Legend of the Seal

As the sun dipped its rays into a blood-red hue, my mother trembled once more, clinging to Lu Yongping. I felt sticky all over, as if coated in tar. There was a braised meat workshop not far from the street corner; as a child, I loved watching people pluck the hair from pigs. With the satisfying sound of skin tearing open, the pig's soul seemed to undergo a baptism. But I was nailed to the yard, even breathing was difficult. Later, Lu Yongping picked my mother up and carried her back to the bedroom. At the doorway, he pressed her against the calendar and vigorously fucked her for a while. My mother, like a sloth, clung tightly to Lu Yongping, her pretty face flushed red against his shoulder. To this day, I remember her expression in the sunset, as if encompassing all human joys and sorrows, so close, yet so far away. And that old calendar, with three People's Liberation Army soldiers standing on it, the one on the far left, Lu Jun, seemed to have a slight underbite. My mother often joked, "See? Even someone with an underbite can be a model!" But I clearly remember they weren't leaning against a calendar, but against a side window. The beige curtains were half-drawn, and I could only see my mother's smooth back and plump, white buttocks. Her rounded flesh was repeatedly pressed against the glass, leaving a blurry, snow-white mark in the hazy light. For a moment, I thought winter had arrived.
As the groans from the bedroom grew louder, I stumbled into my room like a muffled bell. That October evening, the air was filled with the smell of burning straw. I slammed the door shut. The glass rattled with a bang. A ray of setting sun slanted in, both hazy and rough. I clenched my fist, regret trembling and showering me down like the rose-colored sky outside the window.
※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※ I haven't eaten sugar-coated fried pancakes since
the fifteenth of this month.
This bad habit once greatly surprised Chen Yao; she couldn't tolerate my "inhuman rejection" of local specialties. After both soft and hard tactics failed, she concluded that "this kind of man" was unreliable. She shook her head and said, "Tell me, how dare you expect someone who betrays their hometown's specialties not to betray you one day?" As she said this, her delicate breasts were exposed in the cheap and cramped air of the university town hotel.
I didn't answer her but rushed to the bathroom. As the greasy sugar paste burst from my mouth, unrestrained laughter erupted outside.
I was eating a sugar-coated pancake when Lu Yongping came in. I was starving; I ate almost half of it in one bite. As the fried sweetness rolled into my stomach, I finally grasped something. Lu Yongping leaned against the door, his dark shadow looming against the wall. He coughed several times, as if he were about to speak at a village meeting. Unfortunately, he didn't say anything. It wasn't until I picked up the enamel mug that Lu Yongping spoke. He laughed and said, "Come on, let's go outside, it's your uncle's treat." The enamel mug was scalding hot, so I put it back on the table. I turned my head and stared at Lu Yongping. He was already wearing long pants, and his belly button, surrounded by black hair, looked like a mountain cave. I wanted to tell him to "get lost," but what came out with the food scraps was a "quack quack." Actually, it wasn't a "quack quack," more like a muffled fart or a broken neck. I had to chew faster and repeat it again. This time it worked much better; I found my voice was frighteningly hoarse. Lu Yongping smiled, opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Against the orange wooden door, his long face was red and shiny, like a spoonful of tung oil had been poured onto a red-hot iron. I turned around and lifted the enamel lid, and steam mixed with the smell of pickled vegetables rose up. In the pale light, I seemed to hear a "sizzling" sound as the iron splattered.
That unforgettable evening, I stood leaning against the door for a long time. At first, I could still see my shadow, but then the room dimmed. I listened intently; all was silent, not even the hustle and bustle of the street. Lying on the bed, I closed my eyes and felt dizzy. For a moment, I felt like I was floating in the air, as if a few flaps of my arms would burst through the roof and rise into the night sky. Then, the air became thick, and the surroundings flickered between light and shadow. I found myself running wildly along the ring road. The slender shadows of the trees were like leaping vines, constantly whipping against me.
I ran across the bridge, winding through the streets and alleys, finally reaching my doorstep. Panting, I entered the yard. My mother came out of the kitchen and asked if I had eaten. I said no. She said, "Then come quickly." Something was simmering on the stove like a turtle being cooked. The aroma filled the air, and my mouth watered. But then my mother suddenly groaned. Only then did I realize she was sitting on a man's lap, her large, white buttocks raised high. The background was blurred, only her dazzling white buttocks trembling silently. Those waves of flesh felt like they were slapping my face. I called out "Mom," and she turned her face, opened her mouth, but only two trembling moans escaped. Then came a series of sharp slaps, and the man laughed, like a train rumbling by. That long, narrow scar seemed to be stirring again. I looked around the kitchen; it was empty, even the stove had disappeared. I rushed to the bedroom, rummaging through drawers and cupboards, and finally found the switchblade under the bed. It was wrapped in a pair of underwear.
I carefully took it out and sniffed it. It was still cold, but it emitted a strong, pungent odor. This was undoubtedly embarrassing and infuriating, but I had no choice but to flick the blade. With a clang, the room was flooded with light. The white light that shot out was like a violent lightning bolt, or a refreshing evening breeze. I opened my eyes, panting, already drenched in sweat. The cool moonlight cast a half-screen-like glow on the ground. I felt my crotch was wet and reached down to touch it. Then, my stomach growled. My throat burned, and even the wound on my head throbbed faintly. I sat up in bed. Apart from the occasional rustling of the paulownia trees, there was no sound in the courtyard.
However, as soon as I opened the door, I saw Lu Yongping. He stood naked in the courtyard, staring longingly at the moon. His hairy belly, like a glowing gourd, reflected a hidden jungle power. At that moment, his arms hung down, his upper body leaned forward, and his neck was stretched out, like a gorilla covered in silver powder. My eyelids twitched instantly. In that instant, he turned his head. I still remember that face—as if the moonlight had poured a layer of volcanic ash over it, only a pair of small eyes flickering in the haze. The only thing that seemed to have any consciousness was the cigarette in his mouth, which instantly shortened considerably. My heart pounded, and even my palms tingled, but my steps didn't falter. As I passed him, I felt Lu Yongping was a statue. All the rooms were dark, and the yard was a silvery white, like a blank canvas pressed down by God. There was no sound from my mother. I went straight into the kitchen.
I turned on the light and guzzled water from the tap. There was a half-full basin of fried pancakes in the cupboard, probably freshly fried that afternoon. My mother rarely made fried food, always saying it was unhealthy. But thanks to my grandmother, I've eaten plenty of these since I was a child. A couple of days ago, she called, and after a few words, I was about to hang up when she said, "Tell your mother to fry some pancakes, and don't forget to offer them as a sacrifice." How strange, even in such sorrow, my grandmother still believed in God. I picked up a pancake, took a bite, and then slowly made two packets of instant noodles. They were locally made halal noodles, and the sauce packets were just becoming popular then, so they tasted quite novel. I remember the enamel mug vividly; it was a yellowish-brown, with a picture of a panda eating bamboo shoots printed on the side, and a line of red lettering on the handle: "Happy Teachers' Day!" I've forgotten how long Lu Yongping stood in the kitchen that night. I only remember that while I was wolfing down my food, a huge dark shadow kept swaying gently on the right wall. He probably didn't even fart, or maybe he made a few onomatopoeic sounds, or perhaps he just rambled on about some trivial matters. As for me, I just kept my head down and ate. I was so hungry. Sweating profusely, brown syrup dripped from my mouth, even onto my hands, and then into the mug. I licked my fingers clean.
When I finally looked up from the enamel mug, tongue lolling out, Lu Yongping came in again. This time he was wearing a white shirt, unbuttoned. I can't quite explain why, but when that big belly was exposed to the light again, I was somewhat surprised.
I kept feeling like there were two Lu Yongpings in the room, so I had to turn around to confirm. This time he stopped only when he reached me, leaning against the wall with one hand, striking a cowboy pose. I noticed he was wearing my father's sandals.
"What happened to your head?" Lu Yongping asked with a smile.
I ignored him and picked up another pancake. I was still hungry. I convinced myself: after all, I'd only had a boxed lunch for lunch.
