Nearly two weeks had passed since my first time masturbating. As expected, I didn't fulfill my promise to complete the test papers that weekend. Instead, I immersed myself in a world of taboo fantasies that defied all ethics, barely leaving my bedroom except for meals and bathroom breaks.
On Saturday alone, I came six times by hand, and five times on Sunday. After that, I masturbated at least three times almost every night.
Not only had I discovered the pleasure of jerking off, but I'd also learned plenty of new terms: cock, meat stick, tits, wet pussy, sweet juices… and so on.
Besides that, I measured my length with a ruler—pressing the 0CM mark against my pubic bone, the 20CM mark aligned perfectly with the tip of my glans. Exactly 20 centimeters, no more, no less.
As for thickness, since I didn't have a tape measure to check the circumference, I used the ruler to measure the diameter instead—just over 5 centimeters. I was incredibly proud of this because my cock was easily on par with the protagonists in those novels. What made me even prouder was that my mom could hold her own against any of their mothers.
But I believed my love for my mother far surpassed theirs, because I would never hurt her without her knowledge or consent.
Things like taking advantage of her while she was drunk, drugging her to unconsciousness, or outright forcing myself on her—none of those methods seemed viable to me.
As for what would work… honestly, I had no idea. Truth be told, I didn't think I had the guts anyway.
So I sank even deeper into the world of fiction, my mind constantly filled with pairs of mother-son duos lost in lust and all sorts of jaw-dropping, taboo scenarios:
"Gu Xiaonuan, are you trying to rebel!?"
"Xiao Dong… faster… harder…"
"Xiao Lei, Mom is willing to marry you."
...
I couldn't focus in class at all. I grew indifferent to everything around me, barely talking to anyone except for the occasional chat with Jiang Fei. The highlight of my day was rushing home after school, shutting my door, and jerking off while reading those stories.
Thanks to my naturally strong physique and being at the peak of youthful vigor, my reckless indulgence hadn't caused any noticeable changes to my appearance.
And because my mom had instilled strong self-study habits in me since childhood, she rarely checked whether I was actually studying in my room.
As a result, she remained unaware that I'd been neglecting my schoolwork for nearly half a month.
Aside from the sheer pleasure, masturbating had another benefit—it kept me from embarrassing myself in front of my mom. The nightly releases ensured I didn't have to worry about pitching a tent in my pants while around her.
On the surface, our mother-son life continued as usual—routine, slightly dull. I drove her to school in the mornings, picked her up in the afternoons, and occasionally helped with washing or prepping vegetables. Everything seemed as peaceful and happy as before.
Only I knew the truth: with each passing day, my heart was being devoured by desires that crossed all ethical boundaries.
My longing for my mom grew stronger, yet I had no idea how to fulfill this shameful, forbidden craving.
Meanwhile, Mom had reverted to her usual self, making me wonder if that stunning vision of her in a V-neck blouse, knee-length skirt, black stockings, and high heels had just been a figment of my imagination.
That day, as we returned home as usual, Mom suddenly smacked her forehead while changing her shoes. "Oh dear, I forgot to buy groceries."
I set down my backpack eagerly. "No problem, I'll go with you."
Mom shook her head gently. "I'll just grab something from the convenience store at the entrance. You rest for a bit—I'll be back soon."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and left, leaving behind only a crisp, efficient silhouette.
Bored, I sprawled on the sofa, idly scrolling through news. I didn't dare read any novels before dinner—the physical reactions they triggered were too intense to control.
About ten minutes later, Mom hurried back, plastic bag in hand. She slipped into her slippers and headed straight for the kitchen, muttering apologetically, "You must be starving, Yangyang. Just wait a little longer—I'll start cooking right away."
"It's fine, Mom. I'm not that hungry. No rush," I reassured her with a smile, though my gaze was drawn to the pure white ankle socks on her feet.
Since she mostly wore sneakers, Mom's socks were almost always cotton—short or mid-length. Having seen them all my life, I'd never paid them much attention.
But things were different now. At home, she always wore loose, long sleepwear that covered everything except her slender arms and delicate feet. And compared to her arms, those dainty, porcelain-like feet were undeniably far more alluring.
So, inevitably, I'd fallen in love with Mom's feet. Whenever I had the chance at home, my eyes would drift toward them.
Now, seeing those little white socks she hadn't even bothered to take off in her hurry to cook for me, my mind began racing.
