[Urban] How a Scoundrel is Made - 1-3

Chapter One

From the day I can remember, I lived like a poor little prisoner under the strict control of my mother and father:

"Xiao Li, come here, wash your face," my father would say.

"Xiao Li, stop playing, it's time to go to bed!" my mother would command.

Especially my mother; in her presence, I was practically a robot devoid of any thought or mental activity, everything done under her manipulation. Like a puppet, I ate and slept on time according to my mother's meticulous arrangements, my schedule never deviating even a minute, my life trajectory always unchanging and absolutely unalterable.

Every morning at six o'clock I had to get up on time, then start making the bed, getting dressed, washing my face, brushing my teeth, and going to the bathroom. My mother wasn't very concerned about my older sister, but she was overly concerned about me. She not only helped me get dressed and wash my face, but also taught me how to brush my teeth properly. When I went to the bathroom, she followed me in, holding toilet paper in her hand. As soon as I stood up, she immediately commanded,

"Stick your bottom up!"

So I stuck my bare bottom up high towards my mother's face. My mother carefully wiped my bottom, and then, with a provocative slap of her slender white hand, she said,

"Okay, stand up!"

When I stood up, my mother was still squatting at my feet, patiently helping me fasten my belt.

"Okay, all tied up, wash your hands and go eat breakfast!"

And so, my mother tirelessly wiped my bottom, from toddlerhood to childhood, from kindergarten to elementary school, all the way up to third grade. During this time, I couldn't poop without my mother's help; without her, I didn't know how to wipe myself. From kindergarten to elementary school, I never even used the toilets; my mother always took care of everything at home.

Breakfast was served promptly at 6:30. After breakfast, my mother, having finished getting ready, would take my hand and lead me to school. At noon, my mother and I ate lunch together in her office. All afternoon, she wouldn't let me leave the office. She sat at her desk knitting, while I sat beside her, reading my lessons aloud over and over again. When she thought I was getting tired, she would allow me a little free time, but I was not allowed to go any further than the long corridor opposite the office.

After work, I went home with my mother, had dinner, and then washed my face and feet.

"Okay, go to sleep!"

"Mom," I murmured. My mother glanced at me, smiled knowingly, and gently walked to my bedside. She lifted her shirt, revealing a pair of exceptionally white and smooth breasts:

"You're so shameless, you're so big already, and you still want to touch them!"

In this world, the most unforgettable thing for me, the thing I will always yearn for, is my mother's breasts. I have always believed that my mother's breasts are the most beautiful, and this is an undeniable fact. Whenever my mother holds my hand as we walk to work, those swaying breasts always attract the lustful and wicked gazes of men. This makes me both proud and annoyed. My mother's breasts belong to me, what are you looking at? My mother's breasts were enormous, sinking deep into her abdomen to form two lovely, gently sloping hills with beautiful curves. Two round, strong nipples pressed against her bra without a care, revealing a pair of alluring little bumps. From infancy to childhood, my mother had an endless supply of milk for me to drink. I nestled happily in my mother's soft breasts, swallowing mouthfuls of incredibly nutritious milk while lovingly playing with her ample bosom. At these times, Mom would appear so gentle, no longer coldly scolding or reprimanding me as she usually did. Instead, she would lie quietly on her side, and as I continued to suckle,

she would involuntarily moan: "Ouch, ouch, ouch, son, bite gently, it hurts so much!"

I would ignore her words and instead teasingly nibble at her breasts. A helpless smile would appear on Mom's face, and her chubby hand would lovingly stroke my head:

"You little rascal, ouch, you're hurting Mom, ouch, ouch!"

After weaning, I remained unchanged in my fascination with Mom's breasts. Every afternoon after school, while Mom was doing odd jobs and teaching me, I would deliberately lean against her. When my colleagues weren't looking, I would secretly slip my hand into Mom's bosom and caress her. Mom would watch silently with her head down, occasionally muttering a few words:

"Okay, okay, have you touched enough?"

Every night before bed, I had to caress my mother's breasts before I would crawl into bed. I wished my father would always be away on business. Whenever he was away, I would quietly slip into my mother's bedroom after washing up. My mother, who had just finished washing up, was sitting on the soft bed trimming her beautiful toenails. When she saw me come in, she stopped:

"Xiao Li, you're done washing up, why aren't you asleep yet?"

"Mom," I stubbornly stood by my mother's bed. My mother understood and lifted the corner of the blanket:

"Sigh, you good-for-nothing child, come in!"

With my mother's permission, I happily climbed into bed and burrowed into my mother's warm blankets. My mother straightened the blankets and then crawled in as well. I was so happy that I forgot myself, snuggling tightly against my mother's chest, grabbing her breasts, and drifting into a sweet dream in an indescribable feeling of happiness.

My mother's love for me is sincere and meticulous; it is the greatest love in the world—motherly love! However, this greatest motherly love is by no means without principle. Once she discovers that I have done anything wrong, even the smallest and most insignificant mistake, she will immediately darken her face and punish me without any mercy.

"Xiaoli, come here," one Sunday morning, Mom had tidied the entire house spotlessly, and the balcony was covered with her newly washed clothes. She wiped the sweat from her brow, then grabbed my Chinese textbook:

"Xiaoli, come here, stop playing, it's time to study, time for a dictation!"

Hearing Mom's command, I, still engrossed in playing, frowned and sat down next to her. Mom held the Chinese textbook and recited it methodically, while I mechanically and listlessly wrote it down. Because I had no interest, I often made mistakes, either omitting a stroke or adding an extra dot. I picked up the eraser and angrily scrubbed the workbook:

"Damn it, I made a mistake again!..."

"Slap—," a loud slap landed heavily on my cheek. I immediately put down my pencil in pain, covering my poor little face in agony. Mom scolded me sternly:

"Don't swear, it's so ill-mannered if someone hears you!" After saying that, Mom handed me an apple as compensation for the slap:

"Here, have an apple first, then continue your dictation!"

Tears welled in my eyes as I gnawed on the red apple, but after eating more than half, I couldn't taste any sweetness. I glanced at the remaining half, gave it a flick of my wrist, and with a whoosh, the half-apple flew out the window.

"Smack—," I stared blankly at the fallen half-apple when my mother mercilessly slapped my cheek again:

"Who told you to throw things out the window? What if someone got hit? That's so inconsiderate!"

I covered my face and sobbed pitifully against the windowsill. My mother came over and gently stroked my cheek with her delicate white hand:

"My child, my good son, you must be well-mannered and not act recklessly! Go on," she pushed me:

"Go downstairs and play for a while!"

Oh, how pitiful!

But in this dormitory building, there are people even more pitiful than me. My best friend, Sun Xun, is much more pitiful than me. I can at least go downstairs for a little fresh air every day, though not for very long, never more than an hour each time. But Sun Xun's mother keeps him locked in his room all day long, not even allowed to go downstairs or into the hallway. Only me and a few other girls are allowed to visit Sun Xun's house, and even then, it's like visiting someone in prison—there are time restrictions. Just when we're having a great time, Sun Xun's mother always regretfully tells us to leave:

"You should all go home; Sun Xun needs to study!"

I wipe away my tears and walk downstairs alone. The dormitory courtyard is empty; not a single friend is there. Sigh, who can I play with? Suddenly, from the collapsed brick walls, a noisy chorus of children's voices comes from within. Without a doubt, it's the children from the bungalow area playing happily! I followed the sound quietly, and when I reached the gap in the brick wall, my legs suddenly felt as heavy as lead. Looking at the crumbling wall, I felt like I was standing on the edge of a forbidden zone, not daring to take a single step. My mother and all the uncles and aunties in the dormitory unanimously referred to the area outside the brick wall as a slum, forbidding us from contacting or playing with them.

"Xiao Li," I mustered my courage and was about to step over the collapsed wall when suddenly, my mother's cold, yet terrifying voice came from behind me. She didn't say much, but just the two words "Xiao Li" were enough to make me tremble. I stopped numbly, then mechanically turned around. My mother's head was sticking out of the window, shaking me sternly. I immediately understood that she was ordering me to go upstairs and go home.

"Xiao Li," I timidly pushed open the door, and my mother grabbed my arm.

"Xiao Li, what did I tell you, hmm?"

"I said: Don't play with the wild children from the slums!"

"But what were you trying to do just now? Were you going to crawl over the brick wall to play with those wild children?"

"No," I protested,

"No, Mom, I didn't go over there. There was a slipper by the wall, and I wanted to pick it up!"

"That's still not allowed. You can't just pick things up; it's too dirty!"

The large wooden clock hanging on the wall started to chime loudly, and my mother stood up as if wound up.

"It's five o'clock. Time for dinner!"

And so, my day ended. After dinner, under my mother's incessant nagging, I started washing my face and feet, and I had to make the bed perfectly straight. Just as I was about to crawl into bed, my mother placed a stack of clothes that had been drying during the day beside me.

"Don't sleep yet. Change your shirt!"

"Mom, I just changed it yesterday!"

"I know, but it's already dirty. Stop talking nonsense and change quickly. You filthy little thing!"

Under my mother's gaze, I slowly took off all my clothes. My white little penis swayed ridiculously between my legs. I grabbed my shorts, ready to put them on to cover my shy little penis, but my mother gave me an order that made me very embarrassed:

"Don't rush to put them on!"

"Hmm," I looked at my mother with a puzzled expression. I saw my mother bring over a basin of warm water:

"Lie down, let me wipe your little calf!"

"Mom," I disliked my mother doing this the most. How could a boy's little penis be handled by others so casually? Even if you are my mother, I don't welcome it. But Mom was strict; her orders were law and could not be disobeyed. I had no choice but to obediently lie down. Mom dipped her plump, jade-like hands in the water in the basin, then grasped my little penis and rubbed it repeatedly.

"So dirty," Mom said sarcastically.

"You brat!"

I would never understand why Mom was so interested in my little penis, making me scrub it carefully every few days. As she scrubbed, she pulled back the thin foreskin, her beautiful eyes scrutinizing the head of my penis.

"Look, it's full of black grime, so filthy!" After saying that, Mom picked up a bar of soap and rubbed it on the head of my penis, constantly rubbing it with her fingertips.

"A boy's penis must be cleaned frequently, otherwise he'll get sick!"

Mom muttered very seriously. Mom not only frequently cleaned my penis, but also frequently cleaned my sister's urination, but I was absolutely not allowed to be present. Whenever Mom cleaned my sister's urination, she would ruthlessly kick me out of the house.

"Go," Mom said to me, carrying a small porcelain basin specifically for washing my sister's urine.

"Xiaoli, go downstairs and play for a while!"

I had just stepped out of the room when Mom slammed the door shut. I heard her order to my sister,

"Dongdong, hurry up and take your pants off!"

As I grew up, I understood Mom and was very grateful to her. Mom was a wonderful mother. Because of her care and love, my sister and I grew up healthy. We developed good habits, and not a single swear word ever came out of our mouths. Furthermore, we both had two rows of clean, straight teeth that many people envied. Our physical development was also excellent; we had no inflammation or ailments. One year, when I was in the countryside, a little girl I was playing with suddenly clutched her lower body and rolled around on the ground in pain. None of the other rural children knew what was wrong with her. Suddenly, I remembered something:

"Her urine must be dirty, and bacteria are tormenting her!"

Her mother believed me and brought her some clean water to wash her urine. The little girl stopped rolling around in dissatisfaction and stopped crying and making a fuss.

Whenever my mother cleaned my penis, I would secretly watch her face. I noticed a look of happiness on her face, as if she wasn't holding an ordinary penis for peeing, but a precious treasure that she was incredibly proud of. That expression only appeared after my mother had cleaned me up and taken me to her office, when she heard a series of exclamations from her colleagues:

"Oh my, your son is so handsome!"

"Yes, what a handsome child!"

"Not only is he handsome, but he's also dressed beautifully! " "

You really know how to take care of your child!" "

Your son will definitely be successful in the future, he'll surely become a high-ranking official!"

"..."

At these times, my mother, who dreamed of her son becoming a dragon among men, would be filled with boundless happiness and pride. She would hold her head high, carrying her small handbag, smiling at me, her eyes seeming to say: Hehe, how about it, isn't my son wonderful, so handsome? He's my precious baby!

When Mom washed my penis, her face radiated this proud happiness. Each time she finished, she would chuckle and lightly tap it with her finger:

"Okay, clean now, go to sleep!"

The world is never perfect, things never go as planned. Mom had complete faith in me, placing her greatest hopes on me. But I greatly disappointed her. I didn't want to be successful, much less become a high-ranking official! I had only one dream—to be a writer!

To be honest, my dream of becoming a writer was also fostered by Mom. She piled one classic novel after another, from ancient and modern times, Chinese and foreign, in front of me without any regard for whether I could understand them or not, or even if I could digest them:

"Look, look, look! Read all these books!"

Under my mother's urging, I spent my days hunched over my desk, devouring book after book, reading the captivating stories—some dramatic, some heart-wrenching, some hilarious—and savoring the flowing, skillful prose. Gazing at the authors' biographies and portraits on the title pages, a distant yet grand ambition began to sprout within me: I would become a writer someday! I wanted to write books, lots and lots of thick, weighty books.

Once my goal was set, I eagerly picked up my pen to put it into practice. But when my trembling hand landed on the neat manuscript paper, I realized my mind was a terrifying blank:

What to write? Yes, what to write?

I racked my brains, unable to sleep or eat. After several nights of racking my brains, I finally managed to concoct a sensational piece that caused a stir throughout the entire dormitory: A poor old farmer worked his entire life as a farmhand for a wicked landlord, eventually dying from exhaustion, yet still unable to repay his debt to the landlord. Three years later, the old farmer's wife gave birth to another son. When he learned that his father had died from exhaustion while working for the landlord, a seed of hatred was planted in his childhood heart. He wanted to avenge his deceased father, so he resolutely joined the revolutionary ranks, determined to overthrow this cannibalistic old society.

The first reader of my masterpiece was, of course, my confidant—Sun Xun. As he read, he suddenly chuckled mockingly. I was bewildered:

"What are you laughing at? Where did I write it wrong?"

"Hehe," Sun Xun playfully grinned at me,

"Don't you know where you wrote it wrong?"

"I don't know! I didn't write anything wrong!"

"Idiot!" Sun Xun put down my masterpiece and arrogantly lectured me:

"Hmph, with this little bit of education, you want to be a writer? That old farmer has been dead for three years, and his wife still managed to give birth to a child? Hmm, can you stop arguing!"

"Oh," I asked, confused,

"Why not!"

"No,"

"Why not!"

"It just can't!"

Sun Xun and I argued all the way from my house to his, holding our newly published masterpiece. Sun Xun's mother was standing in front of her dressing table, applying makeup. Hearing our argument, she burst into laughter. Sun Xun walked to his mother's side:

"Mom, do you think it's possible?"

"Hahaha," Sun Xun's mother laughed so hard she almost fell over,

"Yes, yes, maybe it's a posthumous child!"

"But," Sun Xun retorted, unconvinced,

"even if it were a posthumous child, it couldn't have taken three years to be born!"

This news spread faster than an autumn wind; the entire dormitory building and even the entire design institute knew about it. For a long time, I was too ashamed to go out.

This incident deeply wounded my self-esteem and thoroughly educated me. To make up for this lesson, I began rummaging through drawers and cabinets, searching for books on this subject. However, in that particular era, amidst that vigorous revolutionary movement, "sex" was considered an absolutely taboo topic that could never be discussed in public. "Sex" was seen as the dirtiest and most shameful thing. I searched through all the books I could find in the house, but still couldn't find a single book that discussed this topic. I even read Engels' *The Origin of the Family and Private Property*, which did contain discussions on "sex," but it was too profound for a primary school student like me to understand.

Disappointed, I fixed my gaze on my mother's dressing table. Beneath the large mirror was a small drawer that was always locked. From the mysterious look on my mother's face whenever she opened it, I was certain it contained something shameful, something related to men's affairs. I made up my mind to find a chance to open it. However, the key was always in my mother's handbag, which she carried with her to work every day. I tried many times, using various methods, but I never got the key.

Then, by sheer chance, I discovered the secret of the drawer. It was a day off, and my mother, urged by her colleagues, went to an event. In her haste to leave, she was so busy reminding me not to be naughty at home, not to turn on the gas, and so on, that she completely forgot to lock the drawer. This filled me with joy and delight. After Mom locked the door, I quietly slipped into her bedroom and excitedly pulled open the small drawer. Ah, a scene of wonder immediately appeared before my eyes; I saw something I had never seen before.

...