"Are you alright now?" Lu Yongping chuckled dryly as he sat down on the low stool next to me. It really was a low stool, very low, so low that he had to tilt his head up to look at me. So he tilted his head up: "It's best not to eat instant noodles, or fried food. Especially in your condition." He pointed to his head: "It's bad for the wound." I pursed my lips, picked up the enamel mug, and drank the remaining noodle soup in one gulp. It tasted good, just a bit salty.
"You—oh, it's all your uncle's fault. Your uncle failed to keep his promise," Lu Yongping shook his head, looking heartbroken. "You could say, ah, one hundred percent of the responsibility. Whatever you say, it's up to you." He stood ramrod straight, his hands clasped on his knees, looking like a simple, honest monk. With a sigh, he continued,
"Don't bottle up your grievances. You're making your mother and me feel bad." Suddenly, I felt like I'd fallen into a furnace. I jumped up and kicked Lu Yongping. He stretched out his arms, swayed a few times, and finally fell to the ground with a thud. I stared down at him, unable to utter a word. His
large, hairy belly gleamed with a strange light, sending a shiver down my spine.
Lu Yongping, still with his protruding belly, didn't speak. After a long while, he let out an exaggerated "ouch" and slowly got up. He patted his bottom and muttered, "What a temper! Uncle didn't mean any harm, don't always think the worst." He bent down to pick up the stool and said, "Uncle promises this is the last time, don't do it again." "Get out of here." My face was red and my neck was thick, but my voice was as low as a dwarf's.
"Every family has its own problems," Lu Yongping seemed not to hear, moved the stool back a little, and sat down again, "Xiaolin, Uncle knows your mother is important to you." My face immediately burned with anger, and my hard gaze swept around the kitchen before fixing on the door. I felt I should say something, so I opened my mouth. I said—I couldn't say anything.
"This is normal, really normal, Xiaolin. Who hasn't been young? It's puberty, when I was your age, I was also..." Lu Yongping stammered for a long time before falling silent.
The silver courtyard was like a sheet of tofu skin, cut into thin strips by the bamboo curtain. I stared for a while, feeling my eyes were getting blurry, so I sat down. I took a bite of fried dough.
"Xiao Lin?"
I took another bite, propping my arm on the edge of the table, finally feeling a bit more at ease.
"Hongfeng's grandma was... ah, she was so beautiful, naturally—not as beautiful as Fenglan, not as beautiful as your mother. But in my eyes, even though she has a whole bunch of kids, in my eyes..." Lu Yongping stammered, hesitating to finish. I couldn't help but glance at him. He had his head down, his forehead shiny. "Uncle lost his father early, and widows often face gossip, you know." He looked up, meeting my gaze, and smiled. Then he took a cigarette from his pocket, patted me, and asked for a lighter. I shook my head. He got up, lit it on the stove, blew out two puffs of smoke, and pointed at my head. I stared blankly, momentarily dazed. To be honest, I couldn't imagine how beautiful Lu Yongping's mother must have been when she was young. "I know you're upset, your uncle understands perfectly." He waved his hand, turned, and walked out.
Lu Yongping stood in the moonlight, legs spread, as if he had been dragged there by something. After a while, he came back in. "Back then, the fifth brother—" He sat down on the low stool, raised his face, "that is, Hongfeng's aunt, who was still breastfeeding, and his grandmother would dangle her breasts in front of her every day. Back then, living conditions were so bad, and the family was so poor. Your uncle was as thin as a chicken, and all he cared about was how to fill his stomach. My younger siblings ate the white flour buns; I never ate any. Let alone white flour buns, we were lucky to have cornbread. So, you guys really don't know how lucky you are now." Lu Yongping smiled, a smile that cut like a knife. I looked down at the half-eaten pancake in my hand and suddenly felt incredibly thirsty. "Even breastfeeding is a problem. The fourth one is over three years old. When he sees his sister drinking, he tries to take it too. If he's not given any, he cries. His mother can't do anything about it. She can't resist letting him suckle a couple of times, but then the third one gets upset. This brat is seven or eight years old. I go up and hit him, but before the slap lands, he starts crying, and my mother starts crying too. Later, she just squeezes a couple of mouthfuls into the bowl, and whoever drinks from it gets to drink." Lu Yongping sighed, stubbed out his cigarette, and kept his head down. "Once, I came back from cutting pig feed for the commune and caught a glimpse of milk on the stove. It was just the bottom of a bowl, but it smelled so good, the whole house smelled amazing. I couldn't resist, so I picked up the bowl and gulped it down, then licked the bottom clean. His grandma came out from the inner room and saw me." Lu Yongping paused, then continued, "How could I be so ashamed? I turned and ran away. I ran a long way and didn't get home until the dead of night. His grandma acted like nothing had happened and never mentioned it. Later, there was clearly more milk in the bowl, but I never touched it again." The air that night was as thirsty as a sponge, making my throat feel like it was on fire. Every now and then, I would glance at the tap.
"Actually, I did sneak a taste twice, but I didn't dare drink too much, preferring to throw it away in the end." Lu Yongping smiled and wiped his face. His voice was bright and clear, reminding me of the sycamore leaves under the moonlight. "The third and fourth kids were just being weird, but they stopped drinking it eventually. Seeing those big breasts swaying around, honestly, for the first time in all my years, from childhood to adulthood, I felt an itch in my heart. An itch so strong… so strong that sometimes I couldn't sleep at night. Sigh, so one night I secretly sneaked into her grandma's bed to drink her milk, and she pretended not to know. I was so clever for a while. This got out of control, until one time she said, 'Xiaoping, if you keep doing this, the fifth one won't have enough.' I was both ashamed and anxious, and said, 'If the old stinky guy can drink, why can't I?' Her grandma didn't say anything. You can imagine how much milk there is; after several times like this, where would it all go? The fifth one couldn't get any milk and cried loudly. Her grandma cried, and I cried too." As he spoke, Lu Yongping turned his face away—perhaps staring at the door—and remained silent for a long time.
The silence was almost unnatural, so I coughed lightly twice. Lu Yongping, however, remained unmoved. Just as I hesitated whether to get up and get a drink of water, he finally turned his face back. "Later," he said, "later..." His tone shifted, and he suddenly patted me: "Are you still listening?" I didn't answer. "Then—go get Uncle some water." I felt I should be angry, but after hesitating for a while, I stood up. When I came back with the water, Lu Yongping was already holding a fried dough stick. This situation made me feel very passive. So, I went back and poured myself some water.
I put it in the enamel mug, and soon a layer of oil appeared. Lu Yongping ate the fried dough stick before speaking. He said, "It's fucking hot." I said, "Huh?" He said, "Water." I shook the enamel mug and stopped talking. "Later...later...where were we? Later, I endured it for a few days, but then I started to feel itchy again. In the end, I still touched his breasts, sucking on them once a week, sometimes just holding them without sucking. His breasts never mentioned it again. Of course, I knew about those things between men and women a long time ago. I've run into that old stinky guy delivering flour to my house before, even a fool knows what he's after." I asked him who the old stinky guy was. Lu Yongping snorted and said casually, "Just a cobbler. His legs got frostbite when he was a kid, so he couldn't get married. By seniority, he should call me uncle. Then his mother drowned while bathing in the Pinghe River." He then picked up his cup and took a sip, the steam making his forehead even shinier. I unconsciously shook the enamel mug even faster.
Lu Yongping didn't speak again. He put down the cup and looked at me. "That's it?" I asked softly, as if someone had squeezed my throat. "Of course, what else do you want to hear?" Lu Yongping smiled. I said "Oh," and lowered my head. The steam, carrying a hint of pickled vegetables, felt oily on my face. I couldn't resist taking a sip, which was so hot I almost dropped the enamel mug. For a moment, I felt like my tongue was burning. I had to spit it out, breathing on it like a dog. Just then, Lu Yongping's voice rang out again: "Later, without realizing it, I had that kind of thing with his grandmother. It was that kind of thing. It was very natural, I don't know how to say it, she didn't even resist. At first, I was afraid of getting pregnant, I was on tenterhooks, haha, then the family planning policy came into effect, the whole village had their tubes tied, damn it, even widows weren't spared. This made things easier for me, I had to do it almost every day, until the factory sent me to night school." He kept his head down as he spoke, his long face hidden in shadow, sweat pouring down his forehead like a torrential October rain. I stood there stunned for a while, then gently placed the enamel mug back on the table, but it made a loud thud. The
hot water in the mug splashed out, landing on my face, feeling cool.