If socks could be worn on feet, couldn't they also be worn on… something else?
The thought sent my pulse skyrocketing, and my already-hard cock throbbed in response.
Barely containing my excitement, I finished dinner calmly before retreating to my room, lying on the bed as seconds crawled by like hours.
Time dragged on. To be safe, I waited until well past 11 p.m. before sneaking out.
A glance confirmed the master bedroom door was shut, the living room pitch black.
My heart pounded with the thrill of trespassing as I tiptoed to the shoe rack and turned on my phone's flashlight.
There, neatly placed on the floor, were the light gray sneakers Mom had worn to work, still stuffed with the cotton socks from earlier.
I picked up one sock and slowly brought it to my nose, inhaling deeply.
A mix of Mom's natural scent and a faint tang of sweat flooded my senses, sending an electric jolt through my body. I trembled, barely stifling a moan.
Grabbing the sneaker, I took another whiff—similar, but with a hint of laundry detergent.
After returning the shoes, I snatched the other sock and hurried back to my room.
Lying in bed, I stripped off my underwear. My cock stood rigid as steel.
I pulled the sock open with both hands near the glans, tilting my head back slightly, my eyes burning with desire as I stared intently at my thick cock being slowly engulfed by Mom's freshly worn white socks.
When the glans pressed against the toe area where her delicate toes usually rested, nearly half the shaft still remained exposed.
"Mom's feet really are petite," I marveled, gripping the pure white cotton sock and giving it a slight tug, immediately experiencing an entirely new sensation.
The glans felt slightly dry, but the shaft was stimulated by the fine stitching, sending waves of pleasure through me.
Unable to resist, I pressed the other sock against my face, licking the toe area while inhaling deeply at the heel, the mingled scent of Mom's natural fragrance and faint sweat washing over me again.
I recalled the image of Mom's soft, fair feet clad in these very socks earlier that afternoon—now they were completely at my mercy!
They were soaked with my saliva and the sticky precum from my cock, yet tomorrow they would return to her dainty feet.
The thought alone drove me wild. My right hand worked the sock furiously, while my lips eagerly sucked the other sock into my mouth.
The overwhelming stimulation quickly became too much. My balls tightened, and my cock throbbed violently. At the very last second before climax, I yanked the sock off, and with a low, muffled groan, thick ropes of cum shot out...
The past week had been blissful. Having discovered this new indulgence, I was utterly absorbed. I noticed Mom usually changed her socks every two days—just the right intensity of scent, making the timing perfect for me.
But human greed knows no bounds. After growing accustomed to the socks, I longed to ejaculate directly into a pair that had been in direct contact with her flawless feet.
I noted the brand and style of her socks and scoured online shopping platforms until I found the manufacturer. I ordered ten pairs each in white and black, matching her most frequently worn colors.
On delivery day, I excused myself to take out the trash and rushed to the pickup station, heart pounding as I signed for the package. After tearing off and discarding all the packaging, I stuffed the twenty brand-new socks into my school uniform pockets until they bulged.
A line from a novel I'd read recently came to mind: When a man is driven by lust, his IQ can surpass Einstein's in an instant.
I couldn't agree more. Back home, I greeted Mom before retreating to my room. Sitting at my desk, I compared the new socks with photos of Mom's, confirming they were identical, then pulled out my homework—for the first time in weeks, I actually focused on studying.
I was focused—my right hand gripped the pen, my mind fully engaged in solving problems—but my left hand kneaded a crumpled pair of new socks relentlessly.
Once, Dad had told me about an antique forgery technique called artificial aging.
Now, standing on the shoulders of this giant, I took it a step further, pioneering a unique method of "aging" in the world of used garments.
That night, I completed three sets of practice exams, "aged" four pairs of socks, and drifted off to sleep, utterly satisfied with my own genius.
The next day, every second spent at school felt like torture. The crumpled pair of pure cotton socks hidden in my pocket constantly urged me to quickly place them where they belonged.
Finally, school ended. I said goodbye to Jiang Fei, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and sprinted all the way to the bike shed.
I waited and waited, but there was no sign of Mom. Growing anxious, I pulled out my phone and dialed her number. She answered quickly.
"Mom, why aren't you out yet?"
"..."
There was a brief silence on the other end before her voice came through. "I still have some things to take care of. Wait for me a little longer."
"Oh, okay. I'll wait for you at the bike shed."
