Incest that led to the death of a man on a boat on the Yellow River

The Yellow River
, its banks surging with life, stands silent, like a group of statues of Chinese farmers, silent for millennia, as the Mother River relentlessly carves away chunks of their flesh year after year. Like a wandering poet, I traveled across the mountains and rivers of China, absorbing the spirit and vitality of nature, gathering seeds of poetry and song.
After traversing much of China, I deeply felt that the landscapes of the south were too delicate, only suitable for admiring. The sound of the Li River, as moving as the folk songs of Liu Sanjie, was ultimately just that of a village girl like Liu Sanjie. When I actually sat in a small boat navigating the stormy waters of the Yellow River, amidst its mighty roar, I clearly heard countless voices shouting.
These shouts echoed from ancient times to the present day: the roar of Pangu when he created the world, the joyous song of Shennong when he harvested the first grain of rice; the work songs of Yu the Great when he controlled the floods, the lamentations of countless corpses at the foot of the Great Wall; Su Qin's alliances and Zhang Yi's counter-alliances; the songs of praise at Qin Shi Huang's coronation, the thunderclap on that stormy night in Dazexiang; Liu Bang's "The Great Wind," Cao Cao's short song; Fu Jian's lofty ambitions, the earth-shaking drums of the An Lushan Rebellion; Zong Ze's three cries as he crossed the river in grief, the trampling of the Mongol army's iron hooves; the children's rhyme "No taxes when the King of Chuang comes," and the barbaric declaration "Keep your head, lose your hair; keep your hair, lose your head." And the gunfire of the Xinhai Revolution, the bombardment of the Northern Expedition, the howls of the Japanese devils, and the howling wind and neighing horses amidst the green fields of mountains on both sides of the Yellow River
—when I sail on the Yellow River, I often feel as if I am sailing on the long river of history, going upstream. Five thousand years of songs are all accumulated in the thick silt at the bottom of the river, and the stories of joy and sorrow of this nation are roared out by the boatmen with bronze skin in the roughest voices.
This is my sixth time coming to the Yellow River. Every time, the same person is rowing the boat for me—an old boatman in his seventies, and this time is no exception. The crisscrossing wrinkles on his face remind me of Luo Zhongli's oil painting "Father," bearing the unique mark of the Chinese nation, and his rough skin tightly hugs the bulging muscles of his arms. His small boat is old and dilapidated, but it gives people a strange sense of security. Even in the raging waves, you can entrust your life to him with peace of mind. The
small boat goes against the current, the river is surging, and the mountains are magnificent. Gazing at the endless Loess Plateau on both banks, I felt as if the ancestors of the Chinese nation had transformed into this plateau, looking down upon me. A sense of awe for history and time welled up within me.
As the boat approached the gorge, the current was swift, and spray flew everywhere. The old boatman struggled to hold the oars, and the small boat, despite repeated impacts, stubbornly faced the waves, avoiding reefs and shallows, demonstrating its unwavering will to not drift with the current. The river water crashed against the side of the boat, shattering, and was blown onto my face by the wind—cool, carrying the smell of water and earth. Yellow River, Mother River, could this be the taste of mother's milk?
A long shout from Mengkeli echoed through the gloomy sky, reverberating across the river and valley:
"Go up a high mountain
—look at the plains,
see my second sister
—in the Yellow River bend
—brother longs for his sister, returning to the East Sea
—but cannot reach her."
I looked up and followed the sound. A figure in an old sheepskin coat and several goats disappeared behind a withered tree atop a cliff, but his song lingered. By then, the small boat had passed the gorge, and before me lay another wide, gentle expanse of water.
"How beautiful," I murmured.
As if hearing my words, the unknown shepherd cracked his whip sharply, and the echo reverberated throughout the land. Then, from somewhere unseen, he began to sing another song, and the old boatman rowing at the stern joined in.
This time, their lyrics were entirely in the local dialect, which I only half understood. I only felt that the melody was mournful and soaring, filled with endless sorrow. The two of us took turns, one for each leg, like two lone geese circling and wrestling in the air, battling the wind and clouds, finally flying higher and higher, farther and farther, until the shepherd's song faded into the distance, disappearing
without a trace. We traveled in silence until we were almost at our destination. The old boatman, who had been silently rowing the boat the whole time, invited me to his home. He said that old people have very accurate premonitions, and he had a premonition that when I next came to the Yellow River, he might have already left this world. And yet, I had come to the Yellow River six times, and each time he had ferried me across—it was a kind of destiny. As we parted, I stopped by his house for a drink; it would be a fitting end to our years of acquaintance
. "Seventy-three, eighty-four, even if the King of Hell doesn't call, you'll go on your own," he said calmly.
This suited me perfectly. The folk song I'd just heard blended the styles of Xintianyou and Hua'er, unlike anything I'd ever heard before. Subconsciously, I imagined myself as an ancient official collecting folk songs—a romantic profession requiring one to travel to every possible place to gather artistic treasures. But I wasn't a bee spreading pollen; I was merely a butterfly sipping its nectar, insatiably greedy.