Chapter Two:

In Mom's small, exquisite drawer, there were strings of colorful plastic bags. Curiosity compelled me to grab a bag and examine it closely. Inside the sealed plastic bags were small, milky-white circles. I couldn't figure out what these little circles were for, so I put them back. My hand continued searching in the small drawer, lifting a thick layer of drawings. I saw several books and pulled them out. Just as I was about to open the pages, *plop*, a square photograph fell out of the book. I picked it up and looked at it; it was a picture of a toddler's head. Then I looked at the text in the upper left corner of the photo: "Lili's 100-Day Anniversary." Oh, the toddler in the photo was me! It was my 100-day anniversary photo. Thank you, Mom! I murmured to myself, feeling a warm glow in my heart, and I loved my mother even more. Thinking of her love for me, I carefully opened the book. Wow—suddenly, my gaze fell on the page, and I almost cried out in surprise. On the slightly yellowed page was a close-up of a woman urinating. Staring at the hairy, messy female genitalia, I was momentarily speechless. This, this, this…

My hands trembled as I continued turning the pages. The further I turned, the more shocking the scene became. Not only were the pictures incredibly stimulating, but the text was even more enticing. The thick book meticulously described the "sex" between men and women: foreplay, teasing, caressing, erogenous zones, kissing, lubrication, erection, intercourse, friction, pleasure, orgasm, ejaculation… It made my heart pound and my blood rush to my head. I quickly skimmed through the incredibly captivating text, then turned back to the diagram of the female external genitalia. I noticed that each part was labeled with a number: 1, 2, 3, ... Following these numbers, I finally figured out the names of each part: mons pubis, clitoris, labia, vaginal opening, urethral opening, hymen, pubic hair... Wow, I'd never heard of this before! It turns out that female urination is so complex—it's practically a miniature machine with an intricate structure and exquisite design! Then I saw the anatomical diagram of the female internal reproductive organs, learning that the female body also contains the uterus, ovaries, fallopian tubes, and so on. Then I saw the planar and anatomical diagrams of the male reproductive organs, finally understanding that the male reproductive organ—the penis we use to urinate—can also become erect and be inserted into the female vagina. Then: ejaculation, pregnancy, childbirth. If you don't want to get pregnant or have a child, you use a condom—the little ring in Mom's drawer. You put it on your penis, and the semen is expelled into the small pocket at the top of that ring, preventing it from flowing into the woman's uterus and meeting the egg, thus preventing pregnancy and childbirth.

Some of these books were my mother's old physiology and hygiene textbooks from school, and some were books on gynecology. A book about family planning given to me by my mother's workplace finally helped me figure out the purpose of those little rings. Hehe, so these things are called condoms!

Curiosity made me put down my book and continue searching. I saw a small plastic box, opened it, and lo and behold, there was a hard, cold plastic penis! My dear mother, what do you need this for? Isn't Dad's penis enough for you? I held the plastic penis, turning it around to examine it. Suddenly, my fingertip accidentally touched something, and the plastic penis started squeaking and vibrating rapidly, quickly making my hand sore and numb. I frantically found the switch, quickly turned it off, and put it back in the box.

Clang—suddenly, the plastic box bumped into something hard. I looked down and saw—oh, it was a large ancient coin, about eight centimeters in diameter. Unlike ordinary ancient coins, this one in my mother's collection had no inscriptions. Instead, it was engraved with various depictions of male and female sexual intercourse: man on top, woman on top, man standing behind a woman, and so on—truly bizarre!

I was quite puzzled: Why was Mom collecting these things?

I continued searching, and at the very bottom of the small drawer, under a layer of drawing paper, I pulled out a thick stack of drawing paper. This was the kind of paper Mom had used; I was very familiar with it. Mom had studied art at teachers' college, so she had a solid foundation in drawing. As I slowly unfolded the paper, I was surprised again. My mother, what have you drawn?

On each small, clean sheet of paper, Mom had skillfully sketched the voluptuous nudes of beautiful women. I examined them closely and noticed a striking feature: each picture of a beautiful woman bore traces of Mom's features. Look, those large, firm breasts, those long, shapely legs, those piercing eyes—these were all Mom's! Each nude beauty was in a very wanton "sexual intercourse" pose, which broadened my horizons. "My mother," I muttered to myself. "My mother, who is usually so serious, solemn, and pretentious, is actually such a wanton and lewd woman! She has collected so many sex-related items, and not content with that, she even uses herself as a model to draw modern-day erotic pictures!"

I stared at them, mesmerized, for a long, long time. Suddenly, the door clicked open. Oh no, Mom's back! I hurriedly stuffed the books back into the drawer and then grabbed a small ring from the plastic bag.

That night, I couldn't fall asleep for a long time. Every time I closed my eyes, images of female genitalia flashed through my mind: a woman's thick thighs spread incredibly alluringly, and incredibly, black hair growing between her legs—the very opening for urination. Surrounded by these tufts of hair, a beautiful little fleshy opening was faintly visible. It turned out that the opening wasn't for urination, but... for "sexual intercourse," for "giving birth."

Thinking of this, I lifted the corner of the blanket and, by the bright moonlight, secretly examined the small ring and condom in my hand. I had learned from my mother's books that this little ring was meant to be placed on the man's erect penis and then inserted into the woman's genitals. So, I secretly removed the plastic seal from the little ring and slowly unfolded it. Wow, what a long little ring! Seeing my sister sleeping soundly beside me, I quietly sat up. I pulled down my underwear and took out my penis. I tried to put a small ring on it, but my penis was too small and couldn't get erect. The ring simply wouldn't go on, which disappointed me.

The next day, something else happened that stimulated me even more. When I ran to Sun Xun's house to play, Sun Xun's father was preparing to take his precious son to take a bath. Seeing me enter the house, the kind Uncle Sun said cheerfully,

"We're going to take a bath, do you want to come?"

"Yes!" I answered without thinking.

So, I stepped into the bathhouse for the first time. It was also the first time I had ever taken off my clothes and bathed naked without my mother. I stared blankly around. Dozens of adult men, their wet, naked bodies floating around in the steamy bath, their genitals covered in thick, dark hair, exactly as described in books. This greatly surprised me, and at the same time, it strongly stimulated my intense interest in the genitals of adult women: Was my mother's urine like the pictures in the book? Did my mother's urine also have black hair?

Ever since the day I first saw a naked adult man, seeing their soft, but much larger penises than mine, and their ridiculously drooping, red glans, and those tufts of black hair, I had become curious about my mother's urine. From that day on, my interest in my mother underwent a strategic shift, from her breasts to her buttocks. However, while I dared to touch my mother's breasts, I didn't have the courage to ask to see her urine. Yet, I was so obsessed with my mother's urine that, in order to witness the secret of her urine as soon as possible, I racked my brains and tried every method I could think of, but each time I failed.

In desperation, I took a risk. While my mother was out, I secretly used a nail to try and drill a hole in the wooden toilet door, hoping to peek at her while she urinated. However, the toilet door was too thick and heavy; I struggled with hammering and drilling for a long time without making a single hole. I had to drop the nail and hastily end this futile task. I stood there in the toilet, utterly disappointed, my gaze wandering aimlessly. Suddenly, my eyes fell on the plywood separating the toilet from the shower. Ah, I had an idea! The plywood was thin, and after years of exposure to moisture, it had been pried up in several places, making it very easy to peel. So, I picked up the nail again, pressed it against the plywood, and with a light tap of the hammer, I chiseled out a small hole. I then haphazardly stirred the nail around in the hole, and the hole gradually widened. Only then did I stop, satisfied.

Everything was ready, and I anxiously awaited my mother's bath. Finally, I saw her stroll into the shower room in a very sexy bathrobe. Hearing the rushing water, I rushed into the toilet, pretending to defecate, and quietly squatted down, my curious eyes greedily fixed on the holes in the plywood.

I saw it! I finally saw it! My mother stood naked in the steamy shower room. Through the thick mist, I saw that she indeed had fine black hair growing between her legs. However, her black hair wasn't as long and thick as described in books. It was sparse, scattered across her plump mound. Gazing at her alluring crotch, I was extremely excited, panting heavily, my heart pounding wildly. I tried hard to control myself.

What happened next made my blood boil even more. My mother suddenly sat on the chair in the shower room, spreading her two snow-white thighs apart. I saw two slender, tender fleshy parts hidden among the dark hair. If I wasn't mistaken, those must be the labia described in books! My mother pulled the two tender flesh apart and then inserted a plastic tube. At the other end of the tube was a ball. My mother repeatedly pressed the ball, making a gurgling sound. She was washing her urine. My mother squeezed all the detergent from the ball into her urine, then slowly pulled out the plastic tube. With a whoosh, a stream of foamy liquid gushed out of my mother's urine. My mother then picked up a bar of soap and repeatedly scrubbed her sparsely haired crotch, then pulled the faucet to her crotch and rinsed it continuously. Finally, my mother took a white towel and carefully dried herself clean.

"Oh," Mom sighed,

"So tired!"

Mom's white legs were still spread apart. I noticed she frowned, tugging at the soft, white flesh between her legs for a long time, then scratching her messy black pubic hair. It seemed Mom really disliked this pubic hair. Look, she picked up a pair of scissors and started cutting it, slice by slice, in front of the mirror:

"What a mess, so awful!"

After cutting off the slightly longer sections, Mom picked up a small brush. Wow, my goodness, wasn't that the brush Dad used to shave? What? Mom was using it to wipe her pee! I watched as Mom smeared piles of white foam onto the pee, then picked up something that made my jaw drop—Dad's razor!

Mom gently pressed Dad's razor against his pubic area, which was covered in foam, and carefully shaved away the remaining dark hairs. Wherever the sharp blade passed, a patch of tender white flesh was revealed. Soon, all the dark hairs on the mons pubis were gone, revealing lovely, fine white skin. Mom then shaved between her thighs, and again used a white towel to wipe away the foam from the pubic area.

Having done this, Mom finally stood up. She stood with her long, white legs together, admiring herself proudly in the mirror. Her dignified face, her recently permed and dyed hair, her rounded shoulders, her large, sagging breasts, and her slender, almost flawless white thighs... Especially her freshly shaved genitals, without a single unsightly black hair, resembled a pristine white snowdrift in the dead of winter. A captivating little crevice stretched gently downwards, its perfect shape reminding me of the little slide in the park I could never get enough of.

From then on, my mother's neatly shaved genitals were forever etched in my mind; I considered it a unique work of art. Looking at the condom in my hand, I couldn't bear the thought of my father's erect penis, wearing it, penetrating deep inside. Yet, my father did indeed wear it almost every night, relentlessly penetrating my mother's work of art. Every morning, I would secretly peek into the small plastic trash can in the corner of the bathroom, and each time I would see a condom, soaked in sticky fluid and utterly disheveled, which fueled my rage.

To witness firsthand how my father penetrated my mother, this work of art that fascinated me, I took another drastic step. Every morning, Mom would open the window to let in fresh air. It was early spring, and the nasty winds blew into the house again and again, pounding against the innocent door. The door was constantly being blown against the frame, causing it to loosen and layers of plaster to peel off. I seized this opportunity to use a pencil sharpener to pry away the remaining plaster at the joint between the door frame and the brick wall, creating a narrow gap. To see better, I even loosened half a brick. At night, after my sister was asleep, I would pretend to go to the bathroom and sneak to Mom's bedroom door. I would gently pull out the half brick and then peer inside through the doorframe.

Mom's bedroom was pitch black; heavy curtains completely covered the windows. But even in the darkness, I could still see two dark figures pressed tightly together. The big guy on top was Dad. He was on top of Mom, writhing and twisting. Mom had her long legs bent and her arms tightly wrapped around Dad.

"Oh--, oh--,"

Mom groaned repeatedly under Dad's fierce thrusts. Then she placed her thighs on Dad's buttocks.

"Oh--, oh--," Mom kept groaning, but she still impatiently urged Dad:

"Faster, faster, harder!"

So Dad started to struggle desperately, and Mom struck a ridiculous pose like in a picture. I was speechless. From that dark night on, Mom's perfect, towering image of the Virgin Mary in my mind was greatly diminished.

"Hmm--," after a lot of struggling, Dad suddenly sighed and collapsed onto Mom's body. Mom slowly pushed Dad away, gently grasping his penis with one hand. In the dim moonlight, I saw Mom help Dad remove the condom from his penis, then wrap it in toilet paper and throw it under the bed.

"Don't move!" Mom commanded. She sat up and repeatedly wiped Dad's penis with toilet paper, then wiped her own urination. Finally, she quietly stuffed a wad of toilet paper under the bed. Mom crawled naked to the bedside. I was so frightened that I trembled and ran back to my own bed without looking back. But I immediately regretted it; I forgot to put the half-brick back into the door frame.

"Click," Mom, wearing a bathrobe, pushed open her bedroom door. Less than a minute later, I heard the sound of running water coming from the shower. Mom was taking a shower again!

I planned to sneak to the door and stuff the half-brick back into the doorframe, but I didn't have the courage. I was afraid my dad would find me, so I hid under the covers, not daring to move, still clutching the condom I couldn't put on my penis. The scene of my dad on top of my mom just now replayed in my mind like a movie. I also thought of the descriptions in books about how sperm and egg combine to create a new life after intercourse.

Ah, staring at the condom on my fingertip, in my confusion and bewilderment, a bizarre thought occurred to me, and a ridiculous scene unfolded before my blurry vision…

Chapter Three:

The frequent and fierce battles resumed with a roar. Our ever-defeat commander-in-chief, the father who made me who I am, bared his teeth and roared hysterically, wielding his oversized cannon, his penis launching a frenzied attack on my mom's long-unconquered vagina. The thick, hard cannon barrel, rubbed repeatedly and violently against the cave walls, glowed a deep, scorching red, shimmering with tiny sparkles, and emitted a gurgling sound. The massive cannonhead pounded viciously against a tightly closed entrance at the very bottom of the fleshy cave. The barrel and cannonhead, organically combined, resembled a terrifying iron rod crashing against the unyielding entrance with overwhelming force. The exhilarating scene was reminiscent of the vivid depiction of beggars carrying a large wooden club and storming Notre Dame Cathedral. Each time the cannonhead plunged into the fleshy cave, a familiar, seawater-like liquid gushed forth from the cave walls, like the boiling water Quasimodo overturned, relentlessly pouring onto the repeatedly thrusting barrel and cannonhead.

"Light--, clang--, ……,"

"Oh--, yo--, ……,"

With each thrust of the cannon into the fleshy hole, each impact of the cannon head against the entrance, a helpless sigh of unbearable burden came from behind the entrance:

"Oh--, yo--, ……,"

"Light--, clang--, ……,"

"Oh--, yo--, ……,"

"……"

"Attention, elite soldiers!" Commander-in-Chief Father gritted his teeth and issued the order:

"Everyone prepare yourselves, we will launch the final offensive!"

The so-called final offensive was to launch the elite soldiers, hidden deep within the cannon and ready to go at any moment, out of the muzzle with a whoosh like cannonballs, and then the thousands upon thousands of elite soldiers inside the fleshy hole would rush headlong toward the entrance without hesitation. Unfortunately, my Commander-in-Chief has led us in a nearly six-month-long assault on this fleshy cave, launching countless elite troops. Yet, to this day, not a single elite soldier has managed to break through the cave entrance and enter that mysterious place. Ha, what kind of elite troops are these?

In previous frequent offensives, I was always assigned to the reserve, which is why I'm lucky enough to have survived this long. I've witnessed my comrades being mercilessly fired from the cannons, then silently submerged in the seawater-like liquid at the bottom of the cave, bravely facing their deaths. I secretly rejoiced in my good fortune; I hoped I could remain a reserve member forever, living on forever. But last night, my Commander-in-Chief suddenly had a whim and decided to launch a powerful offensive codenamed "White Whirlwind" to break through the long-stalled cave entrance in one fell swoop. I was transferred to the front lines, becoming part of the first wave rushing towards the cave entrance after the attack began. I was utterly desperate; my death was finally at hand. Look, Death is beckoning to me with a cruel smile!

"Listen up, everyone!" Commander-in-Chief Dad began his pre-battle mobilization, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. He was a complete second Ma Su (a notorious strategist), and sure enough, he launched into a long, theoretical lecture. Commander-in-Chief Dad launched into a torrent of rhetoric about the Normandy landings, the Sicilian landings, the Okinawa landings, the Battle of Verdun, the Battle of Monte Cristo, Stalingrad… His words roused us elite soldiers, making us eager to fight.

"Comrades, the moment to make our mark has arrived! Hear my command, charge!"

Before I could even react, I was ejected from the cannon with a hiss and tumbled into the bottomless abyss. Countless elite soldiers floated on the seawater-like liquid. The horrific scene reminded me of the Tiberian Peninsula disaster, where soldiers struggled desperately, howling in agony, before sinking one by one to the bottom. Fortunately, I didn't sink immediately. Beneath me, countless soldiers were struggling, and I floated above them, involuntarily propelled towards the distant cave entrance. Like a small, helpless boat, I was desperately tossed forward by wave after wave of towering waves, swallowing countless mouthfuls of salty seawater. Finally, quite unexpectedly, I drifted to the cave entrance. I gasped for breath, my seawater-soaked body pressed tightly against the equally wet cave wall. I opened my dazed eyes and stared blankly around at the familiar yet strange fleshy hole. My poor companions had all sunk to the bottom, drowning and choking to death. I was at a loss, not knowing what to do. My father's cannon, as hard as steel, had already slipped out of the fleshy hole, and the entire hole fell into a deathly silence. I sat there blankly on a pile of strangely shaped flesh. Gradually, I felt an unprecedented warmth on my buttocks. I was very puzzled. What a strange fleshy hole! The flesh inside could actually generate warmth. Soon, the warmth spread throughout my body at an unimaginable speed. I lay happily on the fleshy pile, enjoying the warmth I had never experienced before.

"Thump!" The warm fleshy pile beneath me suddenly trembled slightly, and a huge gap appeared as if the sky had collapsed. I didn't have time to escape. My foot slipped, and I fell into the gap with a thud.

