I have never loved so deeply

(I) The old car

traversed continuous glaciers and high-altitude coniferous forests, with fine snow falling thick and fast. Occasionally, a car would pass by, kicking up snow and leaving tire tracks on the snow-covered ground.

Peiyun and I, enclosed in our small car, drove along the winding mountain road, heading into the silent, colorless depths of white snow and clouds. The snow-covered road was slippery, requiring extra caution. Loose snow clinging to the branches drifted down, melting instantly upon landing on the windshield. The snow obscured the road signs, forcing us to feel our way forward. On one side of the road was a mountainside, on the other a sheer cliff, below which flowed a frozen river. In this white world, there was stillness, a chilling stillness, a sense of directionlessness, and a loss of time.

At the start of the journey, Peiyun sat upright beside me, resting her chin on her hand, silent. Only when the car left the city and entered the expressway did she allow me to gently place her soft hand in mine. With one hand on the steering wheel, I carefully drove along the snowy road, determined to reach our destination before sunset: Lakeview Villa.

We'd been here several times before, always during the off-season. The receptionists all recognized us; only we chose to visit this summer resort in the snowy winter.

"Sir, Madam, welcome back again." A warm smile bloomed behind the counter.

I smiled back, but Peiyun looked around, pretending not to hear.

"Honey, welcome!" I pulled her stiff body into my arms, speaking affectionately to her in front of the receptionist. She reluctantly nodded. At the same time, she gave me a wink, pulled me aside, and said in a soft voice, almost a whisper, but with a firm tone, "What are you doing? Don't you think I feel guilty enough?"

"I'm sorry, I just wanted you to be more natural and relaxed. This isn't our first time here; everyone knows us!"

Actually, we came here precisely because we didn't want anyone to recognize us. However, over time, we became regulars, and with the conveniences offered by these regulars, we didn't want to go anywhere else.

Our first visit here is still vivid in my mind, like it was yesterday. And all those years later, the lobby decor hasn't changed. Back then, I stood awkwardly at the counter, and she waited outside the lobby door, too afraid to accompany me to the counter to register, lest someone question our background. Our furtive expressions made it clear to everyone that we were there for an affair.

A couple with an age gap, a mismatched pair, whatever they did, would always attract attention and suspicion.

Actually, no one would question our background. Even if we were here for an affair, what business was it of theirs?

In a place like a hotel, respecting guests' privacy is essential. Everyone is a passerby, with their own story. Check-in only requires providing basic information; it's not that anyone is interested in who is who or what their relationship is, but rather it's for police requirements.

We were another couple of lovesick fools coming and going from the hotel every day. Every couple might have an ambiguous relationship; the hotel was the place where these things happened.

The staff couldn't just call a guest's female companion "Madam"; they were professionally trained to only do so if the guest admitted it or if they had a good grasp of their information. Pei-yun's identification document indicated her husband's surname, and mine.

My Madam, don't be embarrassed, you are. You, like me, have taken another man's surname. This isn't the first time we've appeared together in this place. When will I be able to stop letting those fluctuating feelings come with me?

I gently put my arm around her shoulder, making a restrained display of affection to ease the suddenly tense atmosphere, showing it to the lady behind the counter, to confirm to her that Pei-xue was indeed my Madam, even though she was borrowed. The fact that

she was willing to stand openly with me in front of the counter meant she had overcome a huge psychological barrier.

"Will there come a day when we can meet without hiding it from others, without feeling guilty?" I wondered.

To be honest, we did this for the thrill. Just like eating chili peppers, if they're not spicy, they're not good.

In this season, in this place, we didn't have to worry about running into acquaintances; we could do whatever we wanted, and there was a sense of release and relaxation. The woman, being a woman, was still reserved, standing beside me watching me fill out the registration form, as if afraid I'd make a mistake that would reveal our relationship.

Her worries were unnecessary; the surnames on our ID cards proved everything. She was indeed a "lady" with the same surname as me, even though she was someone else's wife. The waiter didn't even look at it before returning our ID cards. We were already regulars.

"You want your usual place? No problem, you've made a reservation. I'll still give you the regular customer discount," the ever-smiling woman said tactfully.

We specifically requested a detached house by the lake, with a fireplace, a small bar, and a jacuzzi; the bedroom had a skylight, which, when covered by snow, became a mirror hanging on the ceiling. It was the off-season, but Pei-yun was still worried and called early in the morning to make the reservation. We had created many beautiful memories in that house, and we held a special affection for it.

Our large luggage had been delivered to our house by car while I was filling out the registration form. The waiter had arrived early and lit the fireplace for us.

Without needing the waiter's guidance, we carried our light travel bags and walked hand-in-hand along the lakeside path.

The fresh snow covered the ground, leaving our footprints deep in the slush. We had taken many detours to get here; we handled this relationship with the utmost care, like handling a fragile object, treading carefully on the path of love, not allowing the slightest mishap.

Wisps of smoke rose from the chimney of our house, and rows of icicles, crystal clear, hung from the eaves and windows. This was our temporary home. At the door, I couldn't wait to embrace and kiss Peiyun. She only allowed me a light kiss on her cheek and lips before turning her face away. Our breaths created frost on our hair, hat brims, and my glasses.

I cradled her warm, winter-like smile in my hands, and with my soft, warm lips, brushed the frost from her eyes. Fine snowflakes drifted down, landing on our shoulders. The mountains embraced the frozen lake, welcoming us, a pair of migratory birds of love, home.

The fireplace warmed our hearts. Peiyun removed her heavy snow coat, revealing her graceful figure. The door closed; no one would intrude into our world. Our world was too small; though the world was vast, the only place for us was our two hearts beating in unison.

She smoothed her hair, went to the bar, and mixed two gin martinis. I watched her focused and graceful movements as she cranked the bartender, as skilled as a professional bartender, but with an added thoughtfulness that others couldn't match. She had perfected the balance, intoxicating me even before I drank—it was that irreplaceable warmth, the comfort brewed in every smile and gesture of hers.

She opened the small freezer, picked out a lime, cut it into small pieces, placed them in a glass, added an ice cube and a plastic stirrer, then brought it over and sat beside me.

We sat around the fire, watching the sparks dance. I pulled her close, and she nestled softly against me, leaning against me.

Now, stripped of worldly trappings, we were like lovers.

Our sorrows and anxieties needed no words. Her brow relaxed, her eyes brimming with longing and adoration.

The fire burned brighter, hotter and warmer, and our passion, like moths drawn to a flame, fluttered wildly, making my winter clothes seem cumbersome.

Shedding my thick, sweaty clothes, I exposed my broad chest, proclaiming my masculine charm.

