That evening, after my mother took me to a nearby hospital to have my wounds treated, she brought me home.
The doctor had advised me not to move around too much to avoid reopening the wounds and causing further bleeding, which would prevent them from healing properly. So, my mother decided to help me bathe that night.
Since my lower body couldn't get wet—it would risk irritating the wounds—she only planned to gently wipe my upper body.
Even so, the thought alone was enough to stir something in me. I couldn't help but feel a certain excitement, and despite my best efforts, my little brother down below began to stir.
After settling me in my room, my mother took a shower first, changing into a modest set of pajamas before leading me to the bathroom.
The bathroom was still filled with steam from her shower, creating a hazy, almost intimate atmosphere that made the situation feel even more charged.
I sat on a small stool in the middle of the bathroom. At one point, I accidentally moved too much and tugged at my wounds, causing a sharp pain that made me grimace. My mother scolded me lightly, immediately fussing over my injured knee. Only after I repeatedly assured her I was fine did she pull up another stool and sit behind me, beginning to unbutton my shirt.
I was wearing a plain white T-shirt, which was practically ruined after the fight in the alley.
I raised my arms so she could easily pull the shirt over my head, then tossed it into a corner of the bathroom. Neither of us wanted it anymore—it had been dirtied by those thugs.
With my mother behind me, I couldn't see her. She brought over a waterproof cloth, wrapped it around my lower body, and helped me lie back on the bath bed.
My body trembled slightly from nervousness and embarrassment, something my mother noticed. She didn't say anything, but I could see her face flush slightly.
It made sense. Even though I wasn't yet eighteen, I was already a young man full of vigor. This was the first time since I was little that my mother had to bathe me.
I'd always been diligent about exercising, so my body was fairly muscular with well-defined lines. Since my father's death, my mother hadn't had any intimate relationships—at least, I'd never seen her with any men or noticed any close connections. Seeing my strong, youthful physique must have stirred complicated feelings in her.
And indeed, as I lay there, she paused for a moment when she saw my upper body, seemingly lost in thought. I didn't dare interrupt, quietly waiting for her to snap out of it. Her gaze lingered on me for about five seconds before she gave an awkward smile, perhaps realizing her reaction was unbecoming of a mother. She then wet a towel under the faucet, wrung it out lightly, and began wiping my body.
At first, I kept my eyes closed. But as her soft hands pressed against my chest and the damp towel glided over my skin, her gentle breaths brushing against me, I couldn't resist peeking at her.
Her beautiful, gentle face was turned toward me, her expression filled with a tenderness and calmness that outsiders never saw. Only at home did my mother reveal her true self—she was, after all, a very gentle woman.
Yet, even though she was my own mother, my lower body reacted shamelessly. Though I was wearing jeans, the stiff fabric couldn't hide the small tent that had formed beneath.
Mom isn't blind—she must have seen it too. I noticed her face growing even redder, but I couldn't possibly bring it up. That would only make both of us more uncomfortable, and there was no need to mention it anyway.
Should I say, "Mom, my little brother is hard"?
Even though our relationship has thawed recently, if I were to act so recklessly, she would definitely scold me angrily.
After what felt like forever, she finally finished moistening my upper body. Mom set down the towel, slid her hands under me, and lifted me up. "Mingming, move a little."
I strained along with her, raising my upper body. Mom placed a waterproof plastic pillow under my head, then rewet the towel and moistened my back as well.
Now came the most thrilling part.
Applying the body wash!
Although neither of us had spoken a word so far, I could sense it—and I believed Mom could too—that the atmosphere in the bathroom had grown somewhat ambiguous and charged. Even though it was just a normal mother bathing her son, I was certain Mom's thoughts had strayed just like mine.
Her eyes grew increasingly evasive, and her face flushed a deeper, more vivid red.
Finally, Mom's soft, body wash-covered hands reached my body. She had squeezed some body wash into her palms first, rubbing them together until they were rich with lather before applying it to my skin.
Her smooth, soapy hands glided over every part of my upper body. The sensation was indescribably exhilarating. My dick hardened to its fullest extent—even without looking down, I could see my "little brother" standing tall in salute. My body wasn't just trembling slightly; it was shaking violently as if electrified. Mom was startled by my reaction, but she wasn't foolish enough to ask what was wrong—that would only have made things more awkward for both of us.
At last, this thrilling process came to an end. Mom almost fled, pulling her hands away from me, then wet the towel again and began washing the soap off my body.
Normally, a full-body wash would take just over ten minutes, but this time, washing only my upper body took a solid half-hour. By the time Mom helped me out of the bathroom, I felt both incredibly satisfied and utterly drained.
Mom settled me into bed, softly instructing, "Mingming, get some sleep early," then turned off the light, closed the door, and returned to her own room.
Not long after, the sounds of her busywork echoed from her room again.
Ah, this workaholic.
It was almost midnight. I didn't stay up late—lying in bed, my mind wandered through a jumble of random thoughts before I finally fell asleep.
The next day, Mom woke me up as usual and helped me downstairs for breakfast. Since it was Saturday, she wouldn't be heading to the office early. Every weekend, she goes to the community park for morning exercises—she's a very disciplined person, and her discipline has rubbed off on me, making me more disciplined too.