"Coming!" In the darkness, I heard a gentle voice. I looked closely, and suddenly everything was bright. A round monster, many times larger than me, shimmered with a blinding light and looked at me very kindly:

"You've finally come! Come here!"

"You, you," I asked timidly,

"Who are you?"

"Egg, I am the egg. Come here!"

Before I could answer, suddenly, an invisible force pushed me to the side of the monster egg. I dared not imagine what would happen next, but the monster egg was not very scary. She slowly reached out and hugged me tightly. In the warm embrace of the monster egg, the fear gradually dissipated. I tilted my head, and wow, I was inside the monster egg's body. I was utterly terrified. I writhed desperately inside the monster, trying to escape. But the faster I struggled, the tighter the monster gripped me. Like a trapped beast, I continued my futile struggle until I became a pitiful little fleshy sprout encased in an impenetrable shell. Having survived such a

calamity, I now had a new and comfortable home. I lived happily inside the shell, clearly feeling myself growing larger day by day. In this continuous expansion, I underwent a qualitative change, becoming someone I no longer recognized: Who am I? How did I become like this?

Commander-in-Chief Dad, undeterred, launched wave after wave of frenzied attacks on the fleshy cave. His hard cannon pounded against the cave entrance, repeatedly waking me from my reverie.

"Commander-in-Chief!" I shouted through the thick fleshy shell towards the cave entrance.

"Success! Success! I've followed your orders and successfully stormed the entrance, capturing this place you couldn't conquer! I am now the master of this place!"

Perhaps Commander-in-Chief Dad couldn't hear me, for he continued his relentless command of the cannon to pound the fleshy cave. The cave, under intense attack, emitted increasingly intense groans:

"Oh--, oh--, ..."

"Oh--, oh--, ..."

I cursed inwardly: Damn it, that annoying guy! He's gone too far! He's already achieved his goal, yet he still keeps pestering me. Gradually, I began to sympathize with the Flesh Cave. Whenever Commander-in-Chief Father attacked it, whenever I heard its pitiful groans, I would curse him at the entrance.

After a series of fruitless struggles, the perpetually defeated Commander-in-Chief Father finally abandoned his countless pitiful soldiers and fled in disarray, leaving them to struggle hopelessly inside the cave. At this moment, the owner of the Flesh Cave also stopped groaning. I saw a handkerchief reach to the edge of the Flesh Cave, gently gathering the corpses of the soldiers into its soft fabric. Sometimes, after a chaotic and chaotic battle, the owner of the Flesh Cave would use the handkerchief to block the entrance, then go into the bathroom and repeatedly wash the corpse-strewn Flesh Cave with the shower. As the owner of the Flesh Cave washed its ravaged flesh cave, he would gently caress my cozy nest, a large, gradually swelling fleshy mound. Through the thick fleshy shell, from that gentle caress, I felt that the owner of the fleshy cave didn't see me as an enemy who had infiltrated her. On the contrary, the owner cherished me very much; I had become a part of her. A fleshy band tightly connected me to the owner, sharing the same breath and fate. Ah, I love you so much, owner of the fleshy cave!

The warlike Commander-in-Chief finally realized he had achieved final victory. A tenacious soldier shot out of the cannon and burrowed into the owner of the fleshy cave's belly. Thus, he and the owner of the fleshy cave reached a truce. Alas, I can finally rest and sleep peacefully inside the owner of the fleshy cave's belly.

However, this peaceful time didn't last long. The ever-restless Commander-in-Chief started causing trouble again. He led the owner of the fleshy cave, with her large, bulging fleshy mound, running around everywhere. All sorts of strange things stuck to the large fleshy mound, making me quite annoyed. Look, what is this lousy thing? That blinding light can actually penetrate the thick fleshy shell and shine directly on me. I also heard incredibly annoying chattering, and many monsters were pointing and gesturing at my big, fleshy bun. It was so damn annoying!

"Ah!" A terrifying pipe pierced into my fleshy hole, expanding it to the point of bursting. I screamed in terror. Then something even more terrifying happened: two fleshy rods pierced through the pipe and maliciously touched my big, fleshy bun: What are you doing? What are you going to do? Ah, what a terrible world!

I continued to inflate like a balloon, and the owner of the fleshy bun stroked me more frequently, whispering to me as she placed her palm on my big, fleshy bun. Being naturally mischievous, I took advantage of her unpreparedness and suddenly raised my already fully developed little foot and kicked the owner of the fleshy bun's palm hard. The owner of the fleshy bun was not angry at all; instead, she stroked me even more affectionately. From the words I couldn't understand, I felt that the owner of the fleshy bun was very happy because of me.

For this, I was incredibly proud. I writhed and twisted wildly inside the giant meat bun, stretching out my magically conjured arms and legs. I even wanted to open my mouth and shout, to have a passionate conversation with the owner of the meat hole through the thick fleshy shell. Whenever I was naughty, the owner of the meat hole would gently press me down with his palm, muttering incessantly, probably admonishing me: "Good boy, don't be naughty, stay in there!"

I ignored the owner's sincere admonitions and continued to stretch my arms and twist my legs, becoming increasingly exaggerated. Joy turned to sorrow. With a splash, I kicked open the giant meat bun that had nurtured me, and whoosh—a stream of yellowish-brown liquid immediately gushed to the entrance, like water bursting from a dam. The owner of the meat hole screamed in alarm, desperately covering the torn meat bun with both hands, rolling around frantically on the floor.

Having caused such a disaster, I was at a loss. My large, fleshy body trembled violently. I felt like an egg yolk whose hard shell had been broken, the egg white gushing out with a rushing flow. I, enveloped in the egg white, slid along the flow to the entrance of the fleshy hole. My enormous head, taking up almost half the entire volume of the fleshy body, thudded against the entrance. Ah, the entrance was far too narrow; I couldn't squeeze out no matter what I did. I couldn't help but feel a surge of emotions: back when I was a soldier, how tiny I was, so tiny I was practically invisible to the naked eye. I floated in the fleshy hole like a leaf falling into the ocean.

But now, I had swelled to a terrifying degree, making it impossible to climb out smoothly. I desperately pushed against the entrance.

"Ah--, ah--, ah--,…"

Hearing the owner of the fleshy cave scream in pain, I realized my head must have hurt her entrance. I felt sorry for her and stopped my frantic thrusting. But the gaping hole in the fleshy cave wouldn't give up; it continued to contract violently, forcing me to the entrance. If I stopped, I would suffocate. Instinct made me start thrusting again. I didn't care about anything else; I had to get out, I had to crawl out.

My head finally forced open the entrance, and a terrifying light made me afraid to open my eyes. Around the owner of the fleshy cave were many things that looked similar to me. Several of them were holding my head down, trying to pull me out.

"Ugh—," I finally crawled out of the cave, covered in blood. But, sadly, I didn't feel excited about getting out. Instead, I was filled with regret: This is bad, this is bad, this world is bad! I felt an unbearable chill and the blinding light. Oh no, this place is no fun! It's much better inside the big meat bun deep inside the cave! Thinking this, I burst into tears, filled with regret:

"Waaah--, waaah--, waaah… ..."

I felt incredibly regretful. I wanted to go back to the cave entrance and continue my carefree life. But to my despair, with a snap, something mercilessly cut the fleshy band around my abdomen. It's over, it's over, completely over. I was utterly severed from the big meat bun, from the cave entrance. Oh no, this world is no good! I hate this world! This world is not only cold, but also brings an even more terrifying hunger. Thinking of everything, I cried out in even greater remorse:

"Waaah--, waaah--, waaah, ……, ……,"

Several heartless things, like a swarm of demons, circled around me, wiping away the blood and grime from my body. I was certain they were preparing to clean me up and then eat me. Indeed, after cleaning me, they threw me into a scale with a thud, weighing me to make it easier to divide the spoils. My fear grew, and my cries became even louder:

"Waaah--, waaah--, waaah, ……, ……,"

Suddenly, I heard the incredibly familiar voice of the owner of the flesh cave calling out. The things that were mercilessly torturing me immediately stopped. They carried me, laughing, to the owner of the flesh cave. The owner of the flesh cave, ignoring the intense pain, snatched me away and held me tightly against his sweat-drenched chest and abdomen. In the owner of the flesh cave's embrace, I felt an unprecedented sense of security, and my cries gradually subsided. I was aimlessly wriggling in the bosom of my fleshy owner when suddenly, my wide-open mouth touched something strange: soft, smooth, and delicate. Incredibly curious, I pressed my lips against it and began to nibble at it haphazardly. Seeing this, my fleshy owner immediately pressed down on the strange thing and shoved a cute little ball of flesh into my mouth. I grabbed it in one bite. Hunger made me instinctively suckle, and instantly, a stream of sweet liquid gushed from the little ball, generously nourishing my mouth. I swallowed it in large gulps, the more liquid I sucked, the more I couldn't swallow, and I choked, coughing and gagging…

“Hey, hey, Xiao Li,” someone shoved me forcefully. I opened my dazed eyes. Ah, it was Mom! It was Mom. She sat sternly on the edge of the bed, her beautiful eyes fixed on my hands. So I turned my head and looked at my palm. When I looked, I was so scared that my soul almost left my body.

...12-09 Chapter Four

I held a condom I'd stolen from my mother's drawer in my hand. My fingers were deeply inserted into it, the tip pressing against the small pouch meant to hold semen. My mother reached out and coldly snatched it away:

"You bastard, where did you get this? Hmm, tell me!"

"I, I," I stammered, unsure how to answer. Under my mother's persistent questioning, I lied:

"A classmate gave it to me!"

"No, you're lying!" My mother grabbed my ear:

"You stole it. You think I don't know? You're trying to fool me. I keep track of these in my drawer. I was wondering why one was missing out of nowhere, you bastard. And," my mother dragged me out of bed without further ado:

"Come here. Is this what you did?"

My mother flung open the bathroom door, pointing at the small hole and yelling at me:

"Did you pry this out?"

"No, no,"

"You bastard, lying again!" Mom dragged me to the doorframe of her bedroom again, and kicked the half-brick down with her foot:

"You did this too, didn't you? Huh?"

"No, no," I said in utter despair, making futile attempts to explain myself. Mom shoved me against the wall and then reached out and slapped my mouth hard.

"Slap--, slap--, slap--..."

My mother's hand flew up and down, the crisp sound of slaps raining down on my cheeks, while her other hand mercilessly twisted my ear:

"I'll beat you to death, I'll beat you to death, you little rascal, you little hooligan, you're so young and you want to know everything, you dare to rummage through everything, you dare to take anything, and you even dare to, dare to..." As my mother spoke, her beautiful face suddenly turned red, she couldn't continue. Yes, how could she say such a thing? My mother just kept repeating one sentence:

"I'll beat you to death, I'll beat you to death..."

My mother was really angry, her face flushed red, she was breathing heavily. My father had already gone to work, and my sister looked at the scene in front of her with a confused expression. As my mother continued to hit me, a string of tears suddenly rolled down her cheeks:

"Get out, get out," my mother pushed me out the door, and then threw out a pile of messy clothes:

"Get out, get out! I don't want you, you good-for-nothing! Oh--, oh--, oh--, you little rascal, you little brat, ..., oh oh oh!"

"Waaah--, waaah--,"

I hastily put on my clothes, then pounded on the door, sobbing:

"Mommy, Mommy, I was wrong, I was wrong, I'll change, I'll change, I promise I'll change!"

But no matter how much I pounded until my hands ached, Mommy wouldn't open the door. As I pounded, I suddenly heard Mommy sobbing even more intensely, and I felt incredibly remorseful. My despicable actions had deeply hurt Mommy, and I was extremely ashamed. I couldn't face my dear mother anymore. I wiped away my tears, bit my fingertips, and dejectedly went downstairs.

"Xiao Li, come play!"

"Great writer, come on, play the zither for a bit!"

My friends playing downstairs called out to me, but I ignored them and walked straight out of the yard. "Whoosh--," a tram came along in the middle of the road, groaning weakly, and listlessly drove away into the distance. I followed behind the tram, wandering aimlessly along the empty street in the howling wind. The fierce spring wind dried the tears on my face, leaving a tight, stinging mark, and my eyes were sore and swollen from crying.

I don't know how long I walked or how many miles I went, but suddenly, inexplicably, there was a commotion ahead. I looked up with my red eyes and, without realizing it, I had arrived at the bustling train station.

This is a colossal train station, a massive transportation hub. Trains traveling north and south, east and west, arrive every ten minutes or so, billowing acrid white smoke and whistling through the air, followed by a tidal wave of people, like a burst dam rushing into the city's streets and alleys. Around the spacious station square, a dense array of bizarrely shaped buildings stand side by side. Initially, this train station was under the control of Tsarist Russia, and the old Tsar's henchmen erected Russian-style buildings with ridiculous onion domes around the square. After the Russo-Japanese War, the victorious Japanese became the masters of the station, and thus, they filled in every available space around the square with Japanese-style buildings that blended European influences. After the Japanese were driven out, the new regime built even more rigid, crudely designed buildings resembling building blocks on the remaining empty space of the square. As a result, the entire station has become a hodgepodge, a bizarre, incongruous monster, a monstrous hybrid.

After the Japanese took over the train station, they decisively abandoned the dilapidated old ticket office from the Russian occupation era. As a show of victory, the Japanese built a new ticket office next to the old one, and the old one was forgotten, hidden away in obscurity. After the Japanese left, the abandoned ticket office gradually became a paradise for homeless people. These happy vagrants, carrying their dirty luggage, would flock there, spread their tattered belongings on the ground, and claim their territory.

To the east of the old ticket office, there was a busy intersection with heavy traffic and crowds. I crossed the intersection, heading towards the old ticket office that was right in front of me. Suddenly, a short, withered little girl caught my attention. She was clutching a few coins in her hand, barefoot, wandering around the intersection. As soon as the red light came on, she would quietly slip to the stopped cars and stick her dirty little hand into the window to ask the irritable drivers for small change.

"Go away, go away, go away..."

"Get lost, get lost, get lost..."

"I don't have any change for you! You little brat!"

"You're so young and already out here causing trouble, you'll get hurt by bad guys sooner or later!"

"..."

I stared blankly at the little girl. She noticed me staring at her for a long time, so she glared at me unfriendly. When the green light came on, she cleverly hid in the crowd on the sidewalk. Feeling awkward, I silently walked to the big, dilapidated building of the old ticket office. Looking at the groups of lazy homeless people lying or sitting along the wall, I felt a pang of envy for some reason: Ah, they're so carefree, so relaxed. They don't have to study or work. They just lie on the road all day sunbathing, and when they're hungry, they rummage through trash cans or sneak into restaurants to pick up leftovers from tourists.

"Where are you from?!" I approached a homeless man and asked timidly in a low voice,

"Uncle, where are you from?"

"Hmph," the homeless man impatiently rolled over, his body reeking of stench, and then tugged at his constantly slipping pants:

"Hmph, the toilet!"

"The toilet?" I asked again, puzzled.

"What, the toilet!"

"Yeah, the toilet, get lost, kid, don't bother me, I'm not awake yet!"

I dared not say another word, biting my fingertips as I continued to walk aimlessly forward. Whoosh—a strange gust of wind blew from the roadside, drawing ridiculous circles, swirling scraps of paper and yellow sand, and lunged at me with ill intent. I dodged it with remarkable agility.

"Oh no!" a hoarse cry came from behind me. I turned around and saw a ragged man, paralyzed from the waist down, anxiously calling out,

"Oh no! Oh no! My hat's been blown away! Quick, quick, help me get it back! Hurry!"

No one paid him any attention; everyone was hurrying on their way. A homeless child, his face covered in snot, busy begging for small change, grinned smugly at the disabled man:

"Hehe, serves him right!"

I looked up and saw a tattered hat, stained with grease, pitifully tumbling around in the strange, swirling wind. I leaped forward and grabbed the hat. Wait, I noticed some coins inside, and several more were scattered on the ground. I understood. I knelt down and carefully picked up the coins one by one, putting them back into the hat before sincerely returning it to the poor disabled man.

"Thank you, little brother!"

The disabled man happily took his tattered hat, then reached inside to count the coins. I said to him,

"Don't worry, big brother, you didn't lose a single penny. I got it all back for you!"

"Okay, okay, thank you!"

I quietly squatted down beside the disabled man. He turned his dusty, dirty face to look at me:

"Hmm, little brother, you've been crying. Why are your eyes red? What happened? Did someone bully you?"

I shook my head. I didn't dare tell him about the shameful thing I had done. The disabled man continued,

"Where are you from? Judging by your clothes, you don't look like someone from the entertainment industry!"

"No, big brother, I'm not a beggar!"

"Oh, if I'm not mistaken, you must have done something wrong and your mother beat you! Isn't that right?"

"Yes," I lowered my head in shame, scratching my face on the floor tiles. The disabled man said earnestly,

"Little brother, go home quickly. The train station is very chaotic. You're so young, running around here will only lead you astray!"

"Thank you for your advice, big brother!"

