Chronicles of Romantic Encounters

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

Have you ever fantasized about young women in uniforms parading around town?
I confess, I have.
I longed for it when I was dressed in plain clothes. And throughout the long period afterward, when I wore uniforms and took them off again and again, I mingled among these uniformed girls, never tiring of it.
These women in uniforms had independent lives, distinct personalities, and even represented a kind of power, or… in short, they inspired a man's urge to conquer them. And I used to be that kind of man.
But before it all happened, I never imagined that the first beautiful girl I had intimate contact with would be a girl in uniform, but her uniform was quite unusual. She wore a loose-fitting striped prison uniform, a notorious outlaw serving time, a descendant of a mysterious martial arts school.
When I met her, she was only 19, but had already served almost a year in prison.
Sounds unbelievable, right?
Let me start from the beginning, and introduce myself first.
I know you're not interested in my history, but only in how I won women's hearts.
But I still have to say some necessary preamble.
Before writing about the specifics, I think the first thing to consider is the timeline of the story. When does my story take place?
Time is a big issue.
Websites generally don't allow tentative descriptions of real-world issues, which is understandable. But my story obviously can't happen in a vacuum, like in porn where you just undress in a room. Emotions always have distinct characteristics of their time, unlike the pleasure of sex. I used to write some short articles on a major website, which were quite popular, but my column was shut down.
So, I can't say I live in any particular political atmosphere. I'm only using my own time to tell my own history, hence the title: *Chronicles of Romantic Encounters*.
It's a bit funny, but there's no other way.
I won't write much of what readers don't want, so the story begins in the year I lost my virginity. I've given that year a triumphant title: *Year One of Romantic Encounters*.
This has only one downside: it divides my history into two parts: before and after romantic encounters.
The years before my romantic encounter were truly uneventful, but I gave them a nice name: the time of a virgin.
I was still a virgin when I graduated from a finance school in a coastal city.
I studied taxation, but by the time my romantic encounter began, the government had stopped assigning jobs. I was what people often call "a widow sleeping with no one above her," meaning I couldn't actually get a job at the tax bureau; I could only work as a junior accountant in a struggling company. Even then, I had to beg and plead.
Perhaps it was fate, but near graduation, a prison came to the school to recruit. They wanted to find a female student. But when they heard that the nearest town was dozens of kilometers away, and the county seat was several kilometers away, plus the condition that I couldn't apply for a transfer for 10 years, not a single girl showed up for two days. I, on the other hand, thought I could wear a uniform, and the salary and benefits seemed reasonable, so I gave it a try.
The person in charge of recruiting was the head of the prison, who happened to have a sick wife at home and was in a hurry to go home. He didn't care about what was between my legs anymore, and even thankfully welcomed me. Then I filled out a form, and that was it.
After receiving my graduation certificate, all my files, and job assignment documents, I didn't stay at school for another day, nor did I go home. I went straight to work at the prison. My father was a doctor, and my mother was a middle school teacher, but I can't remember what she looked like. When I was almost five, an infectious disease took her away from me. Later, my father remarried a nurse to be my stepmother. Before I was old enough to understand, I wasn't close to my father. I always blamed him, thinking that my mother's infectious disease was because he was a doctor, and I lived under that shadow for a long time. Fortunately, my stepmother brought a three-year-old sister with her when she married my father, and my stepmother has always been very good to me. But my biological mother in my memory has already filled my heart.
After starting work, once everything was settled, I called home to tell my father and greet my mother and sister. My father was still a little unhappy that I didn't come home to work, but he still congratulated me. Then he said to me, "After you start working, don't be as silent as before. You still need to speak properly and be polite." I suddenly felt a little touched and a little guilty. My father had always cared about me, and was probably the person who understood me best in the world. Before, when I was at home, I was always quiet, almost unresponsive. A bit rebellious, when my father wanted me to read, I would pretend to read, but I wasn't really paying attention. Actually, I quite enjoy reading. The most numerous and tedious books at home were various medical books, but I read them all. I only half-understand some modern medical knowledge, but I've mastered the theories of traditional Chinese medicine, because it's just a few books. I'm rambling on like this because these dozen or so books have greatly helped me in all my later experiences.
After talking to my father on the phone, I secretly resolved to make a small difference.
