After nearly twenty minutes of effort, I finally managed to produce a bowl of ginger tea that looked somewhat decent.
I carefully carried it into the bedroom. Mom was already half-asleep but opened her eyes when she heard me.
"Here, drink some," I said, helping her sit up and lean against my shoulder.
The ginger tea was steaming hot. Mimicking what Mom had done for me earlier, I blew on each spoonful to cool it before feeding her.
She drank slowly, taking small sips, her eyelashes lowered, looking unusually docile.
"Is it good?" I asked.
"Mm," Mom nodded, her voice soft. "My son is so capable."
By the time she finished the bowl, a fine layer of sweat had formed on her forehead. I wiped it clean with a towel and tucked the blanket snugly around her.
"Sleep now, I'll stay here with you," I said.
Mom reached out and grasped my hand, holding it tightly. Her palm was burning hot.
"An'an..."
"Yes?"
"You... still have school tomorrow," she murmured, her eyes half-closed. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine after a good sleep..."
"We'll talk about it tomorrow," I said, squeezing her hand in return. "Just sleep."
She drifted off again quickly, her breathing gradually evening out.
But I could feel her hand never letting go.
That night, I barely slept. I kept getting up to check her forehead, hoping the fever had subsided.
By the early hours of the morning, her temperature had finally dropped a little.
The next morning, I sent a message to my homeroom teacher asking for leave, explaining that my mom was sick and I needed to take care of her.
When Mom woke up, I had already cooked the plain congee.
"Why didn't you go to school?"
She seemed a bit anxious when she saw me.
"I took the day off."
I carried the congee over and sat by the bed. "How could I leave when you're this sick?"
"But..."
"No buts," I interrupted her. "Here, eat."
Mom looked at me, her eyes suddenly reddening. She lowered her head and said softly, "Our An'an... has grown up."
"Took you long enough to notice."
I smiled, scooped a spoonful of congee, and brought it to her lips. "Eat up."
For the next two days, I went to school during the day and rushed home as soon as classes ended.
I bought groceries, cooked meals, made soup, and made sure Mom took her medicine—just as she had always taken care of me.
I learned a few simple dishes—scrambled eggs with tomatoes, greens with tofu, and steamed egg custard.
Though they didn't taste as good as Mom's cooking, she ate every bite with relish.
"Anything my son makes is delicious," she would say, her eyes crinkling into crescents.
By Friday evening, Mom's complexion had regained its rosy glow, and her spirits were much better.
"Looks like you're all better," I said, relieved. "Aunt's wedding is tomorrow... should we still go?"
Mom thought for a moment. "Let's go. I'm fine now—it would be worse not to. Besides, it's just the evening banquet. We'll have a quick meal and come back."
On Saturday morning, we got ready.
Mom wore her beige checkered coat, paired with cotton shorts and flesh-colored tights.
The coat was belted, accentuating her slender waist.
Her legs, encased in the tights, looked long and straight.
She picked out a thick sweatshirt and a jacket for me, along with a scarf.
"Put these on—don't catch a cold," she said, handing me the clothes.
By the time we were ready to leave, it was only eight o'clock.
According to the invitation, we needed to take Bus 188.
While waiting at the bus stop near our neighborhood, the wind was indeed quite chilly.
I unwrapped my scarf and tried to put it around Mom's neck.
"You wear it, Mom isn't cold," she protested.
"You just got better—you shouldn't be exposed to the wind."
I insisted, clumsily tying the scarf around her.
Mom didn't refuse again, just looked up at me with sparkling eyes.
The bus arrived.
The ride took a little over an hour. We sat side by side, Mom by the window and me on the aisle.
The bus wasn't crowded, and it was quiet.
Her hand rested on her lap, and I reached over, gently holding it.
Mom's fingers twitched but didn't pull away, letting me hold her hand.
When we arrived at my aunt's place, we caught the lively scene of the groom fetching the bride.
The groom and his groomsmen were blocked at the door, playing games, reading pledges, and searching for the wedding shoes.
Mom and I stood at the edge of the crowd, watching.
Mom was fully engrossed, laughing along from time to time.
When she smiled, her eyes curved like crescent moons—so beautiful.
Finally, the groom carried my aunt downstairs and helped her into the wedding car.
Mom and I followed in one of the cars behind.
The wedding banquet was scheduled for the evening.
At noon, the groom arranged a simple meal for us at a hotel near his home.
In the afternoon, the bride and groom went out for photos, while the rest of us relatives waited at the groom's house.
Mom chatted with a few aunts on the sofa, while I, with nothing else to do, sat nearby playing on my phone.
But I kept an ear on their conversation.
"Yuqing, your An'an is already this big? Last time I saw him, he was just a little kid!" said an aunt with permed hair.
"Yes, he's already in his last year of high school," Mom replied with a smile.
"He's so handsome—takes after you. How are his grades?"
"Not bad, she's made quite a bit of progress lately," Mom said, instinctively glancing at me with a hint of pride in her eyes, and something else... something more.
I winked at her.
Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she turned back to continue the conversation.
Around five in the afternoon, we headed to the hotel.
When we arrived, a sign was already set up in the lobby: "Lin Yihan & Zhao Jiahao's Wedding Banquet — Third Floor, Tongxin Hall."
We took photos with my aunt and uncle on the first floor.
My aunt looked truly beautiful in her wedding dress, the white skirt flowing and the veil swaying gently.
But in my eyes, Mom was still more beautiful—that mature, lived-in kind of beauty.
After the photos, my aunt told us to go upstairs and take our seats.
We went up to the third floor, found the "Tongxin Hall," where over twenty tables were already set up.
We were seated at a table on the bride's side, tucked away in a corner.
Mom struck up another conversation with the curly-haired auntie.
I sat next to Mom, idly playing with the wedding candies on the table.
The wedding hadn't started yet, and the hall was bustling with people, noisy and chaotic.
Servants were setting out cold dishes, kids were running around, and the hum of adult conversations filled the air.
My fingers traced patterns unconsciously on the tablecloth.
As I traced, a sudden thought crossed my mind.
I glanced around.
Our table was in the corner, against the wall, right next to the curtains.
Only a few of us were seated there; the others hadn't arrived yet.
The auntie sat across from us, chatting animatedly with another woman.
Quietly, I lifted the heavy tablecloth a little, covering my lower body.
Then, I reached over and took Mom's hand, which was resting on her lap.
Mom stiffened noticeably, turning to look at me with questioning eyes.
I didn't say anything, just pulled her hand toward me and pressed it against my crotch.
Through my pants, she could clearly feel that I was already getting hard.
Her pupils dilated sharply, and her face flushed crimson. She tried to pull her hand away, but I held it firmly.
"An'an..." she mouthed silently, her eyes wide.
I shook my head, gently stroking the back of her hand with my fingers, my gaze pleading.
Mom's hand trembled slightly in mine.
She glanced at the auntie, who was engrossed in her conversation, completely unaware of us.
Then, I felt her tense fingers slowly relax.
Next, her slender fingers began to gently stroke me through the fabric of my pants.
Light, slow, almost imperceptible touches.
But that only made it more arousing.
I could clearly feel myself swelling even more.
I let out a soft, contented sigh and leaned back slightly, giving her hand more room to move.
Mom's face was flushed deep red, but she kept her body turned toward the auntie, naturally responding, "Yes, kids these days really have it tough with school..."
Her voice sounded calm, even cheerful.
But under the tablecloth, her hand was stroking and rubbing my crotch.
The sensation was incredibly intense.
In a public place, with people coming and going, Mom was chatting normally on the surface while her hand was doing this...
I was painfully hard.
But it wasn't enough.
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