[Growth] (Head Nurse Xiao Lin and her son Xiao Dong)

A sudden sandstorm struck Xining City.
In an instant, as the ancient city was engulfed in a hazy, overwhelming dust storm, the masses
seemed to witness the end of the world! Besides enduring the devastation with fear and helplessness, an extreme
fear spread like a plague among the millions of people in Xining.
I arrived at work very early today, braving the sandstorm, and went to the hospital early. After changing my clothes, I brewed myself
a cup of fragrant Biluochun tea. Holding the warm cup in my slender hands, I reviewed the work log left for me by the on-duty doctor.
My name is Xiao Lin. I work at the largest hospital in Xining, and a few years ago I was promoted to
head nurse of the obstetrics and gynecology department.
If someone asks what's most common in the hospital right now, the answer is: pregnant women; if they ask which department is the busiest,
it's definitely the obstetrics and gynecology department.
Being a nurse in China is physically demanding; it's considered blue-collar work, even though we wear white coats. I've been a
head nurse for several years and I'm quite satisfied with the job. However, some nurses are rather lazy, and they get
very dissatisfied when I point it out. But I never tolerate such nurses because our work involves a large number of patients
, and there's no room for sloppiness. Of course, managers prefer diligent nurses; otherwise, the
head nurse's job would be very demanding.
This afternoon, just as I started work, Vice President Liu Jianming, who is in charge of the department's operations, called and asked me to come to his office.
I knew it was because I had helped him care for an important patient last month outside of work hours. I had almost forgotten about it, but he
repeatedly emphasized on the phone that payment was a must.
"Here's five hundred yuan, your earnings," Liu Jianming said, pushing an envelope in front of me.
I smiled, putting my finger to my lips and gently turning my head to one side.
A gentle breeze outside the window ruffled my hair, and I smoothed it down with my slender fingers
, revealing my small, delicate ears and fair neck.
"You…" Liu Jianming's gaze wavered for a moment.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing, it's just that your smile is particularly—distinctive." Liu Jianming didn't
say the word "beautiful" aloud. "You know, my favorite Hong Kong actress is Cherie Chung. You're a lot like her, especially in terms of temperament."
My face flushed, no longer that of a young girl. "What?! I'm so old!"
"She's much older than you, but I just like her. The key is her temperament—dignified, elegant, and especially
feminine. You're just like that…"
"What?!…" I felt a little embarrassed as he became more and more explicit.
The office fell silent.
"Your work is really excellent." After a long while, Liu Jianming broke the silence with a smile.
"I'm easily flattered, boss!" I replied with a smile.
We both laughed.
Although I was just a head nurse, there wasn't the usual subordinate-boss dynamic with Liu Jianming; it felt more
like a friendship, at least that's how I felt. "
Shall we have lunch together?" Liu Jianming suggested.
"No, thank you for treating, boss." I smiled and politely declined.
"Then you must find a clean restaurant for lunch."
I turned back and smiled: "You're so nagging!
I wouldn't dare go out to eat with him so casually. My good friend Zheng Hao has exaggeratedly
mentioned to me more than once that Liu Jianming is interested in me."
I chuckled, of course. How could that be? Although Liu Jianming is divorced, I'm a married
woman. Besides, not to mention outside, there are so many young and beautiful girls in our hospital. With Liu Jianming's
looks, pursuing any of them would be a piece of cake. Why would he be interested in a woman like me who's almost middle-aged?
Before 5 pm, all seven surgeries were completed, and all patients were admitted to their wards for normal monitoring and
care. The day's work ended in a tense atmosphere.
I still clearly remember the scene of me traveling alone from my hometown on the north-west train to here. On the rumbling
train, I imagined time stretching out like a vast field into the distance, full of mystery and legend. The train
crossed the Yellow River, traversing mountains, tunnels, and fields. Looking out the window, I saw barren mountains,
bare and sparsely covered with vegetation, a vast expanse of yellow.
Everything around me looked so desolate and bleak under the gloomy sky.
Coming from the south, a land of mountains, rivers, and evergreen vegetation, my mood grew heavy with the weather. Reality was
far removed from my expectations, and although I had anticipated this, I still felt a pang of regret for my decision.
Countless times I had returned to my dream hometown, and
now I was thousands of miles away.
My husband was a local, and for over a decade I had not had a happy marriage. Even
when I first married him, I knew it was a mistake, but at the time, I had no other choice. I couldn't
go back to my original family, not even to live in the same city, even though my mother and
brother were there—the two people in this world I was closest to by blood besides my son. I still had to leave
them, and the farther the better. As for my stepfather, I don't hate him; in fact, I admit I've never hated him. Especially
now that I'm older and understand men better, sometimes I still think about
all the good things he did for me when I was little.
As the head nurse at the hospital, my work isn't easy either. I still often think back to
the anxiety I felt seven or eight years ago when I was first appointed head nurse, and I still clearly remember my early days at work.
Back then, I was in surgery. Speaking of "sexual harassment," surgery is considered a "hotspot" in hospitals.
Nurses deal with men, young and old, dressed or unclothed, all the same—giving injections, dispensing medication, bathing
, catheterization… all with equal care and attention. Over time, you get used to it
. There are no vulgar notions in the eyes of ordinary people here, only
the ideals of "saving lives and healing the wounded, practicing revolutionary humanitarianism," and "saving a life is better than building a seven-story pagoda." Otherwise, people wouldn't call nurses "
angels in white."
That day, a young male patient with a spinal cord injury from a car accident was admitted to the ward. The attending physician said that
for patients with spinal cord injuries, preventing paralysis and enabling them to stand up in the future is
less due to medication and more to meticulous care. The young man lay in bed every day, requiring
assistance with bowel movements and urination. I was responsible for wiping him down, turning him over, and catheterizing him daily. However, what was somewhat infuriating was that every time
I wiped his perineum or catheterized him, his penis would become erect. Although I knew it was a reflex erection and he
wasn't doing it intentionally, it still made me, a young, unmarried woman, feel extremely embarrassed. Even though I
was no longer a virgin.
"He's going to be bedridden for life, and he still has to engage in 'sexual harassment,' it's outrageous!" My roommates,
after hearing this, all chimed in, indignant on my behalf and offering suggestions. "Harassing other married people
is somewhat understandable, but harassing our Xiao Xiao is just blind." "Xiao Xiao, go see
the head nurse tomorrow and ask for a replacement!" Another sister who started working at the same time as me, a "clever one," pulled me
aside and quietly told me a "secret weapon."