No one spoke for a long time. This wasn't a good sign. Someone had to say something, no matter what. So I opened my mouth and said, "Sigh." I felt like a snake was lodged in my throat. Lu Yongping glanced at me, then lowered his head again. He also said "Sigh." Then the wind picked up outside the window, and the rustling whispers of the sycamore trees crept in.
After a long pause, Lu Yongping raised his head—he had straightened his back and lit a cigarette—staring intently at me. I still remember that look vividly, like the ash that falls off the edge when a cement nail is driven into a wall. He opened his mouth, then put the cigarette back in his hand: "Your uncle only told you about this, so don't tell anyone." I didn't know what to say, so I picked up another fried cigarette. "Your uncle told you before..." Lu Yongping put the cigarette in his mouth.
"Huh?" I puffed out my cheeks quickly.
He bit the filter, patted his pocket, and took the cigarette back in his hand: "Want to mess with your mother?" He spoke in a deep, muffled voice, a bright wave rising from his belly, looking incredibly soft, making me want to kick it.
So I kicked him. I felt my hair stand on end. Lu Yongping fell to the ground in the same way as before, giving me a strange sense of familiarity. But his contemptuous smile pulled me out of the distorted time and space:
"You're pretty much like me, just without my guts." I lunged forward and grabbed his neck. I wanted to tell him, "If you keep spouting nonsense, I'll kill you," but I couldn't utter a single word. My hands felt greasy, as if I were holding a cunning giant python. Half a fried dough stick slid down his neck, past his collar, and onto his stomach. Lu Yongping's face turned even redder, but his smile grew even brighter. I let go, slumped back into the chair, and gasped for breath.
The moonlight
that night was frighteningly bright. I stood in the yard, holding a fried dough stick, occasionally tilting my head back to take a sip.
After Lu Yongping went inside, I seemed to finally remember my mother. The orange bedside lamp in my parents' bedroom was on, the part of it peeking through the curtains turning pink, like the opening and closing compound eyes of an insect. Occasionally, a shadow would pierce the curtains, and my heart would skip a beat. I didn't know what Lu Yongping was doing. The moonlight poured onto the trees, stirring up a cool breeze, even making the shadows of the sycamore trees seem to move. Apart from that, there was no other sound in the world. Lu Yongping came out soon after. He stood in front of me, hands on his hips, glanced at the moon, and whispered, "Do you know where Uncle ran off to that time?" I didn't answer. "On the Pinghe Dam. It was a big moon that day too. I lay on the dam for a long time." Lu Yongping scratched his belly, then pointed at the moon, as if he wanted to say something more. Just then, my mother's voice came from the bedroom. At first, it was muffled, then suddenly became sharp, and then she urgently called out, "Lu Yongping!" Her voice quickly lowered, but it was as clear as the shadow beneath my feet. My heart skipped a beat, and the moonlight seemed even brighter.
Perhaps I had drunk too much water, because I was like a raging balloon, walking with a clattering sound. This made me inexplicably ashamed, and for a moment, I felt like my bladder was about to burst. I could only tug at Lu Yongping. He turned around, signaling me to relax. Relieved, I turned and slipped out of the living room, and before I even reached the balsam bushes, I impatiently pulled out my penis. As that rainbow of gravity surged forth, the lingering scent of almonds from my crotch filled the moonlight. A fried dough stick dangling from my mouth, I couldn't help but gulp. That pee had been so long, so long, that I suddenly felt the moon overhead was God's surveillance camera, making me too embarrassed to continue. Turning around, I saw Lu Yongping squatting in the hallway. Disorganized noises emanated from my parents' bedroom, like the squeaking of mice, or the scraping of fingernails on the concrete floor. My mother occasionally called out "Lu Yongping," clear yet muffled. I glanced at the moon again—undoubtedly, I had never seen such a large moon in my life.
When Lu Yongping entered, his bulky, dark shadow loomed over me. My legs went weak. To avoid his shadow, I had to tiptoe away. This made me feel incredibly pathetic, almost causing me to burst out laughing. Lu Yongping's scurrying on the floor, however, continued as always. Soon, the noise subsided, and my mother whispered, "Let go." It was so soft, like a silver needle piercing straight at me. I stumbled, as if waking from a nightmare, or like a dying person surfacing. Taking a deep breath, I squeezed the oil pancake and slowly approached the bedroom door. The first thing I saw, of course, was Lu Yongping. He stood with his hands on his hips, motionless, but blocking most of my view. I had to tilt my head. Then I saw a breast, round and full, its surface tinged with an egg-white sheen by the orange light, then flattened in the early autumn air. The dark ridge at the tip drew a ripple of night, then quietly spread down to her ribs.
Her lower abdomen was flat and warm, occasionally dappled with light and shadow. My mother lay flat, her legs stretched straight, a light blanket draped diagonally over her body, but it couldn't stop that dark gleam from overflowing from the shadows. In an instant, a familiar dark spring began to leap in my heart, and I involuntarily held my breath.
Lu Yongping turned and glanced at me. The light magnified his head infinitely, projecting it across the ceiling into the living room, making it seem as if a dark cloud had flown overhead. He gestured to me, then quickly turned his head back. Amidst the bizarre light, he leaned down and called out, "Fenglan." "Let go," my mother's voice was calm. With a few creaks, she added coldly, "Hurry up." As she spoke, one leg curled up, and the other even kicked off the bed. So close, her toes twitching and then relaxing, a hot, burning sensation welled up inside me. Following her thigh upwards, past her trembling chest, I immediately saw my mother's armpits.
Sparse, curly, and long hair, subtly conveying a hint of grievance and unease. It was only then that I noticed my mother's arms were stretched behind her head, bound to the bed railing with a leather strap. I remember that wooden railing vividly, yellow and white, with huge "double happiness" characters fluttering on both sides and several openwork flowers blooming in the middle. My mother's wrists were exposed in the shadows, dazzlingly white. Although I was prepared, I was still taken aback. Even the lamplight seemed to harden for a moment. And when I saw a long towel covering my mother's eyes, a huge weight began to slowly sink in my stomach. Glancing at the dim bedside lamp, I felt my bladder swell again.
What happened next was like a slideshow. Lu Yongping seemed to say something, and my mother simply struggled. Orange light enveloped her fair arms and warm cheeks. She bit her lip lightly, like a white fish thrashing in a pond. Her breasts would inevitably tremble, her lower abdomen would wrinkle, and her long legs would fling open the blanket in the thumping. So, with a dull thud, the blanket slowly slid down the edge of the bed. I held the fried dough stick and waved to Lu Yongping. I wanted to say that all of this was too exaggerated, like a movie, and I couldn't handle it. But Lu Yongping didn't see it. He half-squatted at the head of the bed, gently stroking his mother's arm. After a while, his mother finally calmed down, breathing silently. Her legs were curled up, her crotch wide open. And then I saw that flesh that had appeared in my mind countless times. Under the dense forest, two thick labia were tightly closed and tilted to one side, faintly emitting a grayish light. Instantly, the orange air trembled. I couldn't help but turn my gaze to the living room, then slipped into the yard through the crack in the door. Except for a blurry sliver of silver, there was nothing there. But I still glanced at it several times, as if someone might suddenly jump out from there. When my gaze returned to the bedroom, I noticed a few thin white threads clinging to that messy and hazy flesh. After hesitating for a moment, I realized that they were scraps of toilet paper. A white light overflowed from the trash can by the bed, and a sour smell seemed to linger in the room. This made my throat itch, like I'd been suddenly thrown into a vast desert, even my wounds seemed to throb with rough, agitated restlessness. I took a bite of the fried dough.
Lu Yongping just squatted there. He glanced at me, grabbed my mother's elbow, and said, "Sister, sister, this is the last time, please grant your brother's wish."
My mother lowered her voice, "You're fucking perverted, let go of me." Her foot landed on the bed with a hollow thud.