Before I came to H Women's Prison, I didn't know it was a women's prison. In my mind, criminals were all men, so seeing over two hundred women detained here was truly astonishing. Theoretically, I rarely interact with prisoners because my job involves finances and equipment. While I have some authority and a few advantages, I figured being alone in a foreign place meant I should just honestly serve the people. So I was very polite to everyone, trying my best to make things convenient for them. This made me quite popular in the predominantly female H prison, from the warden to the ordinary helpers. The women would often come to my office, and despite their smart uniforms, they would tell me all sorts of trivial things. Later, after I started wearing the uniform, some colleagues even asked me to cover their night shifts.
I wouldn't talk about the weather, the plants, the layout of the buildings, or even the sounds of insects I heard in the prison. I won't say how many colleagues I have, how many are male and how many are female, I won't talk about how many bullets I fired in our target practice competition and how many rings I hit, nor will I mention how much bonus we received this month or how many packs of toilet paper we got next month. Because what I'm about to say will affect the fate of many former colleagues, and they were all very kind to me during the time we spent together.
It was two months after I arrived at H prison, which, to put it another way, was the end of September of the first year of my romantic encounter. I was already quite familiar with everyone. It was a Saturday evening (back then it was a five-day work week, with Saturday being the weekend), and Sister Zhang from the infirmary came to see me. She was supposed to stay on duty that night, but her daughter, who was in college, had come home. As soon as she arrived, I knew what was going on. I had covered for her before. Normally, there wasn't much to do; covering for her was just a formality—I'd read a book, and if I got sleepy, I'd sleep. Because I would occasionally show off my knowledge of the doctor's daughter, and I was indeed quite skilled at giving injections or intravenous infusions. There wasn't much more to say, but I still emphasized that if anything happened, her husband would have to protect her! Her husband is our boss, the top leader.
As luck would have it, near the end of the shift, a female inmate had acute gastroenteritis and was lying in the ward receiving an IV drip. Even the guards who brought her there had to rush back to the duty room because of the weekend staff shortage. Sister Zhang called me, saying she was extremely worried. I knew what she was thinking, but she couldn't directly ask me to cover her shift again, because regulations prohibit one from having unsupervised contact with inmates of the opposite sex. I was even more reluctant to ask her to cover for me; this sister of mine is usually really good to me. So I asked if her husband knew about it, and she said he did. I said, "Okay, I'll be right to your office. You can get ready to take the shuttle bus back to the city." Then, I grabbed a box of fries and two packets of instant noodles and went to the infirmary.
Sister Zhang happily introduced the female prisoner's situation, then looked at her, before returning to me and whispering, "No problem, she gets this same illness once or twice a month, and she's completely cured after two IV drips. It sounds like a minor case. Once the IV is finished, we just need to take her to her cell. It should be over by 10 pm. If it gets too late, we used to lock her in the ward and have her stay overnight; you can stay in our duty room." After a few seconds, Sister Zhang added, "She's a thief, and I heard she's quite skilled, so leaving you the handcuffs won't be very useful. If we don't take her back, you'll have to get up several times during the night to check on her."
I smiled and said, "Please don't worry, I'll call her at 10 pm sharp to report."
Sister Zhang left me a key and went back to the city with her colleagues who were off duty.
I looked at the female prisoner sleeping on the bed from a distance. I couldn't see her face clearly, but like all the female prisoners, she was wearing a prison uniform and had short, shoulder-length hair.
I tried not to get too close to her.
My heart was pounding.
I was still a virgin. Maybe it was because it was the first time I'd been alone in a room with a woman I'd never met.
Maybe there were other reasons. I didn't know then that my racing heart might be a natural reaction to danger.
That somewhat desolate night forever changed my previously peaceful life.
Otherwise, maybe I would have spent my whole life in that prison until retirement.
After that night, I embarked on a decade-long dissolute and treacherous life in the underworld.
Was she asleep?
Maybe she was awake? I wasn't sure.
What should I say to her?
Should I ask her why she was here?
Or should I ask her age, address, and marital status?
Sitting in a chair near the window, I felt a little uneasy.
But I finally decided to go see her. I walked over, not looking directly at her, but pretending to check the dosage of the medicine first, and then looked at the medical record. It turned out her name was Xiaoli, one of the most common names in China. And then I saw she was only 19!
I found it a little funny, thinking, "Xiaoli, huh, I wonder if she's as beautiful as her name." Then, with a mischievous smugness in my eyes, I looked at Xiaoli, and then, I was shocked.
