The yellow-haired man squeezed closer, his camera almost poking into her face.
“Check it out, folks! This pregnant woman is kneeling on the ground. Is she about to give birth?”
The driver glanced in the rearview mirror and frowned. He didn’t stop the bus, continuing to drive forward as he shouted:
“Hey, you pregnant woman! Have you no decency? Don’t you dare give birth on my bus! How am I supposed to keep driving if you dirty the bus? Do you hear me? Get off at the next stop!”
The yellow-haired man shoved his phone even closer, the lens nearly touching the edge of her white skirt, greedily capturing every frame:
“Holy shit! Bros, check this out! Live broadcast! Giving birth on a bus! Never seen this before, right? Launch those rockets! Bros, send some gifts! If the likes hit ten thousand, I’ll give you all a close-up shot…”
The beautiful older sister was now in the most humiliating and helpless position, kneeling with her knees apart. Due to the weight of her belly, her entire body was forced to arch, with that round, swollen abdomen hanging heavily between her legs, sagging downward.
She hunched over, holding back, straining with all her might.
Then she slowly relaxed, collapsing weakly onto the floor, panting heavily.
Seeing the yellow-haired man’s actions, she mustered her last bit of strength to pull her damp, sticky skirt downward.
Her delicate face was covered in sweat, her hair soaked and clinging to her cheeks. Her eyes were closed, her eyelashes damp, whether from sweat or tears, it was hard to tell.
Her lips were bitten until they bled, a trace of blood seeping out like plum blossoms blooming in the snow—stunningly beautiful yet heartbreakingly fragile.
Mianmian didn’t know where she found the courage, but she took half a step forward, straightened her back, and silently blocked the yellow-haired man’s camera.
The older sister hunched over again, this time even more intensely than before. Her hands left the back of the seat and instead pressed against the floor, her entire body tensed.
A faint sound escaped her throat, like a sob or a struggle for breath.
“Mmm… uh…”
She strained for a long, long time—so long that Mianmian thought she might suffocate—before slowly relaxing again, collapsing onto the floor and panting heavily.
Sweat streamed down her face, her hair soaked and clinging to her cheeks and neck.
Her white gauze skirt was stained with dust, and the tips of her white leather shoes, pressed against the floor, were also dirty. Her heels lifted slightly, her forefeet and curled toes straining against the ground, the tendons on the tops of her feet protruding visibly.
Mianmian saw her legs trembling, trembling violently, her knees uncontrollably rubbing lightly against the floor.
She relaxed, collapsed, and panted. Then she hunched over again, only to relax once more.
Once, twice, three times.
Her chest heaved violently, each breath accompanied by a heavy, bellows-like sound.
The white gauze skirt was already soaked through, the fabric clinging tightly, faintly revealing a darker, unsettling shape beneath.
The yellow-haired man continued his incessant commentary, his voice buzzing:
“Thrilling! So thrilling! Family, don’t stop the gifts! Push harder, girl! Give it another try! Let the bros see! Bros, send gifts to cheer her on! Rockets! Carnivals! Send them so she can push harder!”
His face showed undisguised excitement as he eagerly watched the soaring popularity and gift notifications on the screen while enthusiastically narrating.
Finally, the driver slammed on the brakes at a bus stop.
Once the bus came to a halt, both the front and rear doors opened simultaneously. He turned around, his voice filled with impatience and obvious disdain:
“We’ve arrived! We’ve arrived! The one giving birth, get off now! Don’t block the door and waste everyone’s time!”
The beautiful older sister trembled all over.
She shook her head desperately, her disheveled long hair sticking to her sweat-drenched cheeks with the movement, tears falling even harder.
She wanted to speak but couldn’t, her eyes filled with panic.
She tried to stand up, but her body wouldn’t obey. She had just propped herself up a little with her elbows, attempting to lift her upper body, her knees barely leaving the ground, when her entire body suddenly stiffened.
“—Mmph!!”
A short, uncontrollable cry of pain, a violent shudder, and she fell heavily back onto her knees, her posture even more exposed.
The driver was still urging, “Hurry up and get off, the cars behind are waiting! If you’re going to give birth, go to the hospital!”
“Girl, get up, auntie will help you sit for a while,” the middle-aged woman squatted beside her, trying to help her up.
The older sister shook her head, tears rolling down in large drops, her voice squeezed out from her throat, trembling uncontrollably:
“Can’t sit… too swollen…”
Mianmian didn’t understand why she couldn’t sit.
The older sister lay there, her waist deeply sunken, while her hips were raised high, like a small animal forced into a corner during labor.
The driver grew impatient, unbuckled his seatbelt, and actually walked over from the front door. He bent down, his rough hands grabbing the older sister’s upper arm, pulling her up forcefully:
“Hurry, hurry, get off, don’t linger on my bus!”
The older sister was pulled up a little by him but slid back down, her entire body as soft as a puddle of water.
She lifted her face, covered in tears and sweat, looking at the driver pitifully, her voice broken into fragments:
“Driver, please… I can’t move… it’s already… coming out…”
The guy with dyed yellow hair held his phone high, still saying:
“Bros, the livestream is blowing up, ten thousand people online! This pretty girl is about to give birth on the bus! Give the streamer a tip, send those virtual gifts! I’m risking my account getting banned to film this for you!”
