I really didn't bring up that matter again in the following days.
Every day was just going to school, coming home, doing homework, and eating.
I was as quiet as a genuine, single-minded senior high school student.
I could sense my mother secretly breathing a sigh of relief.
The tense scrutiny and fluster in her eyes when she looked at me gradually faded, returning to the gentle, slightly pained concern from before.
Occasionally at the dinner table, she would share some amusing stories from the flower shop or ask me how things were at school.
The air at home seemed to flow again. Although there were still some unspoken things lying beneath the surface, at least on the surface, calm had been restored.
I knew she was observing me, checking if I was truly "normal" again. I was happy to play along.
I was even more "well-behaved" than before.
I proactively cleared the dishes after meals, got up as soon as the alarm I set rang, and turned off the lights to sleep at the designated time at night.
I knew I was waiting, waiting for the right moment to speak up with confidence.
Haste makes waste.
I understood that much.
Tuesday was the mock exam.
Before I left in the morning, my mother, as usual, pushed the warm milk and fried eggs in front of me and said softly, "Don't be nervous, just do your best."
I grunted in acknowledgment and buried my head in eating.
But my mind was unusually calm, even a bit eager.
The exam seat was cool. The test papers were handed out, smelling of printer's ink.
I picked up my pen and took a deep breath. Strangely, my mind felt exceptionally clear.
The pinyin, idioms, and faulty sentences on the Chinese paper—things that usually annoyed me—seemed particularly agreeable today, and the answers just popped out on their own.
For the classical poetry recitation section, the lines I had memorized just days ago surfaced clearly in my mind.
I could actually read and grasp the main points of the long passages in the reading comprehension section.
The essay topic was "Bonds." I froze for a few seconds, vague shadows and a warm touch flashing through my mind. I quickly shook my head, steadied myself, followed the steps of analyzing the topic, outlining, and finally wrote a standard eight-hundred-word essay. It wasn't brilliant, but it was at least complete and fluent.
Math in the afternoon was my strong suit, and my state was even smoother. The formulas and theorems seemed to come alive, arranging and combining themselves on the scratch paper, leading to the correct answers.
The last major problem was a bit tricky. I was stuck for five minutes, but after calming down and reasoning step by step, I managed to crack it.
When I handed in the paper, my palms were slightly sweaty—from the excitement of solving problems, not from panic.
English was a bit of a mess.
The reading passages made my head spin. Several words in the cloze test looked familiar but I couldn't recall their meanings. The essay was written haltingly.
I ran out of time. I hurriedly filled in the answer sheet, and the bell rang.
Walking out of the exam hall, the evening breeze brushed my face, carrying a slight chill.
I roughly estimated in my heart: Chinese and Math should pull up my score a lot; English was probably just average.
The overall ranking was hard to say, but improvement was certain.
At dinner that night, my mother made braised pork ribs, the aroma wafting enticingly. Gnawing on a rib, I casually brought it up: "Mom, we had the mock exam today."
"Oh? How did it feel?" Mom picked up a bite of vegetables with her chopsticks, asking casually, but her eyes drifted over, carrying inquiry.
"Not bad," I said, chewing on the meat, my words slightly muffled. "Chinese and Math felt really good. English... was just so-so. But my overall state this time was different; my mind was exceptionally clear."
"Is that so." Mom smiled, adding another rib to my bowl. "A good state is what matters. We'll see when the results come out."
"I think I definitely improved this time." I looked up at her, my tone firm. "Really, Mom, it's different from the usual 'feeling good' before. Lately... well, my study efficiency has improved a lot."
When I said "lately," I deliberately paused, lowered my voice a bit, and looked at her.
Mom's hand holding the chopsticks stopped mid-air, then quickly lowered her gaze. Her cheeks visibly flushed with a faint red.
She didn't respond to my words, putting the vegetables in her mouth and chewing slowly.
I pressed my advantage, adding a hint of playful expectation to my tone: "Mom, tell me, if I really improved this time... is there any reward?"
Mom raised her eyes and gave me a reproachful glare. The look was soft, lacking any real force.
