White Sanatorium

A white sanatorium, located 10 kilometers east of C County, is surrounded by mountains and sparsely populated. Enclosed by a high white wall, with mountain springs flowing through it and wide iron gates blocking the view, the sanatorium appears as a beautiful and tranquil paradise.

Apart from the staff, almost no outsiders come here. This is because it shelters only the poor, homeless, and destitute without family to care for them. Strangely, all the residents are women, as are the staff.

The only man, of course, is myself, the director, Qin Shou, Director Qin. Now 32 years old, I started working hard 10 years ago, catching the golden age of real estate, and by 30 I was living the life of a tycoon. I funded the construction of this sanatorium,

specifically to shelter lonely, homeless women. Publicly, it's claimed to be a way of giving back to society, and I've received praise and awards from the media and leaders at all levels. The government allocates funds to the sanatorium every year, and many kind-hearted people donate. It seems to be a win-win situation.

However, what is the true purpose of this sanatorium? Hehe, only I know the truth.

Right now, I'm sitting in the director's office on the 9th floor of the office building. No one is allowed to set foot on the 9th floor without my permission. Sitting at my desk, I'm comfortably smoking, listening to the deputy director's work report.

Wang Hui, that's her name. A smart and capable woman, in her forties. She personally manages the daily operations of the sanatorium. And I'm just reaping the benefits. I listened absentmindedly, and the pleasure from my penis made me impatiently interrupt her report. Ignoring her resentful look, I said, "Okay, that's enough for now, go back to work." Hearing that I had dismissed her, Wang Hui reluctantly got up, put on her clothes to cover her large breasts, then turned her back to me, pulled down her pants, then her underwear, and, holding onto the chair she had just sat on, spread her legs, her buttocks raised, trying her best to expose her genitals. I admired her for a few minutes and said, "That's enough." Only then did she finish dressing and leave the office. These are the rules, the rules set for the women who work here. That is, when they come to my office to report or anything, they must first expose their breasts, and when they leave, they must also expose their private parts for my viewing pleasure. The women here are my playthings; I am their master. They must obey the rules I set, and do so willingly. Why? Because it's one of my secrets, or perhaps a mysterious ability. I have many secrets; sometimes I even feel that I am the most mysterious person in the world. No one can see through me, and no one can control me. Just like now, the woman hiding under the table, diligently giving me oral sex, is also my secret. Touching her face, looking at that familiar face and lips swallowing my penis, the unique pleasure I feel is the same as it was more than ten years ago, never waning. My hands slide down, caressing those large, sagging breasts, still as excited as they were back then. Enjoying the pleasure in my lower body, looking at the breasts I've deformed from my caresses, I wonder if my choice back then was right.

He held that familiar body in his arms, habitually caressing her breasts and fiddling with her dark vulva.

He listened to the cicadas chirping outside, so familiar, just like he remembered from his childhood. That year, I was in fourth grade, the same summer day, the same cicada song. And my life changed that summer.

I had a happy family; my parents were very good to me, both working in state-owned enterprises. My mother was a very beautiful and sexy woman, and my father always felt that marrying her was his greatest pride. Life had always been peaceful and warm. But that year, my mother fell ill. She suddenly collapsed.

After being rushed to the hospital and undergoing surgery, she remained unconscious. My father's face grew paler day by day, and I was terrified. I cried and called my mother's name by her bedside, but there was no response. Then one day, the doctor told my father that my mother was in a vegetative state, suffering from congenital cerebral vascular malformation and hemorrhage. It was a miracle she had survived; the chances of her waking up were very low. My father carried my mother home on his back. Every day, besides taking care of me, he cared for my mother, who was unconscious in bed. Time can erase everything, but it can also change everything. At that time, I didn't understand. As the years went by, my father stopped caring for my mother as before. He rarely came home, only giving me a small allowance for food each month; he was often nowhere to be seen during the day. I was left to care for my mother alone. I was terrified. Often, my father would come home late, reeking of alcohol, ignoring me, and go straight into my mother's room, closing the door. Soon after, I would hear his heavy breathing and his final snores. I was curious, wondering what my father was doing. So, after several times, I finally found an opportunity. That time, my father was very drunk, staggering home and going straight to my mother's room. I followed him. He was so drunk he hadn't even closed the door; I stood at the doorway, seemingly unable to see me. Then, I watched as my father stood by the bed, pulling back my mother's blankets and rubbing her chest repeatedly. Then, he roughly tore off her clothes and pants, his hands roaming and rubbing her body. I was terrified. I thought he was going to hit my mother. I didn't know what was happening. I stood frozen in the doorway, too scared to move. I watched as my father kissed my mother's chest, then sucked hard on her nipple, his hand moving back and forth over her genitals.