Something felt off. Mom's reply sounded too calm—lacking the gentle warmth I'd grown accustomed to, replaced instead by a sternness that inexplicably reminded me of the miserable childhood spankings I'd gotten for misbehaving.
Though the exchange was brief, my naturally sharp mind could tell something bad had happened—something I wasn't yet aware of.
But perhaps yesterday's brief Einstein-level intelligence had drained too many brain cells, or maybe my thoughts were already entirely consumed by the prospect of obtaining those freshly worn white socks. Whatever the reason, I found it strange but didn't dwell on it.
About ten minutes later, Mom finally appeared, her tall figure swaying gracefully as her ponytail bounced with each step. She wore a light blue tracksuit with cropped pants that tapered at the ankles, and above the collar of her white running shoes peeked the faint edge of her short cotton socks, leaving a small gap of two or three centimeters where a sliver of smooth, pale skin was exposed. The tiny glimpse made it all the more striking.
The thought that these very socks, currently wrapped around Mom's delicate feet, would soon be transferred to my cock made my heart itch with impatience. I wished I could teleport home in the blink of an eye.
"Your Majesty, what could possibly keep a P.E. teacher working overtime?" I teased, riding my electric scooter toward her with a grin.
Mom gave me a deep look and shook her head. "Let's just go home first."
"Okay."
Seeing the calm, makeup-free yet stunningly elegant expression on her face, a flicker of unease crept into me.
The ride home was unusually silent. Unlike before, Mom didn't ask what I wanted to eat, what I'd learned at school, or how I was feeling.
Even someone as oblivious as me could tell she was upset. I racked my brain trying to recall if I'd done anything wrong recently, but nothing came to mind—just a flood of filthy fantasies like "Fuck me, Mom" and "I want to rail you, Mommy."
Once we got home, seeing Mom slip off her shoes and socks as usual and change into loungewear before heading to the kitchen, my anxiety instantly vanished.
Seizing the chance while drinking water, I peeked into the kitchen. Mom was chopping vegetables with focused precision—tap tap tap. I immediately dashed to the entryway, bent down, and swiftly retrieved the fresh, still-warm socks from her running shoes. I stuffed the "aged" pair back inside before hurrying back to my room, panting heavily.
Click. I gently shut the door, trembling hands clutching the socks, still faintly warm, and brought them to my nose for a deep inhale.
"Ah..."
A moan escaped me as my throbbing cock hardened to the point of burning.
Although I'd already pleasured myself for several days with Mom's worn white socks, this pair was clearly different. They had just been slipped off her delicate, rosy feet, still warm with her body heat and carrying an even more intense, stimulating scent.
Unable to resist, I licked them with my tongue before gritting my teeth hard, suppressing the urge to immediately relieve myself using these little white socks still carrying Mom's warmth. Reluctantly, I tucked them under my pillow.
Mom would take at most twenty minutes to cook—I wasn't willing to rush and finish so quickly.
After a while, dinner was served, and we sat facing each other.
I kept my head down, wolfing down my food, but gradually sensed something amiss. Looking up, I saw Mom's willow-leaf brows slightly furrowed as she gazed at me with those large, bright peach-blossom eyes. I could read a multitude of emotions in them—solemnity, confusion, worry, disappointment...
My heart skipped a beat, but I feigned calm. "Mom, why aren't you eating?"
She didn't avert her gaze. Her stunning face remained expressionless as she lightly shook her head and said, "Mom's not hungry. You eat up."
Not daring to ask further, I obediently shoveled rice into my mouth. Under her cool stare, the lust in my heart instantly extinguished.
This version of Mom was familiar to me, but it belonged to memories from long ago—ones I didn't like, because they always stirred up the deeply ingrained reverence and fear I had for her.
Everyone pays a price for who they become.
For those carefree underachievers idling through school, the price is a future of hardship and struggle. For so-called good students like me, the price was the endless reprimands and beatings of the past.
I finished my meal with trepidation and, knowing my place, prepared to clear the table and wash the dishes. But before I could stand, Mom stopped me.
"Yangyang, leave the dishes. I'll take care of them."
"Okay."
"Have you been under a lot of academic pressure lately?"
"No, not really."
After a long silence, she nodded. "Alright, go back to your room and study."
Like a prisoner granted amnesty, I quickly made my escape.
Mom's unusual behavior had genuinely frightened me, and for the moment, all inappropriate thoughts vanished as I quietly memorized texts and worked on problems.