She wasn't Xiaoli! She was absolutely stunningly beautiful. Her features, perfectly proportioned on her delicate, oval face, were beautiful in every way imaginable, strikingly beautiful. Even more alarming, her face was flushed, and she was staring at me intently, her gaze a mixture of anger, despair, shyness, and a hint of fierceness… In any case, that look terrified me. I was
even more shocked, and stammered, asking her, "Feeling better?"
She ignored me, closing her eyes. But her pretty face grew increasingly red. The thin military blanket couldn't conceal the heaving of her chest.
Although it was so startling, I felt even more embarrassed. I was momentarily at a loss.
In those few seconds of silence, I suddenly felt a surge of anger. I was wearing a uniform! How could I be intimidated by a woman in prison clothes? No matter how beautiful she was, she was still a female prisoner!
The rage within me surged relentlessly, and I couldn't help but take a step forward to her bedside.
I bent down.
I must have been blinded by anger; I didn't know if I wanted to kiss her, punch her, or just bluff to scare her.
When our eyes were about 20cm apart, she opened them again. This time, she didn't stare at me like before, but just glanced at me quickly before closing her eyes again.
I felt lost again.
Then I heard her sweet, pitiful voice: "Doctor... I... I need to... go to the toilet."
I was even more shocked, but I had no choice. Damn it, why hadn't I thought of this before I had the courage to come on duty? I used to think that covering shifts for those female police officers was just a formality, but who knew it would be serious today.
At that moment, I hated myself. Why am I always so thoughtless? Why didn't I think of things like this—this is a women's prison! ...I kept blaming myself like this, but I couldn't think of any good solution. If I were to call another female officer, and word got back to the prison administration that I was covering for the warden's wife, I'd be in big trouble. Not only me, but Sister Zhang and even our warden would likely be punished… Calling Sister Zhang wouldn't be fast enough; by the time she figured out a solution and had her trusted confidant handle it, it would be at least 30 minutes later. Besides, I was too embarrassed to tell anyone about this—I'm still a virgin! If word got out, I'd be ashamed for a long time! You know, 90% of those female officers are gossips; I've experienced that firsthand. I
had to take the plunge!
I gritted my teeth and said to Xiaoli, "I'll help you to the toilet!"
She seemed to be reaching her limit and didn't object at all, struggling to get up.
I quickly reached out to help her, but as soon as she moved, "Ugh—" she vomited all over me, turning my uniform and trousers into camouflage.
Before I could react, her body went limp, and before I could grab her, she collapsed back onto the bed.
Once again, she looked at me pitifully and said weakly, "I didn't mean to, I'm sorry... My head is so dizzy, I can't get up... I... I need to go to the toilet... My stomach hurts so much. Oh... It hurts so much... I need to go to the toilet... I can't hold it in anymore..." She was about to cry.
I was really afraid she would make a mess of the bed. I knew that if I didn't deal with it quickly, people with acute gastroenteritis wouldn't be able to control themselves.
I had to be even more determined. I steeled myself, gave her a stern look, and said, "I'm your doctor, you're my patient, you know? In a doctor's eyes, you're just a patient, not a woman, right?"
"Yes, please help me!" Xiaoli groaned in pain.
I gritted my teeth again, picked up the bedpan from the floor, placed it by the bed, and then pulled back Xiaoli's blanket. Beneath that checkered prison uniform lay a slender, curvaceous youthful body—perhaps even the body of a virgin, perhaps one that no other man had ever seen since she grew up… Now, I… I trembled as I reached for her slender, barely-there waist.
My hands shook, my heart pounded, as if I'd just run a 5,000-meter race. The prison uniform's belt was a lightly elastic band, which looked particularly wide around her waist. If my hands hadn't been trembling, if the uniform had been on a mannequin, I could have pulled it off in a mere 0.1 seconds.
I don't know how long it took me to regain my composure, or how long it took me to find her panties, and then, with a forceful pull… The first thing I saw was her dazzlingly white abdomen. For the next ten days or so, I tried to recall the shape of her abdomen, but I couldn't remember anything; I only remembered that dazzling whiteness.
Then, I saw a patch of dark, glossy virgin hair. The triangle, as if combed, was neat and tightly attached to her high, rounded mons pubis.
Then, my eyes… (Writing this, I can't help but wonder, in the future, will I share every romantic or violent detail of my experiences with my readers in my memories? Or is this allowed on my BBS? Even if it is allowed, will my readers accept it? To write or not to write? Sex is, after all, a real thing, an indispensable part of our lives.) My hand lifted her little bottom; it was so soft and warm, so smooth it seemed about to slip from my trembling hand.