The next day, while I was wiping the young man, something unexpected happened: not only did his
penis become erect, but he suddenly ejaculated a sticky liquid with a peculiar odor onto my hand. Of course, I
knew what it was. My face instantly turned from sunny to cloudy, then cloudy to overcast. The young man, like a child who had done something wrong
, was also terrified and speechless. I suddenly remembered the "secret technique" Qiqi had taught me yesterday
. Just as I picked up the long, flat tweezers from the tray, preparing to tap the young man's glans penis, a gentle
voice sounded behind me: "Let me handle this. Xiao Xiao, answer the phone." It turned out to be the head nurse standing
behind me. After I moved her aside, I gently comforted the young man, who was trembling with fear: "It's okay, this is
normal. It means you'll get better soon. You can still be a father someday." The young man didn't say a word;
tears streamed down his face.
I was called to the head nurse's office. She didn't comfort me or criticize me. She
spoke calmly, as if lecturing us, saying, "Patients with spinal cord injuries may have no penile erection at all, or they may have psychogenic
or reflexive erections. Reflexive erections are
caused by touching or stimulating the penis and surrounding skin, or by stimulation such as bladder fullness, urination, or catheterization. The occurrence of erections in patients with spinal cord injuries indicates that they still have relatively normal sexual function.
Every physiologically healthy man is very concerned about..." For a male patient who might be bedridden for life
, having sexual function is perhaps a crucial piece of evidence of his existence. "Xiao Xiao," the head nurse said,
"imagine if you used your 'secret weapon'—it could be a fatal blow to him, potentially causing him
to lose his erectile function for life. The car accident and spinal cord injury have already made him psychologically vulnerable; if
you add this blow, it will severely damage his spirit and completely eliminate his existing erectile function."
Finally, the head nurse gently patted my shoulder and said earnestly, "Xiao Xiao, having rich theoretical knowledge and
exquisite skills isn't enough; you also need compassion, compassion from the depths of your heart."
When I first took over the ward, I felt a heavy burden on my shoulders and unprecedented pressure. Firstly,
because I had never participated in nursing management work before; secondly, facing the diversity and complexity of patients in a comprehensive ward
, the rudimentary ward environment, and the imbalanced nurse-to-patient ratio, I felt overwhelmed.
Life is like a giant magnetic field, drawing you in so deeply that you can't escape, forced to
keep busy as the field rotates. I gritted my teeth and got through the most difficult phase.
Women my age have it the hardest, with elderly parents to care for and young children to raise, bearing
the responsibility of supporting the elderly and raising children while also shouldering the heavy burden of work, participating in the fierce struggle and competition of society.
When I have free time, I always like to stand in front of the large, bright floor-to-ceiling window in my office, looking up at the azure sky,
looking down at the bustling streets, breathing in the fresh air outside. At these times, I wish I could transform
into a bird and fly into the vast sky, leave this place, change my mood, change my way of life.
But would everything really be better that way?
Sleeping alone at night, the thing I fear most is insomnia.
Because insomnia brings back so many memories. Settled memories rise like dead fish from the murky surface of time
, exuding a putrid smell, suffocating me. Sometimes there's a swirling wind outside the window. I hear
the lonely sound of my own skin. There was also a bone-chilling cold. It had never truly disappeared.
I couldn't sleep. The phone rang; it was my younger brother.
It was the voice of a grown man, my brother, who was in his early thirties. We chatted about family
matters for a while. He told me everything was fine, Mom was healthy, and before I could ask, he told me my stepfather was also
doing well. I knew this was just routine talk; I was wide awake.
Sure enough, after saying this, my brother softened his tone. My wife went to her parents' house today, so I was home alone. He said, "
Sister, I miss you." His voice made my heart race. "
When are you coming back?" he asked.
"I don't know, it's too far," I answered vaguely. "
I really miss you," my brother said again.
I was speechless. This wasn't the first time my brother had called like this; it happened about once every month or two. We were both
adults, but I knew he couldn't control himself. The reason I ran away to Xining, thousands of miles away, and
then foolishly married a man I didn't love, wasn't it to escape him and the other man in my family
? I had already punished myself. I want to live a normal life and can't make the same mistakes again.
Five or six years after I got married and had a child, I brought my son home once, and that proved my initial choice
was right. After all these years, he and my stepfather haven't been able to return to a normal family relationship with me. Despite my
objections, they wanted me again. That time, I clearly resisted and cried in the end. Just like before,
my mother was in another room and didn't come to stop them, and of course, I couldn't stop them either.
I only stayed for two days.
I haven't gone back for the past seven or eight years.
But my younger brother called every now and then. My stepfather rarely called;
he only called once when my mother was seriously ill, but I didn't go home that time.
It was still my brother's voice on the other end, and my heart pounded. Every time I answered the phone, I didn't know what to say,
but I didn't want to hang up. After all, my brother's voice was much more charming than my husband's. "
I miss you, sister," my brother's tone was seductive.
I glanced at the clock on the wall; my son should be asleep. But he had an extension in his room, and I absolutely
didn't want him to hear this.
The child was here, and I needed to sleep too. I clearly refused to listen to the conversation.
Oh, my brother's disappointed voice.
I hung up.
This was destined to be another sleepless night. I stared blankly at the ceiling, as if I were seeing
scenes from the past.
The past had been buried for too long. And there were always so many unbearable scars, never healed,
still painful to the touch, and I didn't know what to do with them.
Later, I heard my mother say that she gave birth to me out of desperation.
That day, my mother discovered she was pregnant. She rushed to the hospital, joined the long queue,
intending to terminate the pregnancy. But just as it was her turn, the hospital closed. Unable
to go home, she planned to return early the next morning. However, the next day, due to
the unprecedented fervor of the Cultural Revolution in China, Guangdong province was under martial law, and my mother couldn't even leave her house
. The baby stubbornly grew day by day, eventually becoming too large for surgery,
and she had to be born.
I don't miss my mother, but I miss my brother. I
returned home in a good mood, parked my car, and inadvertently saw
two large characters written in white chalk on the wall opposite my usual parking spot: "尻屄" (a vulgar expression).
Disgusting! Of course I recognized those two characters. Who could be so disgusting! I angrily looked around, but no
one was there.
I've heard of toilet culture, especially the prevalence of such writing and drawings in men's restrooms, while they're rare in women's restrooms
. If there are any, it must be some perverted man sneaking in and writing them.
But there are very few signs with those words at the entrance of the apartment building anymore, which is really annoying.
To make matters worse, my son, Xiaodong, happened to come out of the building at that moment. Seeing me look up at the two characters, he curiously
asked, "Mom, what do those two characters mean?"
I was both angry and embarrassed, and replied irritably, "Why are you asking these things! They're all dirty words!"
My son looked up at me, didn't say anything more, then told me he had finished his homework and was going to play ball before leaving.
After showering, I tidied up the room and found a pair of underwear I had just changed out of yesterday. This would
normally be normal, but what was abnormal was that I found it under my son's sofa.