A blush rose on her face; I brushed it with the back of my hand, feeling its fiery heat. She turned her head away, and then, like a little girl, buried her face in my chest. I never thought that a mature woman showing such girlish shyness to the man she loves was affected or pretentious. A woman's nature is gentle, and this is not a derogatory term. Gentleness can overcome strength! Love can make a strong mother revert to her childlike nature, demanding the tenderness and care she deserves.

I reached into her collar, feeling her warm body, and massaged her smooth neck, where a woman's sweet fragrance wafted. I inhaled deeply, pulling her close, wanting to inhale her scent.

Every time we made love, this scent lingered on my body. With my eyes closed, I could recognize Peiyun by this aroma, feel her presence. Before, this scent was called motherly love; now, it is my love.

Separation is the price of love, and we will compensate each other with the most passionate lovemaking. I'm not in a hurry to unwrap this package of love that has already been delivered to my hands. Opening her up immediately would certainly be pleasurable. However, I intend to tease her, thaw things out, and bring her body and emotions to their most excited state. Some days, she's eager for love; she'll tell me she wants it.

We've loved each other so deeply, to this point, that her body and soul have been given to me without reservation. Therefore, although we have many opportunities to meet on other days, due to circumstances, we must interact with each other under different identities and relationships. This not only fails to alleviate our longing, but also creates long-term repression, which I cannot bear. I fear that one day, I might develop a split personality.

I don't need to immediately feast my eyes on my lover's naked body, because I will undress her and be able to see her body through her clothes. The curves of her body, the softness of her breasts, and the contours of her nipples will be vividly before my eyes, and I will precisely adjust my memory so that even in separation, I can still retain the sensation of her flesh.

I suddenly have a thought to test her, to see who can suppress their desire first? That is, who misses whom more? Who needs whom more?

All along, Peiyun has been intentionally tormenting me, with a hint of seductiveness in her eyes and brows. And at her age, she deliberately reveals her curves, including the curves of her large breasts under her low-cut dress and the depth of her cleavage, swaying at the angle most advantageous for my spying. With a third person present, she immediately conceals it.

An outsider, someone completely unfamiliar with us, would see that although the mother has restrained herself, she still can't resist flirting in front of her son, her eyes and brows brimming with desire. The son, on the other hand, is very close to his mother, treating her with gentlemanly manners and taking meticulous care of me.

What would others think? Would they suspect our relationship might be unusual? But those close to us don't seem to care. Our close relationship makes it convenient for us to have an affair, like visiting relatives or traveling together.

A woman's heart is like a needle at the bottom of the sea; her intentions are like a riddle to be solved, never explicitly stated. You have to guess correctly before you can take the next step. But if you misunderstand her intentions, you're doomed. I've been guessing for a long, long time, and I think I'm starting to get a clue, but I just can't bring myself to take that step. No son would ever think of love and sex in that way. I even hated having such dirty thoughts about my mother. I went to a priest for confession and poured cold water on myself to calm my desires. But she still haunted me like a ghost, day and night, impossible to shake off, until I could follow my instincts and let my impulses take over, and we finally found ourselves on the same path.

Peiyun, unable to bear the heat of the stove any longer, wiped a layer of sweat from her forehead, sat up, and lifted her sweater to reveal a section of her long-lost snow-white skin and her delicate, rounded wrists before me. A woman doesn't need to show all three points to be alluring, so of course I would be a gentleman and help her undress. Her arms, clad only in a bra, were raised without any guard, revealing her armpit hair. After I pulled off her sweater, her arms fell naturally, and the bra straps slipped down one after the other. Her hair was loose, messily covering her lips, giving her a sexy, beard-like appearance.

A deep, long cleavage, nestled between two seamless demi-cup bras, held the love I longed for. The exposed edges of most of her breasts formed a pair of misaligned brackets, one arch against the other, the other peeking out from the other end of the bra cup. Her breasts, unrestrained, pressed against the smooth silk, bursting forth. The drooping shoulder straps were undone, giving the illusion that her bra might fall off at any moment.

In truth, she was a woman of refined manners, well-mannered from a young age. You haven't seen her in a cheongsam; she was more graceful than Maggie Cheung in one in Wong Kar-wai's "In the Mood for Love." If I were a painter, I would definitely use her as a model for a painting of a lady. However, I would paint her nude, because there are no paintings of naked ladies in China; those paintings of nude women are called erotic paintings.

Peiyun stirred her martini with a plastic stick, took a small sip, and savored the taste.

I raised my glass to her, a toast and a salute.

"Peiyun, thank you. I admire your courage in acknowledging our love and accepting my love. My unrequited love has finally found its place." This was the "dialogue" I had prepared for her. I raised

my glass, opened my mouth, but couldn't find the words, and paused.

Peiyun raised her glass to clink with mine, her breasts simultaneously thrusting forward. Her bra, without straps, slipped down, revealing a faint nipple unintentionally.

"Let's drink tonight. Cheers!"

Our forearms intertwined, we tilted our heads back, and drank it all in one gulp.

We can't escape the past, and we have no tomorrow. Only today, this moment, she belongs to me, and I belong to her. In love, we are not afraid, we are not afraid to love, to love unconditionally, and we are not even afraid of what we still have—fear.

For this night, let us cherish it.

I pulled Peiyun into my arms again and kissed her passionately, which she readily accepted. I slipped my fingers into the bra cups, which almost completely pressed against her skin, exploring the soft, narrow space. The static crackled softly, igniting the flames of my desire.

(II) A Sin

When Peiyun let me kiss her lips for the first time like a lover, she exclaimed in her thick Shanghai accent,

"A sin!"

This was a sin!

The deeper my love for Peiyun, the heavier my guilt became. Because besides my wife, I also had to face someone else, Peiyun's husband, my father.

Dating my mother was extremely unusual. And I respected my father; although he wasn't good at expressing his fatherly love, he fulfilled his duties as a father. I loved him too. But to secretly flirt with and sleep with her woman behind his back—if he found out, he'd be furious. I had truly committed a heinous act!

If I were the father, I would have known long ago that the mother would have an affair, because there was never any chemistry between them, never any spark. Among their generation, this wasn't a big deal. But a lonely wife is easily stolen by a man who cares for her. He would never have imagined that his wife's "affair" was with their son.

But Peiyun wasn't like other women, living her life with or without love. She wasn't satisfied with the status quo and wanted to find life outside her stagnant marriage.

Using her son as a guinea pig to test her attractiveness seemed immoral, but it seemed to be the most convenient method for her. I was the second man closest to her. A son can be an ideal lover molded by a mother according to her own needs and demands.