She weakly said, "No… don't look…"
Perhaps I wasn't so obedient. I quickly shoved the bedpan under her bottom, then my eyes darted away, stealthily glancing at her there.
My head spun for two seconds, as if it were filled with water.
I had never seen a woman so closely, so clearly before. Back in school, I used to read all sorts of sex education books and brochures, and on weekends, I'd go to those smoky video arcades with classmates to watch porn. Maybe on the way back or during late-night dorm chats, we'd shamelessly discuss the shape or color of those places, even talking about what it would taste like to cook them together with drinks! But today, this virgin saw for the first time the private parts of that girl he'd only vaguely seen in his dreams.
When I lifted her buttocks with my hand, I only hurriedly reached for the chamber pot. Now, the white porcelain made her rosy buttocks look exceptionally beautiful, and as I lifted them higher, her private parts were also raised even higher, exposed to the deep chill of late autumn air.
Goosebumps slowly appeared on the smooth skin of her inner thighs, only making the girl's skin appear even smoother.
That virgin's private parts… it seemed she hadn't fully developed yet. The hair hadn't grown in yet; only a few strands remained on her labia, unable to protect the girl's secret. Her bright red labia, like rosebuds, tightly guarded the girl's last shred of privacy.
It seemed these little darlings were still contracting.
A nimble little hand, I don't know when, reached out and blocked my view. "Could you go out for a moment? I can't hold it in anymore..." she said.
I snapped back to reality and quickly ran to the door.
Before I could close it, I heard that embarrassing sound of urination.
I stood outside, a little nervous, a little amused, and at the same time, I felt the physical excitement and sorrow. I wondered if she was incredibly shy right now. Besides this, what else was she thinking? Would she, like in those martial arts novels, make me marry her because I saw her private parts?
A gust of cold wind blew by, making me shiver. Her vomit-soaked uniform clung to my body, feeling exceptionally cold. This clinic was a relatively isolated building, and there were even rumors of it being haunted! Of course, I didn't believe those legends, but in this night, under this dim light, and with my body cold, I was still a little nervous.
"Are you done?" I asked her softly through the door.
"Come in," she said.
I pushed the door open and entered. The room reeked of a foul stench, almost making me want to turn around and leave immediately. Perhaps that was why she didn't call me right away.
My eyes swept over her and I noticed that she wasn't covered by the blanket, and her hand was still covering her private parts.
When she saw me looking at that spot again, she quickly said, "Please give me some paper."
I quickly looked for some paper, then found some in the duty room next door, and hurried back. As I closed the duty room door, I felt like something was on my mind. When I opened the injection room door, I realized that I had locked the duty room key there! But it was too late.
I wanted to joke with her, "Do you want me to wipe your bottom?" but I was too embarrassed to say it.
I turned my face away and waited for her to finish. Then I pulled the bedpan out from under her bottom and emptied it. This time, her hand, without the IV drip, carefully covered her little darling. Aside from a few playful tufts of hair peeking out from beside her hand, I couldn't see anything, but that seemed to fuel my arousal even more. When I slipped my hand under her bottom again, I dared not use force, afraid my diamond-hard penis would flip the bed—this feeling was no exaggeration.
After I emptied the potty, I found her pretending to be asleep on the bed. I was both annoyed and amused, so I pretended not to notice her faking sleep and picked up a book to read, though I couldn't concentrate on a single word.
We continued this charade without a word, both of us knowingly playing along. She pretended to sleep while I pretended to read.
Perhaps my face was burning, but my body was growing colder and colder. There was no air conditioning in the room, and I couldn't go to the duty room to find some clothes or a blanket to warm myself. The wet clothes felt like they were seeping into my very being, chilling me to the bone. I shivered uncontrollably, hoping she'd finish her IV drip soon so I could go back to sleep, while simultaneously hoping something else would happen.
Was there? Of course!
It was so cold! I couldn't sit still any longer. I put down my book, grabbed a cup, poured some water, and was about to gulp it down, but then changed my mind.
I went to her bedside and nudged her gently. She seemed flustered but tried to remain calm, looking at me innocently as if she'd just woken from a dream: "What is it?" she asked.
"Do you want some water?" I said.
"This…" she hesitated.
"Have some, it'll warm you up… By the way, are you feeling better?"
"Much better. I… I'd better not drink any, otherwise, I might have to bother you again later…" Her face flushed red again. "Um… about earlier… thank you." she continued, but her voice was barely audible.