When we reached the shore, dusk was approaching. In the distance, we saw a sparse cluster of lights—that was the village. The old boatman moored the boat in a river bend, and we jumped ashore, walking along the wet country path towards the lights. The rugged mountain path often creates a strong illusion; the lights seem to flicker right in front of you, yet you can never quite reach them. After more than half an hour, we entered the village. By then, the black sky had completely enveloped the earth. A dog, smelling strangers, barked incessantly behind a high courtyard wall, prompting all the dogs in the village to bark. Passing by the village store, the old boatman bought some wine, peanuts, and half a pound of pig's head meat, saying he wanted to have a good drink with me. Although I couldn't hold my liquor, refusing at this moment would be an insult to my host, so I reluctantly agreed, pretending to be generous.
The old boatman's house consisted of two dilapidated tile-roofed houses. The mud-brick courtyard wall had collapsed halfway through years of wind and rain, with a large pile of earth clinging to it. The yard was cluttered with various items. His wife had been dead for many years, and he had no children, but the house was kept very tidy, unlike the mess and filth of a typical bachelor's house.
The old boatman drank a ladle of cold water, beckoned me to sit on the kang (a heated brick bed), moved an old red lacquered square table onto the kang, took out bowls and chopsticks, cut up the pig's head meat, put it in two large coarse porcelain bowls along with peanuts, placed them on the table, and filled two other bowls with wine. He sat cross-legged on the kang (a heated brick bed), raised his bowl, and said, "Brother, we've known each other for so many years on this Yellow River. I know you're no ordinary man. Let's finish this bowl first, then we can talk more."
I also raised my bowl and said, "Brother, you think highly of me. If I don't drink, I'll be disrespecting you. I'll drink with you to the bitter end, even if it kills me!"
This was exactly what he wanted to hear. He gave me a thumbs up and said, "Alright, I'll drink first!"
I tilted my head back and gulped down the bowl of wine. As soon as I put the bowl to my lips, a strong smell of alcohol hit my head, making me want to vomit. I gritted my teeth and poured the wine down my throat. Instantly, it felt like a line of fire was burning my esophagus and stomach. I choked and coughed loudly. Come on, I finally finished that bowl of wine. A moment later, my whole body was flushed with excitement. I wiped away the tears and snot I had coughed up, only to see the old boatman sitting opposite me, smiling and saying, "Brother, I've been rowing this Yellow River for decades, and I've seen a lot of people. There's no such thing as someone who can't drink; it's just a matter of whether they dare to drink. Only those who have the guts to drink can be considered courageous. That bowl of wine was just to see your guts. If you didn't finish it, I wouldn't consider you a friend today. I can tell you're a real man. The rest is up to you; I won't force you."
In the blink of an eye, both bowls were filled with wine again. I ate a few bites of food, and the effects of the alcohol kicked in, making me a little dizzy. Fueled by the alcohol, I started to recount my experiences from years of wandering, the customs and traditions of different places, and my own experiences: fighting in Xinjiang, herding sheep in Inner Mongolia, swindling in Beijing, being detained in Shanghai, and even smuggling a little heroin at the border. Under the influence of alcohol, my memories were unusually clear, and those old stories from many years ago seemed vivid in my mind. The old boatman listened intently as he drank, occasionally adding a glimpse of his own experiences, which captivated me completely.
After several rounds of drinks, one bottle of wine was empty, and the old boatman unscrewed the cap of another bottle. Just then, I started reminiscing about my youth, traveling all over the country with my carpenter master. Emboldened by the alcohol, I patted the dark red lacquered square table where the food and drinks were laid out and said, "Brother, don't blame me for being honest, but you don't really have anything valuable at home. This table is quite good, though. The wood, the workmanship, the lacquer—everything is top-notch. Let me tell you, carpentry is like cooking; the simpler the work, the more skill is required. The person who made this table must have had at least a decade of experience. Even my master back then might not have been able to make one like this."
The old boatman chuckled and said, "You're right. Even the best carpenter in the world, given this piece of wood, might not be able to make one like this. Guess who made this table?"
I asked, my eyes blurry with drunkenness, "Who made it?"
"I made it."
"Keep bragging, brother. If you had that skill, would you still be here rowing a boat? You'd be rich by now."
"Don't believe me?" The old boatman took a sip of his drink and said, "I certainly don't have carpentry skills, but this table really was made by me."
"Really?" I leaned forward and said, "Tell me what you did?"
He fell silent, the smile vanishing from his face. He picked up his wine bowl and sipped it slowly. After a while, he sighed, put down the empty bowl, refilled it, picked it up again, and said, "Brother, if you really want to know, then drink this bowl of wine with me."
I vaguely sensed something unusual behind this table, so I forced myself to drink the bowl of wine, and strangely, I became much more sober. I heard him sigh, "More than fifty years... I'm practically in my grave, what else is there to hold onto? Telling you will make me feel a little better."
And so I heard the following story. The old boatman's heavy dialect made me have to retell the story in my own words. With each word I typed, my hands trembled
.
"Seventy-six years ago, I was born in a small village on the banks of the Yellow River. Of course, not here. My hometown is very, very far away, farther than you can imagine."
"My home was very close to the Yellow River, and its roaring roar was my childhood lullaby. My father was a renowned boatman, and I was his only son. In his many years of life on the brink of disaster, he had faced death more than once. He couldn't bear to let me go boating again, and wouldn't even allow me to board his boat, look at it, or touch it. Therefore, unlike most families, I didn't follow in my father's footsteps. Instead, I started working in the fields at the age of six, and by fifteen, I was already a skilled farmer."
