My head was throbbing so intensely it felt like it might split open. Even the slightest movement sent sharp pains radiating through my skull. A cool towel was draped over my forehead.
Mom was tidying up my bedroom, and as I watched her, I found it hard to believe that the woman who had been passionately taken by Da Guo in the warehouse last night was her.
Now, she was dressed in a conservative plaid pajama set, her shoulder-length hair seemingly freshly washed. She wore slippers, revealing her fair, delicate feet.
She was sweeping the floor with her back to me, her rounded bottom slightly protruding, stretching the pajama pants taut enough to outline the shape of her triangular underwear.
Was last night a dream?
Had I woken up now?
Though I knew it was nothing more than a fleeting fantasy.
I'd caught a cold partly because of the storm last night—staying crouched in such low temperatures for so long, it would've been strange if I hadn't gotten sick.
The other reason was the shock of suddenly witnessing Mom and Da Guo's intimate encounter. My mind wasn't prepared for it—the mix of stimulation and conflict, heartbreak and pain—and the overwhelming emotions eventually caused me to collapse.
Now, the sky was bright. It seemed Mom had only realized I hadn't gotten up when she woke this morning.
Just then, the clinic doctor arrived with a medical kit. After checking my temperature, she started an IV drip.
I lay there in a daze, silent and motionless, while Mom finished cleaning my room and moved on to the hallway and kitchen.
When had they ended things last night?
I didn't know. When had Da Guo left?
I had no idea. How I wished it had all been a dream.
After the first round of IV fluids finished, Mom replaced it with a second bag. I was sweating profusely.
"Come on, I made you some eight-treasure porridge…" After changing the medication, Mom went to the kitchen and returned with a bowl of porridge, speaking softly.
She sat on a stool beside me, scooped a spoonful of porridge, and brought it to her red lips to blow on it gently.
Mom wasn't wearing any makeup, completely natural, yet her face showed no signs of wrinkles or blemishes—smooth, delicate, and fair.
Whenever we went out together, shopkeepers often couldn't believe I was her son, mistaking us for siblings instead.
Watching her red lips gently blow on the spoon, I couldn't help but recall how Da Guo had fervently kissed them last night. Yet, at this moment, Mom appeared so serene and gentle—a stark contrast to the woman in the warehouse, moaning wildly and drenched in passion.
"I can manage on my own after the drip…" I said as she brought the spoon to my lips. My throat was dry and hoarse, my body weak and aching—this sudden illness had hit me hard.
"What's wrong? Now that you're grown up, you're not used to being fed by your mom? Silly, no matter how old you get, you'll always be my son. Come on, open up…" Seeing my slight reluctance, Mom gave a gentle, beautiful smile and brought the spoon to my mouth. I opened it anyway, letting the fragrant eight-treasure porridge enter.
The porridge was fragrant and sweet, but I couldn't taste any of it.
Was I holding a grudge?
Of course, there is. Why did you travel with Dad's photo, only to come back and have a relationship with Daguo?
Even if something happened, why didn't you use protection? Why did you let him finish inside you?
Last night, when I saw Mom and Daguo together, my emotions were a tangled mess, and among them was a feeling of jealousy.
I was truly jealous of Daguo. Why was he able to enjoy Mom's full, snow-white body?
To be honest, compared to Mom, Teacher An is no match in looks, figure, or skin—Mom outshines her in every way.
Teacher An can't hold a candle to Mom, yet Daguo gets to enjoy Mom's body while I can't.
Just like what Mom said earlier: "No matter how old you are, you'll always be my son." Yes, I am her son. We are mother and son. We can't have sex. If we did, it would be incest, something unforgivable in the eyes of heaven.
If only I weren't her son. How wonderful that would be. In this lifetime, I would never have the chance to be with this beautiful woman before me.
"I didn't check the weather forecast yesterday. If I had known it would rain at night, I would've closed your window properly. And you—how old are you, still kicking off your blankets? What will you do when you go off to college and leave me? How can I not worry about you?" Mom sighed as she fed me porridge.
As I looked at her face, it appeared exceptionally fair and delicate, but her cheeks and earlobes carried a faint blush, as if the remnants of last night's climax still lingered.
And suddenly, I felt that Mom had become even more beautiful than before. Her slightly damp hair framed her bare face, giving her an air of innocence.
Is this the nourishment of sex?
I had thought that last night's stormy encounter with Daguo would leave Mom unable to get out of bed today, but it seemed to have had no effect on her at all.
It seems something Daguo once said was right: women need the nourishment of sex to thrive.
I didn't speak. As I looked at Mom, I really wanted to throw myself into her arms and cry, to press against her breasts and breathe in the scent of milk, just like I did as a child.
Now I finally understand why Mom never remarried. She always said it was for my sake, but now I get it.
When I saw Mom in another man's arms, I felt she no longer belonged to me alone. A sense of possessiveness began to stir inside me.
And when I saw Mom surrendering to Daguo—a boy my own age—last night, that feeling intensified.
It was as if I were competing with Daguo for her affection, as if Mom no longer loved me and had divided the love she once gave me, giving part of it to him. He could have Mom, but I couldn't. I was filled with envy, jealousy, and resentment.
Even though I had these thoughts, I would never act on them with Mom. Even if she were willing, I wouldn't agree. After all, blood ties are there—it can only remain a fantasy, and the guilt would always linger.
How I wish I could tell Mom that the reason I caught a cold is because I stood naked in the rain outside the shed for over half an hour.
How I wish I could tell her that I already know about her and Daguo.
How I wish I could ask her why, if she loved Dad so much, she still got involved with Daguo.
But I couldn't bring myself to say it out loud. If I confronted her directly, where would my mother's dignity be?
Mom has never been thick-skinned.
To have her own son discover that she had been intimate with his classmate, and to be seen so clearly by him…
At best, our relationship would develop a rift, and she would never be able to hold her head high in front of me again.
At worst, she might feel so ashamed that she'd consider taking her own life.
Uncertain of the consequences, I absolutely couldn't say anything.
"Alright… rest well for a while…" After feeding me the last spoonful of porridge, Mom wiped the corner of my mouth with a tissue, took a deep breath, and spoke.
"Mom…" I suddenly called out to her.
"Hmm? What is it…" She was about to stand up with the bowl but paused and looked at me, a gentle and affectionate smile on her face.
"Can you hold me for a while?" I don't know where I found the courage to say that to her.
Perhaps it was because my heart was heavy with sorrow, and my body was wracked with discomfort. Since childhood, I'd grown accustomed to my mother's care, and in my most painful and helpless moments, I always sought comfort in her embrace—my warmest refuge.
"You're all grown up now, still asking your mother to hold you… But… seeing how miserable you are, I'll make an exception just this once…" Hearing my words, Mom was momentarily taken aback. A flicker of hesitation crossed her eyes, and her cheeks flushed slightly with a mix of conflict and shyness. Still, she managed a faint smile and agreed.
Maybe it was because her heart ached for me in my sickly state. As a mother, she understood how her son felt when he was suffering.
Mom set the bowl down on the stool beside the bed, lifted my blanket, and slipped under the covers with me.
Though she had been smiling all along, I could see profound tenderness and concern in her eyes—there was no mistaking it.
She lay on her side next to me, and I nestled my head against her chest, nuzzling my cheek against the soft fullness of her breasts through her nightgown.
Mom didn't pull away. Instead, she slipped one arm under my head to cradle me and placed her other hand on my chest, gently patting it. I opened my eyes to look at her, and she smiled back, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
In her eyes, I would always be her precious son…
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