The liquid inside the light red underwear had completely dried, and the part of the underwear near my genitals was wrinkled
. I hesitated for a moment, then gently ran my finger over the stain. As a woman my age, of course I knew
what it was. It was my son's semen, and it had appeared on my underwear.
I actually knew about my son's masturbation two years ago. Before that, while making his
bed, I accidentally found notes under his pillow filled with sexually explicit content.
Judging from the handwriting, it was my son who wrote them, and some of the words were even difficult for adults to talk about. This discovery
shocked me. I realized my son was growing up and no longer an ignorant child. To
guide him properly through puberty, on Children's Day this year, I gave him a diary and wrote on the first page
: "Son, Mom has always treated you like a child, but I've overlooked the fact that you've grown up... Mom
hopes you can walk the right path in the future." I hoped to remind him not to go astray.
But obviously, it didn't work. My son didn't change. I still remember
the feeling of my mind going completely blank when I saw that scene from outside his half-open door one afternoon.
I spent the whole night after that, deciding to talk to him, but when I saw his innocent expression as he sat in front of me playing video games,
I just couldn't bring myself to say anything. This is a rather awkward topic, and I really didn't know how to bring it up. Firstly,
I was afraid it would make him feel uncomfortable, and secondly, I didn't know how to discuss this appropriately.
So the matter was left unresolved. I discovered it many more times afterward, but I knew that masturbation
happens to every boy that age; I knew it was an essential stage in a boy's growth and development. As
a teenager, he had a need to understand sex, and as long as it wasn't frequent, I didn't pay any more attention.
But now, that pair of underwear I found tells me that I… his own mother, has become
the object of his sexual fantasies during masturbation! If I thought it was normal for him to masturbate in the past
, it's definitely not normal now.
The image of my son doing this flashes through my mind:
him pulling my used underwear from the laundry basket like he was digging for treasure—a pair of narrow
, bright red lace underwear, the tiny crotch once concealing the most private parts of his mother's body. He
watched with ecstatic ecstasy as it was crumpled like a flower petal in his rough palms. His eyes,
wet with shame under the lamplight, his lips parted and closed with heavy breaths, and his legs trembled with pleasure
. He brought the little toy to his nose, closed his eyes, and sniffed frantically. Exhausted, he stuck his tongue
out, tasting a bittersweet, slightly fishy flavor—the most authentic scent of his mother's body.
His fingers secretly rubbed the swollen thing between his legs. A sudden orgasm began in his lower abdomen and spread
throughout his body. He enveloped the head of the crimson toy, gripping the erect member tightly and
rubbing it rapidly in the direction of pleasure. The silk panties softly rubbed against the tender head,
and a warm, comforting current shot out from his spasming lower abdomen, spraying the white semen
onto the crimson silk panties.
At dusk, the bright, scorching sky begins to blur. This is my favorite time of day. Those few days...
The wind was very strong that night, blowing in large, white clouds that
drifted blindly and gracefully across the deep blue night like wandering singers.
My son had long known about the aphrodisiacs my husband had bought and their effects, but he had never dared to use them. Now,
driven by sexual curiosity, the teenage boy had finally done something terrible. He secretly made me take two or three times
the recommended dosage.
This weekend night, like all summer nights, was hot and humid. I rushed out of the bathroom and
into the air-conditioned bedroom, wiping my hair with a towel while complaining, "It's so hot! I
came out before I was even dry. Without air conditioning, you'd die in this weather!"
A soap opera was on TV, and I tried to watch it to pass the time. It was hot; I
was wearing a lounge dress and leaning against the sofa, while my son sat beside me in only thin shorts.
Suddenly, a strong wind blew in, followed by lightning. I felt a chill on my back, as if something
had landed on it. I looked back, but there was nothing there.
A strange, ominous premonition arose in my mind, though I didn't know
what it was.
My son watched as I slowly drank the drugged water in front of him.
I couldn't remember the whole incident at all, because I was in a dazed
state ever since.
No woman would be unaffected after drinking that. Slowly, I felt a burning heat throughout my body,
accompanied by a deep-seated desire.
I lay half-reclined on the sofa, oblivious to what was on TV. The figures on the screen flickered, and I felt
a strong sense of disorientation, a lump in my throat, my skin burning hot, and a sensation like ants
crawling between my legs.
My face must have been flushed red under the light, as if I were experiencing an orgasm.
I was completely out of my mind, like a drunkard, unable to control myself, my body twisting and turning on the sofa involuntarily
.
My hair was disheveled, and I closed my eyes, breathing rapidly.
"Mom," it was my son's voice.
"Mom, what's wrong?" My son is getting closer.
I opened my eyes, and my son's face was flashing before me. Then this fourteen-year-old boy hugged me, and
I heard a sound of excitement coming from his mouth.
His body was trembling. His
rapid breathing was right next to my ear. "Mom," he whispered.
My skirt was lifted up, and there was nothing covering me except my underwear. My breasts, under the light,
bounced out like two little rabbits, their nipples, already swollen and
erect like two ripe dates. Those dates quickly went into my son's mouth. This boy, who had been holding back for so long, was like a starving child seeing
the most longed-for delicacy. He sucked on them with loud smacking sounds.
I was half-asleep, only feeling a man touching me, and my burning flesh finally finding release.
My son released what was in his mouth, lifted himself up, and pulled down my white underwear.
The first time I was sexually assaulted was in elementary school. A drunken man said, "Little girl, you're quite pretty
." I ran away as if it were a plague. The second time was when I was fifteen. After evening self-study, I was walking down a street when someone
ran up from behind and groped my breast with lightning speed. By the time I reacted, he was already
far away.
And now, it was my son who did that to me.
Under the lamplight, my face was flushed red, my eyes were closed, and my lips felt like they were on fire. I leaned back on the sofa,
my two shapely, smooth legs spread apart, like a lamb waiting for my son to devour me. My
son buried his head thirstily between my legs…
The next day, I crawled out of my bed. I had absolutely no memory of how I got into bed.
My head was throbbing. I lay there, opened my eyes, and the scenes from last night floated before my eyes like a dream.
God! What happened?
I couldn't believe the few memories I had left. My mind was blank. I was so shocked that I didn't know
how to describe what had just happened, or how it could have happened.
I actually had that kind of relationship with my own son.
It must be a dream! I tried to comfort myself, trying to get up, but my head was still spinning
, like I'd taken too many sleeping pills, and I had absolutely no strength.
I finally couldn't hold on any longer and started crying like a child, my cries deafening, as if trying to break through all obstacles.
The sun rose and set again, and I lay motionless in bed, seemingly dead.
Yes, I had no reason to live anymore.
It was like a calamity; when misfortune and sorrow befell me, I realized I was just a woman,
a woman who cried, a woman who needed a shoulder to lean on when she needed comfort. Behind every strength lies an
unknown weakness.