"Fifteen is a strange age. People call young people at this age 'half-grown boys,' meaning they're practically adults. At this age, people begin to understand everything, yet they don't quite grasp it, and they're curious about everything. For example, sex, and women and men."
"The morning after my first nocturnal emission, I went to work in the fields listlessly. While resting on the edge of the field, Yin Laosi, whose field was right next to mine, came over to borrow a light for his pipe. He was three years older than me, already married, and had just had a son a few months prior. We usually got along well, so I nervously told him about the strange thing I'd noticed that morning. He laughed heartily, and then, through the rising smoke, told me everything about being a real man."
"At that moment, my shock was indescribable. I realized that the world hidden behind morality and chastity was like this. That such things, so wonderful, could make one lose their mind and all thought, existed in this world."
"I began to recall everything from my dream last night. Yes, the feeling was so exhilarating; I felt my blood rushing through my body. My penis involuntarily swelled, bulging from my crotch, stubbornly trying to burst through the coarse cloth trousers that bound it. Yin Laosi noticed my abnormality, laughed, tapped my penis shaft with his pipe, and got up and left."
"I sat alone in the field until dusk before slowly carrying my hoe home. My mother was preparing dinner and, seeing my absent-minded appearance, pressed me for an explanation. I mumbled a reply and stretched out on the kang (heated brick bed) to rest."
"My mother, on her bound feet, bustled about on the ground. It was summer, and her sweat-soaked clothes clearly outlined the contours of her full breasts, which trembled slightly with her movements. Watching her slightly plump waist and hips sway beneath her trousers, I suddenly realized for the first time that she wasn't just my mother; she was a woman. Her body suddenly possessed a powerful allure, holding my gaze for a long time." "
I remembered what my fourth brother had told me during the day, and the strange sounds I'd heard countless nights. Did she and my father do such things in the dark? I couldn't help but imagine everything that happened in the darkness."
"The answer to this question came quickly. After a hasty dinner, the poor family couldn't afford lamps, so they had to go to bed early. Three people slept on one kang (heated brick bed). I lay on the kang, tossing and turning,
unable to sleep, feeling as if I was waiting for something, yet not knowing what it was. Time passed slowly, and I began to feel drowsy, my mind a blur, slowly sinking into sleep." "Suddenly, I heard my father whisper, 'Is Baowa asleep?' I jolted awake and quickly pretended to snore."
"'Asleep, he's snoring.' It was my mother who spoke. My father said 'Oh,' and after a moment, there was a slight rustling sound in the darkness, like mice scurrying about. My father's breathing suddenly became heavy." "
'Save your energy, we still have work to do tomorrow,' my mother said to my father, and suddenly I heard her hum and breathe softly."
"I opened my eyes, and the faint moonlight shone through the window paper. I saw two blurry figures overlapping and tumbling in the darkness, casting blue shadows on the wall. I could even make out that Mother was below and Father was above, his strong arms pressing down on Mother, one hand grasping her breast, kneading something like dough. Mother's body was wrapped around Father like a snake, her legs shamelessly spread wide, exposing her fertile field to the outside sky, and Father was tilling that field, each stroke of the hoe digging deep." "
The sounds of commotion grew louder, and their breathing became more rapid. Mother couldn't help but cry out: 'Dear brother... dear man... you're making your sister feel so good... I can't live anymore... I'm going to die...'"
"Dad was panting heavily, making a noise that could have lifted the roof off. I could even clearly hear the slapping sound of flesh hitting flesh! Mom was desperately trying to hold her breath, making a crying sound in her throat, 'Ah...ah...brother...pinch me here...rub it for me...dear brother...good brother...rub your sister...ah...ah...the big stick is killing your sister...thrust...thrust it in...ah...ah...'"
"I was going crazy: This is my mother! This is my own mother! These words came from the mouth of my mother who almost never spoke to other men in the village! So slutty, so wanton, so shameless! The feeling of my blood boiling in the fields during the day returned to me, my penis jumped out of my crotch, throbbing painfully. I held it in my hand and found that it was much bigger, thicker, harder, and hotter than usual."
"Driven by some unknown force, I subconsciously stroked it a few times, and suddenly an unprecedented feeling surged from my **, like a needle shooting straight to the top of my head, violently pounding against my heart. I started moving frantically. Yes, this was the feeling from last night's dream, like a bird soaring freely in the sky, or as if I were drifting along in a river of flowing hot water. This is what I've been waiting for!"
"Father went even harder, and Mother couldn't even speak. She just groaned and cried out intermittently, kicking her legs wildly on the kang (a heated brick bed), kicking away the tattered quilt. Father rolled the quilt into a ball and placed it under Mother's waist, raising her plump, white buttocks high. He reached one hand between her legs, and Mother tried to push him away, 'No...don't touch there...it's dirty...' Father shook off her hand and stubbornly reached into that place. Suddenly, she screamed, piercing through the roof tiles and into the night sky outside, no longer caring whether I could hear her or not."
