“Now, I’ll begin distributing the exam papers.”
Teacher Hu’s voice pulled Mianmian back to reality. Her voice sounded a bit tired.
She held the stack of exam papers with both hands, leaning her body backward and using her belly to maintain balance.
Mianmian saw her feet—the tops of her feet were swollen like steamed buns, puffing up the openings of her shoes, with a deep indentation pressed into her ankles.
Mianmian lowered her head and answered questions for a while, then looked up at the lectern.
Teacher Hu sat behind the lectern, her hands folded over her belly. The bulging belly lifted her skirt hem so high it couldn’t even cover her knees.
Like a balloon inflated to its limit, her palm rested on the most protruding part, gently stroking it, again and again.
Mianmian instinctively held her breath, as if she too could feel that sudden tightness.
Meeting Teacher Hu’s gaze, she smiled and silently mouthed: Focus on your exam.
Mianmian forced herself to lower her head, but as she worked, her eyes drifted back to the lectern.
The exam hall was silent, with only the soft scratching of pen tips on paper.
Teacher Hu sat there, constantly shifting her posture. Sometimes leaning to one side, sometimes bending forward, sometimes leaning back, her hands propped on the seat, suspending her body as if she dared not let her bottom touch the chair.
Her brows were furrowed, her lips pressed together, as if she were unhappy.
Her eyes were half-closed, her eyelashes trembling continuously.
Every few minutes, her face would turn pale—so pale it was frightening, even her lips losing their color. Then she would begin taking deep breaths, her chest rising and falling, her belly following the rhythm.
Later, Teacher Hu turned her chair around, bent her knees, and knelt on it.
She wasn’t kneeling elegantly; instead, she pressed the weight of her entire upper body onto her arms folded on the seat, while her abdomen hung in the air, avoiding direct pressure.
Her head was buried deeply in the crook of her arm, revealing only her sweat-dampened, slightly trembling nape and disheveled hair. This posture made her swollen belly hang even more prominently.
After a while, her waist began to twist uncontrollably, as if this could relieve the immense pressure from deep within her body. Her round buttocks swayed gently with her movements.
Very lightly, very slowly, as if she was so uncomfortable she didn’t know what else to do but twist gently like this.
Mianmian saw her profile—her face was wet, though it was unclear whether it was sweat or tears.
She felt uneasy. Was the teacher okay? Was the baby inside her acting up? Why did she look so pained?
Watching the teacher’s profile, softened by endurance, and her waist occasionally twisting gently from discomfort, a strange feeling welled up in Mianmian’s heart—a mix of reverence for the mystery of life and pity for the teacher’s current silent suffering.
It was a complex feeling, mingling compassion, tension, curiosity, and even a hint of secret excitement, leaving her mouth dry and cheeks flushed.
Mianmian forced herself to lower her head, trying to focus on the questions on the exam paper.
But the densely packed words blurred before her eyes, impossible to process.
Her ears caught every faint sound coming from the lectern.
The teacher’s heavy, suppressed breathing, the occasional trembling gasps that escaped from the crook of her arm, and the faint creaking of the chair legs against the floor—caused by the teacher’s uncontrollable twisting or tensing of her body.
Mianmian’s pen tip hovered above the exam paper, unable to fall for a long time.
She was both heartbroken by the teacher’s suffering and irresistibly drawn to this struggle on the eve of life’s birth.
It was a primitive, powerful torment, carrying a suffocating beauty and cruelty.
Finally, the bell signaling the end of the exam pierced the stagnant air. The students set down their pens with relief.
Teacher Hu seemed startled awake by the bell. She pushed herself up from the chair with immense slowness and exhaustion. Her movements were sluggish, as if every bone groaned with a weakness born of overexertion.
Mianmian rushed forward. “Teacher, let me help you collect the papers.”
Teacher Hu’s face was flushed, her eyes watery, her forehead covered in sweat, her stray hair soaked and plastered to her brow.
“No need, Mianmian. I’ll do it myself.”