Lu Yongping sighed, "Don't be fooled by my talkativeness, it's all nonsense. When it comes to serious matters, I'm dumber than a pig. Fenglan, I've accepted it all, marrying your sister, this shrew. Sometimes I really..." His head drooped lower and lower until it finally touched the edge of the bed, his large hand squeezing my mother's arm until it formed a red circle.
"It hurts, let go of me right now," Mother raised her chin. "Your family's affairs are none of my business."
"What I told you is all true, you think I'm joking?" Lu Yongping suddenly raised his head, his voice rising eight octaves: "The first time I went to your house that year, it was the twenty-fourth of the twelfth lunar month. Snow was falling heavily, and you were in the yard pumping water, wearing a floral cotton-padded jacket, your little face rosy, your two braids swinging back and forth. Suddenly, I knew nothing more." Lu Yongping's breathing quickened, like a wronged little wife, even his broad back trembled.
I didn't understand what he meant.
"Keep your voice down." My mother turned her face away, the towel making her chin appear even smaller. Lu Yongping squatted for a while longer, seemingly waiting for her to say something more. Unfortunately, she seemed to be asleep, making no further sound. After a while, Lu Yongping sighed and stood up, supporting himself on the edge of the bed. He let out a long groan, as if a train had passed over him. Then he glanced at me, turned and sat back down on the bed, lowering his head. No one spoke again. I could hear the wind in the yard, tinkling and jingling, as if it were truly plated with silver. My mother's legs were crossed, motionless, only her lower abdomen was still rising and falling gently. Lu Yongping stared at his feet with a fascination—perhaps, who knows. I had to stop chewing. I don't know how much time passed, but Lu Yongping coughed lightly, turned around and touched my mother's thigh, calling out "Fenglan." I had never heard that voice before, smooth and tense, as if it weren't his own. Instantly, goosebumps rose all over my body. Lu Yongping had already moved upwards, grasping his mother's left breast.
It then took on various shapes. His mother clicked her tongue but didn't move. Lu Yongping, taking advantage of the situation, leaned down, slid his hand over her lower abdomen, and took her other breast into his mouth. His mother clicked her tongue again, straightened her face, and said, "What are you doing?" Lu Yongping didn't answer, but instead took one in each hand, kneaded them a few times, squeezed them together, and began to shake them rapidly. Those two rosy breasts looked like flowers withering in white waves. His mother bit her lip and said, "That's enough." Her voice was like it had been swept away by a giant wave. Lu Yongping finally stopped. He breathed heavily like an old ox, called out "Fenglan" again, and pressed his large mouth down. A series of slapping sounds filled the room, accompanied by the faint whimpering of a child. His father's slippers fell to the ground with a sharp, exaggerated sound in the quiet night. His mother finally let out a soft groan. She opened her mouth, but said nothing, turning her face away. Her feet, pressed against the foot of the bed, twitched nervously, her toes twisting. I took another bite of the fried dough. I felt that on a night like this, my cheeks should have inexhaustible strength.
Later, Lu Yongping got up and faced me. The light quickly cast his shadow across me. An indescribable fear welled up, then was crushed in all directions by the huge pounding of my heart. I glanced at the pale body on the bed, almost unable to breathe. But Lu Yongping only took off his shirt. He held up a finger, signaling me to wait a little longer, and then lay on top of my mother again. He nuzzled against her neck for a while, then moved down, finally spreading her long, white legs and burying his face between her legs. I was dumbfounded. To be honest, I had never seen such a scene even in porn. My mother had been silent throughout the whole process, but now she let out a soft moan. Lu Yongping looked up and smiled. "What are you laughing at? Either get out of the way, or hurry up and stop dawdling..." My mother raised her chin, her full lips trembling slightly, but then fell silent. That night, I leaned against the doorframe, occasionally sipping a piece of fried dough, chewing it slowly and silently before swallowing. I can't explain why, but it even gave me a sense of ritual. Similar to countless magical nights in my childhood, I would secretly get up, sit cross-legged, hoping to improve some non-existent skill. But Lu Yongping undoubtedly possessed a skill that I couldn't deny—no one could deny it. He was like a pig rooting for cabbage, making my mother first bite her lip, then let out a series of hoarse gasps. I still remember that broken and heavy sound, like walking on a bumpy path, a pool of pleasant ripples rising from the astonishment of the bumps. And there were his mother's trembling breasts—when she clenched her fists with a creaking sound and leaned forward, a thin shadow would rise, slanting into the darkness before disappearing. Perhaps to calm her breasts, Lu Yongping reached around her legs and grasped them again. At the same time, his face pressed against his crotch, arching his mother's entire lower body. So her long, white legs draped over Lu Yongping's shoulders, swaying gently amidst the dull, jarring noise beneath him. Her rounded, warm arches rubbed against Lu Yongping's sweaty back, their occasional taut curves like a flower forced to bloom. The orange light made it feel like being inside an oven, the rough, hazy light like an unyielding heat. His mother, on the other hand, was a cool, soft piece of jade, the diffused white light around her radiating a chill. Her face was turned to the side, her towel-bound hair hanging over her shoulders, damply brushing against her collarbone. I don't know how much time passed, but my mother shook her head, saying "No, no, no," while tightening her grip on Lu Yongping's head. With a long sigh, her lower abdomen twitched, and her long legs spread limply, making a dull thud on the bed. I noticed that even in autumn, people still sweat a lot. Everyone was drenched in sweat; it was unbelievable. Then I noticed my mother's underwear lying on the floor, right at my feet. It didn't gleam, but it emitted a strong, fishy smell. I lowered my head, then suddenly raised it again, a mouthful of syrup choking me, sweet enough to suffocate me.
When Lu Yongping beckoned to me, I didn't move, but silently stared at him, slowly eating the last piece of fried food. He shook his head and turned on the fluorescent light. I felt a sting and immediately took two steps back. Then he shook his head again and turned off the light. In that instant, I still glanced at my mother. Her pale, glistening body said crisply, "You're crazy, why did you turn on the light?" I glanced into the bedroom and rubbed my greasy hands on the calendar—it still seemed a little warm. Then I peed. My penis was rock hard, and it took a long time to pee. The moon was higher, and the surroundings were even quieter. When I returned, Lu Yongping was leaning against the low cabinet, his reflection in the mirror dark and blurry. My mother asked, "What's that smell? Did you eat something?" Lu Yongping looked at me but didn't answer. My mother said again, "No, my hand hurts, untie it for me quickly." Lu Yongping turned to stare at my mother but still didn't say anything. My mother called Lu Yongping's name, and he chuckled as if waking from a dream. Then he wiped his face, moved closer to my mother, and gently called out Fenglan's name. My mother kicked her legs, "You're crazy, hurry up, I still want to eat." Lu Yongping grabbed her hand and squeezed it. My mother clicked her tongue, "It really hurts, my arm feels like it's about to break." Lu Yongping touched my mother's arm again, as if he were afraid it would break. Then, he nodded to me.
The ground shook violently.
I felt every breath was so heavy. It rolled out of my nose and landed on my feet. So my steps became heavy too. I got closer and closer to my mother, and a strange smell rushed towards me with the hot air. I glanced at the bedside lamp, then at Lu Yongping. The latter was as blurry as the former. He had previously gestured for me to take off my pants before coming in, but I hadn't. Because it was improper. Now he gestured for me to take off my pants, so I did.
My penis went limp. The floor was cold. A dark shadow swept by, and Lu Yongping spread my mother's legs apart. She said, "Stop dawdling, I'm starving." I could only glance at my mother. She was like a white sheep that had fallen from the sky, startling me. I glanced out the window; the moon was like a giant drum. A sliver of moonlight slipped in, casting a soft glow on my red underwear. I bent down and picked it up. It was damp. After placing it on the bedside table, I didn't know what to do. If I could, I'd like to do a somersault. But Lu Yongping grabbed me. He frowned and clicked his tongue. A calloused hand rubbed my inner thigh for a moment before prying it open. My mother let out an "oh." I couldn't help but glance at it, and then a heavy weight pressed down on my chest. Even in the shadows, I could see it clearly. Thick pubic hair spread wildly, and two thick labia, like butterfly wings forced open, revealed glistening, bright red flesh, a sight that was both alluring and deadly. In my daze, my mother spoke. She said,
"You really are something else, the kind of thing offered as tribute. How dare you?" For a moment, I thought my mother was talking to me.