"She howled like a bitch in heat, her legs raised, feet pointing skyward, arms wrapped around her father's neck. He pounded his penis into her like a pile driver, his throat gurgling. I masturbated, my hands moving faster, feeling dizzy, like I was in a dream, yet knowing it wasn't. I wanted to stop, but my hands wouldn't obey, moving faster and faster, like a driverless cart hurtling towards a cliff, finally plunging uncontrollably off." "
The moment of collapse arrived. A massive wave of pleasure washed over me, completely engulfing me. My testicles trembled, I shuddered, and semen gushed from my body, covering the bed in a sticky mess."
"Just then, Father suddenly let out a muffled roar, and Mother cried out desperately, 'Don't pull out... wait for me...' Father tried his best to continue, and finally, not long after, Mother was done too. The two of them hugged each other, stiff. In the darkness, the sound of teeth grinding together could be heard. Slowly, they slumped down. Mother pulled the blanket from under them and covered them both tightly." "
After the climax came exhaustion. After the initial wave of excitement subsided, my mind was immersed in a deep sleep. I was weak all over, and lying in bed with my eyes closed, I realized that I had already worked up a sweat. Just as I was about to fall asleep, I suddenly heard Mother talking to Father." "
'Brother, your body is not as good as before. You work hard on the boat during the day, so we should reduce the number of nights we go to bed. Your health is the most important thing.'" "
'Hua, I'm not afraid, I'm just afraid you won't be able to hold on. Thirty is like a wolf, forty is like a tiger, fifty is like sucking the earth dry. You want it even more now than before, can I just watch you suffer?'"
"'What's a little suffering for me? You've been out there all alone, braving the wind and rain, suffering far more. We've been running around for so many years, enduring so much hardship to build this family. If something were to happen to you... how could I live? Sigh. If I hadn't insisted on you doing it so Dad would have seen, he wouldn't have died of anger...' Mother sobbed."
"'Don't cry, Hua, don't cry. It wasn't your fault, it was mine. I forced you first. Twenty years have passed, why are you still so upset? I'm a beast, a brother sleeping with his own sister, what father wouldn't be furious? More than twenty years have passed, we'll soon be meeting our parents in the afterlife. Whether you're boiled in oil or have your tongue pulled out, I'll take responsibility for you. Go to sleep, don't think about it anymore.'"
"No, I should take the blame for you. That day, I deliberately changed into nice clothes to seduce you while Mom and Dad weren't home. A sister seducing her own brother? I'm more shameless than Pan Jinlian. Brother, you must take care of yourself. When it's time to go down, I'll go first and plead with the King of Hell..." Mother's voice abruptly stopped, as if Father had covered her mouth with his hand. "
'Don't talk about this. Go to sleep. There's still a long life ahead of us. Baowa hasn't gotten married yet. If we're going to leave, we should wait until we see our grandson, okay?'
Mother didn't speak, but she probably nodded. The room quieted down, and soon Father's even snoring filled the room, interspersed with Mother's breath, rising and falling like a harmonious couple."
"I was stunned for a long time. What their conversation revealed made me recover from the shock only when it was getting light: My parents, they were actually siblings!"
"The shock of this fact was no less than when I first learned about the relationship between men and women. My parents were actually an incestuous brother and sister, and I was the product of that incest! I couldn't sleep anymore, and for the entire next day, I was like a sleepwalker. When I was working in the fields, I would stop halfway through, lean on my hoe, and stand there, thinking about everything that had happened the night before, thinking about my mother and father's words: 'The elder brother slept with his younger sister,' 'The younger sister seduced her elder brother.' " "
The next few days were like this every day. I couldn't accept this fact. My parents seemed much stranger to me. They were no longer the strict father and kind mother they used to be, but like a pair of adulterers, my mind filled with the blurry image of their naked bodies entangled together at night. Although they were no different from before, their words and actions had become indescribably strange in my eyes.
“I still went to bed early every day, but I went to bed later and later, waiting to eavesdrop on my parents’ passionate encounter again. Of course, I couldn’t hear it every day, but every time I did, I was unusually excited. The pleasure during masturbation was much stronger than usual. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s because I’m a product of incest, and I have an innate sensitivity to and identification with incestuous behavior.”
“I started paying attention to my mother’s every move. My mother’s figure was as full as any woman her age, especially her breasts and buttocks. Every tremor of her breasts and buttocks when she worked or walked gave me visual stimulation. I often had this image in my mind: my mother taking off her clothes, her snow-white flesh dazzlingly swaying her full breasts and buttocks before my eyes.”
“Soon, my mother noticed my strange behavior—due to long-term tension and lack of sleep, she was mentally confused and her face turned dark. Perhaps she had already guessed that I had overheard their lovemaking, but she didn’t know that I had heard something more secretive. She started discussing with my father about finding me a wife.”
"That autumn, after the harvest, my parents started arranging a marriage for me. The matchmaker confidently patted her chest on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), saying she'd take care of it, but finding a wife for a poor family isn't so easy! After searching all over the surrounding villages, finally, just before winter was approaching, they found a family willing to marry their daughter to them. It was from a village thirty miles away. The girl wasn't bad-looking, she was hardworking, and most importantly, she didn't ask for too much dowry. After the engagement banquet, they agreed to hold the wedding during the New Year."
"From then on, the weather grew colder day by day, the Yellow River froze, and my father couldn't go out to row the boat anymore, so he and my mother stayed home to prepare for my wedding."