"Eat properly. What are you thinking about all day? We'll talk when you actually improve."
"So there's a chance?" My eyes lit up, pressing further.
"We'll talk when your results come out!" Mom retorted with feigned annoyance, lowering her head to eat her rice, her ears turning red. But her tone didn't contain an absolute refusal.
I knew she had tacitly agreed.
The stone in my heart *thudded* to the ground, followed by an unstoppable surge of joy.
I grinned foolishly, then genuinely felt my appetite open up. I got up and went to the kitchen to refill my bowl with a heaping serving of rice.
The next two days passed peacefully as I waited.
I could even exchange a few casual words with Liu Hao during breaks, though most of the time he was the one enthusiastically talking about games while I "uh-huh"-ed in response while doing homework.
The results were announced on Friday afternoon before dismissal.
The homeroom teacher walked into the classroom with the score sheet, first summarizing as usual, then starting to read the rankings.
"...Our class overall has improved this time. Special praise should be given to Lin An."
The teacher's voice was slightly distorted through the speaker, but my name hit my ears clearly.
My back straightened instantly.
"Lin An's total score improved by sixty-eight points this time. His class ranking rose from twenty-sixth to tenth place. His grade ranking entered the top two hundred, at one hundred and eighty-sixth place. The progress is very significant. Everyone should learn from him. In the final stage of senior year, anything is possible."
A low murmur of commotion and discussion rose in the classroom.
Many pairs of eyes *swished* over to focus on me—surprise, curiosity, also some resentment. My face felt a bit warm, but my palms were slightly sweaty.
Liu Hao next to me directly poked my arm, his eyes wide, whispering excitedly: "Holy shit! Lin An! Did you take some pills? We agreed to slack off together, and you secretly evolved? Twenty-sixth to tenth? Who did you copy from?"
I twitched the corner of my mouth, trying to look calm, and whispered back, "Screw off, I did it myself."
"Cut the crap! Your improvement is too insane!" Liu Hao looked utterly unconvinced, sizing me up. "Confess, did you secretly get a tutor over the summer? Or did you get some martial arts secret manual?"
I ignored him.
My heart was no longer in the classroom.
I didn't hear a single word of what the homeroom teacher said afterwards, who else was praised.
My ears were buzzing, filled only with the sound of my own heartbeat and that number—"tenth place."
The dismissal bell rang shrilly.
I was almost the first to grab my already-packed backpack and dart out the back door.
Behind me came Liu Hao's shout, "Hey! Lin An! Let's go play basketball!" I didn't look back.
I ran all the way, my backpack bouncing *thump-thump* on my back.
The early summer evening wind was warm and humid against my face, but I found it exhilarating.
Only one thought was in my mind: Go to the flower shop, tell Mom.
Running to that familiar quiet street, I saw the warm yellow light of "Sunny Rain Florist" from afar.
Panting heavily, I pushed open the glass door. The wind chime on the door rang with a crisp *ding-a-ling*.
Mom was arranging a bouquet of lilies. Hearing the sound, she looked up.
Seeing me standing at the door, face flushed and panting, she was startled. She put down the flowers and walked over.
"What's wrong, An'an? Why are you running so fast? Did something happen?" Her voice was full of worry, her hand naturally reaching to support my arm.
I was too out of breath to speak, just looking at her, my eyes frighteningly bright.
Mom grew more anxious, turned to the counter, poured a glass of warm water, and handed it to me. "Quick, drink some water first, catch your breath."
I took it, tilted my head back, and gulped down several mouthfuls *glug-glug-glug*. The cool water soothed my burning throat.
Mom gently patted my back beside me, just like when I choked as a child.
She was very close. The faint scent of flowers mixed with laundry detergent enveloped me. Because of my sudden intrusion and running, her breathing was also somewhat rapid. Her full chest rose and fell gently with each breath. Through the thin cotton top, the curve was clearly visible.
After finishing the water, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and caught my breath.
I looked at her without blinking. From the running and excitement, my voice was still a bit shaky, but I enunciated each word clearly:
"Mom, I got tenth place in the class."
Mom's hand patting my back stopped.