By nearly 9 p.m., I realized Mom hadn't conducted any surprise checks. I was already on the final question of my third math practice test, with the solution method figured out—only the tedious calculations remained.
As I scribbled on scratch paper, the wicked thoughts in my heart began stirring again.
It suddenly struck me that the author of that novel hadn't been entirely accurate. When a man wants to satisfy his lust, he doesn't just become a genius surpassing Einstein—he might also transform into a bold outlaw.
The desire that had burned in me since coming home, aroused by Mom's still-warm cotton socks, had been suppressed for hours and now grew even more intense. Having completed three test papers, I felt I deserved a reward for my hard work.
With these thoughts, my cock slowly stiffened in my underwear. I copied the final answer onto the test paper and glanced at my phone.
8:55.
I absentmindedly scrolled through social media, then checked again.
8:57.
Watched a few short videos, then looked once more.
20:58... 20:59...
21:00!
Okay! Mom still hasn't come! Most likely she won't be coming tonight!
I frantically pulled off my pants and lay on the bed, retrieving the pair of lightly worn white cotton socks from under my pillow. I slid one sock over my erection while stuffing the other in my mouth. Then, gripping my shaft through the fabric with practiced ease, I began stroking rhythmically.
Closing my eyes, I recalled Mom's alluring figure and seductive outfit from Dad's promotion banquet. The physical stimulation from the sock's textured weave combined with its intoxicating scent created a triple assault on my senses, rapidly propelling me toward climax.
"Ughh..."
A low moan escaped my lips.
Click. The door opened.
"Yangyang..."
Hearing that familiar voice, I jerked my head around to see Mom frozen in the doorway. Her captivating peach-blossom eyes were wide with shock, her lips slightly parted, her beautiful face a mask of stunned disbelief.
At that exact moment, I felt my scrotum contract violently—like soldiers hearing the command to fire at will. Wave after wave of semen surged through my shaft, desperate to erupt from the tip.
Overwhelmed by the most intense pleasure I'd ever experienced, my rationality completely shattered. I spat out the sock and locked my bloodshot eyes on Mom's stunned face, recklessly crying out: "Mom! Mommy! Ssshh—ahhh!"
Scalding cum erupted in powerful spurts, each pulse visibly distending the sock's toe section for nearly ten full seconds.
BANG! Mom slammed the door shut.
Lying spread-eagled on the bed, my chest heaved violently. As the haze of lust dissipated, returning rationality plunged me into icy horror.
'What... what have I just done?' The delayed realization chilled me to the bone.
My deflating cock shriveled like frostbitten eggplant, thick semen oozing down my thighs—the warmth making me shiver.
I scrambled off the bed, hastily rolling up both damp socks to toss in the trash. After wiping myself clean with tissues, I meticulously redressed in underwear and outer clothes. My entire body trembled throughout the process, my face as pale as a corpse in a morgue.
Once everything was in order, I shakily pulled out my chair. Staring blankly at the completed math test on my desk, my mind went completely empty.
An indeterminable time later, sudden knocks at the door made me arch like a scalded cat, cold sweat beading on my forehead.
"Yangyang, may I come in?"
Mom's voice through the door remained composed—that same cool, measured tone betraying no obvious anger.
I desperately wanted to refuse, but escape was impossible. This confrontation was inevitable, whether now or tomorrow morning.
Forcing myself to calm down, I experienced a moment of bizarre clarity—as if channeling both Einstein and a hardened criminal simultaneously. My thoughts became razor-sharp.
'Isn't this... the perfect opportunity to break the deadlock?' Taking a deep breath, I slowly sat back down, arranging my face into an expression of nervous remorse.
"Y-yes, come in."
Click.
The door was pushed open by Mom. Even though I had mentally prepared myself, my body still trembled. Listening to the approaching footsteps, I ducked my head like an ostrich trying to hide.
Mom slowly walked to the bed, sat down, and cleared her throat gently before saying solemnly, "Yangyang, first let me apologize for what just happened."
This completely caught me off guard. I looked up in surprise to see Mom's calm and composed expression, as if the scene where her son had stared at her face while holding her sock and shouting her name before ejaculating thick semen meant nothing at all.
This completely reshaped my understanding of Mom's psychological resilience—and made me even more terrified.
I didn't dare to keep looking at Mom and quickly averted my gaze, but out of the corner of my eye, I suddenly noticed her hands clenched tightly into fists at her sides. She was gripping them so hard that the delicate skin stretched over her knuckles had turned pale.