"My father had been rowing boats for over twenty years, and had saved up some money, but it was still barely enough to cover the wedding expenses. He had to borrow money from all sides, sometimes traveling dozens of miles to get even a small amount. Even so, by the time the Laba Festival was over, there was still a sum of money missing, and there was no way to get it. My father was so worried that dozens of hairs turned white. He was anxious and restless about this money, running around everywhere, but he was met with setbacks everywhere he went."
"One day, he went out and didn't come back all night. My mother and I were worried sick, afraid that something had happened to him, so we didn't dare to close our eyes all night, sitting on the kang waiting for him. When he returned at dawn, he was disheveled, with dark circles under his eyes, but his face was full of joy. My mother went up to him, brushed the dust off his clothes, and asked him with concern where he had been all night. My father tremblingly took out a cloth bag from his bosom, opened it layer by layer, and when he lifted the last layer, my mother and I were suddenly struck by its beauty."
"'A silver dollar!' Mother exclaimed. Indeed, Father was holding a gleaming silver dollar in his cloth bundle. 'Father, where did you get this?' Mother asked anxiously. 'You haven't done anything heinous, have you?'"
Father proudly rewrapped the silver dollar and handed it to Mother, unable to contain his joy. He said, 'What are you thinking? Even if we're poor, we can't do anything heinous. Do you know where this money came from? I won it at Boss Qiao's place. One night, one silver dollar! One silver dollar!' Mother held the silver dollar, her hands trembling. 'Boss
Qiao was a notorious scoundrel. His house was a gambling den. Every day, many gamblers would gamble there all night long, and many would lose everything in one night. Often, people would bet their houses, land, and even their wives. I never imagined that my always honest and hardworking father would go to a gambling den, and actually win money.'"
"Mother's face didn't show much joy. After putting the money away, she said to Father, 'Father, if we really can't get any money, we can talk to them. I think they're reasonable people and won't make things too difficult for us. As for Old Master Qiao's family, we shouldn't go. What if we lose...'"
"Father waved his hand to interrupt her, saying, 'I'm sure we won't lose. We may be poor, but we can't lose face when it comes to getting a wife.' Mother wanted to say something, but Father had already gone into the inner room and lay down on the kang (heated brick bed) to sleep."
"For several nights in a row, Father would return home excitedly at dawn, exhausted, with a cloth bag in his arms carrying one or two silver dollars. His worried expression vanished, and every day he would excitedly count with Mother how many more dollars they needed, how many more days until they had enough, as if life had suddenly become incredibly wonderful. That kind of happiness was something I had never seen in the past fifteen years."
"But on the morning of the seventh day, Father returned with his lips purple from the cold. As soon as he entered the door, he rushed to the stove, squatted down, and shivered as he warmed himself by the fire. His old sheepskin coat was nowhere to be seen. Mother quickly added firewood to the stove and brought a quilt to wrap around Father. It took a long time for Father to recover."
"'Father, what's wrong? Where's your coat?' Mother asked anxiously."
"'Lost...' Father uttered these two words in frustration after drinking half a ladle of hot water, and then fell silent." "
After warming up, Father collapsed onto the kang (a heated brick bed) and slept for a whole day. Mother called him to eat, but he wouldn't. When the sun was setting, Father got up from the kang, his face grim, and stuffed two cold steamed buns into his pocket, ready to go out again. Mother stopped him at the door, 'Father, don't go. I've seen enough money. Money won from gambling won't last long. How can you win every day?'
"I also stopped Father with Mother, saying, 'Father, I'll go talk to Lan Cao's family tomorrow and ask them to give us some leeway...' Before I could finish, Father roared, 'You little brat, what do you know!' He pushed me aside and walked out the door. Mother grabbed his arm, but he threw her aside and stumbled, falling into my arms. Father left without looking back and disappeared into the vast night." "
I held my mother in my arms, her head resting on my strong chest. For the first time, I felt a man's innate protective instinct towards a woman. Although this woman was my mother, she was first and foremost a woman. This desire made me want to just hold her like this, let her lean on me, the longer the better. She didn't say a word, just stared blankly at the door, tears welling up in her eyes and spreading across her face. Finally, it was completely dark. I helped my mother into the house. She sat blankly on the kang (a heated brick bed), and no matter how I tried to persuade her, she wouldn't speak."
"For fifteen years, her brother and her husband had never been able to bear hitting her or scolding her. You can imagine how much she was hurt this time. I saw that I couldn't persuade my mother, so I wanted to go to Old Master Qiao's house and forcibly drag my father back. My mother refused to let me go, saying, 'Let your father go. He'll learn his lesson from this. If he doesn't learn his lesson, he'll never turn back. This is a good thing.'" “
That night, Dad lost two more silver dollars. When he came home, he stole the only piece of jewelry Mom had brought from her parents' home—a silver ring he had prepared for his new wife—and exchanged it for alcohol. He got completely drunk. This was the first time I had ever seen him drink. When he woke up, Dad ransacked the place, found the silver dollars Mom had hidden, and went to the casino again. Mom had hoped Dad would learn his lesson and hadn't tried to stop him, but she was wrong.”
“From then on, Dad's face grew increasingly pale when he came home each day, his eyes became increasingly bloodshot, and his temper worsened. This once poor but warm home became so unpleasant in his eyes. He became addicted to alcohol, always reeking of it. When he drank too much, he would become violent, arguing with Mom on some pretext, sometimes even hitting her. After drinking enough, he would go to the casino to gamble.”
