Even though I was wrongfully accused, no one believed me. Mom pressed my head down, and together we bowed to apologize. With the mediation from the police officers at the station, the young woman finally agreed to settle the matter.
After leaving the police station, I expected Mom to give me a good beating. But once we got in the car, she just slumped over the steering wheel, looking utterly exhausted.
If she had yelled at me or hit me, I could have handled it—after all, I was used to it. But seeing her like this only made me feel guilty.
I gently placed my hand on her shoulder and whispered, "Mom, don't be angry. Let me explain."
"Don't touch me!" she snapped, shaking her shoulder hard to throw off my hand.
Seeing how furious she was, I didn't dare say another word and just sat quietly beside her.
After a long while, Mom finally lifted her head and let out a deep sigh. "Xiao Dong, what am I supposed to do with you?"
I replied pitifully, "Mom, I really was framed. Someone set me up."
"Who set you up?"
"A girl, probably the daughter of one of Dad's colleagues."
"Your dad's colleague's daughter?" Mom frowned. "Why would she frame you?"
"How should I know? Maybe she thought I was too handsome."
"Stop talking nonsense!"
"Mom, why can't you believe me?"
Mom said angrily, "I'm wondering the same thing—why can't you give me a reason to believe you?"
"I…" I was at a loss for words. Yeah, I wondered too—when had I become such an untrustworthy person in my mom's eyes?
After a moment of silence, Mom said, "Don't blame others for not believing you. Think about your own actions. If you were in my shoes, would you believe yourself?"
"What… what have I done?"
"Ling Xiao Dong, don't think I don't know what you've been sneaking around doing. I haven't spelled it out to save your face. Do you really think your mom is stupid?" She glared at me. "Did you even understand what I told you the other day?"
"I understand, I do," I said, frowning and nodding vigorously.
"If you understood, why are you still causing trouble outside? The promises you made to me the other day were all lies!"
"I… I really was framed. I didn't do anything. If you don't believe me, wait until Dad gets home and ask him to vouch for me."
"Whether you were framed or not, you still dragged me to the police station and embarrassed me along with you."
I thought about it, and she was right. Given Mom's strong personality, having to bow and apologize to someone at the police station was definitely humiliating.
Mom started the car and drove home in complete silence, not saying another word the whole way.
When we got home, she didn't punish me or scold me. Instead, she slammed the bedroom door shut and locked herself inside, not even coming out to make dinner. It seemed like I had really hurt her this time.
When Dad came home, I angrily told him what had happened and asked him to bring his colleague's daughter over to clear my name.
After hearing my story, Dad looked surprised and asked, "She came to find you?"
"Yeah, more than once," I said through gritted teeth. "Who is she, anyway? Why would she frame me like this?"
Dad stood there in a daze for a moment, then began frantically rummaging through his pockets. Finally, he pulled out a few ten-yuan bills and stuffed them into my hand. Staring at me, he said, "Didn't you say your allowance wasn't enough? This is the spare change I use to buy cigarettes. Take it for now. If it's not enough, I'll give you more another day. And if that girl comes looking for you again, don't pay her any attention. Also, whatever you do, don't let your mom find out about this."
Dad's reaction caught me off guard—there was definitely something fishy going on. Could that girl really be some mistress he was keeping on the side? But even if that were the case, why would she come bothering me for no reason?
I couldn't figure it out, but Dad kept warning me over and over, mixing threats with bribes until I felt like I'd been forced to swallow a bitter pill—unable to speak up about the injustice.
Late that night, I woke up needing to use the bathroom. As I opened the door, I faintly heard some hushed voices. I paused to listen more closely—the sound seemed to be coming from the balcony. It sounded like Mom was on the phone.
Still awake so late, chatting on the phone? I didn't need to guess who she was talking to.
Instinctively, I felt the call had something to do with me, so I tiptoed closer.
In the moonlight, I could just make out Mom sitting curled up on the beanbag chair surrounded by potted plants. She was wearing a violet silk nightgown, her head tilted to hold the phone between her shoulder and cheek. Her long hair hung down, covering half her face, and she held a delicate little brush, absentmindedly painting her toenails with polish.
The clear moonlight streamed through the glass window, draping over her like a thin silver veil. Her exposed fair skin looked as delicate and smooth as fine porcelain, almost glowing with a holy radiance. The scene was like something out of a painting—so dreamlike and beautiful that I felt my heart skip a beat.
Since my footsteps were light, Mom didn't notice me. She sighed and said, "I understand everything you're saying. I've scolded him and even hit him, but he's just so stubborn. I really don't know what to do with him anymore."
From the sound of it, she was definitely talking about me. For the moment, I forgot about needing the bathroom and hid curiously in the corner, wanting to hear what they were discussing.
