped. In that instant, she knew why he had come.

Qiao tried to act as if nothing had happened and nothing would happen, smiling as she said, "You've come." But as soon as she said it, it felt like she had been waiting for him all along. The woman's face flushed almost imperceptibly, and then she said, "Come sit in my dormitory." The boy nodded and followed her into the small courtyard. Because she was one of the few female teachers, she was given a small dormitory room there.

At the entrance of the courtyard, Qiao met Teacher Zhang's wife, a plump woman, who was poking at the coal stove. Seeing Qiao return, she immediately smiled broadly, "You're back..." Seeing the boy following behind, her smile widened, "This is...?" Qiao quickly replied, "My cousin, from the city." The plump woman suddenly seemed to remember something, her eyes crinkling with a fawning smile, "Oh, you came last time when your father passed away! Look at my memory! What a distinguished guest!" The woman rubbed her hands, seemingly very honored.

The boy didn't usually bother with these kinds of people, but seeing Qiao entertaining her, he nodded and smiled back.

At this moment, Qiao had already opened the bedroom door, lifted the blue floral curtain, and invited him in. He lowered his head and entered the room. A pleasant fragrance, the subtle scent of a girl's room, wafted through the air. Looking up, he noticed it was a small room of about eleven or twelve square meters. Under the window near the door was a desk with worn-out paint, on which stood a row of textbooks, an ink bottle, and a white porcelain water cup. Against the wall was a bookshelf, sparsely filled with a few books. On the top shelf, however, stood several plush toys, including teddy bears.

To the right of the bookshelf was a wooden bed frame, covered with a soft red and white checkered sheet, with two neatly folded quilts.

"Sit," Joe said, pulling out the only chair for him. He nodded and sat down at the desk, tracing the spines of the books with his finger, looking for anything that interested him. Joe poured him a glass of water from her cup. The boy immediately recognized it as Joe's own cup; she didn't usually prepare cups for guests.

A flutter of emotion stirred within him. He gazed down at the snow-white rim of the porcelain cup, where her soft lips had once touched.

He gently placed his lips on the rim, sipping the warm water, reluctant to let go. At that moment, the boy was at a loss for words. His thoughts, which had been scattered throughout the journey, were all mixed together. He could only keep his head down, sipping the water.

Qiao felt a little embarrassed and, wanting to say something, chuckled and asked, "How did you get here?" The boy then put down his cup and said, "I walked." The woman was somewhat surprised: "Walked? The county town is quite far from here." The boy smiled with a hint of pride: "I followed the Maple Leaf River, along a shortcut, much shorter." "That was still tiring..." The woman felt a pang of emotion; for her sake, he had walked all day through the forests and mountains.

"Have you eaten?" she asked, getting up to find him something to eat.

"I brought some sausage and steamed buns." The boy pointed to his backpack on the table, opened it, and took out the food wrapped in a plastic bag.

"I had a picnic by the river at noon." A happy smile spread across his face as he said, "I was going to light a fire, but after gathering all the leaves, I saw the 'No Smoking' sign painted on the rocks by the forestry station, so I gave up." People who lived near the forest knew how dangerous wildfires could be; he had witnessed the terrifying scene when he was a child.

"It's so cold outside, eating cold things will upset your stomach," the woman said, her compassionate gaze warming the boy's heart.

The woman glanced at her watch and added, "There's still some time before dinner. If you're hungry, I'll borrow Aunt Zhang's pot to cook you a bowl of noodles." When she looked up at the boy, her face flushed. He hadn't been listening to her at all; he was just staring intently at her face.

The woman turned her head away uneasily. She knew what the boy was thinking; in fact, she had understood his feelings from his gaze when he left last time. But how could she let this happen? He was still just a child; it shouldn't be like this, and she shouldn't let him be like this.