“When Mom hid money, he would search high and low, turning the house upside down. If he couldn't find any money, he would exchange the New Year's goods they had prepared for gambling. The more he lost, the more he gambled, and the more he gambled, the more he lost, until he had lost more and more.” " My father sold off all the New Year's goods, leaving my mother and me with only a little bit of gluten soup."
"Not only the New Year's goods, but anything of value was taken by my father to exchange for alcohol and gambling stakes. The house, which was originally sparsely furnished, gradually revealed its bare walls. My wedding was naturally ruined because of this. When the bride's family returned the betrothal gifts, they left a message saying that if my father quit gambling, there was still room for negotiation within a year." "
As soon as the bride's family left, my father took the betrothal gifts to exchange for alcohol, and then plunged headlong into the casino. He lost money faster and faster, from one or at most two silver dollars a day to at least three silver dollars a day. In just a few days, he lost all the silver dollars he had saved and borrowed. Then he started to cheat everyone he could, borrowing money from them. Because of my father's previous good reputation, he could borrow money at first, but soon people knew about his gambling, and he couldn't borrow money anymore. He started stealing chickens and dogs." "
My father rarely stayed home at night anymore, and even when he did, he slept soundly. I could no longer hear the sounds of him and my mother making love. On moonlit nights, I often heard my mother sighing and sobbing softly, tossing and turning on the kang (heated brick bed), unable to fall asleep, and waking up the next day to find her eyes swollen. Sometimes, I could hear my mother's soft, rapid breathing and moans, like mice running around on the other side of the kang. I had an urge to crawl across that short distance to her side, to hold her, and comfort her. This urge was like a fire burning me, and every night I had to fight against it."
"My mother and I were plunged into immense suffering. After my father gambled away money, he took it out on my mother, often beating her for the smallest things when he was drunk, as if she weren't his wife of over ten years, but a sworn enemy with whom he had a deep-seated hatred." Shoes, cleaning rods, shovel handles… he'd grab whatever he could find, often beating my mother half to death. After the beating, she still had to cook for him. If there was no wine with the meal, she'd get another beating.
"Although I was strong, I was only fifteen, and my father had been a boatman for twenty years. I couldn't stop his fists; I could only watch helplessly as my mother suffered. Her screams during the beatings felt like knives tearing at my heart. I hated myself for not being stronger, to protect her."
"That day, I went out to borrow some rice to cook. When I came back, I saw my mother lying on the kang (heated brick bed), groaning, blood trickling from her mouth, tears streaming down her face. She'd clearly been beaten by my father. I quickly put down the rice, climbed onto the kang, and went to her side. Just as I was about to say something, she grabbed my hand tightly. She was in excruciating pain, wanting something to hold onto to ease the psychological pain. Perhaps she was unconscious, but for me, the moment our hands touched felt like a lightning strike." “
My hand trembled, and Mother groaned, ‘Let me hold your hand for a while.’ Suddenly, the woman I had been longing for day and night saw me as her support, and a sense of pride and responsibility welled up within me. I held Mother’s hands with both of mine, as if she were my entire body, cradled in my palms, protecting her tightly. The tighter I held her, the safer she felt.”
“It wasn’t until dark that Mother recovered. She released my hands and said with difficulty, ‘Baby, boil some water for me to apply to my body. My body aches so much.’”
“I responded and soon boiled a pot of water, poured it into a wooden basin, and placed it on the stove in front of the kang (a heated brick bed). Mother told me to turn my face away and took off her clothes, leaving her only in a red undergarment. When I turned around, I saw Mother’s almost naked body and her real, full breasts and buttocks, and I was stunned. When Mother saw me staring at her, she seemed to realize something, blushed, and quickly lay down on the kang, urging me to quickly apply a hot towel to her body.”
“I wet the towel, wrung it out, and applied it to the dark bruises on my mother's body. My hand accidentally touched her armpit near her breast, and she shuddered, her legs rubbing together slightly.” “
I noticed her reaction. When I changed the towel, it got cold, and I deliberately touched that spot again. She shuddered again. There were no marks there, so it couldn't be from pain. The only possibility was that her body had become unusually sensitive due to prolonged arousal. This discovery filled me with a strange excitement. When I changed the towel for the third time, I used the excuse of applying the towel to the wound and boldly untied the straps of her undergarment at the back. She tilted her head, as if she wanted to say something, but ultimately remained silent.”
“My mother's back was completely exposed before me. The smoothness and the stimulation of the opposite sex on my hands made my heart pound, and a tingling sensation ran through my chest. Her body also warmed up under my touch, and not just because of the hot towel.” I suppressed the urge to do anything further, applied a hot towel to my mother's wounds, tied her bib, cleaned her up, and then blew out the lamp and went to sleep. Neither my mother nor I slept well that night; soft, long sighs could be heard from her frequently.
"I don't know if Mother sensed my feelings, but since that day, she often asked me to apply hot compresses to her, and the time became longer and longer. From her back to her arms to her thighs. Although Mother was still being beaten, she no longer cried as much as before."
"Father's drinking and gambling addiction grew worse. Sometimes he could win some money, but more often he lost. To pay off gambling and drinking debts, Father sold almost everything in the house. By March of that year, the house was practically bare. The Yellow River had thawed, but Father showed no intention of going out to row a boat to earn money, nor did he go to the fields with me to collect fertilizer and plow the soil in preparation for spring planting. He was still struggling with gambling and drinking."