'So Mom was just pretending to be calm?' I inexplicably felt a wave of relief.
Just then, Mom continued explaining, "I admit I did want to do a surprise check just now, to see if you've been studying seriously every day in your room. It's not that I don't trust you. Do you know why I was late coming home from work this afternoon?"
I hesitated before mumbling, "No."
Mom sighed. "Your English teacher came to see me this morning. She said that on the pop quiz from the day before yesterday, you only scored 104 points—not even in the top twenty of your class. She also mentioned you've been distracted in class recently."
"So after school this afternoon, I went to talk with each of your subject teachers one by one. Although they haven't given any tests, they all said you seem restless, like you can't focus at school."
Hearing that Mom had gone to consult all my teachers because of what the English teacher said, I was overwhelmed with guilt. "I'm sorry, Mom..."
Mom gently shook her head. "It's okay, Yangyang. Have you forgotten what I told you when you were little? When you discover a problem, don't just wallow in frustration. Calm down, find the root cause, think of a solution, and solve it step by step."
I hung my head in silence, feeling even more remorseful.
"For me, barging into your private space was wrong, but it also helped me find the root of the problem."
My heart skipped a beat. Was Mom implying... she wanted to help me solve this?
Even though I thought there wasn't the slightest chance my assumption was correct, I still perked up, eager to hear what she would say next.
"Actually... actually..."
Mom stammered, uncomfortably smoothing her ponytail before continuing in a deliberately light tone, "Having been a high school teacher for so many years, I know exactly what you teenage boys are thinking about."
"You're at... at the age of sexual awakening. Just like girls get their periods, boys experience wet dreams—it's a sign your body is maturing."
At this point, Mom suddenly paused, taking a deep breath as if steeling herself before forcing out the words, "At this stage, most boys will... will... relieve their urges through masturbation. It's completely normal, and you shouldn't feel ashamed or embarrassed. I understand."
"Oh, thanks, Mom."
Disappointed, I scratched my head, thinking to myself that I'd been delusional after all. But if the mountain won't come to me, I'll go to the mountain—I just needed to get through today, and there would still be hope for the future.
"But if you let this affect your studies, I won't let you off easily!"
Mom's tone suddenly turned stern, "Moderation is key. Overdoing it will seriously harm your health! Letting it get to the point where you can't even focus in class is extremely foolish behavior!"
Ever since I started high school, Mom had never spoken to me like this. Instinctively, I lowered my head in submission. "I'm sorry, Mom. I won't do it again."
Mother sighed and spoke earnestly, "You need to understand where your priorities should be at this stage of life. I'm not telling you to completely cut it off—forcing restrictions often backfires. But your main focus should be on the college entrance exams. I won't bring this up again, but I'm warning you now: if you don't make it into the top twenty in the preliminary assessment exams this June, you'll see what I'll do to you!"
"No problem! Don't worry!"
Thinking I'd finally gotten past this, I quickly tried to please her by spreading out the three test papers I'd just finished. "Look, I have been studying—these are freshly done, even the major problems solved!"
I expected Mother to look relieved, but instead she snatched the papers and slammed them on the table, her willow-leaf eyebrows furrowing as her peach-blossom eyes turned icy. "Don't you dare act all cheeky with me!"
Bewildered, I asked, "What's wrong, Mom? What else have I done to upset you?"
Hearing this, a faint blush appeared on Mother's smooth, delicate cheeks, yet her expression grew more stern and imposing than ever. "Tell me, where did those socks come from?"
My breath caught, and I stammered, unable to speak.
Bang! Mother slammed the table and shouted, "Speak!"
I could have easily claimed I bought them online—the remaining socks in my desk drawer were solid evidence. But seeing the faint blush on Mother's frosty face, a surge of recklessness overtook me. In a flash of impulse, I answered, "I... I took them secretly from your wardrobe."
At my reply, Mother suddenly closed her eyes, tilting her head back as she began breathing heavily. With each breath, her full, perky chest rose and fell, her loose sleepwear powerless to conceal the motion. I couldn't help but swallow hard, silently resolving to see this through to the end.
Finally, Mother opened her eyes and looked at me, enunciating each word: "I don't understand your behavior, but I recognize it as a sign of psychological deviance. I'll arrange for a psychiatrist to treat you. That's all."
With that, she stood to leave.