The two remained silent. The boy sat by the window, and the woman sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the setting sun to dip below the treetops, bathing everything in the room in a warm orange hue through the window. The cafeteria bell rang, and the woman stood up, took two bowls, and said, "I'll go get my food." The boy also stood up, wanting to go with her, but the woman shook her head, saying, "Wait for me; it won't look good if others see." The boy listened, silently sat down, and watched her lift the curtain and go out.

The door remained open from the time they finished eating until dark. The boy knew that Qiao intentionally kept the door open, and also intentionally kept the ceiling light on.

Qiao said, "Since you're here, stay for a couple of days. I don't have classes tomorrow, so I'll take you for a walk in the mountains. You can sleep here tonight; I've already arranged with Teacher Yao to squeeze in with her." The boy nodded silently. He looked back at the wooden bed; Qiao's arrangement was somewhat unexpected. He had originally expected Qiao to take him to stay in one of the male teachers' dormitories, but Qiao had given him her own bed. He knew this was mostly out of respect for his father, but he couldn't help feeling a strange sense of pleasure. A deeper longing lay within him: Joe had said he'd accompany him to the mountains ablaze with red maple leaves the next day. Perhaps there, he could finally tell Joe what he wanted to say!

(II)

The woman carried a shallow, white wicker basket, walking ahead. The boy trailed behind at a distance, giving him his first chance to closely observe the woman's back.

Her long hair was casually tied in a ponytail. She wore a red jacket with a front opening and thin blue cotton trousers. This attire, however, couldn't conceal her graceful waist. Whenever she climbed a slope, her firm, rounded buttocks bulged out of her blue trousers.

The morning sunlight filtered through the branches and leaves, casting shadows like a net across the clearing in the woods, trapping the boy's lively, beating heart. He was almost too preoccupied to look at the scenery; his gaze was fixed on Joe. Joe would occasionally turn back and smile at him, pointing out interesting plants. He would nod in agreement, pretending to be interested as he peered closer. When their heads were close, he could smell the delicate fragrance emanating from the woman's hair.

Scattered among the trees were bright red raspberries, ripe for the season. Whenever a cluster of vibrant raspberries was spotted, the woman would squeal with delight, "Quick, pick them!" as if afraid the little red berries might slip away among the leaves.

By the time the two reached the top of the hill, they had picked more than half a basket of bright red, juicy berries. From there, they could clearly see the school below. The bell for the fourth period had already rung, and the school was quiet. Only in the distance, at the far end of the playground, could they see a school worker in a gray coat carrying water to water the flowers in the nursery.

"We should go back," the woman said, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead and turning back with a smile. "It's time for lunch, isn't it?" The boy was mesmerized. Her fair, delicate face, radiant with a smile as bright as the autumn sun, made his heart flutter.

"I don't want to go down," the boy whispered, his eyes fixed on the woman.

"It's time to eat." The woman turned her head away, avoiding his gaze, and said softly, "Let's go down the mountain. There's a bus back to the county town this afternoon; it'll be too late if we're late." "I won't go back," the boy's voice was deep and powerful, "I came to find you!" The boy took a step forward, his hands already on the woman's shoulders.

The woman trembled, her heart leaping. He'd finally come! She didn't dare turn to look at him, afraid that her flustered appearance would only embolden

him. "No..." Before she could finish speaking, the boy gently turned her around, making her face to face with him.

The woman was flustered, unsure whether to look at his face or somewhere else, her eyes shrinking as she stared at his chest, where his manhood was heaving rapidly, frightening her.

"I like you," Feng said, each word like a burning ice pick piercing her heart. The boy didn't want to say "I love you," because he felt that word had become too commonplace.

"I want you..." The boy took a deep breath, as if encouraging himself, and raised his voice, "...to be my woman!" The woman's mind was in chaos. No woman in this situation would be much better off than her. A handsome young man, with his arm around her shoulder, firmly expressed his admiration for her, wanting her to be his "woman"... What obscene words! Why hadn't she realized the meaning of the word "woman" before? -- Her face flushed, and her body felt light and weightless, forcing her to lean on the boy's shoulder.