But I didn't dare go home. My mother was still angry with me; she wouldn't open the door for me. She definitely didn't want me anymore. I stood up, left the disabled man begging for money, and secretly slipped into the chaotic lobby of the old ticket office. Then, I tiptoed up the dusty windowsill. Through the broken window frame, I climbed onto the platform. I wandered around the platform. Whoosh—a piercing train whistle sounded behind me, and then a train rushed past me with overwhelming force, the powerful blast almost knocking me to the ground. Fear made me turn and run back to the old ticket office. With nowhere to go, I sat on a sleeper in the corner, lost in thought for a long time. I thought of my mother, my mother, I kept repeating in my heart: "Mother, mother, forgive me! I was wrong! I will never do that shameful thing again! Mother, mother, forgive me! I will definitely change my ways, start anew, study hard, and improve every day." Mom, Mom... thinking about it, I drifted off to sleep!

"Get up!" Something hard pressed against my chest. I opened my eyes and saw a railway worker in uniform standing in front of me, holding a large pair of pliers, his face cold. The hard thing was his large foot in his work shoes.

"Get up, get out! What kind of hooligan are you?!"

"Uncle," I stood up and protested,

"I'm not a hooligan, uncle, I'm not a hooligan!"

"Go away, go away, go away," the railway worker impatiently shooed me out of the old ticket office.

"You little brat, this isn't a place for you to sleep in. This is a workshop, you know? Look around, there's metal everywhere. What if it hits you? Are you fucking tired of living?"

When the railway worker ruthlessly kicked me out of the old ticket office, I realized it was already dark, and my stomach was growling. But I didn't have a penny in my pocket. What should I do? Should I sneak into the restaurant or eat leftovers like those homeless people? No, I can't do that!

I shivered in the cold wind, enduring my hunger. In the darkness, I saw the disabled man begging for small change, carrying a tattered military backpack, struggling to crawl into a public toilet. I quickly ran behind him. The disabled man didn't notice me and continued crawling into the stinking toilet. The concrete floor was covered in filth and urine, but the disabled man didn't seem to care. His two gloved hands supported his upper body as he moved inch by inch across the concrete floor.

"Big brother," I cried out,

"It's so dirty!"

With that, I don't know where the strength came from, I grabbed the disabled person and, gritting my teeth, lifted them onto the squatting platform in a few strides. The disabled person smiled kindly at me in the darkness:

"Thank you, little brother. What, you haven't gone home yet?"

After the disabled person finished relieving themselves, I used all my strength to carry them out of the hellish toilet. We sat side by side on the roadside. I was panting heavily. The disabled person took out a few coins:

"You haven't eaten yet, have you? Here, buy some steamed buns to tide you over!"

I took the coins without hesitation and ran quickly into a restaurant. I bought two steamed buns and handed one to the disabled person. They waved their hand:

"I've already eaten!"

Another gust of cold wind swept over me, and I couldn't help but shiver. Seeing this, the disabled person chuckled:

"Cold, aren't you? After you finish eating, I'll find you a hotel!"

Hehehe, a hotel! I could hardly believe my ears. With his clothes and those pitiful few coins in his hat, how could he possibly afford a hotel?

"Alright, it's getting late, let's go back to the hotel and sleep!"

With that, the disabled man tugged at his military backpack, then wobbled across the road, supporting himself on his hands. I followed closely behind. The disabled man confidently raised his chin and said to the other side of the road,

"Look, that's the high-class hotel with the Japanese-style architecture. Pretty good, right?"

"Ah," I looked up, staring blankly at the high-class hotel: Could it be that we really could stay in that renowned, nearly century-old hotel?

Chapter Five:

After crossing the road, the disabled man continued crawling along the back wall of the luxury hotel. The hotel's back wall was adjacent to a pedestrian walkway. Between the walkway and the hotel's back wall was a narrow, slightly elevated concrete slab, neatly arranged, with occasional holes scattered with coal dust. At one of these holes, the disabled man scrambled up with a thud and winked at me:

"Little brother, we're here! Our hotel's here! Go in!"

What?! Hearing this, I stared blankly at the dark concrete hole, unsure what to say: What kind of luxury hotel is this? The disabled man, however, seemed unfazed. He reached both hands into the hole in the concrete slab and, with a breathtaking movement, slipped inside. I stood on the concrete slab, peering nervously inside. It was pitch black; apart from the pungent smell of coal dust, I couldn't see anything.

"Come down!"

came the disabled man's urging voice from the darkness, but I still hesitated and refused to jump. Suddenly, a light flashed before my eyes. It turned out that the disabled man had turned on a flashlight. Heh heh, this guy has quite a few gadgets. With that pitiful glimmer of light, I finally mustered the courage to jump. Thump! My body landed heavily on the coal pile. I cried out, "Ouch!" and was about to get up when suddenly someone shoved me.

"Damn it, who is it, jumping around like that? You almost killed me!" A homeless man lying on the coal pile, rubbing his thigh, cursed at me.

"Are you blind? Trying to kill me?!"

"Never mind, never mind!" the disabled man said with a forced smile.

"He's just a little kid. It's his first time in our hotel, so it's understandable that he's seeing things. Forgive him, don't take it personally!" With that, the disabled man waved the hand holding the flashlight at me.

"Young man, come here." Then, the disabled man, holding the flashlight in one hand, crawled forward with the other.

"Come on, follow me! Our room is at the very back, it's a high-class room!"

I followed behind the disabled man, slowly making my way deeper into the coal pile, guided by the flashlight. It turned out that this was where the high-class hotel stored its coal. At the very bottom of the coal pile, in the upper room where the disabled man lived, separated by thick walls, was the humming boiler room. Right next to the boiler room, against the brick wall, lay a filthy blanket. Seeing the flashlight beam, a disheveled middle-aged man peeked out from under the blanket:

"Oh, Old Cripple's back," the middle-aged man said, noticing me standing blankly at the top of the coal pile.

"Heh heh, Old Cripple's doing pretty well, huh? Taking on an apprentice?"

"Go to hell! This young man isn't one of us. I'm not qualified to be his master. He has some issues today and can't go home, so he'll have to make do with the night at my hotel. Go, go, get up, make room for the good man!" The disabled man shoved the middle-aged man:

"Get out here, it's my turn to rest!"

"Old Cripple, how's business today? Did you make a fortune?"

"Sigh," the disabled man sighed.

"Screw it! Getting rich? I've been out all day in this freezing wind, from morning till night, and haven't even managed to beg for a bowl of wine. Sigh, life's getting harder and harder!"

"Forget it, these days, if you want to drink, you're lucky if you can even get a little change to eat a steamed bun. We're all poor!" The middle-aged man started getting dressed:

"It's getting late, I have to go to work!"

"Damn it," the disabled man warned,

"Be careful, things are getting tense lately. Don't mess things up and get thrown into big cities by the government!"

"Hmph," the middle-aged man said dismissively,

"Don't worry, I'm lucky, I've never failed since I started!"

"Damn it," the disabled man cursed,

"I bet you're just waiting to get away with this!" Watching the middle-aged man grumble as he climbed over the coal pile, the disabled man waved to me:

"Young man, come down," he pointed to the dirty quilt and said,

"Come on, sleep here!"

“No,” I swore, I’d rather freeze to death than crawl into that bed. I shook my head at the disabled man, then slid down the coal pile with a whoosh. In the beam of my flashlight, I spotted a large, tightly closed iron door. I walked over and leaned against it:

“Big brother, I’ll sleep here!”

“Okay,” the disabled man said,

“That’s fine too. It’s close to the boiler, so it’s warm and not cold. I have a blanket here, but it’s too dirty. I’m really embarrassed to let you sleep in such a filthy place!”

I leaned against the crack in the iron door, warm air constantly flowing in from behind me. The disabled man turned off the flashlight:

“Alright, you can turn off the light now. It’s getting late, go to sleep!”

The coal storage room suddenly became terrifyingly dark. I leaned against the large iron gate, my mind in turmoil: Now it's all good! I don't need to wash my face or feet anymore, there's no need to brush my teeth, I don't even need to take off my clothes. I can just lean against the iron gate, hug my legs, bury my head in my knees, and go to sleep! But how could I sleep? I miss my mother! Oh, you, you, it's all your fault for hurting my mother, for being unable to go home. Oh, my mother will never love me again. Mother, mother, I miss you, mother, I miss you so much!

In the pitch-black coal storage room, my mother's beautiful, dignified, yet stern and cold face vaguely appeared in my mind, her large, round, warm breasts, her plump, delicate, and white hands. My mother wiped my bottom, fastened my belt, washed my face, taught me to brush my teeth, washed my little penis, and let me touch her breasts…

Mom--, Mom--…

A string of bitter tears welled up in my eyes and slowly flowed down my cheeks into my collar. I wiped away the salty tears, repeatedly calling out "Mom, Mom" in my heart. Finally, in endless regret, I gradually fell asleep.

"Thump," I was sleeping soundly when suddenly, without knowing why, I fell into a brightly lit corridor. A boiler worker carrying a shovel cursed irritably:

"Damn it, where did this little vagrant come from!" After saying that, he ignored me and started loading coal into a small cart. It turned out that because I was sleeping by the door, when the boiler worker opened the door to load coal, I inevitably fell into the boiler room in the basement. I rubbed my eyes, stood up with a thud, and after the boiler worker pushed the coal cart away, I climbed back onto the coal pile. But the large iron gate was never closed again. Every ten minutes or so, the boiler operator would come and load a cart of coal away. I could no longer lean against the iron gate to sleep, and besides, my drowsiness had long since vanished. With nothing to do, I climbed over the coal pile, intending to approach the disabled man. Suddenly, a groan came from below the coal pile, extremely similar to the sound my mother made when my father was pinning her down. I was very puzzled. How could these homeless people, barely making ends meet, have the leisure to do such a thing in this hellish coal mine?

I lay on the coal pile and looked down by the light from the iron gate. Oh, it was the disabled man, wrapped in a dirty blanket, with the little girl who had stood at the intersection during the day begging for change from drivers waiting at the red light pinned beneath him. It was truly unimaginable that a disabled person who couldn't even walk properly could do this so freely. Look, his strong, powerful arms supported his entire body, and with the twisting of his body, his severely atrophied, noodle-like, limp lower limbs swayed back and forth like a juggling act. Although his lower limbs were paralyzed, his penis was surprisingly thick and long, powerfully pounding against the emaciated little girl.

I was watching in a daze when I heard footsteps from the large iron gate. The boiler operator pushing the cart came over again, rubbing the coal dust with a cracking sound. My feet gradually felt loose, and to avoid falling back into the corridor, I desperately tried to climb up. Suddenly, the coal dust beneath me loosened violently, and I slipped, sliding down to the bottom of the coal pile with a whoosh, only to crash headfirst into the two disabled people doing that and the little girl. The collision left the disabled man stunned. The little girl scrambled out from under him with a hiss, frantically grabbing her trousers—patches upon patches of tattered fabric.

"Big brother," I cried, momentarily at a loss for what to do. Suddenly, I warned,

"There are people over there, loading coal!"

"Hey," the disabled man said with a wry smile, still somewhat unsatisfied,

"Little brother, you ruined my plans. Oh well, who cares these days!" He then confidently explained,

"It's alright, the boiler operator can't see or hear anything across this coal pile!" He then pointed to the little girl sitting blankly on the coal and said to me,

"Little brother, what do you think? Any ideas?"

"Oh, no, no!" I quickly waved my hands. Although I had a strong interest in women, I didn't yet have the courage to do *that* with one. In my class, some precocious boys had done *that* with the girls. Those boys would pay the girls three cents for it, a practice the classmates jokingly called "three cents a goo!"

"Hehe," the disabled man chuckled,

"Little brother, you're still too young, you can't do it, can you?"

"Yes, big brother, I can't!"

The little girl hastily put on her clothes, her cold gaze sweeping over me deeply before she got up and disappeared into the darkness in the blink of an eye.

Bang! The large iron gate finally slammed shut, plunging the coal storage into darkness once more. "Hahaha!" Hearing the gate close, the disabled man burst into laughter: "Little brother, what's there to be afraid of? It's like eating; any man can do it!" "I don't dare, big brother!"

Thump, thump, thump— the sound of footsteps came from the concrete slab at the top of the coal storage. I looked up, and a faint blue light shone through the cracks in the concrete slab—dawn had broken! The disabled man crawled back into bed, while I leaned against the wall, lost in thought. Gazing at the light filtering through the cracks in the concrete slab, I wondered how my mother had spent the night. She must not have slept a wink, and right now she and my father were searching for me all over the streets. I should go home to avoid worrying them. Just as I was about to get up and try to climb out of the coal shed, another thought suddenly struck me: No, I had gone too far. I had peeped at my mother showering, peeped at my mother and father doing *that*, peeped at my mother's books, and stolen my mother's condoms. My mistake was unforgivable. I had offended my mother; this wasn't just a minor mistake, it was an assault on her body. No, I couldn't go back. How could I face my mother? My body went limp, and I slumped back onto the coal slab. My head was a whirlwind of thoughts. I wanted to go home, but I was afraid to go home. I missed my mother, but I couldn't face her. Oh, what should I do? I was so worried! I thought and thought, but the more I thought, the less I knew what to do, the less I could do. And the more I thought, the more my head ached, until it felt like it was about to explode. The sky gradually brightened, but my body began to feel cold, shivering uncontrollably. I suddenly felt completely powerless and collapsed involuntarily onto the coal pit. I was so exhausted; I no longer cared about the filth and pungent smell of the coal. Lying there felt so good, so comfortable! "Mom," I called out involuntarily, gazing at the light filtering through the cracks in the concrete slab, "Mom, Mom..." Sigh, I continued to think: Perhaps this is my fate. I deserve to be in such a miserable state, living among the homeless, spending unforgettable nights in the coal mine. “Young man,” the disabled man, already dressed and carrying his military backpack, said, “Let’s go, it’s dawn, time for breakfast!” “I’m cold!” I couldn’t even sit up. “I’m cold, I’m cold!” “What’s wrong?” the disabled man grabbed my arm. “Get up quickly, if you haven’t had enough of the hotel, we’ll come back tonight!” Suddenly, he exclaimed, “Oh dear, why are you so hot? You have a fever! Oh no, young man, you’ve caught a cold!” “I’m cold, I’m cold!” I mumbled groggily. The disabled man muttered helplessly, “You’re a decent kid, too naive, too fragile. You’ve already gotten sick after just one night. Fine, you wait, I’ll call the police to take you home. Otherwise, you might die of illness, and your mother won’t have your precious son!”

The disabled man kept his word and actually called the police for me. I tearfully told the police about my mother and father's workplaces, and soon my father's workplace sent a car to pick me up from the hotel's coal storage and take me to the hospital. When my mother arrived and pushed open the hospital door, my heart trembled violently, and then my vision blurred; I remember nothing after that.

Chapter Six:

"Xiao Li, Xiao Li!" My mother shook me desperately, large tears streaming down my face. I groggily opened my eyes, and my mother immediately reached out and tenderly stroked my burning cheeks:

"Son, Mommy is bad, Mommy is bad, it's all Mommy's fault! Mommy shouldn't have kicked you out of the house! Oh--, oh--, oh--," she said, then hugged me tightly, sobbing softly.

"Sigh," Dad paced back and forth in the hospital room, his hands behind his back.

"You, you!" Dad said coldly to Mom.

"You always treat the child like a little slave, always hitting or scolding him. Now look what happened, you beat the child out of the house, and then we had to search for him everywhere, spending the whole night running around. I'm so dizzy and confused, how am I going to draw at work today? Sigh, this little kid has been wandering the streets, spending the night at the train station with beggars and vagrants, and now he has a cold and a fever. I bet if he develops pneumonia, you'll be happy and satisfied!"

"Oh--, oh--, oh--..."

Mom cried silently. I was so puzzled. Dad, who usually doted on Mom and wouldn't even dare to breathe loudly in her presence, dared to lash out at her with a cold face today. Haha, it's like the sun has risen in the west, even a mouse dares to challenge a cat. It seems Dad doesn't know the truth yet. If he knew what I'd done, I'm sure he wouldn't protect me.

"Xiao Li," Mom stroked my forehead, then looked at my hand with the IV needle in it:

"Why hasn't your fever gone down yet!"

"Mom—," in Mom's arms, I felt unprecedented happiness and warmth. Seeing Mom's pitiful, remorseful look, I immediately felt sorry for her. I secretly looked at her, tears welling up in my eyes. Just as I was about to call out to Mom, suddenly, an unbearable pain shot through my throat. My mouth was full of saliva, but I dared not swallow:

"Mom, I, I, my throat hurts!"

"Ah," Mom exclaimed in alarm:

"Let me see, is your tonsils inflamed again? Quick, open your mouth!"

"Ah," I obediently opened my mouth, but my tonsils didn't show the terrible inflammation I usually get when I have a cold. My mother took me to the doctor to check my mouth, and it turned out that the back wall of my throat was full of polyps. This cold was the cause; the polyps, attacked by germs, were causing trouble in my throat, and the pain was so bad that I didn't even dare to swallow my saliva. For six or seven days in a row, I lay on the bed receiving injections while also lying on my pillow, with a spittoon under the bed. My saliva flowed slowly into the spittoon like a waterfall.

"Doctor," seeing my miserable state, my mother pleaded helplessly with the doctor,

"Doctor, my child is in so much pain! Please think of something, or he'll die from the pain!"

"Sigh," the doctor waved his hand helplessly,

"Comrade, for polyps in the throat, the only option is electrocautery, which is extremely painful. Even adults can't bear it, let alone a child. I can't just give him electrocautery; I'm afraid of accidents!"

"Xiao Li," my mother held my hand earnestly and asked,

"Son, the doctor said the only way to stop the pain is to burn off the polyp. Are you scared?"