I could only see thick, dark hair growing on my mother's genitals; nothing else. Was my father just touching that tuft of hair? Then I watched as my father buried his head between my mother's legs. I saw his head bobbing up and down in the doorway. I felt like he was licking something—the pubic hair, or something inside it—I couldn't tell. This made me very curious. After a while, my father stood up unsteadily, took off his clothes, and I saw a thick, long penis erect between his legs. I watched as that penis plunged directly into my mother's thick, dark pubic hair, and he thrust repeatedly between her legs, holding her spread thighs.随着剧烈的运动，父亲的声音愈来愈急促，过了一会我看父亲一下就没动了，身体抖了几下，然后就趴在母亲身上开始打呼噜。我不知道刚才那是在干什么，但是我意识到这不是我该看的，要是被父亲知道，跑不了一顿狠揍。

我小心的关上他们的门，回到自己的小房间睡觉了。

这种事一直持续着，只要听见父亲的喘息声，我就知道父亲又在做我看到的运动了。虽然我几次去偷看，都没发现，到底母亲那茂盛的黑毛里面到底有什么，值得父亲又是摸又是舔又是撞的。但是我知道，父亲很喜欢母亲那里。时间一长，我的好奇心越来越重，也给了我胆量。趁中午，父亲不在家的时候，我给母亲喂下流质的食物。然后像做贼一样，腿下母亲的裤子。一撮茂盛的黑毛就映入了我的眼前。我小心翼翼分开母亲的大腿，像看看那里究竟有什么。 But what followed disappointed me greatly. In the middle was something like an upright mouth, strange, unlike anything I had down there. There was nothing else. It satisfied my curiosity, but also disappointed me. At the time, I didn't understand, so I never paid attention to it again. My father became increasingly depressed, often drunk and irritable, frequently beating me in his drunken rages. I grew more and more afraid of him. I often heard the neighbors gossiping about him, saying he was an alcoholic, a gambler, borrowing money everywhere to gamble and never paying it back. The neighbors avoided him, afraid of borrowing money from them. Unfortunately, tragedy struck soon after. One night, shortly after my father returned home, our door was kicked open. I was so frightened that I hid under the bed, too afraid to come out. After a while, I heard my father scream, "Even if you beat me to death, you won't have any money to pay me back. Give me some time, I will definitely pay you back. I have a patient who needs treatment, I really have no money now!" "You're kidding me! You want to get away with this? We brothers will cripple you right now, believe it or not!" a strange, sinister voice said. I was so scared I wanted to cry. "Look, I really have a patient who needs money. You're driving me to my death!" I heard footsteps and the sound of a door opening. Then I heard my father say, "Look, this is my wife. She's in a vegetative state and needs money for treatment. I'm not lying to you. Please have pity on me and give me a little more time. I promise I'll pay you back."

Silence. A long, silent silence followed. After a long while, the unfamiliar voice finally spoke, "You really have no money?" "Really, no. If I had money, would I not pay it back? I'm being harassed and beaten by you every day, do you think I want that?"

the father pleaded helplessly. Another silence. "Actually, you don't have to pay it back. There's a way you can still earn money, it just depends on whether you're willing." "Really? What way?" The father's voice gained a little vitality. "It's simple, it's your wife. She's in a vegetative state, I know. Aside from not being able to move or speak, she's no different from a normal person, she can still prostitute herself. How about it? If you agree, you come and watch your wife every day, we'll bring in customers for you, and we'll split the profits. In two years at most, you'll pay off the debt. You'll even earn a considerable amount. I'm telling you, this is your only chance. Think it over carefully. If you don't agree, we'll take one of your hands today. Think about it, my patience is limited." Silence. Not a sound. "Do you mean what you say?" the father asked, trembling. "Haha, so you agree?

That's good, don't worry. We people in this business have our own rules. You see, I'm just finding you a way out, I don't mean to force you. It'll be better for everyone from now on, right?" "Okay, I agree," my father's tone became much more resolute. "Well, that's good. Here's what you do, you and a few of my brothers go outside and keep watch.