Really, I was too foolish, oblivious to her constant hints. Because I dared not even think about it; I never fantasized about things beyond my reach. I can't blame her for not letting me see through her heart sooner, for making me unjustly and desperately try to escape her eyes burning with desire, as if escaping the fires of hell.

So, I found a girl who was devoted to me and married her. At the time, I had no shortage of men willing to marry me. On the wedding day, my parents came and stayed at my new home.

At the wedding banquet, my mother opened my eyes to what true beauty was; the Shanghai beauties described by Pai Hsien-yung and Eileen Chang came alive before my eyes. She wore a dark red floral brocade cheongsam with a mandarin collar, made by the most famous Shanghai tailor in Chinatown. The cheongsam had a high slit, revealing her thighs, and she wore red high heels and an embroidered shawl, attracting the attention of all the Chinese and foreign guests, stealing the spotlight even from the bride in her low-cut wedding dress. She was unusually excited, drank a lot of wine, and flitted around the room. Getting a wife should be a cause for celebration, but she didn't even glance at her daughter-in-law.

On our wedding night, in the dead of night, my bride was so tired that she fell asleep immediately. Hearing footsteps in the house, I got up to check and peeked into the living room. There sat Peixue, alone, in her bathrobe, on the sofa, holding a wine bottle and humming an old tune.

"It's late, why aren't you asleep?" I sat down beside her and noticed she was sobbing.

She didn't answer, continuing to chug the wine. I snatched the bottle from her, forbidding her to drink anymore.

"Mom, what are you doing? Drinking so much. You've already had a lot today, don't drink anymore."

She said, "Don't worry about me, go back to your wedding night!"

"Mom, are you alright?" I comforted her gently.

"I'm fine, I don't need your fake concern." She cried even harder.

"Why are you crying? Who broke your heart?" I felt it was my responsibility to comfort her, so I stretched out my arm and gently placed it on her bare shoulder, tenderly and considerately asking her what was wrong.

"Who can make me cry? It's you, only you make me cry."

"What...did I do wrong?"

"You're playing dumb."

"I really don't know."

"You've ignored me. Why are you so cold to me? I wander aimlessly all day, all for you!"

"Mom, what are you saying? You..."

"Don't you understand? Do you want me to say it out loud?"

"Mom, I..."

"You heartless stone, you don't care about me as your mother anymore." Her head rested on my shoulder, her sweet voice captivating, making me dizzy.

A strange atmosphere filled the air, my heart pounded, and I held a burning desire within me, gentle yet intense, slowly melting me. I couldn't help but reach for her, my comforting hand on her arm transforming into a hand of lust, sliding down, down, caressing the soft curves of her waist. That wasn't enough to satisfy my expanding desires. It moved further and further, inch by inch, between her soft and warm thighs… a little closer, until the place on her body that I most fantasized about was overflowing with desire like a flood. My manhood was filled with an astonishing power, standing tall and proud towards her.

"Oh my God! We shouldn't…" My mutterings didn't stop her, and I was out of control myself.

She lowered her head, silent, not stopping my unrestrained hands from roaming over her body.

"Mom, stop me! I know you will…"

"Don't call me Mom."

Her warm, soft body nestled against my chest, filled with endless grievances, as she poured out her heart to me.

She said, "You make me cry. Tonight is your happy day, but it makes me feel lonely and desolate. I need a chest to lean on, someone to tell me they love me, why doesn't anyone give me that? This is a special day. They're all asleep, just the two of us in this living room." Whatever you want to do, I'll do it, because I'm just a little woman, and sometimes I need comfort...

To this day, I still don't know where I got the audacity, or rather, the audacity of lust, to dare to flirt with my own mother like that. She unbuttoned her nightgown, revealing a deep cleavage. There, a fragrance stronger than wine wafted over. I was terrified, grabbed the bottle from her hand, tilted my head back, and gulped it down. I silently prayed to God to forgive my sins, and then went to commit that heinous crime, to consummate my marriage with my mother on my wedding night.

What a sin!

Does anyone have any sense of morality or shame?

I must admit, not long ago, in the bridal chamber, on our wedding night, the person I imagined making love with her had already melted solidly into my arms, everything unfolding before me, completely begging for my mercy.

My lips pressed against her bare arm, wandering over her most sensitive and sensual areas—her shoulder, the back of her neck, and behind her ear—until they found her warm, soft, slightly trembling lips.

She parted her lips, revealing her teeth, allowing me to find the mark of "mischief" on her warm tongue.

In a dreamlike state, she lay quietly on the sofa, trembling as she surrendered to me. My hand, guided by its touch, reached where it craved, unbuttoning her robe, and then slowly and carefully pulling off her silk panties—more fragrant and sensual than the ones my bride wore on our wedding night—down to her feet. This was a banner she had hung in my heart, something she often intentionally left in the bathroom, or unintentionally exposed, allowing me to peek, to discover, to smell her femininity.

I looked at her, and she looked at me, capturing every change in each other's eyes. We didn't look at each other's bodies, only exploring each other with our hands. I touched her smooth, sweat-drenched shoulders and back, then moved deeper into her cleft, reaching her firm, round buttocks. I sucked on her incredibly elastic breasts while kneading her inner thighs, parting her legs—she was more willing to part for me than my bride. I forged a path, unimpeded, leading straight to my destination.

When I entered her, she trembled; in her eyes, I saw my long-suppressed desire and our mutual fear. Then, she lowered her eyes, pressing her flesh against mine, her body stiffening to entwine with me, seeking her own satisfaction. In her warm, safe haven, I swelled, swelled, thrusting and penetrating deep within her, forgetting the passage of time in that swirling, sensual vortex. A

muffled moan escaped from beneath me, from the boundless darkness of the night—the cry of a woman of flesh and blood. The thought that I had made this woman, my mother, my lover filled me with dread and fear.

Peiyun's eyes and her kisses never left me. Every change in her expression during lovemaking, every glance, every movement and reaction of her body, was clearly projected onto my heart. Did she frown like this, bite her lower lip, and moan like this when she made love with my father or was giving birth?

And I couldn't even remember if my bride had experienced an orgasm with me on her first night. Even her image became blurred.

(III) Love may not be easy .

After making love with Peiyun, I was certain that I should have loved her long ago, although it was not an easy thing.

In the deepest moment of the night, my body covered Peiyun, and I sowed the seeds of love in her womb. We were not supposed to love each other, let alone become one naked like this. Once we crossed the threshold of mother and child, there was no turning back.

As dawn broke, a grave mistake was made, yet I suddenly realized who my true love was. Without her, my love was gone.

My beloved, limp beneath me, sweetly whispered, "I'll tell you, you just gave me an orgasm."