"No!" she weakly refused, trying to push away the boy's embrace. "No..." The boy didn't feel the woman's slight resistance. He put one arm around her waist, pulling her body closer to him, and the other around her shoulder. He lowered his head, trying to kiss the face he had longed for day and night.

The woman felt the heat of the boy's lips and desperately tried to turn her face away. The boy initially searched for those gentle lips, but gave up after a moment, gently kissing the woman's cheek that she had turned away from. The woman let out a soft moan, her legs giving way, and she collapsed softly onto the hillside among the red and yellow mottled withered leaves, swaying under the boy's weight.

The boy was right on top of her, propping himself up and looking down at her closely. His gaze traveled from her forehead to her tightly closed eyes, then to her small nose, and her cherry-like mouth, trembling with fear, revealing her tightly clenched, snow-white teeth. The boy cupped the woman's cheeks in his hands and pressed his lips to hers. The woman's body convulsed, her facial muscles twitching. She opened her eyes in terror, wanting to scream, but the boy's burning lips silenced her.

She couldn't breathe, she was powerless to resist; the feeling was so weak and sweet. No man had ever touched her lips, no man had ever pressed down on her body.

She closed her eyes again, letting him have his way. She had given up resisting. Her clenched teeth were forced open by the boy's tongue, his wet, snake-like tongue darting, teasing, and searching within her mouth. The boy skillfully explored the woman's mouth. This wasn't his first time. Coming from a well-off family and possessing a fairly handsome appearance, his first love dated back two years. But that girl had left the county with her parents after graduating from junior high, and he hadn't felt anything special, nor much sadness. To him, it was just a fleeting, romantic game.

But this time was different. His heart told him again and again that this time was different. He had never missed anyone like this before, not even his deceased mother. He longed to see her so much, thinking of her face, her body, and her hands in the night.

Though he felt ashamed, he couldn't help but imagine her slender, white fingers, like those that had held chalk, gently cupping his burning penis while he masturbated.

When the boy's lips finally parted hers, the woman felt as if she hadn't breathed in a long time. She opened her mouth wide, like a fish leaping from the water, inhaling deeply. She opened her eyes and met the boy's bright, clear eyes, the lake of love still reflecting the intense light of the autumn sun. The woman stared intently, her shyness gone. She knew he truly loved her—she had known for a long time, ever since he had observed her from afar, she had vaguely sensed his feelings.

Overall, besides being older than him, her rejection stemmed from another concern: she felt unworthy of him. She was merely a rural schoolteacher, her life already planned out: find a male colleague or a local official, marry, have children, and live out her days there; with a little more effort, perhaps they could be transferred to the county seat. But the

young man was different. His life had begun brightly. His father, her cousin, was not yet forty and had a distinguished record in managing the county. A position had already been made available for him in the city, and Feng would inevitably fly far away. In that vast metropolis, one of the fashionable girls could truly become his "woman"—not an older, unsophisticated country girl like herself.

Thinking this, a single, crystal-clear tear rolled down her cheek and onto the fiery maple leaf, a beauty that deeply moved the young man. He leaned down, pressing his face against the woman's cheek, feeling the warm, damp tears streaming down his cheekbone. His heart relaxed and eased; he knew he had won Joe, this woman three years his senior, now his.

The school bell rang from the foot of the mountain, signaling the end of class. Neither of them moved, the faint sounds of voices rising and falling gradually.

The boy slowly rose, straddling the woman's legs. She turned her face to the side, letting him do as he pleased. The boy unbuttoned her red jacket, one button at a time. When he reached the last button, the woman suddenly tensed, her hands trembling as she clutched the hem of her garment, but the boy gently pulled them away. The jacket opened to reveal a white sweater underneath, her full breasts heaving beneath.