I never thought something like this would happen to me, yet it all happened without warning. So
naturally, as if it were destiny, yet so accidental.
Is my son even human? Why did he bring me such shame? Are men really animals who think only with their lower bodies
? Even though he's just a teenager?
Sleep is the best way to cope with pain, because it allows you to temporarily escape reality and find peace…
Dizzy and disoriented, I lay there like that for a day, then fell into a deep sleep.
I once read a passage in a book: Everyone has a destined wound. It's like you
're walking peacefully down the street, and a brick flies in from nowhere. There's no escape, no avoidance.
Perhaps many things are predetermined, predetermined my adolescence and everything that's happening now…
I fell into a deep sleep. My dreams were terrifying.
I woke up with a cold sweat on my forehead, and two streams of tears trickled down my cheeks and into my mouth, leaving a bitter taste.
How will I face this chaotic world after dawn?
The faint morning light struggled to penetrate the curtains, cautiously exploring every corner of the room, cautiously
searching my eyes, reminding me it was time to get up.
I lay there for a while longer, but couldn't fall asleep again; my whole body ached.
I slowly got up, feeling so weak and my head was spinning. I pounded my head a couple of
times, got out of bed, and then habitually went to pull back the curtains. Sunlight immediately streamed in,
warmly bathing me. For
a fleeting moment, this warmth gave me a strange illusion, as if nothing had changed,
nothing had ever changed. Home was still home, my son was still my son, I was still me, life was still the same
life
. I hadn't died.
And life had to go on.
What is growth?
When one trouble after another comes, even overwhelming you, that's when you've grown up.
After missing a day of work, I still had to go to work. Even if I didn't really want to, I still had to return to
life.
This is the city during rush hour. The morning rush hour is a constant flow of people, the city perpetually congested.
Vehicles and pedestrians mingle, flowing like a torrent in a canyon, carrying unseen
desires and countless secrets, meandering forward. The sun shines on the streets, while the mundane realities of daily life
hang like dust in the air.
My greatest skill is concealing myself.
No matter how dejected I feel inside, I always maintain a bright and charming appearance—a skill I honed from childhood.
My primary childhood memory is of my mother and biological father arguing and even fighting. At that time, my
biological father was still alive.
The next day, neighbors would whisper, "Did your parents fight again last night?" At five
years old, I would nonchalantly shake my head and continue playing with my friends.
In fourth grade, I was doing volunteer work in the park. While weeding under the shade of a tree, I noticed
my father leaning on a girl's shoulder on a bench in the distance. I paused for a moment, then bent down and worked diligently.
I haven't told anyone, not even today.
No one knows.
"Pfft—" I often take a deep breath, puff out my cheeks, and slowly exhale, as if exhaling
the heavy burden that weighs on my heart.
Now, on my way to work, as I approach the hospital gate, I repeat this habitual action. I
don't want to bring last night's sorrow into the office.
I carry a chic patent leather handbag in my right hand, wearing a white dress, and nod and greet every acquaintance as usual
.
Occasionally, someone will walk quite a distance away and then turn back to sincerely add, "Xiao Xiao, your aura
is getting better and better."
As I approach the office building, I glance at my reflection in the azure one-way mirrored glass. When I look
away, Zheng Hao appears before me like a ghost.
"You little brat, you scared me to death!" I force a smile.
Zheng Hao stands with her hands behind her back, saying nothing, just smiling brightly, revealing small, white teeth. She and
Jia Lei from our department are recognized as the two most beautiful women in our hospital; they are truly beautiful, with a face I can never tire of looking at.
By traditional aesthetic standards, Zheng Hao's facial features aren't perfect. But these features, combined in unique proportions
on her porcelain-like face, immediately radiate a unique brilliance.
Many people say Zheng and I look like sisters. Standing together, we resemble a lightly sketched ink
painting, a Yunnan batik work that hides its subtle artistry, or a pair of antique-style pottery vases.
I always feel like I'm benefiting from Zheng Hao's beauty; I don't possess her natural, effortless charm!
Besides, I'm almost ten years older than her.
"What's wrong? You look terrible." Zheng Hao looked at me with concern. "
Nothing..." I pretended to be relaxed, but turned my head away, forcing myself not to shed tears.
Tonight? What night?
I wonder if you've ever had this feeling: one day you arrive at a place that was once very familiar
, yet suddenly feels like a completely different world. That's how I felt when I stepped into the company that day.
I walked into the hospital in a daze, went to my office, nodded to the colleagues I met, opened my desk
, organized the documents, and walked through the corridor to deliver them to the nurse on duty. The entire work process, which usually flowed so smoothly
, felt unreal today. It was as if the person doing all this wasn't the real me, but someone separated by a
layer of something, like looking at the moon's reflection in water or flowers through mist—a phantom.
So when Liu Jianming came to inspect our department as usual, he quickly noticed my unusual behavior. He looked at
me worriedly: "What's wrong? You seem distracted."
I touched my face: "Is it?"
"What happened?"
I hesitated for a moment, then forced a smile: "I went to bed late last night, nothing."
Liu Jianming glanced at me again but didn't press further, simply saying, "Nothing much today, go home and rest early."
I opened my mouth, wanting to agree, because I really couldn't hold on any longer; my head was throbbing. But then I thought that
going home and being alone would be even more frustrating, so I politely declined.
Seeing this, Liu Jianming didn't press the matter, but instructed, "If there's anything I can do to help, please let me know
, okay?"
My heart warmed, and I didn't speak, only nodded.
The midday sun streamed warmly through the glass windows into the ward, which was filled with the faint smell of Lysol
.
Pregnant women, their bellies bulging, leaned against the headboards, their faces radiating the pride of nurturing life
and the happiness of becoming mothers. They chatted softly with their husbands beside them, their words light and casual.
The nurses below me would occasionally come in to check on this one, reminding that another to move around more.
All day long, I kept wondering if the whole thing was just a ridiculous dream. Throughout my workday, I still
felt like I was sleepwalking.
I spent the day in a daze, not knowing what I had actually done. I wasn't
as strong as I appeared. I just habitually hid my vulnerability behind a mask of strength.
When I was leaving work around three or four in the afternoon, Zheng Hao put his arm around mine and said, "Come on, sister, I'll treat you to dinner."
"The sun hasn't risen in the west yet!" I said, pretending to look out the window.
"Stop with the act, let's go!" Zheng Hao grabbed me and pulled me away.
Zheng Hao and I had a regular hangout.
It was a South Korean-owned Western restaurant called "Piao," a two-story building with a predominantly brown and white
color scheme. Brown wooden stairs and floors, brown wooden dining tables, brown glass wine cabinets; white walls,
white tableware, and poplar branches soaked in white latex paint spread across the brown ceiling.