"It's nothing, it's what I should do," I said, my own face turning red. Thinking to myself, "Heh heh, is it right for me to take advantage of her vulnerability and peek?" This thought made me panic, and I blurted out something even more absurd: "If I were in that situation, you would help me, wouldn't you?"
"No!" she said firmly.
"Why?"
"Because I'm not a doctor," she said with a hint of smugness. Being a child, she quickly forgot her earlier shyness.
"Actually…," I hesitated for a long time before finally telling her the truth, "I'm not a doctor either."
Because if I didn't tell the truth, it might cause a huge uproar if she mentioned it to other female prisoners. There aren't any male doctors in our prison. If there were, every female prisoner would probably get gynecological problems and line up to see a male doctor.
So, it's better to tell her now, to be honest. In fact, as a virgin, I still feel guilty (especially the shock and unease I feel about a young girl's private parts). It's better to face it bravely now than to hide behind this feeling and regret it later! This is my principle!
If she's a reasonable person, nothing would have happened. But if she tries to act recklessly, I won't be polite to her either. I'm wearing a uniform! Why would I be afraid of a woman in prison clothes? In the past half hour, I felt like I'd grown up in an instant, and my thoughts suddenly became much more numerous. Didn't someone say that women are a school?
"What! You're not...you're not a doctor? Then...what do you do? Why are you here?" she asked incredulously.
"I work in logistics, to be precise, I'm an accountant, I do the bookkeeping, pay the leaders' salaries, buy things, and so on," I slowly told her.
She was stunned for a long time before finally asking, "Why did you lie to me? Why are you telling me the truth now? What you said before was the truth?" "Of course what I'm saying now is the truth. At first, I just thought nothing would happen. After you finished your IV drip, I went back to my dorm to sleep. Who knew… I would see… who knew what just happened would happen. You know, I'm really sorry! Maybe after tonight, we'll never see each other again… You're very beautiful… Maybe we'll never see each other again because I rarely have the chance to get close to you… Never mind… Anyway, I'm sorry, I shouldn't… I shouldn't have peeked at your body." I probably really regretted it; the more I spoke, the more I felt I shouldn't have, and all the initial excitement was gone. I just felt colder and colder, and I couldn't help but shiver.
She looked at me, not knowing what to say, her face flushing red and then turning pale.
I didn't know if she had forgiven me, or hated me, or even was thinking of revenge.
I suddenly regretted my confession. Wasn't I an idiot? I began to hate myself—it was one thing to be an ordinary citizen, but why was I so useless now that I was in uniform! People say bandits used to be in the mountains, now they're in the police force. That's a bit of an exaggeration, but look at my colleagues, who serves the people as honestly as I do?! I felt so awkward in front of this little girl; where was the confidence I should be in uniform?
I grew increasingly angry and ashamed.
After a long silence, she finally spoke, saying something I never expected: "You're a good person."
Then she said something even more shocking: "Actually, I've been lying to you all too!"
"Tell me the truth, and I'll tell you the truth too!"
"I'm not really sick each time; I just want to lie in the ward for a while, to lie quietly for those few hours." Her eyes were a little moist. “I take some herbs that give me acute gastroenteritis symptoms… I didn’t expect anything. I’d rather endure the dizziness, the spinning sensation, and the feeling of the world spinning around me. Although I regret it every time I vomit so badly, once the effects wear off, I can lie quietly on the white sheets for hours. I never thought anyone would want to talk to me, nor did I want to cause anyone any trouble.” She took a deep breath and looked at me. “It’s been a long time since I’ve talked to a normal person. It’s been a long time since anyone treated me like a normal person, talked to me so calmly—you know that normally when I talk to you, you can sit, but I have to stand. So if you don’t mind, let’s talk today. Actually, I really want to find someone I can talk to.”
I felt a little guilty and ashamed. I quickly said, “No, not at all. Go ahead, I like listening to stories!”
“No! I don’t want to tell stories,” she said, looking at me. “I want to believe you! Are you cold? Come to bed!” "
This..." I hesitated. "Is this alright?"
"I know you're clean, I trust you, you won't do anything to me, right? I think you must be a new college graduate starting work here, if you were going to do something you would have done long ago, you wouldn't have waited until now!" she said.
"No, of course not," I said confidently. Actually, deep down I wasn't so sure.
"Then what are you waiting for? Come on," she said generously, "Take off your coat and hang it on the chair."
