【The Mother Who Arrives】(01) Author: kslbh

Author: kslbh
Word Count: 8331

(I)

My name is Lu Yanming. In 2010, I was 16 years old. At that time, we had just finished the transitional
baptism of the junior high school entrance examination and were preparing to strive towards the dream of youth and the hell of high school.

Fenglin Middle School in K City, my province, was a national key middle school famous for its college entrance examination pass rate.
Although it could not be said to be the best, it
was very attractive to students from an ordinary small town in the neighboring city of J. After the junior high school entrance examination, we took
the entrance examination for K City without any time to catch our breath. The original top ten students in my school seemed like a joke in the battle of elites from all over the country.
They all ended up embarrassingly and were defeated. I, who was not particularly outstanding, just tried my luck. But somehow I was lucky and
ended up at the bottom of the score line and received the only admission notice in my grade.

My family was an ordinary dual-income family. My father, Lu Mingjue, was a small director of the local power grid, and my mother,
Li Xiaoyun, was a primary school teacher in the town. Upon hearing the news, they were as stunned as I was. There were no words like, "Oh, our
son has made something of himself!" or "My son is amazing!" My simple, kind-hearted parents had never been
too demanding of me, always hoping I would grow up safely. This trip to another city for the exam was meant to give our son
more opportunities to participate with his peers, so he wouldn't have too many regrets. They never expected such an unexpected result.

"K City..." After accepting the fact, a complex
expression .

"Ah...it's good, it's good. Our child got into a good school, why aren't you happy?" My mother
nudged my father's shoulder, giving him a meaningful look.

"Ah, yes, yes, it's time to celebrate, it's time to celebrate..." My father snapped out of it, forcing a smile,
but his expression was still very awkward. He stood up, casually saying, "I'll go buy a bottle of wine to celebrate," and then went out
.

Indeed, getting into such a good school, no one had any reason to disagree; after all, for parents, their child
's future was the most important thing. Moreover, I didn't have a girlfriend throughout junior high school, so I didn't experience the pain of long-distance relationships
. Brothers, our camaraderie is something we keep in our hearts; we don't need to be glued together
like , and even if we don't see each other for a long time, we don't feel like strangers. So, I basically
viewed this with a carefree, almost smug, attitude.

However, that night at the dinner table, my father seemed preoccupied, and although my mother tried to liven things up, she
seemed somewhat awkward. I think the reason was probably because she hadn't had time to prepare for
being separated , and she was a little reluctant. Thinking about this, I also felt a little sad, but I just silently drank
my first glass of baijiu with my father, sensibly keeping quiet.

However, this sadness quickly vanished. For a 16-year-old boy,
the unknown and anticipation of the outside world, the longing for the dream of high school life, all acted like a shot of adrenaline into my
young heart. During that hot summer vacation, I spent my days playing basketball with friends, reading my favorite books and
DVDs, or wandering around the small town when I was bored—all of these were enjoyable activities, and life was leisurely and happy.
Back then , I didn't have the desire to stay in that moment forever; I only looked forward to the future arriving quickly—
that was the capital of youth.

This kind of life continued until ten days before I went to school. That night, my parents suddenly
called me from my bedroom, where I was reading, to the living room. Their faces were serious as they said they had something to tell me. Instinctively, I felt a little
uneasy seeing their serious demeanor and cautiously asked, "Dad, what is it…?"

"Yanming, there's something we've kept from you for over ten years, and I feel I have to give you an explanation today,"
my father said, looking at me intently.

"What?! What's going on here?! Dad, don't scare me…" What kind of ridiculous plot is this
?! I sat bolt upright, wondering if he was about to tell some melodramatic story.

"Actually, you…" my father slowly uttered a few words.

"Not your biological son?!" I blurted out.

My parents were stunned for a moment, then exchanged a glance and lowered their heads. Oh no, judging from their reaction,
it true. I was stunned for about five seconds, the shock of this real-life conversation was too great
. Then I quickly regained my composure and said to them seriously and concisely, "It's okay, Mom and Dad, it's not a big
deal , right? Don't overthink it. I'll always be your son, and I'll always love you, muah!"

Then it was my parents' turn to look at me with expressions as if they'd seen a monster. They probably didn't expect me to
respond so quickly and decisively, and they stared at me speechlessly for a long time.