Brown was my favorite color, and white was Zheng Hao's. The two colors belonged to different color families, yet both gave
a clean and pure feeling.
Brown and white were like coffee and milk—they tasted best when blended together. Rich but not heavy;
thick but not cloying; a little bitter, yet a bittersweet bitterness that brought comfort, peace, and a lingering aftertaste.
A fruit salad, a plate of apple pie, a black pepper steak, and a pot of Russian borscht.
The waiter's announcement, "The meal is ready, please enjoy," was like an announcer's "The show is about to begin," slowly
drawing back the curtain on Zheng Hao and my heart.
"You look terrible, something must have happened," Zheng Hao said.
"...No..." I denied, my head still spinning.
"Your husband's been away for so long, has he been cheating on you?" Zheng Hao teased.
"...What nonsense!" I bit my lip, still unable to believe what had happened to me was real.
"...Actually, it's normal if something really does happen! What era are we living in? You have to be open-minded about everything. You
only live once, don't torture yourself!" Zheng Hao chattered on while eating.
But her words, ironically, seemed to be advising me.
"...Are you feeling too miserable? Then don't force a smile, think of something."
"No way!" I said, my face darkening. What way? Faced with life, most people are powerless
.
"Sister, I'm just touching on this. I want you to know that it's normal to have worries, it's not
making a mountain out of a molehill. You have the right to be dissatisfied, the right to complain, and even the right to pursue a new life."
"What do you mean by a new life? Everyone's life is more or less the same; there's happiness in one kind and pain in another
." I paused. "You call your life with that boy a new life?" "Of course, I know you don't approve.
He's six or seven years younger than me, and we can't possibly be together in the end, but I'm enjoying
the present. I'm indulging myself to the fullest."
"How long can you enjoy this?" I deliberately feigned indifference.
"As long as I can! Isn't the conclusion of happiness and unhappiness in life just
a collection of countless fleeting fragments of feeling? At least, I can say with certainty that I get far more pleasure from men than you do
..." Zheng Hao was absolutely honest with me; I was used to her tone.
I also had to admit that Zheng Hao had spoken my unspoken thoughts.
"Sister, tell me, have you ever had an orgasm? I'm not trying to provoke you, sister, you've never even had one.
Two people embracing each other in ecstasy, experiencing the feeling of being one with the other, feeling the
rhythm deep within each other's bodies—that moment is a woman's true happiness."
"Who are you referring to?" My voice trembled.
"Anyone! As long as it's a man." Zheng Hao noticed my strange expression.
Anyone! Anyone! These words kept echoing in my mind. Disgusting! I'm telling you, I'm disgusted
! ...I don't know why I said such a thing; this was the first time I'd seriously lost
my temper with Zheng Hao. My face contorted, my voice changed, "Waiter, the bill!" Zheng Hao
was terrified. She regretted saying so many things in a row; it was her flaw, she couldn't change it.
"I, I'll pay!" Zheng Hao saw my hand trembling as I took out the money.
"Go! It's my turn." I said, handing the money to the waiter. As
soon as I left "Piao," tears streamed down my face.
The fruit vendors stood like loyal soldiers guarding the roadside, each with a tricycle beside them
loaded with low-quality fruits like tangerines and bananas. With no customers, the vendors glanced at the passersby. A
young man, as if discovering a new continent, spotted me crying, staring at me with puzzlement. I glanced at him sideways, and he
immediately looked away.
A still-bleeding wound was suddenly scratched; an injured person couldn't possibly be completely oblivious.
My anger wasn't directed at Zheng Hao, but simply because he had accidentally bumped into me, and I instinctively screamed
.
I instinctively turned around. Just now, Zheng Hao had been following me, and I had scolded him. Zheng Hao always listened to me
, especially this time. At this moment, I had no idea where I had gone. I didn't see Zheng Hao's graceful figure
, but I noticed the young man selling fruit, his neck hunched, pointing at his back with a half-smile,
talking to an elderly woman selling fruit. The old woman listened with squinted eyes, then glanced at me, nodding with squinted eyes as well.
A
man in his forties riding a bicycle came towards me.
With a dull thud, I was knocked to the ground by the bicycle, unable to dodge in time.
I hate short men.
But although this man was tall, it couldn't mask his repulsive appearance. He wore
an old down jacket of an indescribable color, had large teeth, and exposed gums, looking exactly like Sister Tang, whom I hated most at work.
How could someone who looks like Sister Tang be just as bad?
I felt the grievances and frustrations that had been building up in my chest for days finally find an outlet, and
a surge of anger welled up inside me.
For the first time in my life, I really wanted to have a good, loud argument with someone.
"Didn't you see me?" I asked defiantly.
"Oh, sorry, I really didn't see you!"
"Looks like your eyes are fine too?!" I remained seated on the ground, my hands gripping
the front wheel of the bicycle tightly to prevent my buck teeth from falling out.
"Hey, how can you talk like that!"
"That's how I talk, that's how I talk!" I raised my voice.
The man looked down at the sky and uttered a single word: "Fuck!"
"Pervert!" I yelled, surprised at how loud my voice was.
The shrill shout and those six bold words immediately attracted a few lecherous onlookers.
"Fuck, did I shoot you? I shot you! You filthy bitch!"
"Look at you, disgusting! Your head's practically in the barrel of a gun, and your dog eyes are still glued to women. Shameless
thing!" I finally broke my usual gentle demeanor and cursed.
The man froze. "You fucking kept staring at me!"
"That's right, I fucking wanted to see when your dog eyes would go back into their sockets!" I realized I was
really into character. My heart pounded, my head spun, and my eyes glazed over as I frantically told the onlookers, "
Look at this guy, riding the wrong way and not even looking at the road, staring at a few young girls, knocking them down and still staring at their chests
!"
Laughter erupted from the crowd.
"B-madam, don't-don't be angry, see if you're hurt?" It was the stuttering young man selling fruit who spoke
.
"Pervert" was a little scared.
I stood up, wanting to say something more powerful, but due to excessive anger, my mind had
lost its usual sharpness, leaving only the repetitive phrase: "Shameless, shameless, shameless!"
"Pervert" picked up his bicycle, straddled it with his long legs, bared his buck teeth, and cursed:
"You filthy bitch!"
"Get lost! Be careful on your way back, don't let your dog eyes pop out!" I suddenly stood up,
shouting with my last ounce of strength, like a madman.
The buck-toothed man raised his hand, made a lewd gesture at me, and rode off. Only
then did I realize my back was aching.
Suddenly, a pair of soft, warm hands gently pressed against my hands that were supporting my back.
I turned sharply, and Zheng Hao's delicate eyes were looking at me with tears welling up.
This was the first time in my life I had publicly exchanged insults with someone. Although it was to vent, I felt terrible inside .
After all, I've never been a shrew.