I suddenly felt that she was no longer like a little girl, but rather like a confident leader. Originally, I wanted to crawl to her feet and lie down. But she stopped me with a smile.
She leaned to one side, making me lie down next to her a little awkwardly.
Then, her beautiful eyes suddenly became bright and sparkling. She looked at me, paused for a few seconds, and then said somewhat seriously, "You seem to have a bit of bad breath!"
"What?!" I was stunned, embarrassed and at a loss for words, and after a long while I said, "Do I? How come I didn't know?"
She looked at me quietly, her eyes only a few centimeters apart, her clear gaze unwavering. Just as I was about to explode, her eyes suddenly filled with laughter. "
I was just kidding! It's your fault for making me shy. Now we're even. So you, a grown man, can be shy too? Look at you, blushing," she said.
I couldn't lash out, but I was genuinely angry. I turned away from her; if it weren't so cold and I had nowhere else to go, I really wouldn't want to stay in her bed. Although her youthful scent filled my lungs, the flames of my desire could no longer be ignited. I felt incredibly frustrated.
"Are you angry? How petty," she nudged me.
"Who said that?" I retorted, turning back to look at her defiantly. "If you make me angry again, hmph, hmph..." "What?" she asked, tilting her head with amusement, smiling at me.
"Fine!" My anger gradually subsided. You can't hit someone who's smiling, especially a girl. "Is it convenient for you here? Are any other women bullying you?"
"You're supposed to be a new officer, you don't know anything. I—am—the—head—of—the—cell—here, who dares to bully me? I should be thanking my lucky stars if I don't bully them." She said with a hint of smugness.
"What? The head of the cell?!" My eyes almost popped out. "You???"
"What, you don't believe me? With your weak, scholarly appearance, I could take on ten of you!" Her disdainful tone was unbearable. Her domineering voice really did have the air of a cell boss.
"You're joking, right?" I pointed to her arm, thin as a lotus root, with a syringe dangling from it.
"Nonsense! You've read too many martial arts novels, you think someone strong is necessarily burly? If that were the case, wouldn't Japanese sumo wrestlers be completely ignorant?" "If that's the case, how can Chinese people possibly defeat foreigners, especially those black Africans?" Seeing the displeasure in my eyes, and perhaps not wanting to offend someone she'd finally found to talk to, she quickly added, "Of course, you're talking about the general situation. You're not part of the underworld, so you can't possibly know the truth about some things; a lot of information is blocked. Let me tell you more, and you'll understand."
"The underworld?" I was even more confused.
"You might not have known me before, but you must know 'The Overlord Flower,' right?" she asked.
"Yes." "Of course I know.
This 'Tyrant Flower' also joined this prison as a police officer around the same time as me. She was originally a female lieutenant in the Marine Corps. She was fairly pretty, but what she was more famous for was her incredibly good martial arts skills. Once, I went to the county town on business and was eating alone at a roadside stall. A group of thugs, exactly twelve, surrounded the next table. They were all notorious ruthless characters in the county. Seeing that she was single, had a non-local accent, and was quite pretty, they started to flirt with her. The 'Tyrant Flower' first displayed her exceptionally good patience and didn't reply. But these thugs wouldn't tolerate you being easy to bully! So two of them came over and pulled her to that table to drink.
I don't know... " It started with whoever struck first. The "tough girl" displayed her exceptional fighting spirit, ending up without even a scratch, while all twelve thugs were taken to the hospital.
When the police arrived, the crowd said they didn't blame her and cheered for her. Then they learned she was also a policewoman, which further fueled the cheers. The police didn't want to make things difficult for her, but they still had to invite her to their office—those thugs in the hospital were probably still in the dark! Fortunately, no one was killed, and the warden personally went to bring her back. She was incredibly
proud of herself when she returned! The whole small county was abuzz with the heroine's glorious deeds, though many exaggerated accounts prevailed; some said it was twenty-four, others said she fought thirty-six.
She was quite something; when asked, she didn't even bother with modesty, saying, "The real kung fu is in the army! In war, it's either you or me, who learns those fancy moves? We learn to defeat the enemy with one strike, it's all real kung fu, there's no room for fakery!" She acted as if she could easily take on thirty or forty people. There was
something else to it: those idle older women would joke about her and me, two unmarried young men. She had high standards, and I thought she wasn't gentle enough, so nothing serious happened. But what was infuriating was that she didn't treat me like a grown man. Every time the prison distributed sanitary napkins, she insisted I find some good ones for her. How was I, a grown man, supposed to rummage through those things! Besides, they're all the same! So I thought she was a bit greedy and looked down on her a little.