" "What are you going to do?" my father asked anxiously. "What are you going to do? Oh, I forgot to mention, this is also our rule. Anyone who comes out to sell has to be 'opened' by us first.

This way you can get used to it first. Red Hair, you take him and the brothers out first, and teach him the procedures of this business. After I'm done, you can come one by one." "Okay, big brother, get out of here!" a sleazy voice said excitedly.

I hid under my bed in my room, too afraid to come out. There was no more talking outside. I could only hear the man's panting and the sounds of slapping against his body coming from my mother's room. These sounds were the same as the sounds my father used to make when he entered the room. And then it became even more intense. I could imagine, just like my father, him relentlessly thrusting into my mother's thick tuft of black hair. The sounds continued, and I don't know when I fell asleep under the bed. A series of footsteps and laughter woke me up, and I quickly ran to the door to listen outside. "I can't believe it, this woman's body is so damn voluptuous, her breasts are so big, her ass is so round, her pussy feels so good, and she even reacts, we've made her produce so much juice. It's a pity she can't move, otherwise it would be even better." "Yeah, yeah, I could lick her pussy until it's wet, so delicious!" "Big brother, can we come again another day?" "If we don't come, who will go to him for money? Don't worry, as long as it doesn't interfere with business, you can do whatever you want." Hahaha, listening to those people's lewd laughter and conversation, I was filled with anger. But I didn't know what to do. After they left, I came out and saw my father squatting at my mother's door, head down, constantly smoking, a pile of cigarette butts on the ground. He looked up at me silently, his eyes so unfamiliar, so cold. After a long while, he stared at me and said, "You're not allowed to tell anyone about last night, or I'll break your legs. Just focus on your studies, don't worry about anything else. Go, go to school." I nodded and left.

Chapter Two:

From that day on, strangers frequently came to our house, taking turns paying my father, then entering my mother's room, leaving after a few breaths and slapping sounds. At first, my father watched them go in with a sullen face, but as the money in his pocket increased, the cigarettes I bought became more and more expensive. He started to smile, and he treated me better, no longer beating me as often. Every few days, someone would come to collect money from my father, and my father would call them brother and escort them to my mother's room, leaving after a few breaths. I was still oblivious to all of this.

That year, I started junior high school. I began to hear my classmates talking about me behind my back, saying that my mother was a prostitute. From that year on, those who pressured my father to pay back the money never came again. And so I began to understand matters between men and women. Since my father was still at home collecting money, no one cared about me. I started hanging out with the school's delinquents, smoking, drinking, playing cards, and fighting. One of the local thugs was our sworn brother, often leading us in fights. That's when I understood why my classmates said my mother was a prostitute. I began to hate my father, hating him for not stopping. He had beaten me several times, making me forever live a lowly, despised, and humiliated life. In my second year of junior high, my older brother invited a few of us brothers out for drinks. When he drank too much, he loved to show off.

That day, he told us he had slept with another woman, a woman in her thirties, who was in a vegetative state.

He got more and more excited as he talked, describing how he stimulated the woman's vagina, sucked her breasts, kissed her anus, and after penetrating her vagina, he would forcefully thrust his penis into her anus, like a date rape, and how incredibly pleasurable it felt. The surrounding thugs listened excitedly, asking where it was. Everyone wanted to see the enormous breasts and wet vagina that the older brother had described. Only I felt a surge of rage, like a volcano erupting within me. My gaze at him was terrifyingly cold, yet he ignorantly continued to boast about his exploits.

For over a month, I followed him. During that time, he even had sex with my comatose mother several times. My heart grew colder and colder. Tonight, I finally got my chance. It was 3 a.m., and I watched him emerge from the bar alone. The streets were deserted. He drunkenly walked into a side alley to urinate. Just as he pulled out his penis, I rushed behind him, a stolen fruit knife in my hand, and stabbed him repeatedly in the back. Watching him fall, I ran, throwing the knife into the river. Back home, I lived in fear for days. The police didn't catch him, and as time passed, the story faded. I heard that my older brother had nearly died from blood loss and was now in a vegetative state. Haha, I felt much better. I felt this was retribution. Life went on as usual. I went to school as usual, and my father remained at home, working as a pimp. I hated him, but I was also afraid of him. I was helpless regarding my mother's situation. One night, it was raining heavily, with thunder and lightning. It was past 2 a.m., and there was still one last customer in my mother's room. Accompanied by the violent pounding sounds, I vaguely heard a woman's moans. I ran out of the room and saw my father stand up agitatedly, staring intently at the door. He was nervously clenching his fists, listening intently. Ah!