"Mom!" I said sincerely to my mother,

"No, Mom, but... Mom, can you forgive me?"

"What?" My words puzzled my mother greatly.

"What did you say, child! What did you say?"

"Mom, it's about the time I stole your things. Can you forgive me?"

"Oh," my mother said dismissively.

"Alright, alright, child, after scolding and hitting me, I didn't even take it to heart. Don't mention it, it just makes me upset!"

"Mom, can you forgive me?" I continued to ask.

"Yes," Mom gave me a big kiss:

"Okay, son, Mom forgives you. Son, electric shocks hurt a lot, are you brave enough?"

"Mom, I'm brave, I'm not afraid!"

"Really not afraid?"

"Not afraid," I didn't know how painful electric shocks were. My thoughts were surprisingly simple: since Mom had forgiven my mistake, I wanted to show myself in front of her, to redeem my bad image as a little hooligan, and to rebuild my heroic image as a great man. So, I said firmly:

"Mom, even a Communist Party member isn't afraid of death, so why would I be afraid of pain?"

"Hehe," Mom laughed through her tears, and gently pinched me:

"You little rascal!" Mom smiled at me again, which made me feel very gratified, and my confidence grew even stronger!

My mother persuaded the doctor to take me to the treatment room. The doctor, a stout man in his fifties, patted my head and said earnestly,

"Son, you'd better be prepared, electrocautery will hurt a lot!"

"Yes," I nodded.

"Son," my mother encouraged me from the side,

"Son, quick, recite Chairman Mao's quote: 'Fear neither hardship nor death, overcome all difficulties, and strive for victory!'"

"Yes, Mom!" I mechanically recited,

"Fear neither hardship nor death, overcome all difficulties, and strive for victory!"

Suddenly, a large iron instrument shaped exactly like a pistol was placed in front of me by the doctor. I was immediately terrified, and my mouth, still numbed by anesthetic, trembled instinctively:

"Ugh, ugh, ugh," I was so surprised that I didn't know what to say. At the tip of the large pistol was a long, drill-like iron needle, gleaming with a chilling light. The doctor plugged the large needle into a power source and walked up to me:

"Child, open your mouth, ah--,"

"Ah--, ah--..."

The large iron needle slowly probed into my throat. The doctor mercilessly pulled the trigger. *Sizzle*, oh my god, the large iron needle flashed a terrifying white light, sizzling as it burned the tender flesh inside my mouth, producing an indescribable pain. I screamed "Ah--" and shoved the large needle out of my mouth:

"Ah, it hurts! It hurts so much!" "Sigh, "

the doctor put down the large needle:

"How is it? Does it hurt? If it's too much, then stop!"

"No," I wiped away my tears:

"I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid. Chairman Mao taught us: 'Fear neither hardship nor death, overcome all difficulties and strive for victory!'"

"Good child," my mother hugged me lovingly:

"Good child, bear with it a little longer, just a little longer, and we'll burn away all the polyps. Then your throat will never hurt again!"

"Sizzle--, sizzle--, sizzle--,..."

Encouraged by my mother, I endured the unbearable pain like a revolutionary martyr who refused to yield, letting the large, fiery pistol burn freely in my mouth:

"Mom," I said to her through a grimace:

"Mom, I smell something burning!"

"Yes," Mom nodded, tears welling in her eyes.

"Poor child, how did you get such a strange disease? It's all my fault for driving you out of the house, sigh..."

"This is considered mild," the doctor said slowly as he continued the treatment.

"This is only a short time. With severe polyps, it sizzles and hisses when heated, the smell is like burning a bird!"

The pain of electrocautery in the mouth is prolonged. Back in the ward, I was in so much pain that I dared not drink water, dared not breathe deeply, and could not sleep. This continued for a week; the suffering was worse than death.

To regain my mother's favor, I endured this torture-like treatment, undergoing electrocautery three times intermittently until the polyp was completely removed. I want to thank my mother; it was her encouragement that cured my polyp. From then on, I never knew what a sore throat felt like again. As an adult, I gambled day and night, smoked one cigarette after another, and downed large glasses of strong liquor. I ate spicy hot pot in the sweltering summer. Yet, no matter what I did, my throat never hurt. When I saw my friends suffering from sore throats, getting injections, taking medicine, and sucking on various throat lozenges, I would always say disdainfully,

"Hmph, useless. All that medicine is a waste of time. If you want to be completely cured, muster your courage, try some luck, and get electrocautery!"

Although my mother said she had forgiven me and had regained her affection for me, perhaps this was just wishful thinking to comfort myself. But I also had a strange feeling that a distance had grown between me and my mother. Indeed, after careful observation, I felt that my mother always maintained a certain distance from me. She no longer played with me as intimately as before, washing my face, wiping my bottom, let alone washing my penis. Furthermore, my mother would never again lift her clothes to let me touch her breasts. Everything she had done for me in the past was now an irretrievable memory, forever sealed away in my cherished childhood recollections. This made me extremely distressed, more painful than being slapped by my mother.

What infuriated me even more was that my mother had a carpenter repair the partition between the toilet and the shower room with thick wooden planks, and then she found blueprints to completely cover the glass window on her bedroom door. I firmly believe that what my mother did was a profound insult to my dignity.

Humph, my mother doesn't trust me! She treats me like a thief, always on guard. Once a thief, always a thief! Since that's the case, how can I still have the face to stay at home? I'm leaving, I'm going to leave again. I'm not going to study anymore, I'm going to wander, I'm going to go out into life, into society.

"Sun Xun," I said, having made up my mind, and approached my good friend Sun Xun:

"Want to go out and explore?"

"Where? Where to?"

"Dalian,"

he replied. "What? That's too far! We don't have any money, how are we going to get there?"

"Bike!"

"Wow, that's so exciting!" Sun Xun was incredibly excited. Having been like a caged bird for years, he was filled with boundless longing and curiosity for the outside world. He patted his chest confidently:

"Bike to Dalian! It'll be so much fun! Let's go, let's go!"

We secretly devised a travel plan, codenamed "The Trip to Dalian." Sun Xun and I were going to ride our bikes to the coastal city of Dalian. We wanted to see the real sea, the real harbor, and the real warships.

To realize this exciting dream, Sun Xun and I always used various excuses to ask our parents for pocket money. When we had saved up more than thirty yuan, we felt we had the financial foundation for the trip, and our courage grew. On a bright and sunny morning, we used all our sweet talk to trick our fathers into giving us their bicycles. Then we each wrote a letter and placed it on our desks, telling our parents: We're going to Dalian for a trip, and we've already set off. Please don't worry, Mom and Dad, we'll be safe and sound, and we'll definitely be back on time!

After putting my letter on my desk, I felt there were some things I should say to my mother alone. So I picked up a piece of paper and started writing:

Dear Mom:

I'm about to leave my warm and comfortable home and go far away. Before leaving, I have so many things I want to say, but when I pick up the pen, my mind is in turmoil. Even with a thousand words, I don't know where to begin. I've thought for a long, long time. Mom, there's so much I want to say to you, but I'll tell you slowly later. Mom, before I leave, I only want to ask you one thing: Mom, have you really forgiven me?

Mom, you know I made a big fool of myself while writing. Weren't you standing behind me, secretly laughing at me? Mom, I saw you laughing at me. I wonder if you remember. To make up for my lack of knowledge, I resorted to improper methods. I secretly looked at your books, books a child my age shouldn't have seen. Even worse, I peeked at you taking a bath, and… Every time I think back, I'm filled with remorse and shame. Mom, I beg you again and again, hoping you can forgive me! And you have clearly stated that you forgive me!

However, all signs indicate that you haven't truly forgiven me. Not only that, you are full of suspicion towards me, your son, always on guard against me, treating me like a thief. Mom, the things you did after I came home deeply hurt my self-esteem. Alas, I brought this upon

myself. My wrong and foolish actions have made me completely lose my dignity in front of you, and at the same time, I have forever lost your mother's love. I have no face to stay at home anymore, I have no courage to face you again. Therefore, Mom, your son will go far away and make his home wherever he is. I want to learn from the great writer Maxim Gorky. Gorky wandered all of Russia, and I want to travel all over China.

Goodbye, Mom, farewell with tears!

Chapter Seven

"Hey, what are you dawdling for?" Sun Xun impatiently urged me, pushing his bicycle. I carefully folded the manuscript and slipped it into my mother's small drawer through the gap:

"Coming, coming, coming!"

"Let's go!" Seeing that the manuscript had indeed slid into the small drawer, I stood up with relief and waved to Sun Xun:

"Buddy, make way!"

"Make way!"

Sun Xun and I rode our bicycles together, like a pair of swallows escaping their cage, humming songs and galloping happily out of the city, onto a tree-lined highway, speeding straight south along the endless road. The towering birch trees lining both sides of the road rustled and played a lively march for us, while the birds overhead enthusiastically sang farewell songs. Buzzing red dragonflies cast envious glances, and colorful butterflies fluttered around us closely, their reluctant farewells seemingly wanting to join us on our journey to distant Dalian. Sun Xun and I pedaled our bicycles, glancing at each other, sticking out our tongues, making faces, then sharing knowing smiles before gathering our strength and racing off into the distance!

"Dude," Sun Xun asked me while pedaling his bicycle furiously,

"Xiao Li, aren't you scared?"

"Scared? Scared of what? What's so scary?"

"Aren't you afraid your mom will beat you?" "

No, I've already decided to go for it!"

"Also, Xiao Li, although we have money, we don't have a letter of introduction, so hotels won't let us stay!"

"Then, we'll sleep on the streets. I like that. I like the life of a vagrant. I want to live the hard life of a homeless child like Gorky!"

"Hehe," Sun Xun said,

"You're so romantic!"

"Sun Xun," I asked seriously,

"Are there passenger ships in Dalian?"

"Of course, of course!"

"Then, can I board a passenger ship in Dalian?"

"As long as you have money, of course you can. Hey, why do you want to board a passenger ship? Do you want to go to Shanghai? That's my hometown!"

"I'm not going to Shanghai. I want to wash dishes on the passenger ship, earn money, and support myself, just like Gorky!"

"Hehe, I say, why do you want to learn everything from Gorky?"

"Sigh, what can I do? He's my idol!"

We chatted as we rode tirelessly until the bright red sun gradually disappeared below the horizon, and the night mercilessly enveloped the boundless earth. Only then did we feel tired and hungry. So, we found a relatively satisfactory place to stop. We spread out the towels we brought in the shade of the trees by the roadside, chewing on the bread we had prepared and drinking the cool boiled water from our military canteens, while tightly wrapping our bodies in the towels to prevent mosquito bites.

"Coo--, coo--, coo--,..."

"Croak--, croak--, croak--,..."

In the darkness, frogs in the roadside pond chatted leisurely with their lovers, whispering sweet nothings.

"Squeak--, squeak--, squeak--,..."

"Chirp--, chirp--, chirp--,..."

Cicadas, hidden in the grass, chirped crisply, breaking the silence of the night sky and echoing rhythmically across the quiet fields. Sun Xun beside me was already fast asleep, while I, preoccupied, couldn't fall asleep. I quietly peeked my head out from under the blanket, gazing at the star-studded night sky and the bright crescent moon, and suddenly felt a pang of regret. Mom, I've gotten you into trouble again. Mom, if I'm not mistaken, you'll be frantic with worry when you see the letter about me running away from home. Right now, I'm sleeping in the middle of nowhere, and you and Dad must be anxiously searching for us. Mom, your disobedient son has caused you trouble!

Sigh, I muttered to myself: What will Mom think when she sees that letter in the little drawer? Will she blame me for being too much of a bully and pushing my luck? As I thought about it, I couldn't resist the drowsiness and fell asleep without realizing it.

"Cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-doo..."

The rooster's crowing startled Sun Xun and me from our sweet dreams. We crawled out of our blankets, hastily wiped our faces in a nearby ditch, and prepared to continue. A few early-rising farmers in the distance stared at us with strange looks. As they approached, an older man asked,

"Children, what are you doing? Why are you sleeping in the fields?"

"Uncle," I replied excitedly,

"We're going on a trip!"

"A trip? Where are we going?"

"Dalian!"

"Whoa!" All the farmers carrying hoes roared in unison,

"Nonsense! --"

"Dalian is over a thousand miles away! You want to ride bicycles there? That's ridiculous!"

"Hmph," Sun Xun retorted defiantly.

"Don't believe me? We have to ride to the end! Xiao Li, get on the bike, let's go!"

Shaking off the farmers who were mocking us, we rode for a while longer. Our stomachs were growling with hunger, so we had to leave the highway and stop in a small town for breakfast. When we returned to the highway, we suddenly saw a large bus parked right in front of us. Sun Xun immediately cried out,

"Oh no! It must be Dad catching up! Xiao Li, look, that's our design institute's bus! This is bad!"

Before Sun Xun could finish speaking, many people jumped off the bus, including my father and Sun Xun's father! My head went blank: Oh no, Dad's caught up!

"You little brat!"

Sun Xun and I were staring blankly at the company bus from Dad's workplace when Dad, Uncle Sun, and several colleagues crowded around us. Dad walked to the front and, seeing me pushing my bicycle, immediately flew into a rage:

"You little brat, what kind of dream have you had this time? Absolutely delusional! Come home with me right now!" With that, Dad snatched the bicycle from my hand and handed it to one of the colleagues who had arrived shortly after. Sun Xun's bicycle was also confiscated by his father. We two, like captured prisoners of war, were grumbled by Dad, Uncle Sun, and the other uncles, and pushed and shoved by Dad and Uncle Sun, before dejectedly boarding the bus. Even as the bus slowly started moving, Dad's anger hadn't subsided.

"You little brat, this time your mother didn't scold or hit you, so why are you running away? Hmm, I'll deal with you when we get home. Look how worried your mother is, crying and shouting. I didn't sleep a wink all night. I ran to my workplace to borrow a bus to chase after you as soon as it was light. Sigh, you little brat, when will you ever grow up? Hmm, when will you stop making your mother and me worry? Your mother cried all night last night. Go home and see, her eyes are all swollen from crying. Sigh..."

"Old Zhang," Dad's colleague advised,

"It's enough that the child knows he's wrong. Forget it, don't blame him!"

"Hmph, damn it," Dad cursed, "

The director gave me a new assignment. I was supposed to go on official business this morning, but this kid messed up all my work!"

"Xiao Li," as Dad shoved me through the door, Mom, her face streaked with tears, sat up abruptly in bed and hugged me tightly.

"Son, son, my precious son!"

"Hmph," the still clueless father muttered from the side,

"Look how heartbroken your mother is, crying like that. Explain to her properly that she didn't hit you or scold you, so why did you run away from home?!"

"Get out, get out, hurry up and get out! Stop dawdling, it's none of your business!" the mother said coldly to the father. The father stopped talking and started packing his things.

The mother stroked my body with great heartache:

"Oh dear, look, what happened? It must be mosquito bites!"

I nestled blankly in my mother's arms, seeing her crying her eyes out, I felt deeply remorseful and saddened by my excessive behavior: as expected, my mother was frantic and terrified! I lowered my head in shame, and when my gaze inadvertently swept across the mother's blanket, I noticed several photos scattered on the top of the blanket. One of the photos showed my mother holding me tenderly, her shirt open, my little head buried deep in her chest, suckling earnestly at her long breast; another was the one I knew best—my 100-day anniversary photo.

"Son," my mother pressed her tear-streaked face against mine,

"You just left like that, without a care in the world. Can you bear to leave your mother?"

"I..." I was speechless, unsure how to answer. "Son, I can't live without you. I'll have to rely on you to support me when I'm old, son," my mother said, her voice rising with emotion, tears streaming down her face. I blushed, unable to utter

a word: Yes, I was so sorry, Mom. Why did I abandon her and go to such a faraway place?

"Son," as Dad sheepishly carried his luggage out of the house, Mom suddenly unbuttoned her shirt, revealing a pair of long-lost ample breasts:

"Son, wanna have some?" Mom pinched her long nipples and smiled slightly at me. I didn't know what to do, my face flushed red and hot.

"Come here," Mom pressed my head against her warm belly. I trembled with excitement, feeling incredibly awkward, yet I didn't dare break free from her embrace. I knew in my heart that Mom was telling me she still loved me as always, and I had no right to refuse her love; otherwise, she would be even more heartbroken.

"Eat, eat!" Mom held her long nipple and kept stuffing it into my mouth. I had no choice but to open my mouth and suckle haphazardly.

The next day, Mom hired workers to remove all the large wooden planks in the toilet, replacing them with fabric-textured glass partitions. While the workers were busy in the bathroom and toilet, Mom stood on a chair, peeling off the newly pasted blueprints one by one. Seeing all this, I was deeply moved, my heart filled with warmth.

What made me even happier was that a few days later, a large, color photograph, like an oil painting, suddenly appeared on the snow-white wall of my mother's bedroom. It was my 100-day anniversary photo. My mother took it to a photo studio, enlarged it, added oil paint, and framed it in a beautiful frame. My mother kept murmuring to the large photo:

"Lili's 100-day anniversary!"

"Mom," I threw myself into my mother's arms, and tears of happiness welled up in my eyes.

"Son," after dinner, my mother, fresh from her bath and wearing a very sexy bathrobe, quietly stood behind me, carefully examining my homework:

"Hmm, not bad, but it would be even better if it were a little neater!"