Those words captivated me; I became convinced that loving her was the purpose of my life, because if I didn't love her, no one else would.

And so, we became lovers, as if we had been in love forever. She began to tell me many things—about herself, about her love life, about her sex life. She said how much she missed me, how much she longed for my attention. Even a glance from me, or ignoring her and walking away, would fill her with turmoil and unease. What else could these be but sweet nothings? Perhaps no one but me would have ever heard my mother say these things to him.

Love is such an inexplicable thing; affection knows no age, and generation cannot extinguish it. The act

of loving and being loved occurs simultaneously, generating sexual arousal, and orgasm is the product of this chain of actions. The sexual climaxes she experienced, and the feeling of being loved, all came from me—how absurd it sounds, yet it's the truth. Her sex life with her husband was always a routine, even though they had children. But it was all so unremarkable that, over time, she came to believe that life was just like that, and this caused her to lose all hope for sex. They only had intercourse, no longer making love. Their eyes said it all.

She said I gave her hope for love. Loving her might not be easy, because she would never stop hoping for someone to have hope for; her heart would never grow old. Peiyun's love sometimes seemed like a young man's infatuation, demanding that you devote all your energy to her, especially in bed; she wanted me to give her everything.

A man's prowess, when used on a woman, requires a woman to cooperate and appreciate it. Whenever my mother compared my father and me in terms of sexual ability, I felt a sense of vanity; what my father couldn't do, I could. I became even more convinced that what I was doing was right, that only I could make my mother happy. We must constantly find more reasons to support ourselves, to convince ourselves, so that we can live on, for each other.

"You know more about lovemaking than your father; if you could be his coach, you could teach him," she said.

I almost felt like a hero, rescuing my mother from her misery. My penis immediately became erect again, inviting my clueless father to take the lead, to repay what he owed my mother in one go.

Those debts will never be repaid. From that moment on, we were mired in an incestuous relationship. During our honeymoon, we planned a trip with Peiyun. After returning from the honeymoon, I found an excuse to leave and came to this resort with Peiyun for a different kind of honeymoon.

From then on, this became our rendezvous place, leaving behind many memories. Only back in this resort, sealed off by ice and snow, could we make love freely.

These are all memories, replaying in my mind like rapidly scrolling images. I didn't notice that Peiyun's nipples were hard and swollen from my two fingers twisting them, as if they would be ripped off with another twist.

"You've been touching me here for too long, it's making me numb and sore," she reminded me, pulling me back from my reverie to her side.

"Oh, really? I'm sorry." I kissed her again.

The kiss was light, the tongue was warm, the love was intense. She returned a kiss, a kiss on her red buttocks; I knew she couldn't wait any longer.

She pulled my hand out from under her bra and placed it between her thighs; she needed caresses down there too. My erection was also in a state of extreme arousal, about to explode if I didn't let it out.

I would let Peiyun know what she could do to me down there. Because I didn't need to hold back, it would boost her confidence. She had complained about why her husband wasn't interested in her. Whose fault was it that he was so slow to react? I gave her the affirmation a woman needs, that a man younger than her can still be captivated by her.

Long-suppressed desire burned like firewood in a furnace. Peiyun made no secret of her need and longing for me, kissing my manhood incessantly. We had both been looking forward to this moment, to indulging in the pleasures of the flesh. "Love me." This was what a completely liberated Peiyun said to me, a stark contrast to the reserved, neurotic woman who had just stood before the counter. I could only stammer, because I wanted to hear more explicit words, from my mother's mouth, directly saying to me, "Fuck me! Crush me!"

She would even say such vulgar things to get the love she wanted. She was so humble in front of her son, seeking pleasure; it pitied me, how could I bear to mistreat her?

However, I still followed the fixed steps, paying attention to every detail and her feelings. I didn't want her to have sex with me in such a humiliating way. After all, the woman I was having this physical relationship with was my mother. Even though she was on top of me in my bed, I should at least treat her with some dignity.

Women constantly want men to tell them they love them. And every time she asked me to tell her I loved her, I proved it with my actions. Actually, our love can't be said, nor does it need to be! For her, loving her as a woman, telling her I love her, telling her I want to have sex with her, is actually harder to say than to do. Even she herself admits it.

Lover and mother, mother and lover—a dual identity, her nakedness before me without any concealment should absolutely not be taken for granted. In the older generation, some couples made love while clothed, feeling ashamed even to be naked in front of their spouse. When she and her father made love, were they both naked? I never asked her, but I imagine they slept in their pajamas and made love while clothed. But how could they do it while clothed? I couldn't imagine. Now, Peiyun and I are making love; she's my mother. Shouldn't I consider that she's different from other women, and leave some clothing on her?

Love has no reservations. In bed, a woman is a woman. Whether she's a mother or another woman makes no difference. Either don't do it, or do it fully and honestly, not half-heartedly.

It's just that some women are impatient, stripping naked and rushing to make love. Peiyun isn't like that; she always waits for me to undress her. Whether I strip her completely naked the moment we meet is up to me.

She could say,

"You took off my clothes!"

"You wanted to have sex with me!"

"It's all your fault!" This is the psychological defense mechanism of a mother having sex with her son. It makes her feel better psychologically, as if it lessens the guilt of betraying her husband and committing incest.

I'm happy to admit this fault; it's like taking credit for myself. I've never achieved anything significant, nor have I done anything meaningful. Putting this on my head feels like a laurel wreath, a halo.

For me, being able to unbutton every button of her clothes, to take off her clothes one by one, even the most intimate garment, to personally peel away the last thing covering her body with my own hands, is as moving as love itself.

Regarding undressing women, I wasn't particular before. After undressing women hundreds of times, it's all the same: as long as they're naked, that's enough. Where to start, how to undress—it no longer arouses my desire.

I'm talking about undressing another woman, undressing my mother. The feeling is always complex and exciting; I can't be careless. My fingertips are extra sensitive on her clothes and naked body.

Which garment would be easiest to remove from her most intimate clothing? Intuitively, I imagine it's her bra, letting her expose her breasts first, getting used to my gaze and caresses. This is a woman's first psychological hurdle. Then come the stockings and panties, and finally, only the panties covering her private parts—that's what's called the private parts, supposedly a woman's most mysterious, beautiful, and alluring place. A body with its private parts exposed is called nudity.

This logical reasoning forms a ritual before our lovemaking, like a social etiquette. Sometimes I want to test her. Now that we've made love many times, we're a straightforward couple. Will she succumb to lust and impatiently undress in front of me, like many other lovers' rendezvous?