Then I heard Mom say quietly, "I know he's going through puberty, and I know teenage boys are sensitive about their pride. I've tried to give him plenty of space. A while back, he had a wet dream at night and stained his pants. I'm not sure if he was too scared to let me know or just embarrassed, but he hid them away. Later, when I was looking for something, I stumbled across them… No, I didn't say anything. I was worried he'd feel ashamed, so I just tucked them back where he'd hidden them."
My face flushed with heat, and I silently complained to myself—why did Mom have to tell people everything? But then it dawned on me—she'd already found those hidden pajama pants.
"What I'm really afraid of is him causing trouble outside. Like what happened today—thankfully, the other party didn't press the issue. But if it had been someone more stubborn, who got angry and took it to the school or posted it online, his life would be ruined… Of course I worry—I'm his mother. If I don't worry about him, who will? You?"
I felt a surge of emotion, mixed with a twinge of guilt. Even though Mom had never held back from disciplining me while I was growing up, she had truly put in so much effort and care for my sake.
"I know he's a troublemaker, but I've already given birth to him, what else can I do? Throw him away? Fine, you take him then, do you want him?"
The earlier wave of emotion instantly vanished. It seems Mom's resentment toward me runs deep.
"What do you mean I didn't raise him properly... What do you mean my son seduced your daughter? Do you think Yiyi is some innocent blank slate? With the internet so developed these days, what don't they know?... Didn't we both agree to become in-laws? Why is it all my fault now?"
From her tone, it didn't sound like she was arguing—more like joking.
"I've already played the villain and separated them. What more do you want from me? Right now, I'm just worried, not sure what to do with him. I've been thinking about it all day and plan to take him to see a psychologist when I have time... I'm really not joking... I know teenage boys have physical needs, but haven't we already broken them up?... You make it sound so easy—you've never raised a son, you don't understand... Ugh, let me tell you something, but you have to keep it a secret. Don't tell anyone."
Mom suddenly lowered her voice and whispered, "Xiaodong stole my stockings... that... stop playing dumb, you know what I mean."
I felt my whole body heat up instantly. Mom, really, how could you talk about something like this with others? Your son's face isn't just a face, you know. But then again, it matched my guess—Mom had known all along.
"You're the one with an Oedipus complex!" Mom said half-jokingly. "You're his future mother-in-law, practically half his mother. Has he ever had a thing for you?"
Suddenly, Aunt Rong's image popped into my mind—always cold, unsmiling, with no sense of approachability. I'd rather avoid her; how could I possibly have feelings for her?
"Actually, it's not that he's fixated on his mother—he's fixated on stockings, on silk stockings."
To be honest, I'm a bit confused myself now. I used to be very clear that I was simply obsessed with stockings, but lately, I've found myself paying more and more attention to Mom herself. Even when she isn't wearing stockings, I inexplicably feel urges—that's what scares me the most.
"Really, I once found magazines under his mattress, all related to stockings. That's why I want to take him to see a psychologist. I don't even dare wear stockings at home anymore."
So that's why. No wonder Mom has been dressing more conservatively lately.
Even though it's late autumn now, we live in the south where it's like spring all year round. Even in winter, there are plenty of beautiful women on the streets wearing stockings or even going bare-legged.
"Ugh, I'm really worried. I'm afraid he might go out and steal other people's stockings or secretly touch someone's leg... You're the pervert... I know, I know. I'm trying my best to stop him from becoming one. I never noticed this problem before. I feel like it only started after we stopped him from seeing Yiyi, which is why I want to take him to see a psychologist."
I couldn't help but laugh bitterly inside. Great, in the eyes of both mothers, I've already become a pervert.
"Blocking isn't as good as guiding? How do you guide him?... Nonsense, why don't you give your stockings to my son?... Don't laugh—your stockings are smelly. My son might not even want them."
Aunt Rong always wore her police uniform, and I couldn't recall ever seeing her in stockings or pantyhose. What would Aunt Rong look like in stockings? I couldn't help but imagine it in my mind.
"You really think this will work? What if it gets worse... I know, I'm just worried about affecting his college entrance exams, otherwise I would've taken a stick to him long ago... That's what I think too—let's just get through the exams first. Once Yiyi is by his side, maybe things will get better."
It seemed Mom was just venting that day and didn't really intend to break us apart with a single blow.
"What do you mean? You're not going to acknowledge this son-in-law? Whether you acknowledge him or not... Stop talking nonsense. When the time comes, I'll just drop him off at your place as your live-in son-in-law. You'll have to accept him whether you like it or not."
She always says I'm the unreasonable one, but when Mom acts shamelessly, she's truly the one who makes no sense.