...The sound was faint, but it was definitely there. Oh.

...Ah...still very faint. Suddenly, a loud scream, and I saw a naked person run out of the room. They kept shouting, "They're alive! They're alive!" and then grabbed their clothes and ran out. I was about to go in to check on my mother when my father blocked my way and yelled at me fiercely, "Go back to your room, now!" Then he went inside and slammed the door shut. What had happened inside? Had my mother woken up? I listened outside for a long time, unwilling to give up, but heard nothing. I angrily went back to my room. The next day, my father woke me up early, and we took my mother to the hospital. The doctor told us it was a miracle; something powerful must have triggered her awakening. However, due to the shock from the previous brain hemorrhage and the damage from the surgery, her brain would suffer irreversible damage. This damage could manifest as amnesia, paralysis of the limbs, etc., varying from person to person. My mother's diagnosis was irreversible intellectual disability caused by acquired brain damage. She had the mental capacity of a child only a few years old—that was the final verdict. The doctor comforted us, saying that the "great fortune" was that she could at least take care of herself and could learn simple daily activities. And so, my mother was brought home again. My father started pimping again. The only change was that when my mother wasn't seeing clients, she would sit on the sofa in the living room. I could see her more often now. Looking at her bald head, I felt heartbroken.

The doctor had said it was a sequela of that serious illness, and she might never grow hair again. Every time guests came, my father would call me back to my room, and then I would gradually hear my mother's moans and the sounds of violent thrusting.

When I started junior high, my penis was covered in hair, and I matured a lot. I learned that the hair that looked like my mother's genitals was pubic hair. What I had seen of my mother's genitals were female reproductive organs—the kind of thing men were willing to pay to play with. As I entered puberty, I developed a strong curiosity about women's bodies. The memories of my mother's body that I had seen before were now only vague, which only fueled my longing.

Through my efforts, I drilled a hole in the wall of my room with a knife, so I could see my mother being violated next door. My father, besides collecting money, wouldn't care about anything else and wouldn't notice the inconspicuous little hole in the wall. The clients' attention was entirely focused on my mother's naked body, and they wouldn't notice someone peeping. This always worked for me. Every night, I would peek into my mother's room through the hole. I watched her still large breasts being played with and sucked by different men. I watched her kneeling on the bed under orders, letting men rub her bald head with their penises, sucking different penises for others. She squeezed her breasts, different penises rubbing back and forth between her chest. Standing on the bed or leaning against the wall with her back to it, she spread her legs, letting others play with her and lick her genitals. Countless nights, I saw countless penises thrusting in and out of my mother's genitals. I also heard her constant moans and heard her breasts swaying up and down as she was being fucked, each time making my penis as hard as steel. I started to learn to masturbate to these lewd scenes. This became one of my few hobbies. As time went by, I could no longer be satisfied with just voyeurism every day. Every time I saw my mother being trained like a sex slave, skillfully having sex with customers, a surge of lust would rise in my heart, wanting to rush up and replace that man. But I knew that this was something I could only think about, not do.

Life went on like this. One night, I was in evening self-study at school. My father came and called me out to tell me that my mother had gone out and gotten lost while he was out buying cigarettes and alcohol, and they still hadn't found her. He told me to go and find my mother, while he went home to drink.

I was given a death order: I wasn't to come home until I found my mother. So, at 3 a.m., I was still searching in the suburbs. I'd searched the whole city, so I had to come to the outskirts. And this was the only place I hadn't searched before—just a small hill in the suburbs. Inside the hill was a small grove of trees.

I followed the mountain path up. At the edge of the grove, I heard voices. I went in and what I saw made my eyes bloodshot. Although I'd looked through the wall so many times, this time the view was incredibly wide, and everything before me was so clear in the moonlight. Two men in their thirties. One was lying on the ground, my mother kneeling on top of him, his thick, hard penis relentlessly thrusting into her genitals. Her breasts were being roughly kneaded by the other man standing in front of her. A grotesque penis was deeply inserted into my mother's mouth. Watching my mother cry in fear, being penetrated from both ends, my mind went blank. My body instinctively rushed forward, and I threw a punch. As expected, I was brutally beaten, collapsing to the ground covered in blood, barely breathing. I just watched as they continued to rape my mother.