She won't, she simply won't. I know her best. And this package of love, the joy of opening it and fully possessing it, I won't let it slip by. The whole process, including undressing her, possessing her body, and sharing sexual pleasure with her, every step is important because the gift itself is her.

But I can try something new, the thought of taking off her panties first flashes through my mind. I'll leave the bra for last, to see her wearing a bra, her bottom bare. Will she cover her genitals with her hands? Just like when I unhooked her bra first, her arms, with nowhere to go, would cross over her chest, concealing her breasts that had nowhere to be hidden. Or, I can simply pull down her panties and make love, that's also a way of making love, why not give it a try?

Actually, if a woman is willing to make love with you, why would she mind where you want to undress her, just as she wouldn't mind you undressing her, even if your mother became your woman.

Nothing more, I just want to slowly expose her naked body inch by inch. Because I don't often have the opportunity to make love with her outside in a relaxed manner. I don't have the right to enjoy her body, so I cherish every detail of making love even more. Every light kiss and every caress is etched in my memory.

(IV) The Wildness is Calling

Dusk fell outside, and the snow fell heavier. A stir of the fireplace ignited the embers, sparks flew, and the fire blazed brightly. The room was filled with the sweet scent of pine resin, the very aroma that had drawn us to this mountain fir forest, the scent that evoked our lovemaking with Pei-yun.

Sex could be different, extraordinary, just like us, single-minded, passionately and dramatically making our forbidden love, recklessly and unconditionally, until the end of time, until the seas run dry and the rocks crumble. Every lovemaking we made felt like the last lovemaking before the end of the world. Love on the rug by the fireplace, love on the windowsill overlooking the lake, love between intertwined wine glasses, love on a king-size bed.

To love Pei-yun was to give my all, to exhaust every last ounce of my energy to love her. Lovemaking with her was never dull; I could never disappoint her, and she would always satisfy me. Withdrawing from that gentle, beautiful consciousness within her, I became soft and weak, collapsing onto her. She shifted her body, freeing herself from my weight, and sat up, gathering her hair with her hands, her breasts trembling slightly. Peiyun, after making love, wore a satisfied smile, gently kissing my lips, her red nipples brushing against my face, still hard.

She got up, swinging her long legs, and walked towards the window overlooking the lake. We used to stroll along this lake, boating and fishing on it in the summer, and ice skating and enjoying the snow in the winter. She leaned against the window, displaying the beauty after making love, a beauty different from the beauty before lovemaking—exhilarating, relaxed, free, confident, and uninhibited. Her flawless buttocks faced me, my kisses etched on her neck and shoulders, and outside the window, snowflakes danced wildly in the streetlights.

Suddenly, she turned to me, a glint of an idea in her eyes, and said, "It's snowing! Go out and see! If you're a coward, don't come with me!"

Completely naked, she opened the door, called to me, and ran out. Outside, snowflakes drifted down, but Peiyun didn't falter.

I hesitated for a moment, then quickly got up, put on slippers, grabbed a blanket, and chased after her. I saw Peiyun's pointed breasts swaying with every movement of her body. In the hazy, dim light, white snowflakes fell on her dark hair and her naked body, white as jade and cream.

She thrust her breasts forward, waving her arms, offering her entire body to me without reservation. I smiled at her, and she smiled back, waving at me. Joyfully, barefoot, she shivered and panted. She danced lightly in the snow, kicking up snowflakes. Just as I was catching up with her, she bent down, scooped up the fresh snow with both hands, gathered it into a snowball, and threw it at me. I retaliated by making an even bigger snowball.

Braving the snowball onslaught, I quickly stepped forward, caught her, and held her naked, nearly frozen body tightly. She cried out and threw herself into my arms. I wrapped her in the sheet and embraced her passionately, caressing her, kissing her, drawing out her red tongue, and engaging in a tongue-and-lip battle instead of a snowball fight. Her cold yet soft flesh instantly heated up as our skin touched.

I could no longer withstand the chill that threatened to freeze us into icicles, and was about to take her back inside when she gave an innocent, silly laugh and said,

"Remember? There seems to be a hot spring behind the house. I'd like to go there and soak in it."

"The snow is so heavy, aren't you afraid of the cold?"

"A hot spring? I'm not afraid of the cold," she said.

I picked her up and carried her through the thick snow. After turning a corner, we found the natural hot spring pool where the mist rose.

The pool was only about the size of a regular bathtub, and the hot spring water gushed up from the ground, bubbling and gurgling, reaching chest height. All around was a vast expanse of white snow, and the biting wind whipped up thousands of snowflakes, which surged and rushed towards the pool, only to be melted into raindrops by the warmth of the hot spring.

Peiyun soaked in the water, her breasts above the surface, floating and sinking in the hazy snow and mist. In the vast, desolate land, only Peiyun and I, naked before each other, were immersed in the river of love. We seemed to return to the most primal place of our nature, discovering our true selves in each other's eyes—this was how it was all.

I had nothing to hide from Peiyun; I was bone of her bones, and she should hold nothing back from me; she was flesh of my flesh. In love, there was no fear, no guilt. Who else but her could share with me this utter nakedness, this intimacy?

On the deep, desolate snow, a destined rendezvous took place. At a specific juncture, mother and child had to become one, merging with heaven and earth, breaking a spell. Peiyun returned to herself, her alluring body transforming into a young doe, trembling with desire, emitting the scent of courtship, awaiting the male deer—whether son or brother—any strong enough to share her lust, to ride upon her, fulfilling the eternal law of nature. She craved the wild, untamed passion of a beast, the simple, direct, and untamed union of the forest and plains.

With my bare arms, I embraced her equally bare, supple waist. Chest to back, lips to face, legs entwined, hearts intertwined, my palms covering her breasts, gently kneading, washing away the dust of the world. Her small hands wandered to the juncture of her buttocks and my thighs, finding what she needed.

My mother's familiar hands gently caressed and teased my scrotum; my perineum immediately received the signal, obeying her call, rising again towards her upturned buttocks, thrusting deeply from behind. Snowflakes fell like snow, and Pei-yun and I clashed violently and rapidly, like wild beasts, primal and shameless.

"Fuck me, take me, completely take me!" she cried out.

She gripped my hand, biting it between her teeth, enduring the pain of the violent impact amidst pleasure.

"Woo... Oh..." She let out a long, wolf-like howl, echoing across the silent, boundless lake, resonating in my heart. This was the cry of her long-suppressed desire, a sudden outburst of her wildness, unrestrained and released. For a woman who has achieved sexual liberation, anything is possible.

Peiyun and I were determined to be together, even though propriety and morality could no longer stop our love. And we two actually became lovers, making love many times, and now, I finally encountered my mother, whom I had never met before. That fearless love, that believing love, finally awakened her wildness.