"What worries me is what to do now. What if he... This time he dared to grope someone's thigh on the bus—what if next time he... You're just giving me terrible advice. If it gets worse, I'll hold you responsible... I think we should let him get back together with Yiyi... What do you mean 'pushing your daughter into a pit of fire'? What do you take our Xiaodong for?... Alright, alright, I'll think about it some more. I have to work tomorrow, so let's talk later."
Hearing that Mom was about to hang up, I was afraid she'd catch me eavesdropping, so I quickly tiptoed back to my bedroom, not even bothering to use the bathroom.
The next day, I kept wondering what kind of advice Aunt Rong had given Mom, so much so that I couldn't focus on studying.
After school, I came home on time and saw Mom's high heels by the door, so I called out to her, but there was no response.
I walked around the house but didn't see anyone, so I put down my backpack and headed to the bathroom. Just as I was about to enter, I saw Mom standing in front of the washing machine, her hands resting on the laundry basket. In one hand, she was tightly clutching several pairs of brand-new, unopened stockings, her brows furrowed as if she were struggling with something.
I was puzzled—what could Mom be thinking about so intently that she didn't even hear me call her?
Just as I was about to greet her, I saw her open the packaging of each pair of stockings, crumple them up, and toss them all into the laundry basket.
I was completely confused. What was she doing?
Mom bit her lower lip, stared at the stockings in the laundry basket for a moment, then took them all out again. After hesitating briefly, she put them back in.
She repeated this several times—taking them out and putting them back—until finally, as if she had made up her mind, she threw the stockings into the basket and turned to leave. But then she saw me leaning against the wall outside and nearly jumped out of her skin. Clutching her chest, she gasped, "You little brat, are you a cat? You didn't make a sound. You're back and didn't even say a word—you scared me half to death!"
I looked at her innocently and said, "I did greet you, but you didn't hear me."
Mom glanced back at the stockings in the laundry basket, then said to me with a serious expression, "The stockings I've taken off—I haven't counted them, but you're not allowed to steal them again."
"Huh?" I stared at her blankly.
"What do you mean, 'huh'? You're not far from ending up in jail, you know that? Still saying 'huh'? You really make me furious." Mom shot me a glare, then muttered to herself as she headed back to her bedroom.
I furrowed my brows, utterly confused, replaying the earlier scene in my mind. Something felt off about Mom—she seemed different from usual, all flustered and hurried... and somehow even a little cute.
Wow! Using the word "cute" to describe Mom—how terrifying.
As for what she said earlier—something about not counting the stockings she'd taken off, but that I shouldn't steal them again—it made no sense. These were brand-new stockings she'd just opened. And why emphasize that she hadn't counted them? It almost felt like she was hinting at something. Did she want me to steal them or not?
Crossing my arms, I tilted my head and stared intently at the stockings in the laundry basket. Though I had a thing for stockings, I wasn't interested in these freshly opened ones. If they were Mom's worn stockings, well, that might be a different story.
Wait a minute!
Was Mom fishing? Luring me into stealing her stockings just to give me a beating and drag me to a therapist?
But that didn't make sense either. Yesterday, when she was on the phone with Aunt Rong, she made it clear she was holding back from beating me to a pulp only because she didn't want to affect my college entrance exams. If she wanted to hit me, she would've done it already—no need for such an elaborate scheme.
Oh right, she mentioned that "blocking isn't as good as guiding." Maybe she's worried I'll cause trouble outside, so she's turning a blind eye, letting me satisfy my urges at home?
Hmm... Even if that's the case, Mom's being pretty sneaky. If you're fishing, you need proper bait. Does she really think I'm dumb enough not to tell the difference between worn stockings and new ones?
I hooked a pair of flesh-toned stockings with my pinky, smirked dismissively, and tossed them back.
Turning around, I saw Mom standing against the wall outside, staring at me expressionlessly. Startled, I clutched my chest and said, "Mom, what are you doing? I thought you went back to your room. You scared me."
Mom shot back, "What are you doing?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Yeah, nothing."
"What were you thinking of doing?"
"I wasn't thinking of doing anything."
"You weren't thinking of doing anything?"
"I... Oh, right, I need to use the bathroom."
With that, I turned and headed into the bathroom, relieved myself, and when I came out, Mom was gone—and so were the stockings from the laundry basket.
I let out a long sigh, thinking how close that was—I almost fell into her trap. But it seems she's really conflicted about this.
That evening, Mom still sat beside me, watching me study, but she'd become much more conservative—even wearing jeans at home now. How disappointing. On the bright side, at least I could focus on my studies.
Lying in bed that night, I tossed and turned, thinking about everything that had happened over the past few days. Around the same time as the previous night, I quietly got up and tiptoed to open the door. The balcony was silent—Mom wasn't on the phone with Aunt Rong like yesterday. I couldn't help feeling a little disappointed.
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