"Yes, Mom, I will definitely write well, I will definitely write neatly!"

"Alright, son, it's getting late, it's time for bed, you can continue writing tomorrow!"

"Okay," I obediently put down my pen, and just as I was about to return to my bed, my mother suddenly stopped me:

"Come on, go to Mom's room, sleep with Mom!"

Ah, I was shocked. Ever since she caught me peeping at her while she was bathing, I had never shared a bed with her again, never admired her perfect, almost saintly body. Hearing my mother's words, I didn't know what to do. I couldn't even believe my ears: Was this real?

"Come on!" Mom urged. It seemed she was serious. So, I followed Mom into the dimly lit bedroom. As I took off my clothes and crawled into bed, Mom suddenly shook off her bathrobe. The sight of that magically revealed mound of white flesh made my heart race and my blood boil. What surprised me even more was that my almost naked mother was wearing a brownish-red, fishnet-like thong. Her freshly shaved, pale private parts were clearly visible through the mesh. I stared blankly, mouth agape. My mother chuckled at me:

"What's wrong? What are you spacing out for? You've already seen it." She then sat on the bed, crossing her long, slender legs:

"Son, you said in your letter that I was always wary of you, suspicious of you, and that I hurt your pride. From now on, son, I believe in you. You're not a bad child. I won't be wary of you anymore, and I won't avoid you!"

As she spoke, she hugged me, placing my head on her smooth, white thighs. She pinched her long nipple again, saying seriously:

"Son, it's time to suckle!"

This time, I eagerly took her nipple. This was my mother's best reward; why should I refuse? What was there to be ashamed of in front of my mother? Thinking this, I happily began to suckle, gently stroking her arm with one hand. My head, resting on her lap, inhaled the alluring fragrance; her slightly damp body, sprayed with a pungent perfume mixed with the captivating scent of a mature woman, made me feel intoxicated. As I suckled on her long nipple, inhaling her fragrance, suddenly, she reached out and pulled out my penis. She examined it closely:

"Son, you've grown again!"

I released her nipple and turned to look at my penis, which she was holding. Yes, I really had grown again; my penis had undergone an unexpected change—a round, rosy glans peeking out from under the long foreskin.

"Son, you're a big boy now, you'll be going to middle school next semester!"

Right, if my mother hadn't mentioned it, I would have completely forgotten. I finished elementary school in a daze, and in another month, I should be carrying my schoolbag to register for middle school! December 9th, Chapter Eight:

"Teacher Meng," after the new semester began, my mother sent me to a middle school. Holding my hand, she said to a female teacher of similar age,

"This is my son. Please discipline him strictly. If he doesn't listen to you, give him a good beating!"

"Oh," Teacher Meng looked at me and suddenly gave me a charming smile, a smile that made my heart flutter:

"What a beautiful child! I can tell your mother is very responsible for you. Your grades must be excellent!"

"Yes," my vain mother said proudly,

"Teacher Meng, my son has been first in his class from first grade until graduation, and," she added proudly,

"my son has been learning painting with me since he was little. After starting school, I sent him to the Children's Palace to continue his studies, and he also learned calligraphy. The blackboards and bulletin boards in our school were all drawn by my son."

"Really? He has this talent? That's really something! Great! From now on, let him design the blackboard bulletin for our class!"

Mom chatted with Teacher Meng for a while longer before politely saying goodbye. I followed Teacher Meng into the classroom, feeling uneasy.

Teacher Meng, in her early thirties, was in the prime of her life. Although she wasn't as tall and slender as Mom, her skin was even smoother and whiter. Compared to Mom, Teacher Meng's chest was flatter, but her waist was quite narrow, making her rounded hips extremely large and eye-catching. What fascinated me most were Ms. Meng's long, slender legs. Summer vacation had just ended, and the heat hadn't completely dissipated. Ms. Meng wore a light blue long skirt, and when she sat in her office chair, she would habitually lift it, giving me the opportunity to peek at her legs. Sometimes I even caught a glimpse of her light pink underwear. Wow, those were such exciting moments! Ms. Meng's two long, white, slender legs, contrasting beautifully with her incredibly sexy pink underwear, made my blood boil.

In class, Ms. Meng treated me differently, appointing me as class monitor and helping her with many things, even having me grade the students' Chinese homework.

However, the extremely mischievous students in the class, who loved playing pranks, didn't care about me at all, even giving me cold, disdainful looks and mocking me as a "bookworm!" They weren't bookworms; their minds and energy weren't focused on their studies at all. As they grew older, the flames of youthful desire began to stir within them, like a sudden ignition of strong alcohol. The raging fire of lust burned them like a group of drunken madmen, unable to control themselves and doing many astonishing things.

"Ha," whenever Teacher Meng finished teaching and left the classroom, these little lechers would stare with lustful eyes, stick out their tongues, and whisper among themselves:

"Wow, did you see that? Our teacher's ass is so big!"

"Yeah, I think the teacher's pussy must be even bigger!"

"Right, and it even has black hair!"

"Hahaha..."

"..."

At times like these, I feel an intense loathing for these barbaric, unashamed, and primal people. I cannot bear to hear their utterly vulgar fantasies about the beautiful Ms. Meng. These male classmates not only fantasize about their teacher, but they also relentlessly pursue and harass the female students in our class. They somehow acquire all sorts of extremely obscene nude pictures, passing them around and admiring them repeatedly with relish. Some even dare to carve these obscene images onto the toilet doors with pencil sharpeners, adding lewd words next to them. If you squat down in the toilet, you'll be presented with a vividly illustrated erotic picture book. They also possess numerous tattered, yellowed, and rotten-smelling handwritten novels; the lewd words in the toilets are all selected from these handwritten copies. Whenever I saw those poorly drawn but blatantly obscene pictures in the toilet, my penis would instinctively start to throb, conjuring up all sorts of disgusting sexual fantasies, even the urge to stand up and thrust my penis against the pictures. My

deskmate was a short, thin girl named Gao Hongyan. When I first sat next to her, she timidly pressed herself against the wall, trying her best to avoid me. I glanced at her, and she lowered her head shyly. Emboldened by lust, I secretly peeked at her. Her delicate oval face had a pair of bright, kind eyes, and her fair cheeks were adorned with two prominent, red lips. Apart from that, this little girl was nothing special. Seeing me constantly peeking at her, Gao Hongyan blushed and turned her face away from me, offering me a pair of shiny black braids. "Hmph," I thought to myself, "what's so great about you? Honestly, I couldn't be bothered with her." Not only did I ignore her, but none of the boys in the class paid her any attention, as if she didn't exist. Even the girls disliked her. Whenever they gathered together to jump rope or play games, she would stand far away, staring blankly.

When she picked up her pen to do her homework, I secretly glanced over. Wow, my eyes widened in surprise! My God, what happened to her hands? Gao Hongyan, a pitifully thin girl, also had incredibly disappointing hands. Her hands were severely twisted, her fingers grotesquely bent, looking as if her tendons had been pulled out, and the backs of her hands were covered in repulsive scars. Seeing me staring at her scarred hands for so long, Gao Hongyan sadly stopped writing and buried her crippled hands deep into her ill-fitting sleeves. I couldn't help but ask,

"How did you get your hands like this?"

"Burned, burned," Gao Hongyan murmured,

"burned!"

"How did you get burned?" "

When I was little, my mother asked me to light the stove to cook, but it had rained all night, and the firewood was too wet when I got up in the morning, so I couldn't get it to light. I took a gasoline can and poured it into the stove. I took a match, and just as I struck it, whoosh—the stove suddenly burst into flames, which landed on my hands... and as a result, they burned like this!"

"Hey," I said confidently,

"Your mother is really something, making a little kid cook!"

"..." Gao Hongyan stopped talking, slowly stretched out her hand, and continued writing her homework. I couldn't believe she could write anything with that ridiculous pen-holding posture.

Our classroom was located at the far end of the school building, with a huge window right next to another building—the school's nursery, where the teachers' children were cared for. Our classroom faced the nursery through the window, forming a narrow gap between them. This gap was a troublesome place in the school, often causing headaches for the principal. When a new day began and we walked into the classroom with our backpacks, the girl on duty, sweeping the floor, covered her mouth and giggled, her face flushed.

"What are you laughing at?" a mischievous boy asked, puzzled.

"What are you laughing at? Did you have a good dream last night?"

"Hehe," the girl pointed her broom at the large window,

"Go see for yourself!" With that, her face turned even redder, and she slipped out of the classroom without looking back. Hearing her words, the boys, without even putting down their backpacks, rushed to the large window, their little heads instantly filling the windowsill.

Boom! A burst of lewd laughter immediately came from the windowsill. Unable to squeeze to the front, I stood on a chair and tiptoed to peer out, peering through the backs of those annoying heads. I saw a quilt tucked into the gap—the kind the daycare children used for their afternoon naps. Somebody had dragged it into the gap, and on the stained quilt lay several used condoms, covered in yellowish stains.

"What are you looking at?" Teacher Meng, carrying her lesson plans, barked sternly as she entered the classroom.

"Back to your seats!"

Teacher Meng put down her lesson plans and went to the windowsill. She glanced furtively out the window, a hint of helplessness immediately appearing on her dignified face. Her thick, dark eyebrows furrowed involuntarily, and then she slammed the window shut.

"Everyone, focus on your morning self-study!"

Teacher Meng hurriedly left the classroom. Less than ten minutes later, I heard a commotion coming from the crack under the window. Teacher Meng had reported to the principal, who then ordered the blankets to be rolled up and thrown into the trash can.

I sat there dumbfounded on the wooden chair, the image of those yellowish condoms lingering in my mind. A sudden surge of youthful lust ignited, and my restless desires began to stir again. When I saw those condoms, I thought of my mother, her body, her breasts, her private parts, and the things she and my father had done. Just thinking about it made my penis throb. "

Damn it," I cursed myself bitterly. "You worthless wretch! Why are you thinking about these wicked things again? What did you promise Mom? Are you going to repeat the same mistakes? Focus on your studies, don't think about anything else, concentrate entirely on your studies."

During the day, it was manageable; I would scold myself and try my best to control myself when lust arose. However, as soon as night fell, the primal urge burned like a raging fire, making it impossible for me to fall asleep. As soon as I closed my eyes, images of female genitalia described in books would appear, and then my penis would throb and become harder and harder, almost breaking. Whenever this happened, I would grasp my burning-hard penis and rub it repeatedly. I would close my eyes tightly and use Teacher Meng as an outlet, frequently masturbating: Ah, Teacher Meng, so beautiful Teacher Meng, such white skin, such long legs. Wow, in my mind, Teacher Meng would be naked and gracefully sitting beside me. I would take Teacher Meng's arm and kiss her beautiful cheek deeply, and Teacher Meng would return my long, sweet kiss. Then, my gaze lewdly fixed on Teacher Meng's private parts, which, like my mother's, were smooth and white, without a single pubic hair. Wow, Teacher Meng had the same fetish as my mother, liking to shave her pubic hair clean. As I stared in a daze, Teacher Meng suddenly obediently spread her long legs. Wow, I saw it, I saw Teacher Meng's genitals! I greedily bent down, admiring Teacher Meng's vagina without blinking. The more closely I looked, the more I felt that Teacher Meng's vagina was exactly the same as my mother's, even identical. I kept touching it until my penis was unbearably hard. So, I climbed on top of Teacher Meng. I, I...

huff--, huff--, huff--,

in endless sexual fantasies about Teacher Meng, under the rapid rubbing of my palms, my glans repeatedly spurted out white, sticky fluid. I never used my mother as an object of masturbation; I could no longer defile my dear mother. However, whenever I fantasize about Teacher Meng, her vagina in my imagination always looks exactly like my mother's vagina. After opening my eyes, I fall into deep thought: I have never actually seen Teacher Meng's vagina, but the vagina of Teacher Meng that I fantasize about is exactly my mother's.

No, no, this won't do. How could I fantasize about my own mother? No, absolutely not! So, I shifted my focus, making my deskmate Gao Hongyan, that unremarkable, skinny girl with a disability in both hands, my new object of sexual gratification. I gripped my hard penis, imagining Gao Hongyan's genitals. Wow, what kind of vagina would it be? It certainly wouldn't be as deep or long as my mother's. Ugh, damn it, why am I thinking about my mother again, you bastard. No, Gao Hongyan's vagina should be like this. I used all my inspiration, imagining a narrow, underage girl's vagina based on descriptions in books, and one without any pubic hair. Yes, she should be like my mother, without a single pubic hair. Oh dear, why am I thinking about my mother again? No, I must quickly dismiss this wicked thought. Think of Gao Hongyan, yes, only Gao Hongyan, not my mother.

Ah, Gao Hongyan, I fantasized about conquering her effortlessly. Under my fervent gaze, Gao Hongyan shyly undressed, and wow, I saw her delicate private parts. So, I gripped my penis and pressed it against her, my penis deeply penetrating her vagina. I thrust and thrust. Suddenly, I shuddered violently, instantly waking from my sexual fantasy. I felt something wet between my legs. I reached down and touched it; I'd had another wet dream, the bottom of my underwear soaked with thick semen. Frequent sexual fantasies made

me sleep less and less, and naturally, I couldn't get up on time in the morning. Whenever I opened my eyes, returning from fantasy to reality, the room was already empty. I got up with a heavy heart, staring blankly at the semen between my legs for a long time. I went to my mother's bedroom to look for new underwear. Suddenly, I found a pair of dirty underwear left on her bed, which she had just changed out of. I quietly grabbed it and saw a yellowish stain on the bottom. I brought it to my nose and sniffed. From the pungent smell, I seemed to smell my mother's unique body odor. My penis, which had just ejaculated, started to stir again. So, I tiptoed onto my mother's bed and slipped into the soft blankets. Hmm, suddenly, I felt a strange, damp coolness beneath me. I got up and saw a round, damp stain on my mother's mattress. I brought my nose close and sniffed. Ah, this must be what Mom and Dad left behind when they did *that*. I knew that. I smelled the extremely pungent smell of semen. And the other smell, needless to say, must be the fluid flowing from my mother's vagina—the so-called "love fluid" mentioned in books!

Looking at the stains left on the sheets after Mom and Dad made love, my mind started wandering again. The scene of me secretly watching Mom and Dad have sex when I was in elementary school reappeared before my eyes. As I stared at the stains, I glanced at Mom's panties, and my mind involuntarily conjured up the image of Mom's pink, moist, tender vagina. I don't know when I pulled out my penis, and I rubbed my hard penis against the bottom of Mom's panties repeatedly. As I rubbed, I closed my eyes and fantasized: Mom, Mom, this is Mom's fluid. Ah, my little penis is touching Mom's love fluid. Wow, Mom's love fluid smells so good and is so slippery... I felt like I was inhaling a drug. In this strange hallucination, I was making love with Mom. I was so excited that my heart was pounding wildly. Then my body shuddered, and a pool of semen gushed out from the tip of my penis, all of it spilling onto the bottom of Mom's panties.

Damn it, I suddenly remembered something, immediately threw off my underwear, and raised my hand to slap myself hard: Damn it, shameless thing, why did you think of Mom again? And, even worse, you were fantasizing about doing *that* with Mom. Damn it, forget about Mom and get back to reality! So, I changed into my new clothes, hurriedly picked up my schoolbag, and went to school with a heavy heart!

"Why are you late again!" Teacher Meng said to me with an unhappy look. I was thinking about how to defend myself when Teacher Meng waved me away:

"Quick, to my office!"

I put down my schoolbag and followed Teacher Meng into her office. Whenever I entered a teacher's office, whenever I came into contact with a teacher, I felt a strange pleasure all over my body, and my little penis was jumping restlessly between my legs.

"Here," I was staring blankly at Ms. Meng's chest, lost in fantasies, when suddenly, Ms. Meng looked up and pushed a stack of homework books in front of me:

"I've finished grading these assignments. Take these homework books back to the classroom and distribute them to your classmates!"

"Okay," I replied, barely suppressing my burning lust, and picked up the homework books as I left the teacher's office. When I pushed open the classroom door, whoosh—the classroom practically exploded! Deafeningly loud noises, like powerful waves of air, crashed into my eardrums with irresistible force.

Chapter Nine:

My ever-restless male classmates always find something to amuse themselves. While the teacher was out of the classroom, one of them pulled a rectangular black box from his bag. He held the box high and then proudly pressed a button. Wow, amazing! A strange melody emanated from the box, its rhythm so lively and intense, clanging and clattering, like a speeding train.

"Heave--, heave--, heave--, ..."

"Click--, click--, click--, ..."

"Clang--, clang--, clang--, ..."

"..."

The deafening music surged and rushed like a river bursting its banks, unstoppable. As they listened, several other male students put down their pens and rushed to the aisle, dancing wildly to the refreshing melody. Some swung their long legs, some wildly wiggled their big buttocks, and some ridiculously swayed their waists.

"Great! Great!" the male students clapped and cheered.

"Well done! Well done!"

"Go wilder! Go wilder!"

"Hey, can you come up with something new?"

"..."

"Damn!" A tall, thin guy jumped up from his chair and yelled disdainfully,

"Damn, you dare to show off with a broken lunchbox? What's so great about a broken speaker? My brother has a tape recorder with two speakers. I'll bring it over tomorrow so you can hear what two speakers sound like!"