But I digress. Back to the point!
I asked Xiaoli, "What did the 'Tyrant Flower' do to you?"
"She heard I was the prison warden and wanted to recruit me, so she secretly had a match with me, and guess what happened?" she said proudly.
"You won?" I asked her in surprise.
Xiaoli shook her head. I sighed. In our prison, "Tyrant Flower" was the undisputed number one fighter; how could she, a mere inmate, defeat her? I felt somewhat relieved, yet also a little disappointed, perhaps secretly hoping someone would teach "Tyrant Flower" a lesson and curb her arrogance.
But Xiaoli continued, "I completely defeated 'Tyrant Flower'! She'll never dare to fight me again in her life. But I pretended to lose, and of course, she knew perfectly well. We'll never mention it again, and you're not allowed to tell anyone!"
"I'm afraid you really lost!" I didn't believe Xiaoli.
Xiaoli became a little anxious and said, "I'm a successor of Tai Chi Qimen! In my three years of practice, I've only encountered two opponents!"
"Tai Chi Qimen?" I wondered to myself, what is that?
"I knew you wouldn't believe me easily. Let me tell you a long story. After you hear it, you must forget it, and I won't admit to anything I said. Or, I have a way to keep you from saying it," she said.
She was beautiful, like jade, and though a bit domineering, her seemingly casual whispers in the pillow, though laced with intimidation, didn't seem genuine. We sat facing each other, listening to her tell a thrilling story.
"You know General ***, right?"
I hadn't expected her to start the story with a general's name.
Here's her tale:
One Spring Festival, our family had a joyous celebration. My father celebrated with us. Normally, he was always traveling all over China with his unit, rarely returning home. I was seven, and my sister was nine. I was the happiest in the family because my father could teach me kung fu again. He never told me exactly what his job was, which saddened me greatly. I inquired with many people, asking many of my father's relatives I vaguely remembered, but no one knew which unit he was in.
My mother was my father's youngest junior sister, six years younger than him. I only learned this when I was sixteen. At that time, she wanted me to officially go out and explore for a few years—it was the rule of our sect. I asked my mother if my father had done the same thing back then, and she said yes. My father mainly traveled in the south, visiting every martial arts school he could find. When he officially became the leader of a school, over 300 martial arts heroes from all over the country came to celebrate. My grandfather was a sworn brother of General ***, and worried that my father might go astray, he sent him to the army. My father's martial arts skills, his experience in the martial arts world, and his background with General *** allowed him to rise through the ranks quickly, keeping him incredibly busy. Therefore, later on, my mother was mainly responsible for maintaining the school's reputation. This is also why our family didn't live in the military compound.
I don't remember when my mother taught me martial arts, but I have no memory of a childhood without practicing. My sister was very smart, but she didn't like practicing martial arts, and my mother didn't force her; she only taught her some basic skills to strengthen her body and mind. But I was different. I loved martial arts. Perhaps some things are innate; I don't know why I was so fascinated by it. The tension and excitement during practice, and the relaxation and joy afterward, all brought me happiness.
Tai Chi Qimen practice, unlike other schools, doesn't require grueling, strenuous training to achieve mastery. This is what my father told me during that year's Spring Festival. The wonder of Qimen lies precisely in this.
She paused, then explained: "Just as Buddhism has paths to enlightenment and schools that achieve sudden enlightenment, our Qimen is the kind of Tai Chi school that emphasizes sudden enlightenment."
I know you'll ask, "If sudden enlightenment is possible, why do I need to practice so hard?" I asked my father that same Spring Festival. He didn't give me a formal answer then, only saying that sudden enlightenment also has conditions, sometimes it's talent. I only half understood. Later, I asked my mother, who told me that the legendary Qimen kung fu is a skill that can transcend life and death, with many techniques that even generations of practitioners haven't been able to verify. How to achieve sudden enlightenment is only something I've heard from the older generation in legends. My mother spoke with a hint of excitement.
Xiaoli's expression was complex when she said this.
She remained silent for a long time. She continued, "
Actually, my father had just returned from the front lines of a battle between China and an arrogant little country. After experiencing the trials of blood, fire, life, and death, he cherished the time spent with his family even more. He even planned to go back to our old home in the north with us after the Spring Festival, something he had never done before.