He lowered his phone, reaching under the older sister’s white skirt, which had been lifted during her struggle.
Mianmian didn’t know where she found the strength, but she pushed his hand away. The guy stumbled back a step, almost dropping his phone.
“You little brat, what are you doing?” he glared at her.
Mianmian didn’t speak. She crouched down, took off her school uniform, spread it under the older sister, and used her backpack to cover her thighs.
Then, holding the older sister’s shoulders, she helped her lie down slowly. The older sister’s belly, under the tight gauze dress, was slowly, almost imperceptibly changing shape, shifting downward from its rounded form…
“Please call 120…” Mianmian looked up at the people around her.
No one moved. They all stood there, watching, holding up their phones.
Only the middle-aged woman took out her phone, pressed a few buttons, and held it to her ear.
The older sister lay on Mianmian’s school uniform, clutching her hand, crying softly, pushing, crying again, and pushing once more.
Mianmian spread her arms like a small bird, unfurling her not-yet-full wings to shield the person beneath her.
When the beautiful older sister arched her back for the last time, she didn’t relax. Her head tilted back, her neck stretched taut, her eyes suddenly opened, looking at the bus ceiling, then closed again.
Under the focused gaze of everyone, tears of shame and anger streamed from the corners of her eyes, flowing into her ears.
Her entire body was tensed tightly, the veins on her neck bulging, her face flushed red.
For some reason, Mianmian cried too.
She felt as though the older sister was like a sacrificial offering placed on an altar, exposed for everyone to scrutinize.
It was meant to be the most sacred of conceptions, the most private of births, yet now it was exposed to countless pairs of curious, indifferent, even excited eyes.
Yet even amid the humiliation of being watched and judged, her body was still working.
It was instinct.
This ancient, powerful instinct to procreate could overpower everything.
Mianmian had no time to wipe her own tears.
Come on, big sister, don’t be afraid, I’m here with you.
The big sister’s face turned from flushed red to an oxygen-deprived purple, and the surroundings instantly erupted into chaos.
“Oh my god! She’s really giving birth! Ugh—quick, film it!” someone shouted.
“Don’t look!” Mianmian yelled. “All of you, don’t look!”
Whether it was because her voice was too shrill or because someone finally felt a pang of compassion, several young women gathered around, turning their backs to them and forming a human wall, blocking those voyeuristic gazes.
The aunt with permed hair shouted sternly, “Keep filming! I’ll smash your phone if you don’t stop, believe me!”
“Have some humanity, will you!” a young office worker wearing glasses also spoke up.
The guy with dyed yellow hair tried to argue but was shoved aside by a tall girl with short hair, stumbling backward. “Get lost!”
Within the human wall, a relatively enclosed, compassionate little space was formed.
The big sister no longer tried to suppress herself. Mianmian saw her push one leg hard against the floor, her toes curling, while the other leg trembled helplessly. Her hips lifted high, then fell heavily.
Her eyes were unfocused, filled only with a blankness overwhelmed by pain. Yet her body worked with precision and tenacity.
“Come on… sister…” Mianmian heard her own faint voice, squeezed from her dry throat. “Come on…”
She didn’t know what else she could do, so with her other free hand, she clumsily and gently brushed away the damp hair clinging to the woman’s cheek.
Suddenly, the woman let out a long, drawn-out moan, tinged with sobs, filled with pain, exhaustion, and relief.
A small bundle fell onto Mianmian’s school uniform, squirmed, and let out a loud, wailing cry.
The thin, tender, yet incredibly piercing cry suddenly erupted in the silent carriage.
Like a thunderclap, it shattered all the noise, indifference, and voyeurism.
Life had arrived in its most primitive, most humiliating, yet most undeniable way.
The big sister lay quietly, her eyes closed, her face strangely showing a drained calm and a faint, fleeting sense of bewildered relief.
Sweat, tears, and disheveled black hair clung to her cheeks. She looked as beautiful as a statue of the Madonna, having just endured a trial and finally finding rest.
Mianmian’s heart felt as if it had been struck hard by something.
So this is how life comes into the world.
So painful, so humiliating, so messy, yet so beautiful.
The sound of an ambulance echoed from outside.
The bus doors opened, and medical staff rushed in. People in the carriage moved aside, and a stretcher carried the sister away, along with the tiny bundle.
The medical staff inadvertently took Mianmian’s blood-soaked school uniform jacket with them.
Without her uniform, she was left wearing only her white shirt. Thankfully, she held her backpack in her arms, keeping the mock exam papers inside clean—she still had to hand in her homework this morning.
When the bus reached the school stop, Mianmian got off through the back door. The air carried the fragrance of locust blossoms.
As she walked to the school gate, the dean stopped her. “Ji Mianmian, why aren’t you wearing your school uniform for Monday’s flag-raising ceremony?”
Mianmian said seriously, “Teacher Zhao, I wore my school uniform when I left home this morning, but I lost it later and it was taken away by an ambulance!”
Teacher Zhao was stunned for a moment, then burst into laughter. “This kid, making up stories one after another. Alright, alright, hurry inside, you’re late!”
Mianmian also found her own words amusing and followed with a silly laugh.