"That night, I came back from the fields and heard Mother crying as soon as I entered the yard. I knew something was wrong, so I put down my hoe and rushed into the house. I saw Father carrying a bag of cornmeal on his shoulder, about to leave, with Mother holding him back tightly, crying, 'If you sell the grain, what will we eat, brother!'"
"Upon hearing the word 'Brother,' Father's body trembled, a flood of memories rushing to his mind. He stopped in his tracks. I seized the opportunity to snatch the cornmeal from his hands, put it back, and stood beside Mother. Father's facial muscles twitched, a myriad of expressions flashing across his face in an instant. I gazed at his face: dark and thin, weary, aged, covered in wrinkles, with an unshaven beard and sunken eyes. Suddenly, I felt a vast distance between myself and this man, as if he weren't my father, but a complete stranger."
"Father stood there for a while, then suddenly stamped his foot, let out a heavy sigh, rushed to the kang (heated brick bed), grabbed the last remaining quilt, rolled it up, tucked it under his arm, and headed out. I was shocked and stopped him, saying, 'Father, if you sell the quilt, how will my mother and I sleep tonight?'"
"Father glared at me and said, 'It's not the dead of winter, what do you need a quilt for? Get out of my way!'"
"I panicked and said, 'Dad, stop gambling! Let's live a good life. You row the boat, I'll farm, and we'll take good care of Mom. Our family is already in such a state; if you keep gambling, we'll all starve.'"
"Dad got even angrier and roared, 'You damn bastard! You're always getting in my way! If I can't win, I'll beat you to death when I get back!' He charged towards the door, and I grabbed his arm to pull him back. Dad punched me in the face. I felt dizzy, and my pent-up anger exploded. I kicked Dad in the stomach. He staggered, almost falling, and threw down his blanket, cursing as he lunged at me, starting a fight."
"Mom screamed and rushed between us, trying to separate us. But a woman's strength was no match for two men who were fighting like madmen. In the chaos, Dad punched her in the chin, and she collapsed to the ground without a sound."
"I was startled and let go of my father to check on my mother's injuries. My father took the opportunity to kick me in the back, knocking me down next to my mother. He then grabbed the quilt from the floor and ran out of the house in a flash."
"I didn't have time to chase after my father. I endured the pain and carried my mother to the kang (heated brick bed), gave her a bowl of hot water, and pinched her philtrum. My father snatched the quilt away, so I had to cover her with a tattered piece of clothing. After a while, my mother let
out a soft 'hmm,' exhaled, stirred, and opened her eyes. I lifted her head, put the broken porcelain bowl to her lips, and let her drink." "My mother shook her head, pushed the bowl away, blew out the oil lamp, and in the darkness said, 'Sleep.'"
"I lay on the cold kang, the tattered mat without a mattress mercilessly absorbing every bit of warmth from my body. I thought of that cotton quilt; it emitted a musty smell, not because my mother was too lazy to wash it, but because it couldn't be washed at all—it would inevitably fall apart if it got wet. Although it was old and musty, it was still a cotton quilt."
"In the dead of night, during a sudden cold snap, I covered myself with all my clothes, huddled together, and shivered in the biting wind that seeped into the dilapidated house from all sides. I fell asleep several times, only to wake up shivering. I could even hear my teeth chattering."
"It wasn't just my teeth chattering in the room; I clearly heard it coming from the other end of the kang (heated brick bed). My mother was cold too, and couldn't sleep either. Amidst the chattering, there were also low sobs, and it wasn't just from the cold. Her cries were like cat claws tearing at my heart, making me so agitated I wanted to rip my own chest apart. I didn't want to hear her cry anymore, because then my heart would truly break. I threw off my clothes and crawled into the darkness on the other side of the kang."
"'Baowa, aren't you asleep?' My mother stopped crying when she heard the noise."
"'Mother, are you cold?' I answered irrelevantly."
"'Mother isn't cold, you should go to sleep; you have to go to the fields tomorrow.'"
“‘Mom, let me move closer to you, I'm afraid you'll catch a cold. I'm young and strong, we'll be warm if we squeeze together.’ As I spoke, I had already climbed halfway across the kang (heated brick bed), placed my pillow next to Mom's, and lay down. A warm, feminine fragrance wafted towards me. Mom moved aside, stopped sobbing, and covered me with several more layers of clothing. Her body heat seeped through the clothes and warmed me instantly. This warmth stirred my sleepiness, and I drifted off to sleep without realizing it.”
“After what seemed like an eternity, I felt something nudging and pushing against me in my arms. I suddenly awoke with a start, and when I opened my eyes, it was still pitch black all around. But the feeling in my arms became even more real. A soft, warm body was nestled in my arms, and it kept snuggling closer!”
"I suddenly realized I was on my own kang (heated brick bed), and that body must be my mother! I could tell she had covered me with all her clothes while she herself was freezing, cold and sleepy, her mind already hazy. She instinctively snuggled closer to the warm body beside her, completely forgetting that it was her son."
"My heart skipped a beat, and countless thoughts raced through my mind. Should I warn her? If so, that soft, warm body would slip from my arms. No, absolutely not. What I should do is hold her tighter. I stretched out an arm and pulled my mother's body even closer. But to my surprise, she stretched out an arm and hugged me back!"