I don't know how much time passed. When I woke up, I found myself in a cave, my mother sitting naked beside me. My mind was flooded with memories, chaotic and blurry. Through careful sorting, I pieced these memories together. This filled me with astonishment; having experienced it firsthand, I could hardly believe this was still my original world. It turned out that while I was unconscious, my mother was also being gang-raped by the two men. When they finished, they found me dead. They were ruthless; they found a secluded spot nearby and started digging a hole to bury my mother and me. However, the hole collapsed after a short time, revealing a bottomless pit. Without thinking, they threw me in, then reluctantly squeezed my mother's breasts a few times before throwing her in as well.

Then they ran away. What happened next surprised me even more. Below me lay a shattered fossil of a giant snake. According to my memory, it was a creature from ancient times—far older than the dinosaur era I'd learned about in textbooks. Perhaps it was from the very beginning of Earth's existence. My memories of it were few and hazy. I only knew that when I fell, I landed squarely on this giant snake fossil. Due to its age, the fossil was fragile and shattered at the slightest touch. From the broken fossil, a fist-sized purple bead rolled out and reached me. My blood flowed over the bead, and it slowly dissolved, turning into a purple liquid that flowed back into my body. With the help of this purple liquid, my body began to produce blood frantically, and my heart and breathing started functioning again. That's how I miraculously revived. Now I feel an incredible enhancement to my body; my functions are probably hundreds of times stronger than before—I can't even fully grasp it. I experimented in the cave for a while, and aside from not being able to fly and not wearing my red underwear on the outside, I felt like a superhuman. Because I obtained too few memories from the giant serpent, I learned I also possessed an ability: bewitching. Through my terrifyingly enhanced mental strength, I could control a creature for a short time to do whatever I wanted it to do. Furthermore, through the bead's enhancement and mutation of my bloodline, I had acquired a special bloodline talent. This filled me with both sorrow and excitement. This talent ashamed me, yet it was incredibly powerful. It allowed me to enslave others through mating with the opposite sex, ensuring they would never betray me, and it also allowed me to enhance my various abilities by mating with different members of the opposite sex. I felt this talent was nothing short of the legendary beastly art, or, to put it more poetically, the Yin-Yang dual cultivation technique.

My resurrection drastically changed my personality. I was no longer the cowardly and incompetent person I once was; my intelligence had also been greatly developed. Looking at my naked mother beside me, a smile crept onto my face, and an idea surfaced. I led my mother out of the cave, found her clothes, and dressed her.

Then we went home. As soon as we got home, my father gave me a severe beating, and I pretended to be afraid as he beat and scolded me. Afterward, I dragged my mother into the room to continue his prostitution business. As night fell, I secretly ran out of the house and went to the police station. What happened next was predictable: I led the police home and caught a guest harassing my mother. My father was caught red-handed and taken to the police station. Within days, he was convicted of forcing women into prostitution and sentenced to 15 years in prison.

[White Sanatorium] Chapter 3

I naively thought that my father's departure ended my mother's tragedy and my dark childhood.

My mother and I would live happily ever after.

Ha, how ignorant I was then.

The dark house felt like even the sunlight was rejecting us.

On the damp sofa, my mother played with my hair like a child.

Perhaps it was instinct; the black hair, just like mine, gave her a sense of closeness.

I sat beside my mother, enduring waves of hunger.

Tears welled in my eyes.

Only then did I realize how heavy life was for a 15-year-old boy.

My father had been gone for three days; we had no money. All the money my mother earned through her body had been confiscated as a fine. Relatives and neighbors turned me away

with disgust the moment they saw me . For three days, the only food I had was given to me by an elderly garbage collector who, seeing me staring blankly at the half-eaten steamed bun in his hand, gave me some. I couldn't bear to eat it; my mother never said she was hungry, only smiling foolishly at home. When I watched her wolf down the bun , my tears finally broke free and streamed down my face. My mother frantically wiped away my tears. Was this just my mother's instinctive nature?! When I was little, whenever I fell and cried, my mother would always have a warm smile, wiping away my tears and snot while comforting and encouraging me, telling me to be a man and not to be afraid.

