Chapter 1515 - Australian Pleasures

Lin Ming knew the pimp was angling for a tip while also gauging the customers' wealth. He was about to speak when Wang Xinglong, without a word, fished a one-yuan note from his pocket and tossed it to the fellow, who became even more solicitous. He led them into a room bearing three characters in red-barbarian script.

The room was dim but visibly luxurious. Silk covered the walls. The only furnishings were a few large chairs arranged around a tea table—and an enormous mirror that covered nearly half of one wall. Lin Ming started. Mirrors and glass windows had become commonplace in Lingao, but facing a mirror so large it reflected his entire body was quite a shock. The pimp helped Lin Ming into one of the big chairs—soft, comfortable, springy. Lin Ming knew this was a "sofa"; he had seen wealthy households in Guangzhou and Foshan buy them.

"Sir, this is an Australian-made chair called a sofa. Comfortable all over!"

"Indeed, very comfortable." Lin Ming stood up and sat down again. "Xiao Liu, it's so dark in here—how can we pick a girl? You're not trying to fool me, are you?"

"Oh, sir, I wouldn't dare! Just sit and have some tea for now. I'll call the girls out shortly." The pimp went out and soon returned with a tray of tea and refreshments, whispering, "Please enjoy at your leisure. The girls will be out momentarily."

The tray held exquisite pastries—and, remarkably, slices of watermelon. It was barely early spring; to have watermelon now! Lin Ming marveled inwardly. In Guangdong, eating a few cucumbers or chives in winter was nothing out of the ordinary, but watermelon in winter was unheard of.

Wang Xinglong picked up a slice and ate. Lin Ming silently fretted: he knew the rules of pleasure houses. This was called a "tea tray." However fine the refreshments looked, the price was steep—one tray could match the cost of a full feast at a top restaurant.

According to custom, eating even a single bite obligated one to pay. Leave it untouched, and no charge was incurred.

In the Ming, Lin Ming never paid when he dined out or visited pleasure houses—in Foshan especially, proprietors felt honored to have him. Elsewhere, wealthy merchants and patrons always covered the tab. But this was Lingao; the Brocade Guard's prestige carried no weight here. He feared Wang Xinglong, young and inexperienced, would spend recklessly, and if they could not pay, a dispute would erupt and bring the Cropped-Hair police. Sweat beaded on his brow.

"Brother Wang, why are you eating already?"

"Why, can't I?" Wang Xinglong looked bewildered.

"Alas! Don't you know? This tea tray costs several taels of silver per bite..."

Wang Xinglong laughed. "Brother Lin, don't worry. This is Lingao—Australian rules apply. Eat all you want. It's included in the service fee. Once you buy your 'clock,' it's all covered."

"Buy my end?"

"It's 'buy the clock.' Relax, eat a little first—there's still time." Wang Xinglong wolfed down another slice of watermelon. "Spring delights await. Enjoy the preview, Brother Lin."

Seeing his confident air, Lin Ming assumed he knew what he was doing. Since he was already here, he might as well go along. He was indeed thirsty; he picked up the tea and took a few sips. It was neither the local oolong nor the Jiangxi or Fujian teas common in Guangdong. The liquor was nearly black; the taste was rich, yet sweet with a hint of tartness.

"This is black tea. Like oolong, it's an Australian specialty." Wang Xinglong said. "In summer, served with ice, it's even more refreshing."

Having eaten only a bowl of Lingao noodles, Lin Ming felt the strong tea on an empty stomach and helped himself to a pastry. It tasted as good as anything from the finest shops in Guangzhou.

Yet what were they supposed to do, sitting here facing a mirror? As he puzzled over this, the mirror suddenly blazed with light—its surface seemed to glow from within.

Lin Ming leaped to his feet, dumbfounded. As the light intensified, the mirror turned translucent. Within it appeared a sumptuously decorated room: floor covered in scarlet carpet, walls lined with cream-colored silk, small pink glass lamps at each corner casting a soft, crystalline glow over everything.

Three young women with exquisite hairstyles stood inside, all dressed alike in gauzy, diaphanous gowns. "Gown" was generous—really just two strips of cloth, one in front and one behind, tied at the waist with silk ribbons. The sides were slit open; raising an arm bared a breast, lifting a leg revealed hip and thigh.