It was a cry of liberation, a declaration of her sexual climax!

This is love! It is a complete surrender in love. I have never been so moved. She was originally more persistent than me, but now, she pursues her love and happiness more freely and unrestrainedly than I have. I grasped her breasts tightly, our bodies connected, gazing up at the sky. Heaven above, may this love bear witness and offer sacrifice.

She followed me, taking my hand, as we climbed up the stone spring. The luminous female body emerging from the mist and water seemed like someone else entirely, someone I had never seen before.

Like two playful children, hand in hand, we ran back into the house. A little longer outside and we would have frozen into icicles. We stoked the fire, facing each other, still breathless. I looked at her, this newly discovered body, and I felt an even stronger attachment to her, an inability to leave her forever.

I asked her to stand, took a large bath towel, and began to dry her from head to toe. She stood motionless, letting me dry her. She seemed as delicate and alluring as a little girl, now revealing her innocent and wild side to me. Her breathing grew softer, her breasts rose and fell, her face flushed, her body radiant, her legs slightly parted, her buttocks firm and upturned like a boy's; her wet pubic hair clung to her mons pubis, dripping water and appearing sparser than usual.

She seemed a little shy as she looked at me. She walked to the mirror, carefully examined her naked body, then turned her back to the large mirror, stared at her back and buttocks, and asked in bewilderment, "Why are you looking at me like that? Haven't you seen me before? What's so interesting about me?" As she asked, she continued to search her body from front to back.

Only I in this world have this right to look at her body however I like, whether she's clothed or not. I see all her flaws. But beauty is in the eye of the beholder; imperfections are seen as perfection, and beauty in the eyes of a lover is beauty. If she's willing to be beautiful for me, I can have her wear something to suit my taste, highlighting certain aspects of her figure… It would be wonderful if I could have my way!

Actually, a son's taste is cultivated from a young age by the person most influential to him—his mother.

"You are certainly beautiful, but just now, from one angle, I caught a glimpse of an absolutely stunning figure."

"Tell me what it was!"

"I'm trying to find that angle."

I held her arms, raised them, and placed them behind her head, making her maintain this position. In this way, her breasts were high and exposed, her abdominal muscles were tucked in, and her armpit and pubic hair formed a harmonious triangle.

She grew impatient, or perhaps her hands felt heavy, and she tried to let them fall. I gestured for her not to.

"What are you doing? Haven't you looked enough! I'm hungry, aren't you? Want something to eat?"

"Wait! Just like that, don't move. You look beautiful like this! I want to give you a little something."

"What little something?" she asked.

"Don't ask, you'll find out soon enough."

I took her silk scarf, folded it several times, and blindfolded her.

"What are you doing?"

"Listen to me, don't ask, close your eyes, don't look, I'm going to give you a surprise."

I tightened the scarf around her eyes, made her stand, her arms crossed over her chest, gently supporting her breasts, waiting for something to happen. I had prepared a gift for my lover: a pair of precious little scallop nipple shields inlaid with gemstones, connected by a thin chain. A matching gauze. I don't know if it can be called underwear, because I imagine it as an ornament, something worn on the outside. That is to say, its design concept is as the only ornament to cover the lower body; worn inside underwear, it loses its function.

It consists of two small chains connecting a precious little scallop, its size certainly not enough to cover her mons pubis, or any woman's mons pubis. A string of matching gemstones hangs from the little shell, perpendicularly matching the lower end of the triangle formed by the nipple cover.

I saw these two items three years ago on our honeymoon in Hawaii, and I was delighted at first sight. I secretly bought them without telling my new wife, hiding them for Peiyun to use. I don't know why I had that thought back then; it was an extremely impractical gift, even less suitable for my mother. However, I still kept it, carrying it with me every time I met Peiyun, hoping that perhaps there would be a suitable opportunity for her to wear it.

I believed that the opportunity I had been waiting for had arrived.

I covered her nipples with the little scallop, the concave part of the shell perfectly nestling her bulging nipples. After adjusting the length of the chain attached to the scallops and fastening it behind her back, the two small shells became ornaments set on her breasts, making her exposed breasts appear even more proud and high.

As for the glove chain, its tightness had to be adjusted according to the width of her waist and the depth from her waist to her groin. The chain had no elasticity and was digging into her crotch, that is, the glove section. The small links had to be adjusted one by one so that the small shells could just cover Peiyun's pubic hair.

Peiyun's pubic hair was not very thick, and the small shells only allowed a few pubic hairs to escape. The intersection of the three curved lines of her lower body formed the visual focus. Throughout the entire process of dressing her, she stood quietly, holding her pose still, just like a mannequin in a shop window, letting me do as I pleased. I led her to the mirror. The small shell and string chains were deeply embedded between her thighs, between her buttocks and labia, hindering her movement; her jeweled bra swayed with her steps. She had to walk with her legs slightly apart than usual, and with a lighter touch, to avoid the chains and jeweled bras rubbing against her genitals and thighs, making her gait a little awkward and unnatural. But I found her graceful and incredibly sexy.

Blindfolded and wearing these small shell ornaments with three points attached, Peiyun's wildness was not restrained; instead, it seemed to liberate her body from all constraints and taboos. The Peiyun body presented before me was vibrant, alluring, and infinitely captivating, transforming into Venus born from the water, the goddess of love I worship!

I untied the blindfold, and she rubbed her eyes, seeing her most primal, instinctive beauty reflected in the mirror, and gasped in surprise. Like a woman in a wedding dress, she posed in front of the mirror, caressing her face, shoulders, breasts, and thighs, almost indulging in self-pity, even masturbation, in her reflection. Naturally beautiful, how could such a stunning body not attract admiring eyes and gentle touches?

"How is it? Do you like it?" Seeing that she seemed to appreciate her appearance, he confidently asked her.

"Thank you, I've never seen underwear made of seashells before."

"It's not underwear, it's ornaments, body ornaments, like earrings, necklaces, nipple rings, and the like."

"So, am I dressed? Should I wear panties?"

"You can't wear panties, you can't wear a bra, you can't cover it up."

"Can these things be worn as clothes?"

"The original intention is for you to wear them alone, without wearing anything else."

"Do you think I look good like this?"

"Absolutely beautiful. Come closer, let me see more clearly."

I opened my arms to her, and she leaned in, letting me shelter her entire body under my protection, receiving my gentle caresses. I felt this was our most intimate moment, I had never felt this way, loved her like this, possessed her like this. Full of confidence, taking a great risk, I whispered in her ear, "Peiyun, oh! My Peiyun..."

