The spotlight abruptly illuminated the emcee at the center of the stage, its glare slightly dizzying.
Holding the microphone, the emcee's voice buzzed through the speakers: "Alright, dear guests, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience—"
I wasn't really listening.
All that talk about "sharing the moment" and "cherishing memories" sounded so cliché and uninteresting.
I held my mother's hand on my lap, gently tracing circles on her palm with my fingers.
Her palm was still a little damp—whether from nervousness earlier in the stairwell or something else, I couldn't tell.
She flinched slightly, trying to pull her hand away, but I held on firmly.
She turned her head and shot me a glare in the dim light, mouthing the words, "Stop messing around."
I grinned but didn't let go. Instead, I flipped her hand over and continued drawing circles on her soft palm.
Her face was barely visible in the flickering colored lights, but I knew she was blushing again.
The emcee went on for a while before raising his voice for the finale: "—Let's give a round of applause to welcome the bride!"
A wave of applause erupted.
The spotlight swung sharply toward the entrance of the hall.
The two heavy doors were pulled open from the inside by the groomsmen.
My aunt, dressed in a snow-white wedding gown, walked in slowly, her arm linked with her father's—my grandfather's younger brother.
The long train of her dress trailed behind her, held up by two bridesmaids crouching at the back.
The light followed their every move.
The gown shimmered brightly, and my aunt's makeup was heavily applied, her smile a little stiff.
Beside me, my mother let out a soft "wow," her voice barely audible, carrying that particular sigh of admiration women often have when looking at wedding dresses.
I leaned closer, whispering in her ear, "Mom, you'd look way better in it than her."
She nudged me gently with her elbow but didn't say anything, her eyes fixed on my aunt as she walked.
When they reached the end of the runway, my grandfather's brother placed my aunt's hand into the groom's.
The old man's eyes seemed a little teary as he said a few words, but we were too far away to hear.
The groom took her hand, and the emcee started rambling again about "responsibilities," "vows," and the like.
My stomach growled.
I was hungry.
I hadn't eaten much at lunch, and with all the commotion in the afternoon… I'd burned through a lot of energy.
I let go of my mother's hand, picked up my chopsticks, and poked at the cold dishes already laid out on the table.
Jellyfish salad, smashed cucumber, sweet and sour ribs.
I picked up a piece of rib and stuffed it into my mouth, chewing noisily.
"An'an!" my mother hissed under her breath. "The banquet hasn't started yet."
"I'm hungry," I mumbled, grabbing a piece of cucumber.
She sighed helplessly and let me be.
On stage, the bride and groom began reciting their vows.
All that "I love you, you love me, do you take me" stuff made my teeth ache.
The hall fell silent for a few seconds as they exchanged rings.
The rings were tiny, glinting under the lights.
My mother watched and let out a soft sigh.
I didn't know why she sighed.
Was it envy, or was she remembering her own wedding?
I picked up another piece of jellyfish—crisp and a little salty.
Finally, the emcee announced the start of the banquet.
Hot dishes began to arrive one after another.
I buried my head in eating.
Steamed fish, poached shrimp, Dongpo pork… it all tasted pretty good.
My mother ate very little, moving her chopsticks slowly, occasionally picking up a bite of vegetables and pushing them around in her bowl.
"Mom, why aren't you eating?" I asked.
"Not very hungry," she replied, her eyes still fixed on the stage.
The bride and groom began making their rounds to toast at each table.
By the time they reached ours, it was almost half past eight.
Auntie wore a red toast-dress that made her face appear even paler.
The groom followed beside her, his cheeks flushed red from all the drinking.
After exchanging pleasantries like "Enjoy the meal," clinking glasses, they moved on to the next table.
I had eaten my fill and leaned back in the chair, feeling a bit drowsy.
Mom started chatting again with the auntie next to her, discussing everyday matters—whose child got into which school, how so-and-so's elderly parents were doing.
I idly played with my phone.
As it neared nine o'clock, the banquet was winding down. People began leaving in small groups.
Mom checked her phone and said, "An'an, let's head out too. The last bus is at 10:15—we don't want to miss it."
I nodded, having wanted to leave for a while.
We stood up and went to say goodbye to Auntie, Grandpa and Grandma, and a few uncles and aunts.
"Yuqing, leaving so soon? Won't you stay a bit longer?" Auntie held Mom's hand.
"No, no, we'll miss the bus if it gets any later," Mom replied with a smile.