To be honest, my values aren't exactly righteous; I've always had a wildly imaginative mind since I was little
. I've never asked my parents where they came from, but I have thought about whether I'm their
biological child and what would happen if I weren't. I probably thought about it for about 10 seconds
...

Anyway, this kind of question is nothing to me. I've never been
attached . I've always believed that the most important factor in forming a family is affection, not that
invisible DNA. Perhaps it's because I had friends who, instead of crying
their eyes out actually felt relieved.

Just when I thought I had quickly and easily solved the most important problem of my life, my father
slowly said to me, "Actually, you are my biological child..."

Huh?! Just when I thought my dad was playing a joke on me, my mother said, "But you're not my
child ..."

"Huh?!" I decided not to speak yet...

"When you were very young, I divorced your biological mother. The court ruled that you should stay with me. Then, your mother and I
remarried later," my father said. "Actually, your real mother is in K City now." My father finished speaking and
looked at me solemnly.

"Huh?!...No, Dad, why are you telling me this now?" My mind was a little muddled. "
Our family is doing just fine, why bring this up now?" Although I was starting to understand and accept
what my dad was saying, I still didn't feel anything for that woman I'd had absolutely no contact with for the past 16 years.
I was somewhat concerned, because forcing me to immediately establish a mental connection with another mother
was still beyond my capabilities. I was simply curious and had questions about the foreshadowing my father was about to reveal.

"Your mother wants to see you," my father said, "and since you're going to school in K City anyway, it
'll be good to have her looking after you."

"No, no... Dad, why is she only seeing me now? Why didn't she do it sooner?" I blurted out.

"That woman... tried to come back to see you before, but... but... I didn't let her see you!" My father suddenly
became agitated, then fell silent. My mother patted his shoulder reassuringly, also remaining silent.

"Oh, now that you mention it, some childhood memories flashed back. I remember when I was very young,
my grandfather picked me up from school one day, and my father was standing at the door with a broom, very angry, trying
to chase away a very fashionable and pretty auntie who was not far away. When I tried to peek over to see what was going on
, my grandfather covered my head and pulled me into the house, saying, 'Kidnapper! Don't look, little kid!' I was so scared that I
quickly shrank back inside.

Another time, probably even earlier, when I was two or three years old, I was playing behind the staff dormitory compound when
a particularly beautiful auntie, who smelled wonderful, came over, patted my head, and asked
me all sorts of questions, like how old I was and where I went to school. She even gave me a handful of candy. But I never really liked
candy , so when my dad suddenly appeared, and we argued and chased her away, knocking the candy out of my hand, I didn't feel any regret. I just turned around and ran off to play somewhere else. I don't remember
what she looked like or what her voice sounded like at all." So, it seems that the pretty auntie must be the same person from before. It also shows that the divorce must have been very messy. However, given my father's honest and simple nature over the past ten years, it was most likely that woman who caused the marriage to break down. "A few days ago, she somehow found my [redacted], and we spoke on the phone," my father continued. Seeing that I remained silent, head down, lost in thought, my father continued, "After all, you're grown up now. Adult grudges shouldn't always be brought up in the context of children. I'm telling you the facts; you should be the one to make the choices in your life." Grudges… to use that word, it seems the events of that year were quite significant. However, I was still quite moved by my father's words; after all, it stemmed from a man's sense of responsibility. Everyone was silent for a while, then I asked the most trivial question: "Dad, what kind of person is my mother?" My father looked up at this question, then stood up, took a deep breath, and sighed heavily. Without saying a word, he went back to his bedroom. Okay, looks like I've run into a snag... I stayed behind to continue comforting my mother, telling her not to overthink it and that our family would never change no matter what. Finally, I helped her into her room, and I sat on the empty living room sofa , staring up at the yellowish ceiling, my curiosity growing stronger. What kind of woman is she? I decided I had to find out tomorrow. Although I said I'd find out, I'm not part of the Detective Club, and my investigation would simply involve getting up early to ask my grandparents... Since we bought a new house, my parents and I moved to a school district near my mother's elementary school, while my grandparents continued living in the old power company's dormitory compound. The two of them didn't want to live with us, complaining about the high floors and not being able to find anyone to talk to. For the same reason, many families in the power company were in similar situations, so the dormitory compound now resembled a retirement home. The various fitness facilities were quite complete, and occasionally when I visited the two of them, I'd even join the other old men playing golf on the concrete ground next door. I told my family I wouldn't be home for dinner, but I didn't mention visiting the two of them. Then I bought a bunch of , and took the minibus to the dormitory compound. When I entered, only Grandma was home; she had just returned from grocery shopping and was preparing to cook. Seeing me , she exclaimed joyfully, "Oh my!" and immediately pulled Grandpa, who was playing chess, back to the house. Grandpa came back, saw me, and smiled, saying, "You're here!" Then he quickly added that he still had a game to finish and hurried back. Grandma insisted on going to buy more groceries to cook my favorite dishes, and I didn't stop her, going with her. Partly, I wanted to help her carry things, and partly, I wanted to take this opportunity to ask about the past. Along the way, I echoed her cheerful conversation, chatting about recent events at home. On the way back, carrying four pounds of fish in one hand and a large bunch of vegetables in the other, I casually mentioned to Grandma that my dad had told me something last night. Grandma's face immediately changed. "He told you everything?" "Yes..." I nodded in agreement. The old lady sighed heavily, then walked away in silence for a long time. "It's good to know now, she's all grown up," she suddenly said. I saw this as a good opportunity, so I seized the chance to ask, "What kind of person was my mother?" The old lady's face darkened. "That woman, she's too ambitious, uncontrollable. You could tell from the first glance she wasn't a long-term match, she..." Once she started talking, she couldn't stop. My grandmother was exactly that kind of person. That , so I listened carefully. After filtering out the old lady's emotionally charged words, I gathered the following information: Twenty years ago, my father was introduced to my biological mother, who was four years younger than him. She was an orphan, raised by relatives after her parents passed away. Six months after meeting, the two, who were very compatible, immediately got married. It started as a typical, clichéd blind date story, but later my biological mother decided to study in another city, pursuing an adult bachelor's degree through self-study, and her family couldn't stop her. So my father worked in J city, and my birth mother went to K city to study. They lived apart and rarely saw each other. During this time, my birth mother seemed to have met a small-time businessman in K city who had become wealthy thanks to the reform and opening-up policy, and the two appeared to have developed an ambiguous relationship. "That woman, she knows how to attract men," my grandmother muttered, pursing her lips. Later, my father seemed to discover something amiss, and the two argued for a while. However, it seemed that because there was no substantial evidence, the matter was dropped, until my birth in 1994, which brought a little over a year of peace back to the family.

