My second

The fleeting pleasure of past encounters always lingered, accompanied by feelings of regret. This constant interplay of emotions haunted my childhood.

Back then, every household was poor, and children would find ways to earn money, selling newspapers and scrap metal. I remember saving a maximum of 21 yuan, all in small bills, folded up and stored in a tin box.

I was nine years old that year, in third grade. It was the first time I'd heard of parents celebrating their children's birthdays with cream cakes. At that time, I'd never eaten a cream cake; it was a coveted luxury.

I attended this classmate's birthday party—there were only three of us. I bought a greeting card and gave it to this girl.

We three seemed to have drunk some champagne. Her father worked for the tax bureau; they were very well-off, with a TV and a sofa at home.

One of the classmates, a few years older than us, told us to go to the outer room to eat the cake first. This classmate and the birthday girl locked the door, saying they'd say a few words. We didn't believe it, so we went outside, eating cake while finding a ladder and peeking through the window. We saw the boy push her down on the sofa, her pants pulled down, revealing her small, thin figure and nothing underneath. But we laughed and found it funny.

The girl came out, her face flushed. We just laughed and happily ate our cake, saying nothing.

Later, the boy, a few years older than us, called us into the room separately, giving us our first close-up look at where the girl urinated. She covered her face while we looked.

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My second

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