She tried to get down from the chair but couldn’t move for a moment.
Mianmian thought it was probably because she had been kneeling for too long, and her legs were numb—she needed a moment to recover.
“Teacher, are you feeling unwell?” Mianmian asked.
“It’s fine,” Teacher Hu shook her head. “It’s been like this for the past few days. It’s just that I’m close to giving birth. It’s nothing serious.”
She smiled at Mianmian again. “Hurry back for lunch. You still have the science comprehensive exam this afternoon.”
At noon, Mianmian had little appetite. She picked at her food hastily, the taste like chewing wax.
Her gaze kept drifting involuntarily toward the direction of the teachers’ office. How was Teacher Hu? Had she eaten lunch?
She stood up, deciding to go to the restroom to wash her face, hoping cold water would extinguish the anxiety and that indescribable flutter in her heart.
The restroom in the teaching building was at the end of the hallway, unusually quiet during the lunch break.
Mianmian turned on the faucet. The cold water rushed over her wrists, bringing a brief moment of clarity.
Suddenly, an extremely suppressed yet distinctly audible sound came from the innermost stall.
The sound was muffled, as if stifled deep in the throat, yet impossible to fully suppress due to immense pain.
It was a short, violently trembling gasp, followed by several broken, seemingly gritted-out moans, then turning into a heavy, almost whimpering pant.
Mianmian’s heart leaped violently.
She almost held her breath, instinctively lightening her steps as she moved toward the stall where the sound originated.
The stall door wasn’t fully closed, leaving a narrow gap. Mianmian peered through the crack.
Teacher Hu was facing away from the door, squatting over the toilet bowl.
Her hands were braced firmly on her knees, her body leaning forward, head deeply bowed, disheveled hair hanging down.
The teacher’s swollen abdomen was sinking downward with an incredible intensity, as if ready to break free from the body’s restraint at any moment.
Her beige maternity dress was pulled up high, bunched around her waist, her maternity pants pulled down, revealing the taut skin of her lower abdomen.
The skin was stretched extremely thin, the shape of her navel nearly disappearing from the strain.
At this moment, her entire abdomen was contracting, tightening, and swelling in a slow yet powerful rhythm visible to the naked eye, like a solid rock. Each contraction was accompanied by uncontrollable, violent tremors coursing through the teacher’s body.
“Ugh… mmm…”
A muffled groan of extreme agony escaped from between her tightly clenched teeth.
Her legs trembled uncontrollably, spreading outward until her knees nearly touched the walls on either side, her toes curling tightly against the floor tiles.
Sweat soaked her back, the fabric clinging damply to her skin.
Her body writhed helplessly.
Mianmian worriedly thought, why is it so difficult for the teacher to have a bowel movement? Is she constipated?
After a while, Teacher Hu suddenly threw her head back, letting out a short, sharp gasp. The tendons in her neck strained like taut bowstrings, sweat rolling down her jawline.
Her arms, braced against the wall, trembled as if seized by spasms.
A few seconds later, her body, stretched to its limit, suddenly slackened like a deflated balloon.
She slumped forward, her forehead pressing heavily against the cold tiled wall, gasping for breath in ragged, heaving gulps, her shoulders shaking violently.
“Teacher Hu? Are you okay?”
Mianmian gently tapped on the cubicle door.
From inside came Teacher Hu’s weak, hoarse voice, tinged with a hint of barely concealed panic: “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Mianmian,” Mianmian quickly replied. “Teacher, do you need help?”
A moment of silence followed. Mianmian could almost imagine the teacher’s embarrassment and distress. Finally, the door opened.
Teacher Hu was crouched against the wall, her forehead dotted with fine beads of cold sweat, strands of damp bangs clinging messily to her skin. Her eyes were unfocused and weary, filled with deep shame and helplessness.
Her skirt was hiked up and bunched around her legs.
She leaned forward, the front of her shirt soaked with sweat and plastered to her body. Biting her lip, her face flushed red, she continued to strain uncontrollably downward, her entire body trembling.