She froze for a moment first, seemingly not immediately grasping what this ranking meant for me.
Then, in those gentle, large eyes, genuine surprise and relief slowly spread. The corners of her mouth involuntarily curved upward.
"Really? Tenth place? An'an, you're amazing!"
Her smile bloomed, a genuinely happy one. She raised her hand as if to ruffle my hair, like when she praised me as a child.
But her hand had only risen halfway when it froze mid-air.
Because she saw the look in my eyes.
It wasn't the simple excitement of reporting a good grade.
That look was too hot, too direct. It burned with undisguised desire and a certain hint of determination, firmly locked onto her.
The joyful smile that had just appeared on her face instantly froze, then receded like a tide, replaced by rapidly rising blushes.
The red spread from her cheeks to her ears, then to her neck.
She understood. Understood why I had rushed here so urgently, understood the full meaning in my gaze at this moment.
She awkwardly withdrew her hand, subconsciously twisting the hem of her clothes, her eyes darting away, not daring to look at me anymore. Her voice lowered, carrying unconcealable embarrassment and shyness: "...That... that's great... such big improvement... Mom is very happy..."
The flower shop was very quiet, only the low hum of the refrigerator running.
The warm yellow light shone on the two of us. The air was filled with the fragrance of various flowers, but at this moment, it smelled inexplicably thick and ambiguous.
I took a small step closer, lowered my voice, my hot breath almost brushing against her ear: "Mom, you promised... if I improved, there's a reward."
Mom's shoulder trembled slightly. She said, "When did I promise you that?"
I took another step closer to Mom and said, "I don't care, Mom promised!"
As I moved closer, she didn't step back, but her body visibly tensed.
After several seconds of silence, she finally spoke in a voice as faint as a mosquito's hum, carrying a last-ditch struggle to maintain parental dignity, but upon careful listening, one could also detect a hint of eagerness: "Alright, alright... then... what reward do you want?"
This was the moment.
My heart pounded like a drum, my mouth dry.
I licked my lips, leaned even closer, almost pressing against her ear, and in a breathy voice, uttered word by word the term I had long thought of, the one that pushed things a step further:
"Mom... do 'sumata' with me."
I could clearly feel Mom's body jolt violently, completely stiffening.
She obviously hadn't heard this term before. She turned her head in confusion, her eyes still holding lingering shyness and bewilderment, and subconsciously whispered back: "...Sumata? What's that?"
Her ignorance and this purely innocent question at such a moment made my blood boil.
Suppressing the urge that felt about to explode, maintaining the posture close to her ear, I explained in the simplest, most straightforward words:
"It's... you wearing panties... or not... using there... pressing against mine... rubbing... not going in... just... helping me like that..."
I was incoherent, but the meaning was clear enough.
*Boom—*
Mom's face instantly flushed as if about to drip blood. Even the rims of her eyes quickly glistened with a layer of moisture.
She seemed scalded by these words, jerking back abruptly, staring at me with shock and shameful anger, her lips trembling, unable to speak for a moment.
I didn't give her a chance to organize a refusal.
Riding on that all-out impulse, I quickly turned my head and planted a firm kiss on her hot, smooth cheek.
A soft *smack* sound was especially clear in the silent flower shop.
After kissing her, I immediately stepped back two paces, creating distance.
Looking at her completely stunned, thunderstruck expression, my heart was pounding wildly, but I tried hard to put on a pleading, cheeky smile and said quickly:
"I'm going home, Mom! I'll wait for you to come home for dinner tonight!"
After saying that, I didn't dare look at her reaction at all. I turned, pulled open the shop door, and the wind chime jingled chaotically again.
I fled as if escaping, rushing into the deepening twilight of the evening street, leaving my mother and her stunned, blank expression behind in that warm, hazy glow and the rich fragrance of flowers.
I ran all the way home, my heart still pounding against my chest.
The sensation of the skin I had kissed on her cheek still lingered—warm, smooth, carrying the faint, distinctive scent of her moisturizer.
I touched my own lips; my fingertips trembled slightly.
I had no idea where I'd found the courage.