The boy's left hand slipped under the sweater, touching the bottom of her bra. His fingers slipped in, lifting upwards, and his hand pressed the woman's full, firm breasts into his palm. The woman sobbed softly, covering her mouth with a fist. She thought sadly that she was like a lamb offered to the altar of a boy's youth, powerless to refuse, unable to resist.

The boy experienced the pleasure emanating from his palm, completely different from caressing the frail little girl—this was a woman! He felt a surge of pride; the occasional trembling of her body beneath him intensified his arousal. He moved his hand to the woman's other breast. The delicate nipple stimulated the dense nerve plexus in his fingers, sending electric shocks through his nerve pathways, rushing straight to his heart and lower body. The

boy's lower body hardened, forcing him to lift his lower body and adjust his position. The woman naturally felt the change in his lower body. Shame permeated the entire grove. The boy pushed up her bra to make it easier to play with her breasts, his hands grasping one breast in each hand, kneading and squeezing them beneath her sweater. The woman remained silent, her eyes closed, letting him do as he pleased. Her breathing, however, was no longer natural.

When the boy pinched her nipple between two fingers and gently twisted it, she finally couldn't help but let out a soft sob. Her brows furrowed, her shy appearance making her all the more endearing. Suddenly, the boy released her breasts. She heard the rustling sound of trousers being pulled down. Peeking out with shy eyes, she saw the boy straddling her, his trousers already pulled down, his lower body half-naked. His thick, red penis was erect and pressed against his abdomen. The woman had only ever seen a man's genitals when bathing her ailing father; she had never seen an erect penis before. She nearly fainted from shame and quickly closed her eyes.

The boy knelt on top of the woman, looking down at his penis and the beautiful woman beneath it, his breathing heavy.

This was once a boy's dream, but it became a reality in this forest of fiery maple leaves. The colorful branches were their tent swaying in the spring breeze, and the fallen golden, red, and colorful leaves were their bedding for lovemaking. His gaze swept from the woman's face to her breasts, landing on her limp, white hands resting at her sides. He was about to turn that erotic dream into reality.

The boy gently took the woman's right hand, the one that had once held chalk, and pried open her curled fingers one by one, then pulled it towards his crotch. When the woman's fingers lightly touched the boy's burning penis, both the boy and the woman trembled simultaneously. The woman immediately tried to pull her hand away, but the boy firmly grasped her wrist and forcefully pressed it against his penis, which had suddenly become unusually thick.

The woman weakly held this shameful thing, not daring to move. She heard the boy's low, hoarse voice command: "Touch it!" She still couldn't move her arm.

The boy grabbed her hand and slid it up and down with her, looking down at her slender hand stroking his shameful shaft. Feng became somewhat excited, increasing the strength in his grip on the woman's wrist and speeding up his stroking.

The woman's soft palm pressed tightly against his penis, giving him immense pleasure.

He pulled the woman's left hand, supporting it on his testicles, gesturing for her to gently caress them. When he released her hand, it fell limply to his sides. He could only hold her hand, pressing it against his groin, pulling and rubbing his swollen testicles, which resembled two walnuts, back and forth.

He wanted to close his eyes to savor the experience, but he couldn't bear to tear his gaze away from the union of the woman's hand and his genitals. He tried to take in every detail, memorizing it, but he couldn't maintain this state for long. Finally, he struggled to tilt his head back, his lower body thrusting forward violently. The burning desire that surged from his abdomen transformed into a wet, scalding spring fluid, gushing out from his small opening. It splashed onto the woman's cheek and among the fallen leaves beside her.

Before the boy could catch his breath, he saw the woman covering her face with her hand, still stained with his sticky fluid, and crying.

The sun was still shining brightly, but a breeze had picked up. Fiery red maple leaves drifted down from the sky, rustling the fallen leaves in the forest. This, combined with the woman's shy and suppressed sobs, left the young man somewhat bewildered. He looked around and saw that the basket of vibrant raspberries he had picked earlier had been overturned and was scattered far away on the ground, a scarlet mess, like a pool of heavy blood.

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My cousin, a female teacher from the countryside

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