However, when I was about one year old, my biological mother expressed her desire to go to K city to invest in a small business, saying she didn't want
to stay in this small town of J city forever. My father had a huge argument with her, saying, "The child is so young
, what are you trying to do by running around like this? You must still be hung up on that rich businessman!" The two argued and fought all day long, and finally my
biological mother filed for divorce, which my father readily agreed to in a fit of anger. It is said that at the time, she
had no objection to the custody of me being awarded to my father, nor did she make any demands regarding visitation rights. The day after the divorce, she packed her bags and
left , leaving with nothing. However, someone saw that she didn't go to the station or visit her parents, but
was picked up by a white Santana car, with what appeared to be a middle-aged man sitting inside.

At this point, I roughly understand the story. In short, that woman was someone who saw her child and family as a burden
at the time , saw opportunities in the outside world, but had no family responsibility whatsoever.
An image similar to Wendi Deng formed in my mind.

Ah, this does seem to be a woman who is inexplicably infuriating. However, it was pretty much what I expected. After
all , melodramatic dramas from that era all followed similar tropes, so it didn't stir up much of a reaction in me.
But deep down, a part of me still felt uneasy. After all,
she was my direct blood relative, and portraying her as a bitch felt like an insult.

Back home, I didn't mention it. Grandpa came home too, and the three of us had a pleasant
lunch. After lunch, Grandpa went out to listen to the radio and take a walk to digest, but Grandma called me back.

"Come here, I want to show you something." Seeing her beckoning, I
followed . Grandma took out a large, yellowed color photograph from the cupboard.

It was a family photo.

I recognized the two elderly people, my father, and the little child in his arms without a doubt. However,
the woman standing behind the two elderly people, leaning against my father, was completely unfamiliar to me. She
had center-parted hair, her lipstick was unusually bright, and she wore a typical 90s women's suit.
A patch of white skin was visible at the collar, but she wasn't showing her chest; only a small ruby pendant was visible. As for her overall appearance, I'd say
she had a bit of Mo Xiaoqi's resemblance. She was probably considered quite beautiful back then; after all, I
've masturbated to Mo Xiaoqi many times…

Of course I know who she is.