"Wait! I—I won't see a psychiatrist!"
Panicked, I grabbed her sleeve. Mother yanked her arm away, glaring at me with a warning look. "This isn't up for discussion. You're going whether you like it or not!"
Like hell I would!
Pouring out my innermost thoughts about my own mother to some stranger? I'd rather die!
Seeing her determination, I steeled myself and, for the first time in my life, openly defied her: "I said I won't go! I'd rather die than go! And you're going back on your word!"
Mother stared at me impassively. "You don't have a choice. But I'm curious—when did I go back on my word?"
Meeting her icy gaze head-on, I retorted, "You promised to help me through my struggles! Now that I'm struggling, you're abandoning me!"
Frowning, Mother shot back, "You're sick, and I'm getting you treatment. How is that abandoning you?"
Now fully embracing my inner rebel, I cut straight to the point: "Mom, let's stop pretending. I admit I have mother-fixation, but I don't think it's an illness! A psychiatrist can't cure me—only you can!"
Outwardly, I played the defiant rogue, but inside, my heart pounded wildly.
Finally... I'd laid my cards on the table with Mother!
Mom was clearly stunned by my boldness too. She stood frozen for about ten seconds before suddenly arching her willow-leaf eyebrows with interest. "Go on, how exactly do you want me to 'treat' you?"
When Mom countered like this, I was shocked too.
What was happening?
An unexpected turn of events?
I muttered to myself before speaking up: "It's not that hard, just... ahem... just use your hands to help me with... that."
Mom curled her lip. "Stop beating around the bush—spit it out!"
Now I was the one getting embarrassed. I mumbled awkwardly, "Just what you mentioned earlier... masturbation."
Mom's expression cleared in understanding. "Oh, so you want me to masturbate you?"
"Y-yeah, I'm not asking for much."
Thinking she had agreed, I nodded eagerly like a pecking chick, telling myself not to be greedy—take it step by step. According to the novels, my 20-centimeter monster was practically a milf magnet.
Just as I was happily fantasizing about the future, my vision suddenly blurred. Mom lunged forward in a flash and swung her arm—smack—nearly sending me flying!
I was dazed instantly, my cheek numb and stars dancing in my eyes. Staggering, I almost fell but was yanked upright by Mom gripping my collar. Slap slap slap—four or five more heavy blows rained down.
Though Mom had hit me before, she'd never been this brutal. My brain felt scrambled, and in my daze, I tasted something warm and salty. Dazedly wiping my mouth, my hand came away covered in blood.
I'd lost all ability to think, staring dumbly at Mom. "Mom, I'm bleeding."
"Serves you right!"
Mom snarled, shoving me onto the bed before storming out.
Still reeling, I sat slumped on the edge, blood dripping so fast it nearly formed a continuous line, quickly staining my pants and sheets. A terrifying pool of crimson spread on the floor.
I suddenly laughed at myself—what an idiot, letting novels rot my brain.
How could I forget how traditional and rigid Mom was?
Forget her conservative clothing—even helping her own husband relieve himself was limited to using her hands. And here I was, fantasizing about such a woman masturbating her own son?
What a goddamn joke!
Realizing this, I abandoned all those ridiculous fantasies, regretting my lust-driven words and actions. Remembering Mom's resolute departure after beating me bloody, a wave of terror hit me.
Would Mom never love me again?
Really, what kind of son makes such shameless demands of his own mother?
What kind of beast deserves a mother's love?
She should hate me, loathe me, wish me dead.
But if Mom stopped loving me, what was the point of living?
Just as despair consumed me, hurried footsteps approached, followed by Mom's furious yet anxious scolding: "Lift your head! You're having a nosebleed!"
I slowly raised my head, my gaze settling on Mom's stunning face—still tinged with anger, but more than that, worry, regret, guilt, and heartache.
So... Mom still cared about me...
My heart ached, tears instantly blurring my vision.
Mom came to my side, placing a cool towel on my forehead while using another warm one to gently wipe my cheeks and neck.
Though I couldn't clearly see her face, I could feel that familiar, overwhelming maternal love.
Eventually, tears rolled down my cheeks, clearing my vision enough to notice Mom's peach-blossom eyes were also reddened.
"Mom, I'm sorry," I choked out an apology.
Mom turned her head away, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand. In a voice that was both cold yet trembling, she said: "Song Yang, never forget the blood you shed tonight. Remember this - I am your mother!"
(End of Chapter)