After breaking up with Zheng Hao again, I went to buy groceries.
Walking down the dimly lit stairwell, the smell of scallion oil and barbecue filled the air; the neighbors were already preparing dinner.
Pushing open the door, the familiar surroundings and smells immediately assaulted my nostrils, and my eyes
welled up with tears.
The television was on in my son's room. I felt inexplicably nervous; this nervousness stemmed mainly from not knowing how to
face him.
To increase the living space, people in northern China often enclose their balconies with aluminum alloy glass windows, then
cut a round hole in one corner of the lake-blue glass to insert a plastic pipe for a range hood. Thus, the balcony
becomes the kitchen, and the kitchen becomes the dining room.
A door and window separate the dining room and the balcony into two worlds.
I went into the kitchen, leaning against the sink, letting the water run and wash the vegetable leaves, lost in thought.
God, what should I do? Die?
Then die, undoubtedly death is the best escape, but my son is still so young, how can I leave him?
Unconsciously, tears streamed down my face. My chest felt like it was filled with molten lead, a heavy, unbearable pain that I couldn't swallow or expel.
The knife slipped from my fingers. Dizzy, I reached for a tissue. Beside me, a hand reached out, holding a white
tissue.
I looked up. It was my son. "Mom,
" he said, looking at me. My face flushed crimson. I bit my lip, avoiding his gaze. "Mom," he called again.
I snapped back to reality, turned, and
slapped him hard. This was the first time in my life I'd hit my son so hard. Perhaps it was too lenient.
"Xiao Dong, are you crazy? I'm your mother!" After a moment of silence came despair. Two days of suppressed rage finally
erupted into hysteria. I let out a deafening wail, a sound that shook the heavens and earth.
"How am I supposed to live?! How am I supposed to live?! Are you even human?!" I screamed
and pushed my son like a madman.
My son was clearly terrified at first, his face flushed. Was he crying? I heard him cry.
I was truly hysterical; any woman would probably have reacted the same way. I started hitting my son relentlessly,
on his back and buttocks.
This continued for what felt like an eternity until I collapsed to the ground, utterly exhausted.
I sat there, my eyes glazed over.
"Mom," my son finally called out after what seemed like an eternity.
"Get out," I yelled at him.
He knelt down and took my hand.
"Mom, no one will know," he said.
"You!..." I hesitated, truly at a loss for words, my mind
a blank, completely blank.
"Mom, no one will know," my son said, emboldened by my silence. He'd always
been quite bold.
"Mom, as long as we don't tell, who will know?" he said, stroking my hand.
I finally managed to pull myself out of this state. I needed to talk. What I was doing wouldn't solve anything;
unless I resolved to die, it would be the end of everything. If I didn't die, I had to face it.
I looked up. "Xiaodong, do you know what you've done?" I looked at my son's innocent face. He
looked like me, handsome and delicate.
"You've committed a heinous crime, you know that? I'm your mother!" Tears streamed down my face.
"But, Mom, you're a woman too," my son said softly. "I'm a man, you're a woman,
why can't we?" He bit his lip.
"This is incest, you know that!" I panicked, truly unsure how to explain
the seriousness of this to my child.
"Nobody else knows," my son said boldly, looking at me.
I was at a loss for words. Just as I was thinking of the best way to phrase it, my son said
something that shattered my spirits.
"Besides, it's not like Mom hasn't done it with Uncle and Grandpa."
That one sentence completely robbed me of the courage to argue with him, and it shattered my will.
I couldn't even think of asking him how he knew; the answer didn't matter.
I once thought I could forget the sins I committed in my youthful ignorance with time, that time could
make them all quietly disappear.
Now I realize I was wrong; no mistake can be erased by time. I suddenly remembered
a story I'd read somewhere. Everything happening before my eyes was retribution for my past actions.
Thinking this way, my heart ached. The pain was fine and dense, like a rope tightly binding my breath
, tangling my weary heart.
Being a woman is truly difficult; the worst thing is making a wrong move, or you'll be doomed. I am no longer myself; I
have lost everything that was mine. My son was mine, yet I didn't know he had already left me.
"Mom," my son called me.
On the surface, I didn't truly break down. Yes, I should have fainted, I should have contemplated suicide, even gone mad, but
I didn't; I didn't show it at all.
I sat there for an unknown amount of time, my mind a complete blank.
"Xiaodong, you're right," I finally spoke, standing up. "Mommy was wrong. Mommy
should have listened to you." I took a step forward. "Yes, you're a man, and Mommy is a woman. What other women have,
Mommy has too."
Perhaps my expression frightened my son; he stood there, stunned.
I had truly gone mad, completely broken from the depths of my being. My neurotic state had clearly terrified the boy
.
"Other women have it, and Mommy has it too. Look," I lifted my shirt, pushing up my bra to let my
breasts pop out.
"And..." I bent down to take off my pants.
"Mommy," my son cried, his face pale, probably thinking I had truly gone mad.
I took off my pants, then my white underwear, standing naked before my son.
"Look..." I touched my genitals, completely losing my mind.
"Mommy," my son cried. He was, after all, my son; he couldn't remain unmoved by his mother's state
.
"Xiao Dong... come on!..." I touched my pubic area, hysterical.
"Mom, don't do this," my son just cried, clearly unsure what to do.
"You've already done it?... Then come on again..." My face was flushed, like I was drunk. I went over and
squatted down in front of my son, ripping down his only pair of shorts.
I hadn't felt anything after taking the medication the day before yesterday. This was the first time in years I'd seen my son's genitals;
they were hairless, limp and drooping like a small worm. Although I was naked, my son clearly didn't
react.
I grabbed it and started stroking it frantically.
Since it was already broken, let it be completely destroyed.
The soft thing quickly and uncontrollably hardened under my rapid stroking.
I turned around and leaned over the kitchen counter, arching my back and lifting my buttocks. "...Come on,
fuck me, come on!..." I screamed, finally breaking down in tears. "...Fuck me, didn't you want to fuck
me?"
At that moment, my son, amidst my cries, grabbed my waist from behind. In my dazed state
, he actually inserted his penis into me again from behind.
The world truly ended.
As that thing entered again, I immediately stopped screaming.
Everything that was happening was real; it wasn't a dream.
My heart was shattered, my dignity torn beyond recognition by my son. In despair and numb
pain, I quieted down, remaining silent, leaning over the counter to keep myself upright, letting that now-
unfamiliar child thrust his penis into my vagina from behind.
In despair, I numbly accepted this fact like a dead person, no longer resisting, letting him fuck me,
motionless.
He thrust, thrust, thrust, thrust…
This time, my son lasted a long time. This fourteen-year-old boy's hips slammed against my buttocks
, making a loud thud. I was swaying back and forth from his thrusts.
I was no longer myself. The little dignity I had painstakingly built up over twenty years of running away had been shattered once again.