"It was as if a stone had been thrown into still water, causing a thousand waves to surge forth. My psychological defenses crumbled instantly. My mother breathed softly in my arms, her body writhing against me like a warm, fragrant piece of jade. 'Brother, brother,' she murmured dreamily. I knew she mistook me for my father. I almost gave in, almost going along with it and consummating our relationship. But deep down, a sliver of reason seemed to be telling me I couldn't do it."
"It shouted at me: 'If you do this with your mother as your father, she will regret it when she comes to her senses. The only way to prevent her from regretting it is to make her realize that she is doing this with you! Because if she does this with you when she's sober, it means she truly loves you, her son, as a man!' Yes, I am a man too. Why should I use another man's name to bring pleasure to the woman I love?"
"I made up my mind and nudged my mother in my arms: 'Mother, Mother, wake up, it's me, Baowa. Mother, wake up.' My mother seemed to be delirious. I nudged her for a while before she gradually regained consciousness. She suddenly realized that she and her son were tightly embracing each other on the kang (heated brick bed). My mother shuddered and reached out to push me away. But my arms only tightened around her. Her warm, full body made my blood rush, and I was oblivious to the cold. My lower body quickly became erect due to the close contact with her body, pressing hard against her lower abdomen."
"My mother was somewhat panicked and tried to push away the arm I was holding her with. As she pushed me, she said, 'Baowa, let go of Mother.'"
"I pushed her hand away, put my head close to her ear, tried to even out my breathing, and said in a trembling voice, 'Mother, it's cold. I'm holding you, it's warm.'" "
My mother gasped and said, 'I'm not cold, let go.'"
“I said, ‘Mother, you’re cold, I know you’re cold. Father’s not here, you want someone to hold you to keep you warm.’ As I spoke, I slipped a hand under her clothes.”
“Mother suddenly struggled and cried out, ‘Child, I’m your mother!’”
"'My father is your brother.' I regretted saying it as soon as it left my mouth, but it was too late. Mother trembled and stopped struggling, and I stopped moving too. An unbearable silence fell over the room."
"After a long while, Mother broke the silence, asking in a trembling voice, 'Who...who told you that?'" "
'It was you,' I said. 'Mother, I overheard what you said to Father in the middle of the night.'"
"Mother fell silent again. I said, 'Mother, I know you want a man to hold you, to touch you...'"
"'Nonsense!' Mother interrupted me, about to say something more, but I preemptively said, 'Mother, stop lying to yourself. If you didn't want someone to hold you, would you secretly sigh in the middle of the night? Do you think I don't know why you always ask me to give you hot compresses?'"
"Mother was speechless for a moment, probably because I had hit the nail on the head. I continued, 'Mother, I am your son, but you've already married your own brother. Are you afraid of going through that again? Father is like that now; he beats and scolds you, he doesn't treat you like his own wife anymore. He's not the brother you had twenty years ago. Now, your son wants to cherish you, wants to love you. Can't you see that? What's the difference between being with your own brother and being with your own son? Mother, I don't want to be your son, I want to be your man. I know you want that too.' Saying this, I mustered my courage and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek."
"To my surprise, Mother didn't resist. I continued, 'Mother, didn't you say Father's health isn't good? You can't suffer like this all by yourself. You're not afraid anymore, and I can help Father share some of the burden. Mother, tell me, aren't you just deceiving yourself? You've clearly wanted it for a long time, haven't you?'"
"Mother didn't speak, but began to sob softly again. I didn't dare to make any further moves, just held her like that, and she didn't try to pull away from my embrace."
"We held each other like that for a while, when suddenly a strong wind blew in from outside, and the room became bitterly cold. Mother's body shifted, and I immediately felt her moving closer to me. I was stunned, and then I heard Mother say from inside my arms, 'Baby, Mother is cold. Mother and baby will be warmer together.'"
"It took me a few seconds to understand what she meant. A surge of joy suddenly welled up in my heart, and I was completely at a loss for what to do. Mother began to breathe heavily, and her body became hot in my arms."
"In the darkness, instinctively, I found my mother's mouth without fail. I hugged her head and tremblingly pressed my lips to hers. Her breath smelled so sweet. My lips first touched her nose, then moved downwards to find her mouth. Our four moist lips met and stuck together firmly. Her tongue, like a little snake, slipped between her teeth, wrapped around mine, and rolled around in my mouth. Saliva flowed down my throat." "
I rolled over and pinned my mother beneath me, groping with one hand to unbutton her clothes. My fingers unbuttoned her cotton-padded jacket, her undershirt, and her undershirt, leaving only her bodice. My mother took it off herself and tossed it aside."
"I lay on my mother's chest, greedily inhaling her scent, one in each hand, grasping her large, white breasts, sucking on her nipples—soft, tender—wanting to bite them off completely and chew them. I actually opened my mouth and started nibbling at her breasts, drool flowing down her chest, and my mother moaned softly." "
I got up and took off my shirt, revealing my strong muscles, and lay on top of my mother. Our flesh trembled at the touch, pressed together, as if we wanted to melt into each other's bodies. Soft against hard, smooth against rough, strong against gentle."

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Incest that led to the death of a man on a boat on the Yellow River

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