"What's her name?" I asked my grandmother.

"Eileen, Ai with grass radical, Lin with double wood radical."

Back home, I didn't discuss last night's topic with my parents. It felt like we all ate dinner tacitly,
watched TV, and then showered and went to bed. Just as I was about to go back to my bedroom to dry my wet hair, my father stopped
me, gave me her phone number and QQ number, and said I should have a good talk with her sometime.

I looked at the small piece of paper with two different numbers written on it in my hand, and held
my still-fashionable Nokia smartphone in my other hand, hesitating about what to do next. This old man, why
did he give me something so significant before bed…

I thought about it, and if I really went through with the whole "blood test" thing so late at night, the night definitely
wouldn't be peaceful. So I decided to open my phone's QQ first, ignoring all the flashing profile pictures (I remember
QQ flashing back then, right?), and open the friend search bar. I entered this
short number that clearly had some QQ history.

The only account that appeared in the search bar was: lindaai.

Wow, she even has an English name! My mom, whom I've never met, is pretty trendy. The profile picture was the standard one for new friends,
and there were no publicly displayed photos. However, judging from the update notifications, she
was probably still using the account normally. Looks like I'll have to add her as a friend first; my plan to peek first is ruined.

I simply sent a "hello" verification message, and as expected, nothing happened after a long wait.
This woman seems very wary. I even specially changed
my nickname ...

Oh well, I silently typed "Lu Yanming," sent it, and waited quietly for a reply.
It wouldn't be surprising if she was asleep at this point, so I didn't have high hopes. But less than half a minute after I sent the message,
the friend request was accepted. A pink dove painting-like avatar flashed.

I took a deep breath and opened the chat window.

"How old are you this year?" That was the first question. Huh? What's going on here?

"16." I answered honestly and simply.

"Your dad told you?" So that was to confirm if it was really me?

"Yeah."

Then there was a period of silence between us. We couldn't find anything to say. I guess she
didn't have the courage , and I couldn't just shout "Mom, I miss you so much!" At that moment, I felt the distance and estrangement were
so immense.

Then she sent a message: "Actually, your real name is Lu Han."

...Well, okay, whatever you two say these past few days... Just as I was about to mentally complain that my
household registration and newly issued ID card both had "Lu Yanming" written on them, she sent
another message : "I helped you choose that name back then."

I stared at this message for a long time without saying anything, my finger hovering in mid-air, unable to press it.

Then why didn't you want me in the first place?

I didn't call back; the joking mood vanished instantly, replaced by a
feeling unease. Seeing my lack of response, she called again, saying, "It's quite late tonight, you should get some rest
. Send me your phone number, I'll call you tomorrow."

"Okay," I replied, sending her my number 139, then collapsed onto
the bed , feeling inexplicably melancholic.

Finally, unable to resist my curiosity, I opened her profile, hoping to find
some details of her life on QQ.

I scrolled through her posts from recent ones to two years ago. I discovered this woman didn't like sharing details or photos of her life
; for two whole years, she only posted a few seemingly philosophical reflections, and the photos were just a few landscape shots
from Korea and Japan. There's only one photo. She's leaning against a fence by some unknown river, wearing
sunglasses and a white hat, so her face isn't clearly visible. She's
wearing a simple white spring/autumn jacket and white skinny jeans, and she's laughing heartily with her hands outstretched towards the camera—she looks exactly like a 20-year-old.
The young woman's figure and appearance...