"What? What did you call me?" She was a little taken aback.

"Can I? Can I call you by your name, call you Pei-yun? If you'd like..."

(V) Who knows if there will be a tomorrow?

Let me call you by your name, then I can completely possess you.

If there's still a barrier between us, then this is it. But until now, I still don't dare to call her by her name, not even during sex. She lets me kiss her, lets me caress the most private parts of her body, lets me see her naked body, and makes love to her in various positions.

She tells me not to call her "Mom," that the name Pei-yun can only come from my father and her elders and peers. Why do I never dare to call her Pei-yun? Every Valentine's Day or her birthday, I send her cards with the most romantic words and pictures, even those that aren't afraid to be cheesy, and write her name on them, the most beautiful name, the name that makes me swoon. But, as soon as I see her, her name gets stuck in my throat, I can't utter it, as if I'm not worthy to call her by her name. What kind of psychological barrier is this? Is it the difference in generation?

"You finally called me that. I thought I didn't have a name," she said, burying her face in my bare chest, feeling my heart pounding.

"But only now do I dare to call you by your name."

"Why?"

"Because I wasn't sure if you liked me calling you by your name, and I wasn't sure if you belonged to me."

"I've given you everything, my whole being. What doesn't belong to you? As long as you don't call me 'Mom,' you can call me anything."

I impulsively held her tightly, as if afraid she would run away. Her body, I had indeed possessed her, naked and unreserved in my arms, and she was free to make love to me whenever she wanted. Yet, I still didn't feel she completely belonged to me. Because she shouldn't belong to me; I came into this world eighteen years later than her, and when I was born, she already belonged to a man I respected. However, she wore this bikini, like a label marking her ownership. Her body, her heart, her entire being had been given to me alone.

This woman was my woman.

I caressed her entire body, every part of her, every inch of skin not covered by the shell.

I turned her head and gave her a deep, long kiss. The kiss was too deep and long; she couldn't take it and tried to push me away, saying, "I can't breathe, you almost suffocated me."

The fire in my belly flared up again; I really wanted to make love to her right there and then. We had made love a lot and exhausted ourselves, especially after that time soaking in the hot springs on the snow. We both needed to replenish our energy, and she reminded me it was time for dinner. We had reserved a table at the restaurant.

The huge restaurant lobby was empty except for the two of us. The waiter told us we had brought a blizzard. The roads were piled high with snow, and several avalanches had blocked the roads, preventing other guests who had booked rooms or were coming for dinner from making it.

The pianist, regardless of whether there were guests, played one romantic piece after another on the Steinway grand piano. Sometimes, he would sing along, softly humming a few love songs.

I felt that everything was arranged for us, including this terrible weather. I will remember this snowstorm for the rest of my life.

I reached across the table and held Peiyun's hands, silently, foolishly staring at her. The waiter, who had been waiting for a while, smiled knowingly as he watched our affectionate gaze. "

Are you envious of us?" I wondered.

The food didn't need to be anything special; the chef's recommendations were fine. However, to celebrate our three years of love, I must personally select a bottle of fine aged wine from the cellar—it must be mellow enough to be worthy of my beauty.

The large fireplace in the dining room had just been lit, carrying the scent of pine resin, a fragrance that reminded me of the passionate lovemaking with Pei-yun. She occasionally lowered her hand under the table, tugging at the chain beneath her skirt, adjusting the shell and chain that had shifted with her changing position. I must have fastened it too tightly, constricting her lower body; I should loosen it for her. I imagined making love with her, without unfastening the chain—how could I do it?

There were shells in front, but I could enter from behind. This was her favorite position because I could penetrate very, very deeply.

Her seemingly ticklish gesture was truly unrefined, but no one saw; there were only the two of us guests. The pianist bowed his head, playing and singing. Only I saw her, and I didn't think she was being disrespectful; a lover can accept his lover doing the most private things in front of him.

I explained to her the origin and purpose of the three seashells; they weren't underwear, but ornaments, worn on the outside, not underneath. But she insisted on wearing a dress and refused to go to the restaurant naked. The restaurant was a high-class place with dress codes for its guests.

I could have simply booked the entire restaurant, and no one would have cared what she wore. Now, no guests were coming, it was practically the same as if we had booked it.

She said, "It's all your fault for this weird idea, making me so itchy down there."

"Tonight, you'll make love to me wearing these, okay?"

"You've had enough. Today, you ejaculated very deeply and powerfully several times; you might have gotten me pregnant."

"Am I really that good? Is this how women know if someone is pregnant?" Lost in my own world, I moved closer to her, knelt down, and touched her belly.

"It's a woman's sixth sense, very accurate."

Under the tablecloth, I saw her sitting with her legs spread. Her thighs, shapely and long, were spread wide, revealing a deep, unfathomable tunnel beneath her skirt, at the end of which lay a small scallop retrieved from the deep sea.

She couldn't close or fold her legs, as this would cause the scallop, the string chain, and the gemstone pendant to rub against her labia.

I gently stroked her exposed, round knees, then closed them. She moved my hand away, spread her legs, and said, "Ugh, sit up straight, it's not good if someone sees."

"What are you afraid of? There's no one else here." The waiters all discreetly moved away.

"You're going to be a father, and you're still not serious."

"Yes, I'm going to be a father, that's great!"

"But how do you explain to your father where this child came from?"

"Go back and sleep with him right away..." I blurted out, but regretted it as soon as I finished.

"Will he believe it? He doesn't even believe it himself."

"We can't do that. I mean, this is my child. I can't call him a younger brother or sister. We can go somewhere, to Mexico, get married there, and have him..."

"I won't go to Mexico. How will we survive there?"

"There's always a way. I'm willing to do anything, even hard labor."

"I don't want to be exiled, wandering in a foreign land. And what about your wife? What about your father? Haven't you thought about them?"

"Peiyun, they're not important. Haven't you thought about it? Who do you love most? Who do you want to be with forever? Who can't you live without? Think about it, we'll have our own home, and a child, and live happily ever after..."

"..."

"Tell me!"

"I don't know."

"What will you do to our child?"

"Don't say these things anymore. Maybe you didn't get me pregnant. If I really did have a child, it's my child, and I'll find a way..."

"It's our child."

"It's mine."

Her tone became stubborn, and then she stopped talking. I didn't say anything either. The intimate, loving, and romantic atmosphere we'd cultivated all day suddenly vanished like a bursting bubble.

I was instantly bewildered…

Romance and reality can't coexist. Or perhaps, what is romance is subjective. I thought having my mother's lover pregnant with my child, and then traveling the world with her, living a carefree life, would be incredibly romantic. She, however, disagreed. I've

realized it now; Peiyun and I have no tomorrow.

