The next day—27th of the twelfth lunar month, two days before New Year—Rui Jie phoned Fang's room early. They breakfasted quickly and drove back to Huanghua Town.
It was an hour from Changsha. En route, CEO Yu Chongwen called: Wuhan was ready. A resort villa in the suburban development zone, booked by Donghua, with two curvy Russian women and several Sichuan beauties. The place was bugged like a bank vault—pinhole cameras everywhere. All set for the show.
Fang felt a twinge of guilt. He'd changed—sharper, sneakier. But Jiang and Hong deserved it, with their leering at Rui Jie the night before.
They reached Huanghua at 9 AM. Wuhan was six hours away—plenty of time. Fang called Jiang and Hong, who sounded giddy, still counting their cash.
"Brother Fang, early isn't it? Why rush to Wuhan?" Jiang asked, polite.
"Time's tight—so much to see. Can't keep you from your families over New Year. Besides, the foreign hostesses are waiting." Every word was a hook.
Jiang stammered, rushing Hong out the door.
On the highway to Wuhan, Jiang and Hong chattered excitedly about Wuhan's food, sights, and the foreign hostesses. With that promise, they ignored Rui Jie, who napped in the passenger seat.
Once out of Hunan, they let loose—boasting about their affairs and brothel visits, graphic enough for a porn novel. Fang marveled: these officials could ramble for hours without notes. No wonder they dominated meetings.
Rui Jie, pretending to sleep, blushed furiously, stiff with embarrassment. Fang pitied her, stopping frequently at service areas for smokes or bathroom breaks. They reached Wuhan by 5 PM.
At the resort villa, Jiang and Hong couldn't wait, rushing through dinner to find the women.
Fang smiled. "They're in the master bedroom, waiting." He led them upstairs.
The double doors opened, and their jaws dropped. The Russians and Sichuan women wore skimpy bikinis—tops barely covering nipples, thongs leaving little to the imagination. The Russians' breasts bounced like volleyballs; the Sichuan women's skin was silk-smooth. They lined up, bowing—twelve breasts jiggling. Then they swarmed the men, playful. Fang waved off those clinging to him, directing them to Jiang and Hong.
Such beauty wasted, he thought.
The room was huge—50 square meters, with a 3-meter bed. Nightstands held aphrodisiacs, sex toys, condoms: Indian oil, "power pills," vibrators. The bathroom, glass-walled, let everyone watch those inside. Its counter overflowed with lubricants and stimulants. Massage chairs, swings—everything for debauchery.
A luxury brothel, Fang thought.
Jiang and Hong drooled, stripping the women's bikinis. Hands roamed, frantic. Fang slipped out, closing the door. He was sweating, arousal coiling—he tugged his coat over his stomach. Yu had outdone himself. No wonder he was MIA—likely sampling the goods earlier, saving his energy.
Outside, Rui Jie waited, alarmed. "Tianzhuo? Everything okay in there?"
"Fine. Let's check the basement control room—see how the recording's going." He led her down, following Yu's instructions.
A young marketing guy manned the computers, sweating in the cool basement.
"Take a break—wash your face. I'll watch." Fang said.
The guy left, reluctant.
Rui Jie leaned in. The screen showed a clear feed: two men, six women—"action" in full swing, including the "foreign heroines." The resolution was sharp enough to see every hair. Turning up the volume, he heard their moans, loud and clear.
Rui Jie's ears burned; her chest heaved. Their eyes met, and awkwardness crashed over them.
"I'll wait in the car." She panted, hurrying out.
The marketing guy returned.
"Keep recording till they're done. And if they start again—keep rolling." Fang figured those two would overdo it, maybe collapse before morning.
"Got it. The CEO ordered it." The guy's eyes stayed glued to the screen.
"Long night for you. Thanks." Fang smiled. He'll be drained tomorrow.
In the car, Rui Jie looked calmer, though still flushed. Fang's stomach growled—he'd skipped dinner, and the earlier excitement had burned calories. He worried for Jiang and Hong.
"Rui Jie, grab something to eat?"
"Didn't we just have dinner?"
"Did you really eat?" He parried.
She laughed, and they headed to Nanhu Tea House. It was quiet, with only the owners tending to a few customers. They'd close after today, for the holiday.
Fang ordered his usual snacks and tieguanyin—no bitter melon tea, for once. He smiled, recalling: besides Yanran, he'd brought three women here—Xiaochan, Wang Zhixin, Rui Jie. The tea wasn't the best, but its peacefulness relaxed him, made him reflect.
"What we did… it's dirty. Low." Rui Jie blushed.
"No choice. They wanted money and women—plain as day." He sighed.
"Tianzhuo, you're like the chairman was, years ago—ruthless. It's not good for you." She frowned.
"Years ago? Tell me more." Interest sparked.
She stared at him, lost in thought.