I opened my mouth, but Lu Yongping uttered only, "Oh." He was sweating profusely and moved my mother closer to the edge of the bed. Her
full, white legs rippled brilliantly in the dim light. "Hurry up," my mother grumbled, "You smell so oily, don't you find it disgusting?" I also smelled that oily, syrupy odor, churning in my stomach.
My experience with pornography was extremely limited. Before 1999, besides a pitiful few Category III films and European and American videos, I had only flipped through a few volumes of police short stories, plus a book that looked like a martial arts manual, "The Complete Guide to Couples' Moves." Sex was too distant for me; I had never even imagined that one day I would "have relations" with a woman.
That night, I stood between my mother's legs, staring at that unfamiliar yet familiar flesh, at a loss. I glanced at Lu Yongping. He was half-squatting, a huge bead of sweat quietly gathering on the tip of his nose. His entire face was buried in shadow, except for that single bead of sweat, which shimmered golden. I hoped it would fall down, but unfortunately it only grew stronger as it teetered on the brink of collapse.
Lu Yongping shifted his mother's position again, rubbing her flesh with his palm and spreading it wider. His mother shifted unhappily and sighed. A blanket with swirling patterns lay beneath her. "What's wrong?" "Hurry up." I stared at my mother's slightly parted lips and thrust my lower body forward with all my might. "What are you doing!" my mother snorted, stiffening her neck, her gaze piercing through the towel. Lu Yongping also looked up, beads of sweat trembling dangerously. I panicked and lowered my head, thrusting again. In a daze, I seemed to see a small mouth. My mother let out a soft "oh," her head falling back onto the pillow, her damp hair still swaying gently at the side of her neck. Lu Yongping withdrew his right hand, his left hand still resting on my mother's thigh. He looked up again, and that huge bead of sweat finally fell, striking the well-developed white flesh with a deafening sound. Only then did I feel myself enveloped in warmth, almost crying out. My mother nervously sprang her legs and called out, "Lu Yongping?" Lu Yongping stared at my mother and grunted. I stood frozen, my breathing becoming increasingly rapid. "You're crazy." My mother twisted her body stiffly, her full breasts jiggling. She even smiled, her lips curving into a soft arc before quickly closing again. I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I braced myself against my mother's sides, my hips thrusting along with hers. "Who?" My mother shrieked, arching her upper body, her voice immediately dropping to a low groan, "What's going on, Lu Yongping?" I felt a wet, slippery mass below me and involuntarily increased my speed. So close to my mother, I could almost see the fine hairs on her face. "Lu Yongping?" Her breasts jiggled more violently, shadows constantly being slapped away. The smooth areolas were like eyes suddenly opening, the prominent nipples staring intently at me. This irritated me, so I bent down and bit it. Soft yet hard, I couldn't help but suck on it. "Linlin?" My mother groaned, her whole body straightening. I gripped her breasts tightly, panting, my face turned to the side, but my hips didn't stop moving. The bluish veins beneath her skin magnified before my eyes, like an endless underground river.
Suddenly, my mother sighed. I had never heard that sound before—not even on the elaborate stage of a Peking Opera—it reminded me of the rapidly setting sun in an animal documentary. Then came a long creak, and my mother almost jumped off the bed. She arched her upper body, her legs flailing wildly. A gust of wind swept through the room, and I felt a cool sensation down my spine. My penis was gripped tightly, almost immobile. I had to stop.
Then my mother began to call my name softly, one after another, and then Lu Yongping. Her voice was hoarse like a millstone. I began to thrust again. The scent of flesh filled my nostrils. I stared intently at the pillow. There were two books there.
Liu Zhenyun's *A Messy Life* and Somerset Maugham's essay collection *On a Chinese Screen*. I still remember the latter; a green Great Wall crawled among the yellowish-brown mountains, horribly ugly. When I was in high school, my mother forced me to memorize several passages. At that time and place, Lu Yongping seemed to have vanished. I rubbed my mother's breasts, thrusting faster and faster. My mother didn't make a sound. I looked up at her. Half a "double happiness" character crawled on the towel, swaying slightly, almost jumping out. So I lowered my head again. I leaned down to her neck, where I could almost feel her pulse. I clearly remember the two purple marks on my mother's neck. Although I didn't know what hickeys were then, I knew they were left by Lu Yongping. I put them in my mouth and sucked hard. Waves of sparks bloomed in my head, and I thrust harder and harder. I wanted to hear the sound of flesh colliding. My mother inadvertently let out a low moan, amplified infinitely by the vibration of her vocal cords. I felt my eardrums go numb. I found the edge of the bed digging into my thigh like the back of a knife. I heard slapping sounds. There was also a creaking sound, and the whole bed shook. I was about to cry out. My mother struggled to sit up again, calling my name, then Lu Yongping. Her voice was soft, urgent, yet gentle, the last syllable even carrying a hint of wantonness. I couldn't hold back anymore. In a flash, all the magma, all the clear springs, poured out at once. My mother was limp, like a white cloud. Suddenly, Lu Yongping reappeared. He stared blankly at me.
I gasped and looked up. A towel hung halfway down my mother's cheek, revealing a red eye. Large, full tears shone like stars in a summer night sky. My mother kicked me away.
By the time I reacted, Lu Yongping was already kneeling on the ground. He said, "Don't blame me, Fenglan, I had no choice. No choice at all. That idiot Heping definitely hates me from the bottom of his heart. Why? Because I introduced that bastard Shi XX. How could he not overthink it? If word gets out about our affair, he'll fight me to the death, won't he?" I leaned against the wall, feeling a chill on my buttocks. The dim light was like a distant wildfire, hazy yet scorching. My mother seemed to have sunk to the bottom of a lake, leaving no trace of her existence. As Lu Yongping got up to unbuckle her belt, he said, "This is nothing, nobody knows. Don't overthink it, Fenglan. I promise I'll keep it to myself. Linlin is really pitiful, don't blame him." My mother snatched the belt and lashed it at Lu Yongping several times.
I could see one of her feet dangling off the edge of the bed. Lu Yongping didn't dodge. The crisp cracking sounds were like shadows falling to the ground.
Then the belt flew out and hit the glass of the wardrobe. The glistening fragments rose like bubbles, and I felt they would surface with just a little more effort. Just then, a cacophony of noise blared from the street loudspeakers. After two "hellos," a sickeningly sweet female voice sang: "I always want to confess to you, how exuberant my feelings are; I always want to tell you, how much I love life." Lu Yongping was still talking to his mother. His mother jumped off the bed and slapped him. Lu Yongping stumbled, almost falling to the ground. His mother slapped him twice more. Lu Yongping immediately knelt down, his voice hoarse: "Hit me then." His mother said softly, "Get out." It was very soft, but I still heard it.
She stood quietly, her breasts trembling slightly, water droplets already rolling down her thighs.
Only when Lu Yongping took his clothes and went into the yard did I rush out like a madman. The moon was so large it made my heart ache. I kicked him, and Lu Yongping fell to the ground. I straddled him and started hitting him wildly. But quickly, he grabbed my hand: "Keep an eye on your mother, remember? Don't let her do anything rash." In my daze, he had already turned over and started putting on his socks. He'd only put one on when he pulled it off again: "Don't be afraid, it's alright, okay?" I sat naked on the floor, my limp penis seemingly disappearing in the moonlight. Lu Yongping put on his leather shoes barefoot, then got up and put on his shirt. Then he roughly pulled me up, whispering in my ear, "Keep an eye on your mother, okay, it's alright, it's alright." His face was swollen like a bear's, gleaming alluringly in the moonlight. So I slapped him.