During those days, he didn't go anywhere. During the day, he would instruct me in kung fu or play games with my sister. At night, after my sister and I fell asleep, he would talk to my mother. He even decided to retire from the army and leave the underworld behind, to live a normal life with our family.
But… (As she said this, her eyes were filled with sorrow, and tears welled up in them.) On the morning of the second day of the Lunar New Year, the general personally called our house, asking my father to go to the garrison command headquarters immediately, where a helicopter was waiting for him.
My sister and I were still asleep. In our dreams, it seemed as if my father kissed our faces.
My father arrived at the front-line command post, where the general and the political commissar were waiting for him. There were also more than thirty strong young men in the barracks, ready to depart at any time."
The general stared intently at my father and said, "My child, I watched you grow up, and you know how much I love you. In the past few months of fighting, you fought bravely and intelligently, never disgracing me. Every battle report that reached me filled me with pride! Some people used to think I favored you, but now you've proven yourself through your actions! ...If I had a son as skilled as you, I wouldn't have let you—my good brother's child—come into this world…The Chairman's son died on the Korean battlefield. Now, my child, I'm entrusting you with a mission, a mission to die a glorious death!"
Xiaoli began to sob softly at this point, her words becoming incoherent. I understood what she meant; it was about how her father had sacrificed himself. I summarized it as follows:
Apparently, on New Year's Eve, agents from that arrogant little country raided a rear hospital of our army, massacring all our doctors, nurses, and wounded soldiers.
The army was enraged. Moreover, if the enemy didn't understand the price of their arrogance and cruelty, they would repeat such actions. Therefore, the command decided to launch a retaliatory operation targeting a medium-sized hospital 200 kilometers behind enemy lines. That hospital was one that our side had helped build years ago. My father had previously served as a military aid provider for that country's government, going to that location and protecting a high-ranking officer in two famous battles.
Because it was deep behind enemy lines, and because the enemy knew we would retaliate after that massacre and would certainly strengthen their defenses, this operation was practically suicide.
The young men were all top-notch martial arts experts, handpicked from reconnaissance soldiers in various military regions. They were all married with children; if they weren't married, they must have brothers.
My father looked each of the young men over, shook hands with them, and asked if there was anything else the organization needed to resolve. Then he told them to go back to their rooms to write to their families and rest, and to set off at nightfall.
At first, my father and his men were quite lucky. They seized two enemy vehicles fleeing from the rear and successfully approached a small hill about three kilometers from the hospital.
On the third night, my father decided to attack, giving only eight words as his order: "No prisoners, no survivors." The first four words were for himself, and the last four for the enemy.
The hospital housed about 300 wounded soldiers and over 100 medical staff. There was also a company of enemy troops stationed next to the hospital. Fortunately, the hospital had been built with Chinese aid. They found the structural plans, crawled out through the sewers, and initially used silenced pistols, killing anyone they saw. When they ran out of ammunition, they used daggers.
The enemy didn't expect our army to penetrate over 200 kilometers to attack a hospital. Therefore, the 300-plus sleeping wounded soldiers were dealt with without much effort.
The next step was to deal with the medical personnel. Since they no longer had silenced pistols, they were using stolen AKs. My father had a dozen or so men plant explosives in the buildings, while he and another dozen rushed into the medics' quarters. A burst of gunfire left few enemies still able to move in the rooms.
My father ordered a continued retreat through the sewers. Only then did the enemy company, in a frenzy, rush into the hospital. A deafening explosion reduced the hospital to ashes. A
headcount revealed twenty-three men remaining, but their weapons and ammunition were nearly depleted, and a dozen or so were lightly wounded.
Upon receiving the news, the enemy, unaware of our numbers, abandoned their plan to assemble three divisions at the front and retreated to the rear, encircling my father's small unit within a 200-kilometer radius.
In the end, only three men returned to our lines—actually two and a half—Xiao Li's father was crippled from the waist down and had lost a leg; a soldier had risked his life to carry him down from the front.
But Xiao Li's father did not survive. Some say he didn't make it to the end. But Xiaoli's mother said he committed suicide. He finished explaining his last wishes, saying he had killed too many people and was already so badly injured. He told Xiaoli's mother to find a good man to marry while she was still young, and that their two children should be raised by their grandfather.
But after Xiaoli's father passed away, her grandfather, unable to bear the pain of losing his son in his old age, also died less than a month later.
At this point, Xiaoli broke down in tears, unable to continue.

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