The next day, the tall, thin guy indeed brought a tape recorder with two speakers. The one-speaker tape recorder that had been jokingly called a lunchbox suddenly became a pitiful ugly duckling, secretly hiding in his schoolbag and never daring to show its face again. After school, many male students lingered by the two-speaker tape recorder, jumping and dancing wildly on the school's large playground. The lively scene was like a carnival!

When I pushed open the classroom door and first heard that novel melody coming from the black box—that wondrous lunchbox—I was immediately captivated. I stood there dumbfounded, holding my notebook, listening intently and eagerly: What unique and beautiful music! What kind of music is this? How come I've never heard it before?

*Snap!* Just as I was completely absorbed in the wild music, my classmate suddenly and ruthlessly pressed the button, abruptly cutting off the beautiful melody. I was utterly disappointed.

"Don't turn it off! I haven't finished listening yet!"

I hurriedly put down my homework and yelled at the boy holding the black box. That guy was a notorious underachiever in the class, often punished by the teacher. Now, hearing my shout, he grinned and said,

"Class monitor, haha, you want to listen? No way, you can't! It's your fault for always tattling on me to the teacher!"

"Hmph," I glared at him fiercely,

"Fine, don't listen then! What a piece of junk, who cares!"

I said, "I won't listen, I won't listen!" But even after I got home from school, the enchanting melody was still echoing in my ears. I tried hard to recall the cheerful tune, hoping that I could hum it myself, but at that time I was only excited and didn't remember the wild and unrestrained tune at all.

The next day at school, I shamelessly approached the mischievous boy who held a grudge against me:

"Hey buddy," I pleaded, "

could I borrow your radio cassette player?"

"Oh," the boy shrugged, waving his hands in a helpless gesture:

"Class monitor, that lunchbox isn't mine. I borrowed it. They only lent it to me for one day, and I've already returned it!"

Disappointed, I went to the classmate with two radio cassette players and asked to borrow his. The boy glared at me:

"Class monitor, no way! My brother bought it with half a year's salary. I took it secretly, and everyone was fiddling with it. Then, I accidentally broke a key. My brother punched me hard for it, and you see…" He pulled open his collar and said to me…

"Look, it's still bruised! It hurts so much! My brother doesn't care about anything when he gets angry! He punched me to the ground. If Mom hadn't arrived quickly, he would have beaten me half to death!" "

Sigh," I said dejectedly as I sat down in my seat. Seeing this, Gao Hongyan said to me in a low voice,

"If you like listening to those songs, you can come to our place after school. My neighbor next door has one..."

"Your home," I asked,

"Where do you live?"

"Hmm," Gao Hongyan thought for a moment, then suddenly shook her head in disappointment,

"I won't tell you, I won't!"

"Hehe," I said coldly,

"What are you talking about? Are you trying to tempt me?"

"Hehe," Gao Hongyan smiled mischievously, her fair face turning bright red,

"I can't tell you, I'm too embarrassed to say!"

"How inexplicable!"

Gradually, I noticed a new fashion emerging in the streets and alleys. Young people who had made a few bucks were swaggering around, cigarettes dangling from their lips, and radios with double speakers in their hands, attracting envious glances from passersby with their captivating music. I was completely enthralled. Whenever I saw a young man with a radio walking down the street, I would be drawn to the strange tunes, following him around with my schoolbag on my back for a long time. Many times, I even forgot to go to school, resulting in being late again and again, and being scolded and warned by the teacher time and time again.

In my childhood, Sun Xun and I had secretly listened to his family's record player. The old record player played only traditional music: Beethoven's symphonies, Spiegel's waltzes, and Schubert's little pieces. Today, this unconventional music completely captivated me. To enjoy its beauty, I finally abandoned my pride and started actively reaching out to classmates with radios. My purpose was simply to listen to this endlessly fascinating music.

I finally learned that this strange music was called disco. As I listened, I clumsily tried to imitate it. With my classmates' unreserved guidance and my own tireless efforts, I quickly mastered various dance moves. Often, without a care in the world, I would dance tirelessly with my classmates in the street, gathered around the roaring radio. We danced with abandon, completely absorbed in the joy, forgetting all about home.

Not only did I learn to dance wildly to disco, but I also discovered an even stranger kind of music—jazz. Whenever jazz played, I would shake my head and sway my legs as if possessed, my whole body trembling, leading my classmates to jokingly call me

"the shaman!"

My entire being was completely absorbed in this strange music, dancing with abandon and listening with rapt attention. I learned to hum Teresa Teng's love songs, Ouyang Feifei's dance tunes, and Zhang Tina's playful teasing.

I danced and sang, completely losing interest in my studies. As a result, my grades plummeted during the final exams. My once-renowned high school student was now relegated to the very bottom of the list, relegated to the ranks of the mischievous kids!

My mother, furious after the parent-teacher conference, yelled,

"You, you, you're up to no good again! The teacher said you're not studying properly at all, just following those bad students, dancing and listening to those lewd songs!"

What? Lewd? Lewd songs? I huddled in a corner, head down, indignant: This music is so beautiful, these love songs so sincere, I don't find it lewd at all, and I don't hear anything lewd in it!

"Sigh," Dad sighed,

"It's not entirely his fault. Look, these junks are everywhere now, that little brat!" To get my mind back on my studies, Dad started using material rewards:

"If you catch up in your grades next semester, I'll buy you a tape recorder!"

"Really?" I jumped up with joy:

"Okay, Dad, don't worry, I'll definitely study hard, just watch my actions!"

To get my beloved tape recorder as soon as possible, I had to suppress my restless heart and bury myself in my books again. I was determined to catch up and give Dad and Mom a surprise. Hard work pays off. After some diligent effort, in the new semester's exams, my grades jumped from the bottom, leaving Teacher Meng astonished, to third place.

Dad is a real man; he keeps his word. He spent almost a month's salary to buy me a lunchbox. But I was greedy. I suddenly remembered what my classmate said:

"You dare show off this piece of junk?" "What, what kind of junk is this? It's just one speaker, it doesn't sound good! I want one with two speakers!"

"What?" Dad, upon hearing this, was furious:

"You bastard, what do you mean one speaker or two speakers? Aren't they the same? They both make sound!

" "Absolutely not, the effect is different!"

"Damn it, I spent a whole month's salary to buy you this junk, and you're never satisfied. Are we a rich family? Your mother and I have spent our entire salaries on this junk! Will we even eat this month? Will our whole family starve?"

"Hmph," I pushed the ugly lunchbox to the center of the table:

"Fine, fine, I don't want it, take it back!"

"No return! Didn't you see the sign in the store: No returns after sale!"

"Then, let my sister use it to learn a foreign language! Anyway, I'm not buying this piece of junk!"

"Damn it," Dad cursed angrily,

"Fine, don't take it!"

"Son!" That night, I didn't even eat dinner before angrily crawling into bed and falling asleep. Mom quietly pushed open the door and tugged at my blanket with great heartache:

"Son, eat before you sleep!"

"No, I'm not hungry!" "

How can you not eat? You'll ruin your stomach and cause problems," Mom brought over steaming hot rice and fragrant braised pork:

"Son, be good, my good son. Dad won't buy you a tape recorder with two speakers, but Mom will!"

"Really," I jumped out of bed and hugged Mom's neck:

"Mom, really, you'll really buy me a tape recorder with two speakers?"

"Really, Mom will buy it for you!" With that, Mom carefully pulled a beautiful little notebook from a small drawer:

"Son, don't argue with your dad. Mom has money. Look, this is Mom's savings book. Dad won't buy it for you, but Mom will. Mom will buy my precious son a tape recorder with two speakers!"

"Mom, a tape recorder with two speakers is very, very expensive! Are you willing to spend that much?"

"Son!" Mom gave me a quick kiss and said,

"Son, Mom loves you the most. Whatever you want, as long as Mom has it, I'll give it to you. If you say, 'Mom, give me your heart,' Mom will give it to you immediately, without even thinking!"

Hehe, I secretly muttered to myself: "I'll give you anything, Mom. I want you, will you give it to me?" Wow, what a jerk! As soon as this thought crossed my mind, I immediately berated myself: What the hell are you thinking? Wanting Mom? How could you even think of that!

"Mommy, Mommy, my dear Mommy!" I snuggled in my mother's arms, pleading,

"Mommy, my dear Mommy, when I grow up and earn money, I'll definitely take good care of you!"

"Hmph!" Mom tapped my forehead with her plump fingertips.

"You're so good with words, you can really charm anyone to death! Alright, son, eat your food. If you don't eat, Mommy won't buy you that two-speaker tape recorder!"

"Okay, okay, Mommy, I'll eat, I'll eat..."

"Open your mouth and swallow!" As she spoke, Mommy brought a spoonful of rice to my lips, and I nestled happily in her arms, opening my mouth.

That night, I couldn't sleep at all. Every time I closed my eyes, the image of that charming two-speaker tape recorder, blasting enchanting melodies, floated into my mind. I carried it happily down the street, and passersby cast envious glances my way.

Chapter

Ten. The next morning, a day off, I excitedly followed my mother to the largest department store in the city. I went straight to the electronics department, while my mother lingered in the dazzling array of fashion items. I impatiently tugged at her sleeve:

"Mom, hurry up!"

"Oh!" My mother reluctantly stroked a new fashion item:

"What a beautiful dress! It's so expensive!"

"Come on, Mom, if you like it, you can buy it later when you have more money!"

"Sigh," my mother reluctantly let go of her sleeve:

"Let's go!"

I pulled my mother's hand, squeezed through the crowd, and entered the electronics department. Looking at the dazzling array of radios and tape recorders, I jumped for joy. My mother pushed me:

"Tell me, what brand do you want?"

"Mom," I suddenly saw a row of four-speaker radios prominently displayed:

"Mom, I want one, I want one, I want one with four speakers!"

"What!" My mother's eyes widened in surprise:

"Son, you, you, you're really pushing your luck!"

"Mom," I looked at my mother pitifully with beggar-like eyes. My mother sighed, adjusted her glasses, and glanced at the small label under the tape recorder:

"Oh my god, over nine hundred yuan, child..."

"Mom," I stared at my mother intently. My mother hesitated slightly, then turned around:

"Son, wait here for me for a while, don't wander off!" After saying that, my mother disappeared into the crowd. I leaned on the counter, my greedy eyes fixed on the tape recorder with its four gleaming speakers. I really wanted to jump onto the counter, grab it, and kiss it passionately.

"Son," Mom returned to the counter, sweating profusely, clutching a thick wad of banknotes.

"Son, tell me quickly, which brand of radio cassette player do you want?"

"Sanyo!"

"Heh," Mom grinned, saying bitterly,

"You just want whatever's good. If there were an eight-speaker one, I bet you'd want it too!"

Having spent almost a thousand yuan of Mom's money, I finally walked out of the mall, excitedly carrying a four-speaker Sanyo radio cassette player. Mom dejectedly showed me her savings book:

"Son, you're happy now, but Mom's penniless. Look,"

I glanced at Mom's savings book; there was still a ten-yuan balance. I didn't care about that; my goal had finally been achieved. I made a face at Mom with the radio cassette player in my hand, then dashed off.

I instantly became the most important person in the class. I swaggered around the school building, carrying the four-speaker radio cassette player with an air of superiority, followed by groups of drooling boys. We placed the radio on the school playground, then pressed the switch—whoosh!—and a volcanic eruption of exhilarating, wild music burst forth! Heh heh, it's definitely different; the sound quality of a four-speaker radio is incomparable to a two-speaker one, and far surpasses that of a one-speaker lunchbox. We gathered around the roaring radio, jumping and jumping with abandon! We jumped from the school playground to the main road, and then from the main road into the alleyways.

"How annoying," a middle-aged man muttered irritably as a group of people gathered in the alley, sitting side by side. An outdated radio sat atop a low roof, its crackling speaker emitting intermittent signals.

"Where did this bunch of brats come from? They're jumping around like lunatics, making a racket! We can't listen to the storytelling! It's fucking annoying!"

I paused briefly, stealthily glancing at the listeners. Suddenly, I realized that they were all blind, without exception. This puzzled me greatly: where did so many blind people come from?

Just as I was wondering what was going on, I turned around abruptly and found Gao Hongyan standing silently in front of a dilapidated doorway. I wiped the sweat from my brow, smiled slightly at her, and she returned a shy smile. I called out to her,

"Xiao Gao, come on, let's jump!"

"No," Gao Hongyan continued smiling, shaking her head,

"No, I can't!"

I walked to Gao Hongyan's side, and she stepped back towards the doorway, one foot resting on the red brick steps that dipped below the horizon. I glanced inside, and Gao Hongyan's cheeks flushed instantly:

"I'm sorry, this is my home. The house is so run-down, I'm really sorry to let you in!"

"Hey," I said dismissively,

"Xiao Gao, you're overthinking it. Can I come in and have a look?"

"Well, well," Gao Hongyan continued to back away,

"If you don't mind that my house is poor and dirty, then please come in!"

"Thank you!"

I followed Gao Hongyan, petite and thin, into the cellar-like house. Passing through a dark, foul-smelling corridor, I entered a dimly lit room. The cramped room contained nothing of value. A messy earthen bed occupied almost half the room, and three people—a man and two women—sat on it. Gao Hongyan quietly introduced them to me:

"This is my dad, this is my mom, and this is my grandma!" Then, turning to the old woman who was engrossed in needlework, Gao Hongyan said,

"Grandma, this is my classmate; he's our class monitor!"

"Oh," the old woman immediately stopped her work, busily tidying up the earthen bed, and then said kindly to me:

"Quick, quick, please sit down, please sit down!"

"Class monitor?" Gao Hongyan's father muttered blankly.

"Class monitor, Gao Hongyan's class monitor is here!"

I looked in the direction of the voice and, in the dim light, I noticed that Gao Hongyan's father's eyes were rolling around in a terrifying manner. It turned out that he was also blind, and the woman sitting next to him, Gao Hongyan's mother, was also blind. I finally understood why Gao Hongyan was cooking at such a young age and accidentally burned her hands, and why Gao Hongyan wouldn't tell me her home address. Yes, it was indeed difficult to talk about this poor, shabby place.

"Class monitor!" The tall, thin man, sweating profusely, carried the tape recorder into Gao Hongyan's house and slammed it onto the earthen bed.

"Here you go, everyone's tired from dancing, time to go home!"

"Oh my," Gao Hongyan's grandmother glanced at the tape recorder.

"What a big thing! It must be worth a lot of money!"

"Of course!" Gao Hongyan said enviously.

"It's worth almost a thousand yuan!"

"What?" Gao Hongyan's father rolled his eyes in surprise.

"A thousand yuan! Your mother and I together only make a little over six hundred yuan a year! Child, your parents really spoil you, willing to spend so much money on this thing!"

"Dad—," Gao Hongyan pouted.

"How can we compare to them? We can't compare to them in anything, not even money, our houses are so much worse!"

"Yes," Gao Hongyan's grandmother said with deep feeling.

"Comparison is the thief of joy, and comparing goods is like throwing them away. We're poor, how can we compare ourselves to others!"

"Uncle," I whispered to Gao Hongyan's father,

"Uncle, which company do you and Auntie work for?"

"We work," Gao Hongyan's father sighed,

"What factory would want disabled people like us? The civil affairs department forced us into a radio factory, but we hadn't even worked a full month before we were laid off. We get a small allowance each month, enough for thin porridge and some pickled vegetables. We're lucky if we don't starve!"

"Laid off?" I muttered, puzzled. Gao Hongyan nodded at me.

"Yeah, holidays, it's always holidays. Ever since I was old enough to understand, my dad and mom haven't worked a single day. They just sit on the kang (a

heated brick bed) every day, just drifting along like this, not knowing when it will end!" I spent my days jumping around with the tape recorder that my classmates envied. The golden years slipped away from our hysterical feet. In the blink of an eye, when we absentmindedly walked into the classroom, we found Teacher Meng standing on the podium, deep in thought, flipping through the new textbook. Only then did I realize that the new semester had begun, and we had grown another year older without even realizing it!

When Teacher Meng slammed the new textbook onto my desk, I casually unfolded it. As I looked at it, I couldn't help but frown, just like Teacher Meng, and then slammed the textbook aside with a loud thud:

"What is this junk?!"

"Hehe," Xiao Gao said nonchalantly,

"Who cares what it is? Just copy me!" Since my unintentional visit to Gao Hongyan's house, our relationship had suddenly become closer. She no longer avoided my eager gaze, and often joked with me, even secretly pinching my arm with her crippled little hand.

"Ouch," I grinned, clutching my arm, and said to Gao Hongyan,

"Hehe, your hands look so thin and frail, but they're surprisingly strong when you pinch someone, like a pair of sharp iron pliers!"

"Get lost," Gao Hongyan smiled, then pinched my nose with her little hand.

"But," I said irritably, flipping through my textbook at Gao Hongyan,

"what, what, what is all this stuff? We're in our second year of middle school, already in our second year, but what have we learned? In elementary school we studied Mao Zedong's Selected Works, and now that we're older, we should be learning something real, but look at this! This textbook is almost entirely filled with Hua Guofeng's speeches. Is this a textbook or political study material?"

"Say less," Teacher Meng said, walking past me with a bundle of books reeking of ink. She tossed her hand dismissively:

"Here, there's more. We'll be studying this again this semester!"