"Stay a little longer. Jianguo can give you a ride back later," another auntie offered, referring to my uncle.
"No need to trouble Jianguo. An'an has tutoring class tomorrow," Mom quickly declined.
"An'an has grown so tall! How are her studies going?"
"Not bad, not bad," Mom answered vaguely.
After several minutes of small talk, we finally managed to extricate ourselves from the crowd.
Once outside the hotel, the night wind rushed at us, carrying a chill.
I hunched my shoulders.
Mom unwrapped her scarf and handed it to me. "Put this on."
"You wear it," I pushed it back.
"Just put it on," she insisted, wrapping the scarf around my neck and carefully tying it.
Her fingers brushed against my chin, cold.
Then she turned up the collar of her coat and put on a mask, leaving only her eyes visible.
"Let's go," she said, naturally reaching out her hand.
I took it and tucked it into my coat pocket.
Her hand was still a bit cold.
We had to walk a stretch to the bus stop.
The streetlights cast a dim yellow glow, and there were few cars or pedestrians on the road.
We walked hand in hand without speaking.
Our footsteps echoed clearly in the quiet night.
Her hand in my pocket gradually warmed up.
At the stop, we checked the schedule.
Bus 521, last departure at 22:15.
It wasn't even 9:30 yet.
We were the only ones at the stop.
The long bench felt icy, so neither of us sat—we just stood waiting.
The wind blew in gusts, and the station canopy rustled occasionally.
After about ten minutes, headlights appeared in the distance—it was Bus 521.
The bus trundled over, came to a stop, and the doors hissed open.
Mom and I got on and swiped our cards.
The driver was a chubby middle-aged man who glanced at us without a word.
The bus was empty except for us two passengers.
The heater was on full blast, and as soon as we stepped in, the warmth enveloped us, instantly dispelling the chill from waiting outside. It was so comfortable it made me want to sigh.
I led Mom straight to the very last row, on the same side as the driver.
It was the most secluded spot, shielded by the high seatbacks in front.
Mom took the window seat, and I sat beside her.
The bus slowly started, the engine humming, and the street scenes outside the window began to drift past.
The car was quiet, with only the hum of the engine and the occasional announcement of stops.
Warm and silent, just the two of us.
The restless fire inside me, stoked by the warm air, slowly began to burn again.
I turned to look at my mother.
She was gazing out the window at the flowing lights, her profile appearing especially soft in the flickering shadows.
"Mom," I called out, my voice abrupt in the quiet compartment.
Mom turned to look at me, her eyes questioning.
But when she saw the intensity in my gaze, her almond-shaped eyes flickered with understanding.
She shook her head, her voice low and resolute. "No, An'an. It's too dangerous."
"It won't be."
I leaned closer, my warm breath brushing against her ear. "Mom, look, it's so late. There's only us on the bus. The driver's up front and can't see the back."
"Still not okay."
She shook her head again, tucking her face deeper into her scarf. "This is a bus... what if..."
"There's no 'what if.'"
I interrupted her, slipping my arm around her waist from behind and pulling her closer. "Mom, just once... I'm really uncomfortable..."
Her body stiffened slightly. She glanced toward the driver.
The driver was focused on the road ahead, and from the angle of the rearview mirror, he truly couldn't see the corner of the last row.
"An'an..." Her voice was filled with hesitation.
I gently shook her arm, like I used to when I was a child throwing a tantrum, lowering my voice in a pleading tone. "Please, Mom... just help me... with your mouth is fine... it'll be quick... I'll know right away if someone comes..."
She bit her lower lip, her eyes dropping, her long eyelashes trembling.
I could feel the muscles in her waist slowly relaxing.
She let out a soft sigh, one that carried a sense of resignation, as if saying, "I really can't do anything with you."
Then, she reached out and lightly tapped my forehead with her finger.
"Oh, really," she whispered, her face flushing again. "You!"
My heart leaped with joy, knowing she had agreed.
I quickly straightened up, fumbling to undo my belt, the metal buckle making a soft click.
Then came the zipper, a sharp zip.
I pushed my pants and underwear down together, pulling them to mid-thigh.
The cold air instantly stung my exposed skin, and I shivered, but a stronger sensation quickly surged through me.
I didn't take my pants off completely—this way, if anything happened, I could pull them up to cover myself.
Mom looked at my half-erect cock, which seemed particularly menacing in the dim light of the bus, and her breathing noticeably quickened.
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