Tomorrow holds too many unknowns. Peiyun might be pregnant with my child, or she might break up with me.

Tomorrow… what will become of us? What if the snowstorm blocks our path or our return?

Or perhaps there is no tomorrow at all…

The whole world is a vast expanse of white, still snowing heavily, the snow covering the earth, covering the skylight of the room.

The lights are off, the room is dark, the fireplace is dying down, and the room is filled with the smell of pine resin.

On the king-size bed, Peiyun holds me tightly, her warm, soft body pressed against me—a familiar feeling, a feeling of home. My mind is becoming hazy. Am I drunk? Or was it all a dream, a dream in which I had no idea where I was? Was I in a mountain resort? Or in Mexico? Or back home…?

I remember when we went to bed, we didn’t speak, didn’t give each other a kiss before bed, and unusually, we didn’t make love. Did I ask her for sex and she refused? Or did she want to seize the opportunity to make love more, and I rejected her out of spite? I can’t remember anymore, and it doesn’t matter.

In the next moment, in the darkness, I touched her half-naked breasts, still wearing the precious seashell nipple shield I had given her as a gift to her lover. Her eyes were closed, silent. Her waist was still so slender, bound by a delicate chain, and the small seashell covering her modesty, and the fine, smooth pubic hair that the shell couldn't conceal.

Unable to sleep, I lay half-reclined, silently watching her, pondering. What would happen if she were pregnant with my child? I had no answer.

Strangely, I seemed never to have truly looked at her before, never truly seen her face. Was it a taboo, or a self-deceptive thought, a fear that seeing her clearly would make me unable to forget her appearance, and that I would fall in love with her? A small face, white as jade, a pointed chin, broad eyebrows, clear eyes, cherry lips—the very image of a beauty from a painting. In my memory, my mother always looked like this, never aging. I want to remember her beautiful face, no longer young but still youthful, so that my lover will always be beautiful and never grow old.

How could she be my mother? How could she be my lover? What does it matter

if loving someone means they age early because they were born early, and the duration of love is short? As long as the heart remains young, the difference in age and generation will not cast a shadow on love, and will even make many love stories sensational.

I promised her that one day when she is old, I will catch up and grow old in a terrible way. Although we cannot be young together, like some childhood sweethearts, we can grow old together.

She smiled without speaking. Was she happy, or was she thinking about something else?

"Holding your hand, growing old together." In the famous line from the Book of Songs, could the word "子" be interpreted as "son"? Will she hold her son's hand, with the son she bore for him, and grow old with him?

I gently stroked her eternally youthful face, using my tongue as a paintbrush to draw her eyebrows, lick her nose, outline her lips, and kiss her small mouth. She didn't want to open her eyes, burying her head in my chest, avoiding my touch and kisses. Her hair, recently straightened with ion, cascaded down my chest, making her look ten years younger, and even more so, complementing me perfectly.

I inhaled the fragrance of her hair, gently kissing her lips and the back of her neck, licking her most sensitive spot behind her ear again and again. Suddenly, she cried out, saying sweetly, "I'm tired. We've been making love all day, and I'm so sore all over. Even if you don't want me to, I need to sleep too. Stop bothering me."

Her hands resisted me, not allowing me to roam over her most sensitive areas. I pushed her hands away, holding them firmly, not letting her hold on. In bed, she was very cooperative, but when she wasn't, I had a way of dealing with it. I would use the blindfold to tie her wrists, raising her snow-white arms behind her head, making her breasts erect and her legs spread apart, opening herself up to me.

But she still kept her eyes half-closed, seemingly asleep. I used my tongue as a paintbrush, sketching a picture of an unclothed lady, starting with her eyebrows, slowly and gently moving to her lips, outlining them. Her tongue emerged, giving me a light taste of her unique sweetness. Then, I sketched the outline of her breasts.

The coolness of the nipple chains held my tongue, licking back and forth between her breasts and cleavage, connected by the chains. Then it slid down to her navel. She couldn't resist the ticklishness and giggled, but remained lying there lazily, letting me do as I pleased.

My tongue slid down the chain around her waist, only to be blocked by the small scallop covering her private parts. I didn't untie the chain; I wanted her to make love to me while wearing the scallop—that was what I had decided to do. I turned her over and licked down her spine, along her groin. Peiyun's buttocks, though she had given birth, were still firm, without much excess fat. Deep between the two soft mounds of flesh lay that G-string chain; I slipped my tongue inside… a wonderful fragrance filled the air!

I heard a few soft moans and soft Wu dialect.

She said, "What a sin!" and those whispered words. But what she said, I only vaguely understood.

When I was young, she spoke to me in these same tones; that should be considered my mother tongue—words I couldn't understand, but didn't need to understand, those motherly murmurs. Now, it seemed like a distant memory, yet infinitely familiar. She spoke these same accents when she talked to my father. How many years, how many times, will we whisper these secrets on our pillows?

Peiyun trembled slightly beneath me, her hips twisting, her upper body supported by my bound hands. My gun was fully loaded; I had to fire again. I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling on the chain around her waist, gently lifting her buttocks, kissing those two smooth mounds of flesh incessantly, like jeweled pendulums swinging. Her nipples blocked the way ahead, but behind her, only the G-string chain binding her anus and vulva remained. Pulling it open a little wouldn't prevent me from entering my paradise, to commit my wicked deeds.

I remembered in that deep hole, there were many sins I had committed, and perhaps an embryo yet to take shape. I believed I had never penetrated so deeply, never ejaculated so forcefully. She said that as long as the force was enough, and the ejaculation deep enough, she would become pregnant. I believed it without a doubt, vowing to ensure that my sperm reached her uterus, that she would bear my child, only then could our relationship be complete.

I finally understood that even if she was willing to sleep with me, to be naked and unrestrained in front of me without shame, even to wear a shell-shaped nipple bra, it was all superficial. Only if the seed I planted within her, inside her, bore fruit, and she carried my child, would she truly be my woman.

With each deep and shallow thrust, my hands cupped her breasts, the small shells transforming into her nipples. Her buttocks pressed against my thighs, swaying with my rhythm, her smooth back glistening with sweat, her straight hair cascading over her shoulders, the jeweled pendants clicking against the small shells, gradually increasing in speed, her breathing becoming heavy. Then, I heard our wild cries, smelled the pine resin scent.

"Love me, I want your love, deeper, deeper still."

"My Peiyun, my woman, I will always love you!"

Forgetting the frozen mountains and rivers outside, and the utterly silent world around us. At this moment, Peiyun and I are making love, intertwined as one, and this is forever, who cares about tomorrow!

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