At first, I thought she might be one of my friends, since her fully covered-up sun-protective clothing made it
impossible to tell if it was really her. But the comments section below was full of things like, "Wow, Sister Lin, you look so young!" "
Sister Lin, you're stunning!" "Sister Lin, where have you been gallivanting off to again?" "Linda, my goddess, I want to pursue you!" I was speechless. She's well-maintained, and her life seems pretty comfortable... Thinking about this, I couldn't help but feel a little envious. But knowing this kind of woman, she must have other ways to share other aspects of her life. Was she on Weibo? Or a blog? Thinking this, I opened her profile and indeed saw some items that weren't visible before adding her as a friend. Sure enough, there was a blog link! This is a sophisticated woman who subtly seeks attention—a woman who's secretly passionate! After copying the link, I clicked on it with my mobile browser. Most of the posts were reposts of strange inspirational quotes or obscure articles from certain influential figures. Fortunately, I found a few original posts with pictures and text, which I quickly opened and read. One was a travelogue about Hainan, featuring a photo of her lying on a poolside lounge chair, wearing a black printed one-piece swimsuit. Her skin was flawless, the kind of fair and delicate skin typically found in mature women. She looked at the camera, propping one leg up on the lounge chair, the muscles on her lower thigh clearly defined. She wore light makeup, looking exactly like in the photo, only more youthful and stylish. As a 38 -year-old woman, she was undeniably stunning. And this photo seemed incredibly revealing to me; perhaps it was because her skin was so good, but even her thighs and snow-white buttocks seemed unusually explicit. The sight of such smooth skin, so inviting to the touch, was incredibly alluring to men . Her eyes were slightly squinted as she faced the sun, her lips gently pouting, exuding a deliberate sexiness for the camera. For a fleeting moment, I saw the shadow of a man holding a camera in the sunlight on the ground. From the food photos below, it was clear they were for two. I had no idea who she was with , having only known her for less than a day. But what followed was a series of photos and text that truly shocked me. The title was: "Thank you, Fashion Paris, may every day be this beautiful." The photos started as high-fashion portraits, some black and white, some color. The outfits and makeup were exaggerated. It was clearly an artistic portrait taken at a very expensive fashion photography studio. Just as I was about to close the window, thinking all the photos were artistic, I was horrified by the next few pictures. The exaggerated makeup suddenly disappeared, replaced by a style that was blatantly revealing and sexy! The only constant was her fiery red lips and her slightly shy yet infatuated expression. In one photo, she lay on her side on the ground, wearing a tight-fitting corset somewhat resembling SM clothing, but her upper and lower body were completely exposed, relying solely on her snow-white thighs pressed against her and the angle of the camera to cover her private parts. Her hands were only symbolically covering her chest, letting her ample breasts spill out from her arms. The black platform shoes with red soles made the scene even more lewd. My lower body involuntarily hardened. The photos were already provocative enough, but the fact that she was actually my biological mother made me feel a sense of humiliation and inexplicable excitement. In another photo, taken from a low angle with the photographer crouching down, she was wearing only a short gray fur coat, her delicate neck and chest exposed, her nipples and areolas only lightly covered by the fur coat. Her lower body was completely naked, her legs crossed high, still wearing the same red-soled black high heels, seemingly unconcerned about exposing her genitals to the photographer. The angle of the photo was perfect, utilizing the shadow of her crossed legs to conceal her private parts. However, her entire thigh and snow-white buttocks were fully exposed! Looking into her eyes as she looked down at the camera and her slightly parted lips revealing her tongue, my mind went blank . I mechanically scrolled through the remaining pictures, desperately trying to control my hand from touching my already rock-hard penis. The remaining photos were also various revealing posed shots. Honestly, even in men's magazines like Men's Health or GQ, these photos would be considered quite explicit and revealing. Usually, only second or third-tier models would do this kind of thing to become famous. But this was a real-life beauty, completely disregarding the allure of online relationships. Looking at the almost lewd comments in the comment section, she didn't reply or delete a single one. Enough. I felt dizzy, silently turned off my phone screen, lay down, and forced myself to sleep with my eyes closed, but all I could see were images of this woman's lewd and erotic scenes. I could only control my hands from touching my genitals; I couldn't accept the thought of my mother masturbating. That night, I had a dream: a woman, naked, was lying on the bed, her gourd-shaped, snow-white buttocks raised, wearing red-soled black high-heeled platform shoes, being violently penetrated from behind . The woman cried out in pain mixed with pleasure, her snow-white, full breasts swinging wildly with each thrust, while the man behind her kept muttering, "Fuck you to death...fuck...fuck...fuck you to death, you slut." For some reason, the woman would occasionally turn her head to look at the doorway, where a little boy . And that little boy was me. And I knew that the woman whose genitals were covered in a sticky, white mess from being penetrated, the woman screaming and enjoying everything , was my mother. When I woke up the next day, my underwear was soaked with a cold, slippery liquid. I had no desire to deal with it and just stared blankly at the ceiling. I knew that something inside me had broken down. Just as I was feeling lost and helpless, my phone rang with that familiar ringtone. But the number displayed was the one I had just saved yesterday, a number that was still unfamiliar. "Hello," I said, picking up the phone. Little did I know that the woman I was about to speak with would become a vivid and indelible mark on my dark adolescence, and the source of my debauchery that led me astray from my normal life.

【to be continued】

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