But the words were said, the kiss was given, and there was no taking them back.
Home was empty and quiet.
I tossed my backpack onto the sofa, restless and fidgety.
One moment I rushed to the window to look down, the next I pricked up my ears listening for any sound at the door.
Time stretched thin and long, each second agonizing.
Would she be angry? Would she think I'd gone too far, and refuse to even help me with my hands in the future?
My mind was a jumbled mess. The image of her shocked expression in the flower shop replayed over and over, making my heart sink little by little.
Just before seven, I finally heard the sound of a key turning.
I sprang up from the sofa like a released spring, then forced myself to sit back down, picking up a book in a pretense of reading, but my eyes were glued to the door.
Mom pushed the door open, carrying a few plastic bags with prepared food and vegetables inside.
She didn't look at me, keeping her head down as she changed her shoes, her voice muffled. "Hungry? Mom will start cooking right away."
"Mhm... sort of," I replied, stealing glances at her face.
Her face showed no particular expression, her eyelashes lowered, making it impossible to tell if she was angry or not. It was just the tips of her ears, still tinged with a faint, lingering red.
She carried the groceries straight into the kitchen, leaving the door slightly ajar. Soon, the sounds of running water and chopping came from inside.
I sidled up to the kitchen doorway, peeking in while holding onto the doorframe.
She was wearing an apron, her back to me, chopping cucumbers. The knife rose and fell, swift and steady, but the line of her shoulders seemed a little tense.
"Mom..." I called out softly.
"Hmm?" She didn't turn around.
"...Nothing." I licked my lips. "It's just... that reward..."
Her knife paused for a moment, then came down with more force, making a dull *thump-thump* sound.
"Let's eat first." Her voice held no particular inflection, but it sounded a bit dry.
This meal was even more silent than the last one.
Braised hairtail fish, garlic broccoli, seaweed soup. All my favorites, but I couldn't taste a thing.
Mom ate in small bites, her eyes fixed only on her own bowl.
The air felt frozen, pressing down until it was hard to breathe.
I couldn't stand it anymore. I put down my chopsticks; my voice sounded particularly abrupt in the quiet dining room. "Mom... you promised me."
Mom's hand, holding the chopsticks to pick up food, stopped.
She slowly raised her eyes and looked at me. Her gaze was terribly complex—embarrassment, annoyance, and a weariness I couldn't decipher.
"An'an," she sighed, her voice softening, taking on a coaxing tone. "That... that... that thing, really, it's not okay. It's too... too much. Mom will promise you something else, alright? I'll buy you those sneakers you've been eyeing for so long? Or..."
"I don't want sneakers," I interrupted, my throat tight. "I want that. You promised."
I stared at her, my gaze must have been stubborn, even a little aggressive.
Mom looked away under my stare, unconsciously poking at the rice in her bowl with her chopsticks.
"You..." Her face flushed red again, her voice even lower. "How could you think of that kind of..."
"Mom." I called her again, with a desperate plea. "Just once... as a reward. I got tenth place. You said there'd be a reward for improvement."
I brought up my grades—her most vulnerable spot.
Sure enough, her eyes wavered, and the poking motion stopped.
The white light from the dining room ceiling shone down brightly, illuminating the fine down on her face and her expression of struggle.
It was quiet for a long time, so long I could hear the hum of the refrigerator compressor starting up.
Finally, she gave an almost imperceptible nod, so quick it might have been my imagination.
Then, in a voice so faint it was barely audible, she mumbled, "...Then... then finish your meal first."
The stone in my heart *thudded* to the ground, replaced by a surge of feverish, wild joy.
I quickly grabbed my chopsticks and shoveled rice into my mouth, nearly choking.
Mom glanced at me, her gaze inscrutable, then lowered her head and slowly continued eating.
After the meal, I rushed to clear the dishes, moving with an uncharacteristic efficiency.
Mom didn't argue with me, silently wiped the table clean, then took her pajamas and went into the bathroom.
------------------------------------------------------------
To read chapters Ahead check out my patreon
patreon.com/FloppyQueen
This book have 20 chapters in my patreon. Support and enjoy stories.