Lu Yongping pushed open the door with a loud bang. Only then did I remember the bicycle stuck by the door. And that wrecked Jialing still stood ghostly in the moonlight. I was soaking wet, I didn't know if it was sweat or tears. That night, the heavens seemed to have psoriasis. The sycamore trees cast a sickly, mournful shadow. Cracks appeared on the pillars of the pavilion beside me, as if they would shatter into pieces at any moment. I turned my face away; my mother's shadow was stuck on the curtain, motionless. Zhang was still singing tirelessly. A sweet feeling suddenly rushed to my throat, and I opened my mouth like a fountain.
Finally, the noise of children came from the street.
[17]
Let me say a few words.
In a year of great disaster, people are in a state of panic. It's a bit absurd to spend time and effort writing such a piece of crap. I'll write one or two more chapters and then abandon it. Thank you to that senior. I also wish everyone well.
This can be considered a complete story. As long as you are serious enough, connect the details, and apply the most basic common sense, most of the plot will be clear at a glance. Moreover, you can also have your own interpretation, as long as you can make all the details logically consistent (actually, it's wishful thinking; I doubt how many people can really notice the details). For example, Lu Yongping's changes in mentality, his different purposes at different stages, when the evil plan was conceived, and when he decided to put it into practice, including his expectations of the consequences, can all be found in the text. This requires no guessing, no speculation, and no affirmation or denial from me. Unfortunately, many friends just grasp the general outline, or even just label it and look at the result, without bothering to understand the basic plot.
And to those who think the male protagonist is cowardly, I can only say you haven't grasped the core of the mother-son relationship, which is truly regrettable. I mentioned before that the male protagonist and Feng Lan have similar personalities. Was Feng Lan's submission to Lu Yongping promiscuous? How does the male protagonist's acceptance of this make him cowardly? His identity is that of a son, not a husband. For various reasons, he can share secrets with his mother, and although he has emotions and resistance, he still understands the bigger picture. This is what makes their mother-son relationship special. Furthermore, the mother and son had a prior understanding of Feng Lan's infidelity. From their behavior at their grandfather's house after the affair was exposed, to their attitudes when their maternal grandfather brought money, all the plot developments are buried in the details, leaving me little room to write them.
As for the male protagonist's attitude towards Lu Yongping, it is certainly complex. But the main motives are resentment and jealousy. However, putting away the switchblade means he gave up the only effective way to confront Lu Yongping (why did he fail that night? Some might say it was because of cowardice). In Chapter Fifteen, the two meet in the courtyard, both speechless, yet their thoughts are vastly different. Lu Yongping was undoubtedly shocked (like a statue, unable to utter a witty remark), while Yan Lin was a mixture of surprise, unease, excitement, and anger, difficult to distinguish. Is it really okay to be so explicit, haha? Of course, you can have other interpretations.
Regarding details, I can give another example. Zhang Fengtang roared at Lu Yongping: "Have I ever interfered with your relationships with other women?" This sentence certainly has a deeper meaning (anyway, the story is going to be abandoned soon, so I'll give you a spoiler: it involves early experiences during the later stages of the Cultural Revolution and a near-love triangle), but setting aside the deeper meaning, what does this sentence mean logically? Why can't his own sister? The most likely reasons are 1) it's inappropriate for such things to happen between relatives, or 2) he cares about his sister. Regardless of the possibility, Zhang Fengtang wouldn't tell Yan Lin. There should be several such details, especially when writing about women.
Regarding why the male protagonist became a rapist, were there other options? Yes, but I've spent so much time building up to make him a rapist. The male protagonist, having returned from the pig farm, was seething with resentment. For various reasons, he couldn't vent it on Lu Yongping, and witnessing their passionate encounter only heightened his anxiety. Lu Yongping's instigation merely provided him with an excuse and an opportunity. The dream in Chapter Fifteen was a preview of his state of mind. This rapist is indeed reasonable (again, cowardly), but he's still just a child, especially with a demon residing within him. As Hume said, reason is ultimately the slave of emotion.
Regarding the tags for this story, let me be honest: this is a thoroughly Oedipus complex novel. The promiscuity or cuckoldry is simply for different people's arousal. Furthermore, it is indeed a masturbation novel. In my opinion, anything aimed at sexual stimulation is a masturbation novel—but a masturbation novel doesn't necessarily mean poorly made. Don't doubt the whole world just because the setup isn't arousing. However, I still have to say, it is a masturbation novel, but it's wrapped in the veneer of pure literature. This means that if you approach it with the eyes of a literary critic, you won't get the point of this novel at all. This isn't to say that online novels are low-end, but rather that pure literature and genre fiction are two completely different paths. If you can't grasp its "literary quality," if you can't feel the emotions in the novel, then your reading experience will be greatly diminished.
Regarding my attitude towards incest: I am, of course, vehemently opposed and cannot accept it (don't try to talk to me about ethics, sociology, or any political theory; I don't want to scare you or be boring). However, since I write erotic novels on pornographic forums and label them as incestuous, I don't need to come here to show off. As long as public order and good morals exist, incest is not a given, whether in reality or fiction. My novel contains moral principles. This is an external environment shaping the plot's plausibility; that's my point.
Finally, let's go back to the beginning. This isn't a suspense novel; there are no tricks, no deductions, and there won't be a mystery to solve (not absolutely, though; from a different perspective, it might involve some information, but it's not a mystery, more like repetition or emphasis). In short, the information is all there; how much you get is entirely up to you.
The 17th
morning turned out to be a cloudy day. A gray haze, like ink evaporating into the air. The sycamore trees were as lush as in summer, the flowers and grasses were fresh and pleasant, and even the birdsong and insect chirps sounded as melodious as ever. I gently closed the door and cautiously stepped into this early autumn morning. My parents' bedroom was dark. I listened intently, but there was no sound. This was somewhat reassuring. However, as I tiptoed towards the kitchen door and glimpsed the tightly drawn bedroom curtains, a strange unease suddenly welled up inside me. For a moment, even the pale blue red-crowned cranes that roamed in that small space seemed unfamiliar. My parents had used these curtains for a long time, almost throughout my entire childhood. Yet I had never noticed that the red-crowned cranes' beaks were so long, curved like scissors. After a long pause, I turned and lifted the bamboo curtain. The kitchen door was wide open, and in the dim morning light, a yellowish-brown enamel mug sat prominently on the red lacquered wooden table.
There was Lu Yongping's water glass, the stool in the corner, and half a fried dough stick lying on the ground—everything seemed so perfectly at ease. I don't understand why, but suddenly my eyes welled up, and I almost cried.
I had originally wanted to make myself something to eat—in fact, my stomach had been growling since the middle of the night—but when I saw the fried dough stick, I realized that even if heaven sent down a feast, I wouldn't be able to eat a thing. After washing the dishes, I leaned against the stove for a while, lost in thought. I thought that if I were a good cook, I should make breakfast for my mother. Of course, after racking my brains, I abandoned the idea out of shame. Then I went to the toilet and ran to the bathroom to wash my face. When I stood in the yard again, the sky seemed even more gloomy. The rotten Jialing cat lay comfortably on the ground.
I picked up a few balsam leaves and coughed lightly, but still couldn't hear my mother. The vomit was still there, a somewhat shocking sight. The dried-out map gleamed golden, like a carefully baked piece of crispy rice crust. I quickly cleaned it up and then slammed the door open. Just as I was about to leave, I couldn't hold back and called out "Mom!" to the red-crowned crane. No one answered. I called a few more times, but still, it was like throwing a stone into the sea. Tears welled up instantly. I abandoned my bicycle, stood at the gate for a long while, and slowly walked towards the living room. However, the living room door was locked from the inside.
I felt a chill run down my spine, as if I had been thrown into lava. Driven by survival instinct, I screamed and frantically waved my arms. The vermilion wooden door trembled and thudded loudly. Finally, the light in the window came on. No one spoke, only my heavy breathing and the groans of sweat hitting the ground.
As I rode out, I pedaled furiously, the damp air rushing past my ears. The faint shouts of old men and women could be heard from behind the village. They were not only encouraging themselves, but also trying to wake up the lazybones who were still sleeping.