Yes, I was a worthless woman. Since I didn't have the courage to commit suicide, I had to accept reality. Actually, I should have committed suicide long ago
, not two days ago, but twenty years ago.
At this moment, nothing mattered anymore.
I silently made my son drop his burden. He even reached out and played with my
swaying breasts while thrusting his lower body.
My face was flushed, my mouth was open, and I didn't bite my lip anymore. I used all my strength to support my body against
the thrusts from behind. My body was swayed forward again and again, my legs were so weak that I couldn't stand up, and I lay even lower.
My son stood behind me and fucked me for nearly ten minutes while I lay there like a dead man, and then he ejaculated inside me
.
I could clearly feel his powerful ejaculation inside my spasming vagina.
This was the second time he had done this to me.
Afterwards, I rushed out of the house like a little girl. I ran across the wide street, ignoring the traffic lights, running
as fast as I could. The screech of brakes and angry curses mingled together. But I could hear nothing,
see nothing.
At midnight, I was still walking on the street. There was no one on the road. How could there be anyone at this hour?
Occasionally, a car would drive past, its headlights like two lonely eyes. At times like this, everything I saw was loneliness.
Loneliness flowed from my heart to my eyes; everything was utterly alone. I gathered my wind-blown hair and staggered
forward. So much pain turned into tears streaming down my face. Tired, I hugged my arms and slowly squatted
down, tears silently sliding down my cheeks, salty and bitter.
What could I do? I still had to go home. On the street, I had nowhere to go, nowhere to walk. In this city,
only that place that could barely be called home was my last refuge.
I opened the bathroom door, and there was nothing inside. Water rushed down, soothing my skin. The emptiness was so
stark and hot. I trembled all over in the steamy bathroom.
Sitting blankly on the bed, clutching my pillow, I gazed at the dark night sky outside the window, listening to the patter of
rain. I held back my bitter tears, a sorrowful smile appearing on my face. I felt like I had fallen into a vast,
dark abyss, eerie and cold.
How could my son and I live together after that? Could this family still exist?
I dared not think about it; I was afraid.
I finally fell asleep in the latter half of the night. In my dream, there was an empty beach, the wind blowing, the cold shore
so cold. I gently shook the sand out of my shoes, looking at my footprints, each step so lonely! Listening to the gentle
breath of the waves, my tears flowed uncontrollably! Is there any way to truly forget?
In my dream, I saw my adorable son, still five or six years old, his chubby little face
grinning at me.
But I didn't know why I was crying.
I woke up, my pillow soaked with tears.
Regret slumbers when we're lucky, but it feels stronger when we're in adversity.
I couldn't hold on any longer; just before dawn, I suddenly felt weak all over and developed a high fever.
I still forced myself to make breakfast for my son, and after he left, I nearly collapsed on the bed.
Later, when I couldn't take it anymore, I grabbed my phone and called Zheng Hao.
By the time she rushed over, I was almost unconscious from the fever.
I insisted that Zheng Hao arrange another hospital for me outside of my workplace. I told her this because
I didn't want to trouble my colleagues; actually, I didn't want to see anyone. I also asked her to leave a note for my son, telling
him I had to go on a business trip and that he should stay with his grandmother for the next few days.
I lay in the hospital all day, my stomach empty, unable to eat anything, my face pale. Sitting on the bed,
watching the colorless liquid in the medicine bottle silently drip into my veins, a
feeling of loneliness and helplessness welled up naturally amidst the pain. At this time of day, I might be working overtime at the office, busy as a bee; or
perhaps doing housework at home. Although life is mundane day after day, and emotions are uneventful, at this moment, it feels like an
incomparable happiness. Yes, people often only truly appreciate
the blessing of peace when they cannot enjoy it, and only then do they truly know to cherish every detail related to peace and tranquility.
Unexpectedly, Liu Jianming came to see me in the evening. "
How did you know I was here?" I asked, still a little dazed.
"Didn't Zheng Hao ask for leave for you? That's how I found out!" He smiled and placed the bouquet of flowers he brought on my
bedside table.
In an instant, my heart warmed. "
What's wrong? Your face is so pale." Liu Jianming leaned down and looked at me with concern. "
No…nothing…the doctor said it's due to overwork." I stammered.
"Oh. Then I'm relieved." He breathed a sigh of relief, "But I've always trusted you. In my heart,
you may appear elegant, but I know you're a strong woman."
"You think I'm strong?" I leaned against the headboard, looking at him. It was the first time I'd heard someone call me strong.
"Yes, I've always felt that way. I know your partner is away for long periods, and you're practically
raising the child alone," Liu Jianming said gently. "You know, that's not easy. Besides, strength isn't an
outward expression, but an inner state."
I shook my head. His mention of the child brought tears to my eyes again. After a long silence, I sighed
… I only know I'm very vulnerable right now
. Liu Jianming looked at me… "That might be because you have too many worries, or you don't have someone to care for you."
My face flushed slightly. Because there was an ambiguity in his words.
Usually, Zheng Hao would bring me food after work and take care of me until around 10 pm. But most of the time
I was alone—eating alone, lying down alone, facing the nurses' cold faces alone, going to
the toilet alone. Going to the toilet in the hospital is a painful thing, especially when I'm getting an IV.
I was getting an IV drip and desperately needed to use the restroom, but I couldn't hold it in. It wasn't convenient for me to run around with the IV bag,
so it was quite uncomfortable.
Luckily, there was a middle-aged woman in my ward who was there to care for an elderly relative, and she always kindly
helped me. At first, she looked familiar, and then I finally remembered – she was Ms. Niu, my son's kindergarten teacher.
Ten years had passed; she must be in her forties now, not too old, just a little plump.
She was very talkative, and speaking seemed to be one of her strengths. When we started chatting, she
became even more enthusiastic after learning I was the parent of one of her children. She even remembered my son, partly because he was very well-behaved,
and partly because I was often late picking him up from school.
"Is Xiaodong still well-behaved?" she asked naturally.
"He's alright," I forced a smile.
Having Ms. Niu around made things much easier, but sometimes when she wasn't there, like this morning,
before she arrived and none of the other family members were around, and I needed to use the restroom, I didn't know what to do.
Thousands of miles from my hometown, there are hardly any relatives here whom I can call family. Zheng Hao
has already troubled her enough.
I stared blankly at the dripping fluid from the IV tube by the bedside, half-lying motionless on the hospital bed,
suddenly feeling a deep sense of desolation. I looked out the window; the sky was overcast, threatening rain. Even the weather was so
despairing.
I closed my eyes, hiding the tears welling up, enduring the discomfort, hoping someone would come in soon
—whoever it was, I would be grateful.
But the more anxious I became, the slower time seemed to pass, every second an agony, and I felt I couldn't bear
it any longer.