That was startling enough. But what nearly gave Lin Ming a nosebleed were the bodies dimly visible beneath that gauze and the provocative poses the women struck.

Lin Ming's entire body responded, just as it had with the Persian dancing girls in Macau. Having gone without for over half a year, this was too rich a dish—his heart and mind reeled; a hot surge below warned he was on the verge of losing control. Lin Ming silently groaned, forced his gaze away, steadied his breathing, and barely avoided utter collapse on the spot.

He dared not look again; he gulped tea to calm himself. Wang Xinglong sidled over. "Which one caught your eye, Brother Lin?"

His composure barely restored, Lin Ming dared not look closely and blurted, "The one on the left."

Wang Xinglong pulled a cord; the lights in the mirror went out, and the women vanished. Lin Ming dared not rise; he continued his breathing exercises, needing to settle himself lest he make a spectacle.

"Well, Brother Lin? Did you enjoy the preview?" Wang Xinglong looked quite pleased with himself.

Lin Ming nodded silently. Fortunately the room was dim—his expression must have been a sight. Luckily Ming robes were loose and wide-sleeved; the lingering swelling below was not obvious.

"The girls you've chosen are waiting. Please follow me." Xiao Liu came in, grinning. "Which package would you like?"

"Just the standard one." Wang Xinglong waved a hand. "Tell me the room number; I'll find my own way. Just take Mr. Lin here."

Xiao Liu led Lin Ming to another room. This one was brighter, but strangely furnished: apart from a simple cabinet, there was only a wide white bed. The floor was paved with black tiles. Beside the bed lay large white towels. Lin Ming, seeing no chair, sat on the bed. The surface was cool but not stone; it had a glazed smoothness and was slightly concave. Sitting on it was rather uncomfortable compared to the sofa.

As he sat there wondering, the door opened. Lin Ming's eyes lit up: in walked the very woman who had posed so alluringly in the mirror. She wore a wrapped gown belted at the waist; her hair was down, loosely gathered with a ribbon.

Lin Ming found himself, for the first time in his life, at a loss before a woman. Remembering his earlier display, he smiled awkwardly.

"Sir, your servant greets you." The woman curtsied. From behind her, a younger girl emerged, set a basket beside the bed, lit a stick of incense in a corner brazier, then withdrew, carefully closing the door.

"Ah, yes." Lin Ming felt tongue-tied. This "Australian treat" was truly something else; even a connoisseur of pleasures like himself was thrown off balance.

"Please relax, sir. This must be your first time?" The woman picked up the basket and walked past him, her hand brushing—seemingly by accident—a sensitive area. "You must be so tired, sir. Look how warm you are. Let your servant bathe you." Her movements were graceful, with just a hint of teasing.

"Yes, yes, yes." Lin Ming swallowed hard.

"Please stand, sir, and let your servant undress you."

She removed his clothes, and with her delicate hands guiding him, he lay face-down on the bed. He found the bed fit his body perfectly—conforming to every muscle.

A rustle of fabric, and her voice came again:

"Sir, lie still. Your servant will bathe you now." Water splashed; Lin Ming felt jets spraying on his back, though he had noticed no water container or source. As he puzzled, a pair of small hands began to glide over his back—from shoulders to toes, missing nothing, even washing between his toes. The pressure was neither too light nor too heavy—just right. Lin Ming had never experienced anything like it. His concubines at home attended him devotedly, anxious to please, yet none possessed such technique or touch.

The water stopped. Something slick was poured on his back; a faint, orchid-like fragrance wafted past his nose. Then something else began moving over him—definitely not hands. Lin Ming glanced back curiously: a pair of small, smooth, creamy breasts swayed before his eyes, pressing and gliding along his back. He heard the woman's soft panting. At once, violent changes occurred below; he felt painfully compressed. His hips squirmed involuntarily to relieve the pressure.

The woman seemed to sense something. "Sir, please turn over. Let your servant give you a tour."

Lin Ming did not know what she meant, but he turned over—and felt instant relief.

"Oh my, sir, you are truly impressive... so magnificent," she said demurely.

Lin Ming dared not open his eyes. He felt water streaming over him. Curiosity made him peek, but the moment his eyes opened, those gleaming breasts swayed directly before him. He saw clearly now: the woman was using them to wash him. He squeezed his eyes shut; he felt himself about to pass out, his mind a blank.

The following one hundred and eighty thousand characters have been omitted.