They were supposedly going to run to the hydroelectric power station and back, a journey filled with the constant cacophony of monkey calls and traditional folk songs. The scary thing was, these athletic and artistic individuals practically accompanied me throughout my adolescence. At the street corner, Old Zhao's wife stopped me, asking for a ride. She was wearing an old tracksuit, making her look quite round. I frowned, not wanting to speak, but she plopped down on the back of my bike. After a few steps, Aunt Jiang tapped my back: "You little brat, you've got some nerve." I didn't bother to answer, just kept pushing forward. She asked, "Are you going to be late?" I shook my head. At the bridge west of the village, she got off and whispered, "What happened at your house just now? It was like a pig being slaughtered." My heart skipped a beat; I couldn't utter a single word. She said, "Don't be as temperamental as your dad, making your mom angry." I hopped on and rode off. Aunt Jiang was still calling out, "You didn't bring an umbrella, the forecast said it would rain!" Sure enough, before morning self-study was over, it was pouring rain. The dull murmur of students reading aloud and the refreshing sound of rain lulled me to sleep. I forced my eyes open and endured it. At breakfast, we squeezed into the corridor, the splashing raindrops occasionally catching our bowls, making the idiots blush with excitement. I managed a couple of dry laughs, but they were swallowed by the noise, even louder than the downpour. I remember thinking then that if my mother came to the cafeteria, I could simply lower my head, and even if she had sharp eyes, she wouldn't be able to spot me. Of course, that was just wishful thinking. It rained almost all day. I didn't see my mother. I forget which class it was, but I dozed off for a bit, only to be woken up by the teacher and made to stand against the blackboard all afternoon. To this day, I can't remember how I got into bed that night. I only remember the stark moonlight seeming to slice the ceiling off, and me lying there stiffly, as if I'd been there since birth. There was no sound outside the window; even Zhang seemed to have wisely kept quiet. Later, I swam in the Pinghe River, and as I floated and sank, I seemed to hear the rushing water. In a daze, it sounded like my mother was taking a bath; I could almost see the dim light in the bathroom. I sat up abruptly; the night was silent. I walked quietly to the window; the yard was dark. After hesitating for a while, I opened the door and went out. The moon had disappeared sometime earlier, its faint glow like ancient starlight. I leaned against the pavilion pillar for a long time. How I wanted to sing a song.
After evening self-study, I deliberately lagged behind, but I couldn't wait for my mother. In fact, I didn't even know if she had come to school. In the air after the rain, even the sounds of children playing seemed fresher. I rushed past them, causing them to yell and follow me. Those rough and childish croaks still echo in my ears, like splashes of water in a shallow puddle, blurry yet real. When I got home, the light was on in my parents' bedroom. I parked the bike, sweating profusely, and the yard was plunged into darkness again.
I didn't see my mother until the next morning. I remember it was during a long break, and all the ninth graders were practicing standing long jumps in the open space in front of their classrooms. The instructions for the eighth set of broadcast gymnastics echoed across the playground, becoming flat and hollow when they reached the teaching area. Despite the homeroom teacher's cold, gloomy patrol, the idiots still managed to sneak in some mischief.
I was a little absent-minded, jumping a few times before squatting down to tidy my shoelaces. One of the idiots said, "If I were you, I would have asked for leave." I said, "Why?" He said, "I have a head injury; jumping will make me explode." I said, "Your mom's the one who'll explode." He retorted without backing down, "Your mom." I jumped up abruptly, just as I clenched my fist, he raised his face:
"It really is your mom." It really was my mom. In my memory, my mother was wearing a light-colored suit, walking lightly past the flagpole. She might have glanced in my direction, or she might not. I can't say for sure. I only remember the strange silhouette she left beside the flagpole as she took her steps—the sky was an unbelievable blue, and the pale yellow scarf around my mother's neck danced in the wind like a burning flame.
It's hard to imagine what I felt during that time; perhaps I didn't even dare to touch my mother, and watching from afar was the biggest show of bravado. However, during the third break, as I came out of the restroom and passed the archway of the teaching area, I almost bumped into my mother. That's a bit of an exaggeration; perhaps we were actually quite far apart, but the sudden encounter left me somewhat bewildered. Of course, I was the one bewildered; saying I was utterly shocked and scared out of my wits would be more accurate. To this day, I remember my mother's bright eyes, reflected in the verdant locust trees beside her, like a flowing lake. It seemed to leap slightly before smoothly gliding to one side. I think I opened my mouth, perhaps actually intending to utter a few words. Unfortunately, I just stumbled past her. When I sat down in the classroom, my heart was still pounding, but everything around me steadily dimmed.
At lunchtime, I hesitated for a moment, but after being urged on by my friend, I reluctantly rushed to the student cafeteria.
I quickly got my food, grabbed a few friends, and dashed to the small garden in front of the cafeteria. I figured it was safe there. But just as I was getting into my rant, everyone abruptly stopped. At the same time, I felt a kick in the butt. Just as I was about to get angry, my aunt's voice came from behind, urgently: "Come with me!" I was momentarily stunned, my mouth full of food, and couldn't stand up. My aunt, of course, was no pushover; she grabbed my ear, and I stood up. Ignoring my disheveled appearance, she grabbed my arm and started to walk away. For a split second, I thought something had happened to my mother. This made my legs feel like noodles. But my aunt said, "I've been looking everywhere for you, why is it so hard to get you something good to eat?" She pouted and waved the lunchbox in her hand. I immediately tried to run away, but my aunt held me tightly. In front of all the teachers and students, I was too embarrassed to do anything rash. Entering the teachers' cafeteria, I clutched my lunchbox tightly, not daring to lift my head. I felt like I was about to die. But my mother wasn't there. Instead, several teachers I knew teased me about eating with my aunt again. I sat sweating profusely in a corner, my right leg trembling nervously, a faint sense of loss welling up inside me.
I remember that day my lunchbox contained crispy pork. My aunt came back with rice and forcefully shoved half of it into my bowl. I said I couldn't finish it, and she said she was on a diet. I was speechless. During the meal, my aunt suddenly stopped and stared at me for a long time. I felt a chill run down my spine and asked her what was wrong. My aunt gestured for a while and said, "You need a haircut."
Before I could even catch my breath, she asked again, "Is your head better?" I didn't answer, and she kicked me with a sly grin:
"Want some revenge?" Later, my aunt asked about my father's recent situation and whether I missed him. I then realized I had almost forgotten him. However, before my apology could dissipate, a ripple of unease quietly spread through my heart.
On the way back to the classroom, the sunlight was lazy and diffused. I finally couldn't help but ask, "Where's my mom?" My aunt scoffed, unable to suppress a laugh: "Your mom isn't my mom, how would I know if you don't even know?" That evening, as soon as school was over, I rushed to the bike shed and searched the entire teachers' area, but I couldn't find that familiar bike. I was a little lost. The old man watching the bikes was even more lost; he blew his whistle and tried to shoo me away like a chicken.
Amidst the surging crowd, I lingered outside the bike shed for quite a while. All I remember is the huge, hollow incandescent light bulb overhead, a few moths tirelessly casting mottled shadows. My mother never appeared. On the way home, the moonlight was hazy, and I remained silent amidst the laughter of the idiots. At the bend in the ring road, we unexpectedly ran into Wang Weichao. Everyone was somewhat surprised, so much so that they couldn't utter any other words besides "fuck." Wang Weichao waved them on, saying he had something to talk to me about. What could I say? I nodded. Wang Weichao offered me a cigarette, but I didn't take it, saying I'd quit.
Then Wang Weichao started talking, and sure enough, he brought up Bing Jie. What could I say? I told him to get lost. I got on my bike, turned around, and pointed at him, saying, "Don't fucking bother me, or I'll kill you." I was really too fierce.
After leaving the ring road, even the moonlight became eerie. I didn't understand what I was thinking. Suddenly, at the bridgehead west of the village, I spotted a figure ahead that looked quite familiar, and my heart started pounding. The village was filled with the barking of dogs, and a pale-haired figure in the distance was elegant and captivating. I followed slowly, inhaling the moonlight and exhaling gently. For a moment, the saplings on both sides seemed to dance in the air. But when we reached the main street, she turned a corner and disappeared. I stood there stunned for a long time, only remembering my mother hadn't had class that evening when I reached the front door. Entering the yard, I saw the light on in my parents' bedroom. After I parked the car, the light went out. There was a late-night snack in the kitchen. I remember it was a bowl of wonton noodles, covered with a glass lid, steaming hot. I stood by the stove and wolfed it down. Only after washing up and lying in bed did tears fall. They were tiny, like transparent rat droppings
.