I usually join her for the workout, but with my injury, today I just watched from the sidelines.
After breakfast, Mom went upstairs and changed into a white Adidas tracksuit. Standing at 168 cm tall with a perfectly proportioned figure and notably straight, long legs, even this conservative athletic wear looked irresistibly sexy on her. I just wore casual clothes. She helped me to the park, and along the way, we ran into several neighbors, exchanging friendly greetings.
When my mother and I first moved into the neighborhood, many people didn't know her. At that time, she wasn't yet known as the "Ice Queen," and her reputation in the city wasn't widespread. So during her morning exercises, people often mistook her for some big celebrity living in the area. My mother was simply too beautiful, with an elegant and cool demeanor. They would approach her one after another, and she patiently explained to each of them. It took about half a year before this misunderstanding was finally cleared up, and no one ever mistakenly asked her for an autograph again.
Today, the sunlight was lovely. My mother helped me sit down on a bench by the roadside, then went off to stretch and loosen her muscles.
She lifted one long leg onto the stainless steel railing by the path, reached for her toes, and leaned forward, pressing her upper body downward.
This posture perfectly showcased her excellent figure and proportions. The angle between her legs formed a sector of about 120 degrees—most people can only manage 90 degrees at most. Of course, I knew that if she wanted to, my mother could easily do a full split.
With each downward press, her full chest would gently touch her thighs. Her long, straight black hair was tied back neatly with a hairband, making the whole process a delight to watch. It almost felt as though it wasn't my mother in front of me, but rather a youthful and beautiful campus queen from some university.
When my mother and I walked together, people often mistook us for a couple rather than mother and son. She took such good care of herself—strict self-discipline, combined with high-end cosmetics from her own company. As the chairman of a cosmetics firm, she knew exactly which products suited her skin best. So even at 36, she looked as young, vibrant, and captivating as someone in their mid-twenties.
After completing a full set of stretches, my mother finally began her run.
The morning sun shone down on her, casting a dazzling glow over her energetic figure. It made her seem like a fairy descended from the heavens.
Her stunning face, graceful figure, agile running posture, and that cool, elegant aura of hers—all of it struck my senses powerfully, leaving me utterly captivated.
I noticed many people in the park had paused their own activities to watch my mother run.
Focused on her morning routine, she remained unaware that she had quietly become the center of attention. That was just like her—wherever she went, she shone brightly, always the focal point in any crowd.
Half an hour later, my mother finished her run and returned, covered in sweat. Beads of perspiration dotted her flushed cheeks, and the natural fragrance of her skin grew even stronger, noticeable from a distance. She seemed like a scented sachet, and her sweat-drenched appearance reminded me of a lotus flower after the rain—delicate, dewy, and irresistibly alluring.
In front of me, she unscrewed her water bottle, tilted her slender swan-like neck, and took a drink. The scene was so picturesque that I couldn't help but stare, mesmerized.
Finally, under the envious gazes of passersby, my mother helped me up, and we left together.
Back home, she took a shower, changed into her office attire, and came downstairs. "Mingming, I'm heading to the company," she said. "Stay home and don't wander off. I'll come back at noon to make lunch for you."
I replied, "Mom, why don't I just go to Auntie's place? You can pick me up in the evening, so you won't have to come back specially at noon."
After a moment's thought, she said, "That works too. I'll drive you there."
"Okay."
Mom took me to Auntie's hospital, helping me out of the car and into the building. This was Shanghai First People's Hospital, one of the top medical institutions in the city and the entire country. Auntie is Mom's younger sister, working here as the head nurse with a monthly salary of tens of thousands—a true independent woman.
Mom helped me find Auntie's office. Auntie was delighted to see us, mentioning that it had been nearly half a month since we last met. I used to visit her every weekend, but recently, due to some troubles at the company, Mom and I hadn't been able to come. Auntie must have been busy too, as she hadn't had time to visit us either.
Auntie wanted to take us to the back garden to chat, but Mom had to leave early because of work. Auntie was a bit disappointed but didn't insist on her staying. After Mom left, Auntie noticed the injury on my knee and brought over a wheelchair. I said it wasn't necessary, but she insisted that it would prevent the wound from being aggravated and hurting. So, I obediently sat in the wheelchair she pushed and let her take me to the back garden.
The hospital's back garden was meticulously maintained and designed, with fresh air and sunshine that made me feel completely at ease.
Auntie's name is Lin Menglian. She's Mom's younger sister, five years her junior, and an absolute beauty. In her youth, she excelled academically, studying nursing at the Capital Medical University. After graduation, she started working at Shanghai First People's Hospital and has now risen to the position of head nurse.
I said to her, "Auntie, the company has been facing some issues lately, and Mom has been busy all day. Can you help her?"
Auntie replied, "I've heard a bit about it, but there's not much I can do. I'm a nurse, and your mom is in the cosmetics business. It's beyond my reach."
I sighed. "The company's stock keeps falling, and there's no way out. It feels like bankruptcy is just around the corner."
"It's okay," Auntie said gently, holding my head and softly stroking it in her soft embrace. "Everything will pass. Things will work out eventually. There's no problem that can't be solved. Don't overthink it."
Her soothing words calmed me down, and I looked at her gratefully. "Thank you, Auntie."
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