I picked up the booklet Teacher Meng had tossed on my desk, opened it, and nearly burst out laughing:

"Damn it!" I finally couldn't hold back and cursed. This was the first time I'd swore since my mother scolded me. The booklet that Teacher Meng had given us was actually a simplified Chinese dictionary. Looking at those pitiful Chinese characters, so drastically simplified by some linguistic genius, I gritted my teeth in anger:

"This, this isn't even Chinese anymore! It's practically indistinguishable from Japanese!" But

that wasn't the worst part. What was even more unacceptable was that someone had the audacity to arbitrarily modify the national anthem: "Chairman Hua led us on a new Long March!"

Damn it, a nameless fire suddenly welled up inside me. My interest shifted abruptly from women, radios, and Teresa Teng to politics. And, with age, my body underwent unprecedented changes. My voice became deep and resonant, and incredibly, a patch of fine downy hair grew on my lips. At the same time, my courage grew, and my rebelliousness intensified. I have my own opinions and views on everything that happens around me. I thought I had read a lot of books, so I arrogantly argued with my political teacher about what is pure communism and what is orthodox Marxism.

"You ungrateful wretch!" the political teacher roared, spitting as he spoke.

"Your thinking is appalling! You're just too young. Otherwise, you shouldn't be sitting here studying; you should be squatting in prison eating cornbread. That's the place for you!"

"Hmph," I retorted defiantly,

"What's so great about being in prison? Which revolutionary martyr hasn't been to prison!"

In music class, we had to learn how to sing the new national anthem. My music teacher was a thin man about my father's age. He waved his dry, wood-like fingers with a pointed chin and monkey-like face:

"Chairman Hua leads us on a new Long March! Sing—,"

but I, still undeterred, sang the old national anthem. The music teacher repeatedly tried to persuade me, but I remained unmoved. Finally, the exasperated music teacher, his face sallow, approached me:

"Do you even know how to sing the new national anthem?"

"No, I will never sing the new national anthem!"

"Smack—," the music teacher's dry hand shot out, slapping me hard across the face. Caught off guard, I covered my face, looking at him with utter embarrassment. He glared back at me, about to turn and walk back to the piano, when, in a fit of rage, I instinctively pulled my hand out and struck him hard in the chest with all my might. The music teacher, caught completely off guard, fell backward violently.

I had injured the music teacher and received a warning from the school. I was no longer the class monitor; I became a notorious bully, a scoundrel who dared to hit a teacher. And I, drifting along with the tide, gave up all hope. During politics and music classes, I never looked at the textbooks, sitting at my desk either scribbling or memorizing idioms from the dictionary. In Chinese class, when Teacher Meng taught us to write simplified characters, I deliberately defied him, opening the dictionary to write traditional characters. Ms. Meng was so angry that her eyebrows furrowed:

"You, do you still want to learn well?" After saying that, she snatched the homework full of dense traditional Chinese characters from my hand and tore it to shreds.

"Hmph," I sat silently in my chair, letting Teacher Meng shout at the top of her lungs. When Teacher Meng finally tired herself out and left the classroom with her lesson plan, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and quietly slipped out of the school building. From that day on, I never returned to school, never returned to my seat. I wandered the streets!

Chapter Eleven

: I wandered aimlessly along the bustling streets with my backpack on my back. Looking at the crisscrossing streets and alleys, I wondered to myself: Where can I go?

Crossing street after street, passing by park after park, I gradually felt a little tired. So, I took off my backpack and put it on the roadside paving stones, then plopped down. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and absentmindedly glanced across the street.

Across the street was a wide open space shaded by green trees. Through the tall, straight ancient cypress trees, I could vaguely see a red wall with peeling paint. On the dusty wall were carved large characters: Namo Amitabha! It turned out to be a temple. Curiosity made me temporarily forget my fatigue. I carried my schoolbag and crossed the street to the temple gate, wanting to go in and see what it was all about. To my disappointment, the temple's large wooden gate was tightly closed. I had no choice but to walk along the wall into the shady woods. In the pine forest, littered with fallen branches and leaves, a group of people were gathered, looking rather lazy. I moved closer, intentionally or unintentionally. Through the backs of the people, I heard a rather familiar voice. He was spouting nonsense with great conviction. I quietly peeked in, and oh my goodness, it was Gao Hongyan's blind father. He was sitting on a small wooden chair, his withered hands holding a little girl's small hand, talking incessantly about fate, future, love, getting rich, and so on. Looking at his serious expression, I almost burst out laughing. Although Gao Hongyan's father was blind, I was still worried he would notice my presence. So, I stuck out my tongue at him and hurriedly slipped away from the crowd, muttering to myself: I've never heard Gao Hongyan mention that her blind father could draw lots and tell fortunes!

Not far from where Gao Hongyan's father was telling fortunes, several old men were intently playing a game of chess. I sat quietly beside them, hoping to learn a few skillful moves that would defeat their opponents.

"Trump!"

A shrill shout came from the side. A group of gray-faced, middle-aged men, shirtless, were enthusiastically waving playing cards, drawing my attention. So, I slipped behind them. A man in his thirties, wearing thick glasses, caught my attention. His face was a repulsive, sickly sallow yellow, and his dirty fingers manipulated the cards with remarkable skill. I noticed that on many occasions, he didn't have any decent cards, but he had extraordinary courage and frequently attacked, always winning in unimaginable ways.

"Wow, amazing!" I couldn't help but exclaim as I watched the middle-aged man repeatedly succeed, knocking his opponents to the ground and stuffing bills into his shirt pocket one after another.

"So impressive!"

"Hmph," the bespectacled middle-aged man turned around and gave me a cold look, then pulled out fifty cents from his shirt pocket:

"Hey kid, go buy me a pack of Antelope cigarettes!"

"Okay," I readily accepted the fifty cents and ran briskly out of the grove to a cigarette stall at the crossroads:

"I want a pack of cigarettes!" The seller was a young woman in her prime, who was busy tidying up her stall. Hearing my voice, she mechanically looked up:

"What kind of cigarettes?"

"Antelope!"

"Here you go," the woman took the money and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. I was about to reach for it when suddenly, she realized that I was a teenager with a schoolbag on my back. She withdrew her hand from the cigarettes.

"Kid, you, you smoke? You're still a student!"

"Ma'am," I explained,

"No, ma'am, it's not me smoking, it's him," I gestured towards the middle-aged man with glasses in the grove,

"That older brother wanted a cigarette, I'm buying it for him!"

"Oh," the young woman nodded, then handed me the cigarette.

"Oh, you're wearing glasses, but," she still asked, puzzled,

"kid, why aren't you in school with your backpack?"

"I'm off today!" I took the cigarette and turned to leave.

A few days later, I, who was keenly interested in everything, recklessly joined in street gambling. Seeing others win big with seemingly bad hands, I excitedly tried my luck. Finally, the gamblers took pity on me and allowed this newbie to join in. I was overjoyed and plopped down in front of the cards. But when I unfolded the deck of cards I had drawn, it was a pretty good hand, but once it was in my hand, it was a completely different story. No matter how hard I tried, even racking my brains, I still lost miserably, ending up bruised and battered. The onlookers didn't hold back in criticizing my humiliation:

"Little brother, you're too green!"

"Young man, your skills are terrible!"

"This little money-grubber!"

"..."

"Lost it all again, huh? Get out of here, get out of here, come back and play again tomorrow! Hehe," the gamblers said gleefully, counting the money they had won from me. Penniless,

I had no choice but to sit back down behind the middle-aged man with glasses. He grinned at me:

"Little brother, don't even have money for lunch, huh?"

"I'm not eating!" I said self-deprecatingly.

"Little brother," the middle-aged man said amicably,

"damn, I'll get revenge for you. You win back all the money you lost, and then we'll have lunch together!"

"Thank you, big brother!"

The middle-aged man wasn't bragging or exaggerating; his gambling skills were superb. All the gamblers in the grove respected him. He was guaranteed to win nine out of ten times, and even on the one time he didn't win, he would break even and never lose a single penny. Everyone called him "Glasses!"

Glasses not only had superb gambling skills but also possessed the mental fortitude for gambling. No matter what cards he held, his sallow face remained unmoved. He neither showed joy nor sighed, neither shouted wildly nor looked dejected, which made me admire him even more.

"Let's go!" Just as I was pondering, Glasses had already unbelievably made a winning hand, winning a huge wad of cash. He grabbed the money haphazardly into his hand:

"Little brother, let's go for a drink!"

"Thanks, big brother!"

At the table, Glasses held up his glass and sincerely said to me:

"Little brother, you're too young, you don't understand anything. Don't play anymore. If you don't win, you'll lose all your money, from dawn till dusk, from spring to winter..."

"Why? Big brother! Will I never get a good hand?"

"Hehe," Glasses swallowed a mouthful of wine:

"You're just a little greenhorn," he said, putting down his glass and pulling out a dirty deck of cards:

"Little brother, gambling on this seems simple, just draw cards!"

"Yeah, draw them one by one, whoever gets a good hand wins!"

"Hahaha!" Glasses laughed loudly, continuing to fiddle with the cards in his hand:

"You, you, little brother, what can I say about you!"

*Thump*, Glasses slammed the playing cards down on the table:

"Come on, little brother, let's give it a try, you go first!"

Glasses and I were drinking and playing cards, but to my surprise, I never seemed to get any decent cards or high-ranking hands. I wondered to myself, "What's going on? Why do Glasses always get the good cards?"

"Hahaha," Glasses slammed his cards onto the table.

"See? All the good cards are here. You'll lose as much money as you have. Like I said, you'll lose from dawn till dusk!"

"Big brother," I threw the cards onto the table in despair,

"What's going on?" "

Hmph," Glasses scoffed,

"What's going on? This is a game!"

"A game—?"

"Yes, a game—," Glasses picked up a piece of fatty meat and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing as he spoke,

"To put it bluntly, how well you play cards depends on how well you do your job. There's a lot to learn here, so much to say, you could never learn it all in your lifetime!"

"What?" I stared wide-eyed in surprise,

"I thought playing cards was just playing cards, but there's so much to it!"

"Little brother," Glasses grabbed the scattered playing cards from the table and flipped them around in a flurry of motion, making my eyes dizzy, before slamming them down on the table.

"Not convinced? Come on, little brother, play cards with me. I can make you draw whatever cards I want, believe it or not. Come on, this time I'll make you get all the good cards, you believe it or not, draw—…"

When I unfolded the cards, just as Glasses had said, all the good cards were in my hand. I held the cards for a long time, staring blankly at Glasses.

"Big brother, I'm convinced!"

"Hehe," Glasses said arrogantly,

"Want to become my apprentice and learn a few tricks?"

"Yes—,"

"Alright," Glasses downed the remaining wine in his glass in one gulp.

"Little brother, I'm in a particularly good mood today. I've decided to take you on as my apprentice."

"Thank you, big brother!"

"But you have to learn to be really good at it. Don't be half-baked and let someone spot your tricks. That's no joke. Every time you're playing a trick, that's when you're thinking of how to cheat. If your technique isn't good and someone catches you, that'll be a huge embarrassment. At best, people will point fingers and curse you behind your back; at worst, they might beat you half to death..."

"Don't worry, big brother, I definitely won't let you down!" I said firmly.

"Yes," Glasses said earnestly,

"There's no such thing as a card game without some scheming, without playing dirty tricks. You play, I play; you scheme, I scheme. It's all about who has the better skills, who plays the most ruthless, and that's who wins. Everyone knows it; there's no such thing as a game without some scheming. But if you know your opponent is scheming, playing dirty tricks, and you can't call it, then, sorry, you're a loser. You deserve to lose money. What do you call that? You lose like a bumpkin! On the contrary, if your opponent can call it, then you have to give back all the money you won, and you have to treat them to a meal, you have to apologize! Understand, little brother?"

"Got it, big brother, I've really learned something new from what you've said!"

"Little brother," Glasses slowly manipulated the cards,

"pay attention, I'm slowly turning them over. Watch carefully, see which card goes in which position, remember that!"

"Okay, I'm watching!"

"Normally, playing cards should be done by two people working together, which is both safe and convenient. If you go out to gamble by yourself, hehe, going it alone, don't go and embarrass yourself without having some special skills!" "

Okay!"

"Here," Glasses handed me the playing cards:

"Learn from me, arrange the cards yourself."

"Okay," I took the playing cards and clumsily started to rearrange them. The smooth, shiny playing cards felt like a pile of unruly sand in my hands. After a few tries, they rolled off the floor one by one.

"Practice it," Glasses said dismissively, taking a drag of his cigarette.

"Practice, practice, it's still early!"

Back home, I secretly bought a deck of cards and hid under the covers, diligently and tirelessly flipping and turning the cards over and over, folding and breaking them. The next night, I bought another deck, practicing and practicing according to Glasses's instructions, until I could flip the cards over and over as I pleased, placing the good cards I wanted in the correct positions without anyone noticing.

Next, Glasses began practicing with me. When I showed signs of improvement, he cautioned,

"Little brother, you've learned a few tricks, but remember what I said: when playing cards, don't be too greedy or impatient, and don't play too frequently. Otherwise, you'll attract your opponents' attention, and your fate will be in danger!"

"Yes, brother, I remember!"

"Little brother, wait for the right opportunity and strike unexpectedly. Sometimes, after playing all day and night without much winning or losing, when everyone is exhausted, you can secretly make a big hand while they're yawning, wiping their noses, smoking, or drinking tea. Hehe, you'll easily defeat them, making them feel like they've been punched and kicked, winning and grimacing in pain!"

"Hmm!"

"And also," Glasses continued patiently, "you'll learn a few tricks."

"When you've pulled off a few tricks and won some money, you have to hold on tight. Don't let your winnings slip away. You can't be greedy anymore, and you can't cheat. You have to play normally and try your best to keep your winnings until the game ends. If someone is desperate and refuses to leave, then you have to be generous and show some guts. Take out some money to buy the losers drinks!" After saying that, Glasses patted my shoulder:

"Talk is cheap. Come on, let's practice. I'll protect you. Be careful, and I'll make sure you're fine. Even if you slip up, I'll clean up the mess for you!"

So, accompanied by Glasses, I nervously went to the shady side of the temple to start another round of gambling with the other gamblers. When it was my turn to shuffle the cards, I pretended to be extremely clumsy. While shuffling, I deliberately let a few cards slip onto the grass.

"Hey," a gambler said disdainfully,

"You can't even shuffle the cards properly, and you're still playing!"

I thought to myself, secretly seething with resentment: What, you look down on me? Just you wait, if I succeed, I'll definitely teach you a lesson.

Hard work pays off. Thanks to Glasses' generous instruction and my own diligent practice, my first attempt at cheating—my first time—was a resounding success. The gamblers stared at me with bewildered eyes:

"Hey, this kid's improved a lot!"

"Well done, young man!"

"Hmph," Glasses immediately tried to deflect attention,

"What do you mean, 'well done'? You never play, you're just a big player!" Then, he waved me away:

"Get out of here, get out of here. You've come on a special call today, I'm not playing with you anymore!"

I knew Glasses was telling me to quit while I was ahead, so I jumped up:

"Fine, I won't play!"

"Damn," Glasses said coldly,

"You've won so much money from us, you have to show some appreciation!"

"Of course," I said happily,

"Gentlemen, wait a moment, I'll go buy you some cigarettes!"

"Hey," I excitedly ran to the cigarette stand and called out to the young woman chatting with someone,

"Hey, I want to buy cigarettes!"

"Hmph," the woman turned around at the sound

of my voice, "Who are you talking to? Hey, hey, don't I have a name?"

"But, ma'am, I don't know your name!"

"You don't know my name? You should call me ma'am! Hey, hey, what does that mean?"

During the days I skipped school with my backpack, I spent almost every day in the shade of the temple, buying cigarettes from the young woman's stand at least once a day, but I still didn't know her name:

"Ma'am, what's your surname?"

"My surname is Yi, Yi Shuli!"

"Sister Yi, I want to buy cigarettes!"

"Hmph, that's more like it!" Yi Shuli kindly took the money:

"You know everything, you know everything, except bedwetting!"

"Hehe!"

"What kind of cigarettes?"

"Antelope!"

"Why are you carrying such a big bill to buy antelope cigarettes? Are you trying to scare me? Trying to act tough with me!"

"No, Sister Yi, I'm not buying one pack, I'm buying ten!"

"Ten packs!"

"Yeah, I won money, it's on me!"

"Oh," Yi Shuli stuffed the bill into her pocket, then handed me a pack of cigarettes:

"Hehe, you can actually win money playing with them? It's like the sun rose in the west!"

"Hey--," just as I finished distributing the pack of cigarettes to a few gamblers, Yi Shuli at the crossroads suddenly waved to me:

"You, come here!"

"What is it, Sister Yi?"

I didn't dare to delay and rushed to Sister Yi's side. Yi Shuli pointed to the cigarette stand:

"Watch the cigarette stand for me, I'm going home to cook for the kids!"

"Okay, but," I hesitated:

"Sister Yi, I don't know the price of so many cigarettes, how can I sell them to you!"

"Here," Yi Shuli handed over a piece of cardboard packaging for cigarettes:

"The prices are all on it, just sell them at the prices written on it!"

"Yes!"

After saying that, the young woman Yi Shuli pushed her bicycle and quickly disappeared at the end of the street.

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