Two days later, the new dormitory building officially opened. Almost inexplicably, I moved into the school dormitory. I remember it was a Saturday; I went straight home after school at noon. My mother wasn't home; salted rice was already cooking in the pot. I sat in the gazebo and ate my meal listlessly, then lazily picked at my toes for a while. The sunlight was beautiful, sparkling brilliantly on the dilapidated Jialing River, and suddenly I felt a pang of anxiety. Back in my room, there were several clean clothes piled on the bed, including the sweatpants I'd taken off in my parents' bedroom the night before. I collapsed weakly onto the bed, then straightened up and started making my bedding. Calling it bedding is a bit of an exaggeration; I was too lazy to rummage through drawers and cupboards, so I just grabbed two blankets, a sheet, and a thin quilt. After tying them up with a rope, I sat there blankly for a long time. I even thought that if my mother came back at that moment, she would definitely stop me. Suddenly, a dangerous yet subtle sense of happiness swelled within me; I felt utterly hopeless.
The check-in process was hasty and quick, and I spent the entire afternoon on the basketball court. I vaguely saw Bing Jie watching a game, but she disappeared after one round. I felt a little disappointed. Around 4 PM, I went home, but my mother wasn't there, so I left her a note. This kind of thing was so new to me, a bit sentimental, almost like something out of a movie. I remember having a math test that night, or maybe some other nonsense, but I only attended two evening study sessions. When we settled into the brand-new dormitory building, everyone's excitement was palpable. Amidst waves of suppressed yet resurgent chatter, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
Sunday morning was lab class. Around 9 AM, my aunt appeared at the lab door with a stern face. She was crisp and clear, but like a tigress barging in: "Yan Lin, you come out here!" Amidst the smug snickers of the other students, I nervously went out. A bicycle was parked at the bottom of the steps, with a rolled-up bedding tucked onto the back seat.
My aunt stood there, arms crossed, staring at me without saying a word. I asked what was wrong, and then guiltily lowered my head. My aunt chuckled twice, and after a long pause, finally spoke: "I'm not going to waste my breath on you. Your mother's busy, so she asked me to bring this." As she spoke, she pulled two hundred yuan from her pocket and offered it to me. I instinctively reached for it. She slapped my hand away: "You actually dare to take it?" A faint laugh echoed from the classroom, and my face almost bled. My aunt snorted, asked which floor I lived on, and then made me carry the bedding roll and lead the way. Of course, she didn't forget to tease me a few times along the way.
After I made the bed, my aunt made me sit down and launched into a tirade: "Did you have a fight with your mother?
Huh? You really made her furious, her eyes are all red—I've never seen her like this before in all these years. What bad thing did you do? You're really something, Yan Lin." Her words made my heart ache, and I forced out tears. At first, I was shy, but then I ran down the slope like a madman. Through the blurry tears, I stared at my trembling knees, my ears ringing. My aunt stopped talking, gripped my hand, and tears streamed down her face. Later, she stuffed some money into my pocket and said, "I think you shouldn't be so shameless. Just hang in there for a couple of days and go home. Your mother will definitely calm down." Before I left, she gave me an extra fifty yuan, telling me not to let my mother know. "And," my aunt pulled my ear, "don't spend it recklessly, or you'll regret it."
I didn't see my mother for the next two days. At mealtimes, I kept a close eye on the entrance to the teachers' canteen; during breaks, I sneaked onto the playground; and twice I even deliberately passed by my mother's office. But it was all to no avail; my mother seemed to have vanished into thin air. The thought startled me. After a night of contemplation, I gradually came to believe it. On Wednesday at lunchtime, my eyelids twitched violently, and the impulse within me could no longer be contained. I dropped my lunch and rushed to my mother's office. There wasn't a soul there. I waited until one o'clock before an old man came in and asked who I was looking for. I said, "Zhang Fenglan, my mother." He said "oh," but didn't say anything more. Just then, Teacher Chen arrived, looking somewhat surprised to see me. She said my mother had taken the morning off and didn't know if she had classes in the afternoon, so why hadn't she come yet? She then called my home, but no one answered. Ignoring Teacher Chen's astonished gaze, I rushed out like a madman. The school gates were locked, and the security guard wouldn't let me in. I circled around to the southeast corner of the school, where there was a small grove of trees—a must-see for Red Alert/CS enthusiasts.
I scaled the wall, taking the shortcut. It was nearly halfway through October, yet the crops showed no sign of ripening. With the howling wind, they swept across my retina, a lush green expanse. The path was rarely used, unusually soft, and several old burial mounds had turned into vast swamps. The densely packed graves on both sides emitted a dark blue wail in the midday stillness. I ran so fast that my foot slipped, and I fell hard. Entering the village, the streets were deserted, with only the occasional curious glance seeping through the blazing sunlight. I remember my breathing being heavy yet light, and the mottled cement road seemed endless.
The front door was locked. I pounded on the door a few times, called out "Mom," then realized I didn't have my keys, and collapsed onto the porch. After catching my breath, I slowly got up and went around to Grandma's yard. Mother wasn't there, of course. I searched every nook and cranny, finally sitting on the stairs for a long time. When I came out again, the sun seemed even more scorching. My mind was in turmoil, and I wondered if I should take a stroll in the street. Just then, a voice startled me. It was an old woman from the front yard, sitting under the banyan tree eating her meal. She asked me from afar why I hadn't gone to school. I hurried over.
She shoveled some rice into her mouth and then asked if I'd been rolling around in the mud. Only after she reminded me did I realize I'd been in the mud. I asked her if she'd seen my mother. She said, "I saw her this morning. She got a bottle of paraquat from my second son. I had to say your mother is capable; I was wondering how Teacher Zhang, with her physique, could possibly work in the fields." I turned and headed home. "Linlin, your grandma's back. She came back this morning. The old couple are so lucky..." She was saying something else,
but I couldn't hear her anymore. The medicine bucket lay quietly in the storage room, as if desperately trying to confirm something. I walked weakly toward my grandmother's house. Rural women often committed suicide by poisoning themselves, even though it was the most tragic and painful method. I had already witnessed two such incidents when I was 14. I'll never forget the sight of her foaming at the mouth, disheveled, rolling on the ground.
My mother was never one to throw a tantrum, but what can we say about death? At least to me then, she was practically dead. Sure enough, Grandpa was home. Seeing me, he trembled with joy. I didn't bother with pleasantries and asked him directly if he'd seen my mother. He mumbled something, finally saying no. I then asked about Grandma. He said she was playing cards at someone's house. I went out to look for Grandma, but after searching everywhere, I couldn't find her. On the way back, I stepped on an ant with every step. I felt myself sweating profusely, and this had almost exhausted all my strength.
Pushing open the door, I saw my mother. She was squatting on the ground, covered in mud, with a green medicine bucket beside her. The yard reeked of chlorophenol, a familiar smell that made me want to sneeze. My mother was still wearing those green trousers and white shirt, her pretty face flushed beneath her sun hat, a few strands of damp hair clinging to her cheeks, sweat still streaming down her face.
Seeing me enter, she looked up in surprise. I wanted to say something, but no words came out.
After a long while, I slammed my fist against the iron door, tears finally welling up in my eyes. I remember saying, "Where the hell have you been?!" I couldn't tell if it was a roar, a wail, or a sob. I only felt a burning sensation on the back of my hand, as if green apricots were sprouting from bare branches. In a daze, my mother got up and walked towards me. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, pretending not to see her. Finally, my mother touched my shoulder and stroked my head. That pale arm swept across my face like a silver river across the night sky. So I threw myself into her arms, feeling coquettish. I will probably never forget the scent of paraquat on my mother, almond-like, reaching straight to my brain. And her sobs, light and leaping, like the trembling heart of a fawn. I don't know how much time passed, but my mother patted me and said, "Your hair has gone bad."
[The End]

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