Now, my mother has lost her memory, her wisdom, almost everything, and she's still instinctively comforting me... Mother, how can I take care of you? Protect you?

Night gradually falls, and I fall asleep beside my mother.

Aside from hunger, the night can be so peaceful.

I've dropped out of school and receive no pity.

I've begun to live aimlessly, going to the garbage dump in the western suburbs every night to scavenge for trash, carrying it home to sell at dawn.

I dare not go during the day, even though I might find more valuable trash then, but I can't go.

I overestimated my abilities, thinking that after that extraordinary encounter, I would be powerful.

When I fought those people for trash during the day, I took down two adults, but was then beaten like a dog by more than ten adults.

Dragging myself home covered in blood, I realized that I'm

not a superhero now; my physical strength is at most the combined strength of three adults.

And I'm still just a child, my mind isn't mature enough, I don't understand cruelty.

Like those thugs, they used steel bars, iron rods, and discarded knives to brutally smash me down.

The only saving grace was my relatively good recovery ability; within three days, all the cuts and blisters on my body gradually healed.

Our food was terrible; we could only drink porridge and eat vegetable scraps picked from the market.

Perhaps it was the benefit of the purple bead, but although I was always hungry and

noticeably thin

, I was energetic and my physical condition was slowly improving.

However, my mother gradually lost weight, her skin turning pale and yellowish. Most of the food went to her, yet her health continued to deteriorate, which troubled me greatly.

Looking at my mother's thin body and

her breasts peeking out from her faded, tattered clothes,

her nipples and areolas, blackened from being played with, swaying so pitifully in the dark room,

I deeply hated myself for not taking good care of her.

Another desolate night, dry and silent, the chirping of insects irritating me.

Carrying a woven bag and smoking a half-pack of cheap cigarettes someone had left behind, I wandered the streets at 4 a.m.

I stopped in front of a three-story detached house.

Two men were staring at me nervously.

One of them, probably in his twenties, glared at me fiercely and threatened in a low voice, "Kid, what are you looking at? Get lost, or I'll beat you to death."

He then raised an iron bar, ready to hit me.

"No, Third Brother, no, this is my friend, someone I know," the other

man, about my age, quickly stepped in front of me.

"Ah Shou, it's me.

Damn, don't you recognize me? I'm Crazy," I finally recognized him. He was a young thug with blond hair, a bright red and green shirt, and jeans with ripped knees.

He was the guy I used to fight and brag with, but he

'd been expelled from school long ago.

His parents were divorced, and like me, he had no one to care for him, so we got along quite well.

I hadn't seen him in a long time, so I greeted him happily.

"Hey, Crazy, I didn't recognize you earlier."

Crazy was also happy and was about to say something. Two more men, about my age and dressed similarly to the madman, came down from

upstairs , looking rather shady. The man in his twenties asked them, "Did you get it?" One of them waved a bag in his hand. "Let's go," the man said, grabbing the bag and leaving. The madman leaned closer to me, whispered , and then followed. I squatted down, smoking. Since I wasn't in a hurry to go home, I did as the madman had suggested and waited for him under the South Bridge, at the place where we used to smoke together. After a while, I saw a furtive figure approach. "Damn, it's not easy to see you," the madman said, punching me and laughing . I smiled at him, silently smoking, without getting up. Although I was happy to see him again, the pressures of life made me unsure what to say. He looked at me silently for a moment, then lit a cigarette and offered me one. "I went to your school, they said you dropped out." I looked up at him, lit my cigarette with the lighter he offered, and continued smoking. The atmosphere was heavy with silence. "Hey, I've heard about your situation. I've asked so many people, but no one knows where you live. What are you doing now?" "Collecting and selling garbage," I sighed . "Are you short of money?" "Yeah, I have no food." "Damn, it can't be that bad! Don't your relatives care? Isn't there welfare?" Crazy asked in surprise. "Nobody cares. They don't even look at me when they come to visit. Welfare?! Humph! I've been there so many times, and they always make excuses. In the end, they only give me 60 yuan a month! What am I supposed to eat?!" I said bitterly. Crazy stared at me in astonishment, speechless. "Ah Shou, come work with me. You'll get paid, and you won't have to worry about food. As long as you're quick-witted, everything will be fine," Crazy said earnestly.

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