"Mom…" A strange yet familiar boy's voice suddenly rang in my ears.
I opened my eyes in disbelief and saw the face that haunted my dreams in the middle of the night
—my son.
I don't know what I would have done if I had gone there; I only know that I was incredibly moved.
Without thinking too much or feeling awkward, I just stared intently at my son and said, "I need to go to the toilet."
My son probably never imagined that the first thing I would say to him after we met would be this, and he was clearly
stunned.
I sat up abruptly, pointed to the IV drip, and was too weak to even speak.
My son, seeing my contorted face, seemed to finally understand my predicament.
He immediately knelt down to help me put on slippers, removed the IV drip, held the bottle high in one hand, and supported me with the other.
Finally, we reached the restroom, where there was a long queue. I clutched my stomach, and tears finally streamed
down my face.
My son panicked, frantically wiping away my tears while repeatedly asking, "Mom, what's wrong? Are you
feeling unwell? Or can't hold it in?"
I kept my head down, not saying a word, just continuing to cry.
Thankfully, Ms. Niu finally returned.
After understanding my predicament, she shouted, "Ladies in front, I'm sorry to trouble you, but my
sister really can't hold it in anymore. Please let her go first, thank you."
Ms. Niu's loud voice worked; the people in line automatically made way, and I
awkwardly walked into the restroom under everyone's stares.
Teacher Niu stood outside the bathroom door, holding my IV drip bottle, and said with a smile, "Your son is so good to you."
My embarrassment deepened; I didn't know what to say, and could only mumble "oh, oh" in response.
Teacher Niu continued, "If my son could be this good to me, I'd be content. But it's not like that at all
."
Back in the ward, I thanked Teacher Niu again. Teacher Niu told me not to be polite while busily
tidying up my bed.
Finally, she stopped to look at Xiao Dong. Wow, this child is so handsome!
I then remembered I hadn't introduced him to my son. Although I didn't want to talk to him, I couldn't help it in front of strangers.
"...Xiao Dong, this is Teacher Niu from your kindergarten. You've forgotten her?"
My son seemed to have completely forgotten Teacher Niu, but he was clever; he nodded politely to Teacher Niu
. Then he turned to me and told me that Aunt Zheng Hao had told him I was here.
I silently looked at him, and in his eyes, I saw anxiety. This made me feel a little better
. My son is completely different at home and outside. Who could imagine that such a child
would do something so unspeakable to his mother at home?
This time, I didn't know how to interact with him; I had no experience.
The intimacy between mother and son in the past, the current estrangement—no matter what, it felt like a thorn in my heart.
I stayed in the hospital for a week, and the symptoms caused by the sudden shock slowly improved.
I only took a week off, and besides, I really didn't want to stay in the hospital anymore, so I went home.
Before leaving, I repeatedly thanked Teacher Niu, and we exchanged phone numbers.
Back home, I looked at the familiar decor—curtains, lights, dining table, coffee table, sofa—everything was unchanged.
Everything seemed to have returned to normal, yet it also seemed not to.
That night, my son and I went to sleep without saying a word.
The next day, I got up early as usual, made breakfast in the kitchen, and then woke my son. "
Eat quickly, don't be late for school," I tried my best to use my usual tone.
After breakfast, I quickly cleaned up the dishes, and my son and I grabbed our bags and left.
Standing on the rooftop of the 19th floor of the hospital building, looking down at the crowds below who seemed so small, I felt lost, bewildered
, and utterly helpless. If I were to jump like that, everything would vanish in seconds. I chuckled. I didn't
have that kind of courage; I could only dream about it. I truly admire those who can jump from dozens of stories high
. If you have that kind of courage, what wouldn't you dare to do?
Around 10 a.m., on the stairs to my office, I saw Liu Jianming and his driver hurrying downstairs. I asked them
what was wrong. Liu Jianming smiled and said, "Oh, going to the northern suburbs to handle some things. Want to come along?"
He seemed quite anxious; I thought he wouldn't be so tense if it wasn't serious.
"Is it important?"
"Sigh, there's been a major traffic accident, with over twenty casualties. The municipal government has ordered us to immediately go to the scene
to handle the related matters."
"What?" I agreed to go with him without even thinking.
An accident had occurred. A minibus collided with a truck on a sharp bend in the mountain road, resulting in heavy losses for both sides.
When I arrived at the scene, I could hardly believe my eyes. The scene was horrific. Traffic police were taking
notes and measuring the damage. Several ambulances had arrived from the hospital, and nurses and doctors, all with solemn expressions, were rushing to
provide the best possible care for the injured and deceased.
I walked to the stretchers, holding my breath as I looked at the faces, barely breathing, their flesh mangled and
their bodies contorted in agony. Although life was nearing its end, they still clung to life with longing and attachment.
Perhaps living was already a form of suffering for them, but their clinging to life left
a glimmer of light in their eyes.
My eyes welled up with tears. I suddenly felt a deep fear of death; I had once thought it was something to be enjoyed. I remembered
that thought that had crossed my mind not long ago. Now, facing the reality of death, I was terrified. I realized
that living was the greatest happiness.
It was past five in the afternoon when I finished work. The streets were bustling with cars and pedestrians, and the crimson sunset hung in the sky. I stood
by the roadside, trying to flag down a taxi, but every car was occupied. Occasionally an empty car would appear, but the driver was rushing to
change shifts and wouldn't stop. I had no choice but to give up on hailing a taxi and slowly walked home.
Back home, I paced anxiously. The rocking chair on the balcony, the stereo in the living room,
the computer in the study, the pots and pans in the kitchen, the bottles and jars in the bathroom, the bed and wardrobe in the bedroom… those strangely
familiar objects suddenly held no meaning for me.
The kitchen hadn't been cleaned for days; a layer of dust covered the cabinets. I quickly grabbed a rag and
wiped the stove, then opened the refrigerator to prepare a meal.
There wasn't a single vegetable left. The only things in the refrigerator were some ingredients for making eight-treasure porridge, sitting silently in jars.
This eight-treasure rice was something I'd bought before the Lunar New Year, on the eighth day of the twelfth lunar month, specifically for making Laba porridge. The eight-treasure rice sold in supermarkets
often had too much rice and too few beans, and many of the ingredients were of dubious quality, so I usually bought the ingredients and mixed them myself.
So my son especially loves my eight-treasure porridge.
I poured some red beans from one bottle, some lotus seeds from another, eight
bottles in total, and poured eight times. The ingredients were plump and translucent. I carefully washed the eight-treasure rice and put it
into the rice cooker. The red beans, green beans, translucent glutinous rice, and plump lotus seeds all lay quietly at the bottom of the water,
like a silent watercolor painting.
The porridge simmered slowly in the pot. With some time still to go, I suddenly felt...

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