An unexpected experience for a Kunming man in Wenzhou. (Original content by Privacy)

For a body lacking in enjoyable experiences and a person with a persistent curiosity, appreciating the emotional turmoil of others is indeed a

neurotic sensation. Loneliness, boredom, and a nameless emptiness make me feel increasingly listless and indifferent, yet I also feel

a powerful force pushing me towards a place where the wheels of life spin most rapidly—the gambling den!

The longer I spend alone in and out of gambling dens, the less I care about the wins and losses of the games or the faces of the gamblers. My only need

is to experience the excitement. Occasionally, I place a bet just to retaliate against the gambling den owner's disdainful look! Because

almost all gamblers quickly learn a skill—controlling their facial expressions. They

wear a mask of indifference on their stiff collars; they can suppress the wrinkles at the corners of their mouths, clench their teeth to suppress the panic in their hearts;

their calm eyes do not reveal obvious urgency. They can even pull down the bulging muscles on their faces and feign

nonchalance . Truly a testament to their superb skill. However, precisely because they are frantically trying to control their facial expressions

, they conveniently forget about their hands. That's where the passion I want to feel lies. Because, inevitably, there will

be a moment when all these hands, struggling to control themselves and seemingly sleepy, will break free from their restraints due

to second when the dealer reveals their cards. In that instant, hundreds of hands move involuntarily

, each different from the other, revealing their inherent nature and all their latent instincts.

Observing their waiting, their demands, and their pauses reveals everything: greedy hands scratch incessantly,

wasteful hands relax their muscles, cunning hands remain still, thoughtful hands twitch their knuckles... ...A myriad of personalities are

revealed in the hands that grasp money; some neatly separate the loose bills; some crumple them into a ball, afraid they'll fly away;

some nervously tear them to shreds; others lay exhausted with their hands shrugged... If gambling

reveals character, then a gambler's hands reveal their true nature!

If someone, like me, habitually observes that green square—the stage of hands—they will

surely feel that the unexpected, ever-changing hand gestures reveal a performance of eternally diverse personalities

, more captivating than drama or music. I simply cannot describe the myriad forms of these hands; each hand is like a wild, untamed

beast, only with all sorts of fingers. Some are hooked and hairy, like spiders when demanding money; some tremble with fear, their

nails gray, hesitant to grab; noble... The hands—despicable, vicious,

cunning —are all present, each giving a different impression. Each pair reflects a unique life. Only the dealer's

assistant is an exception; like a machine, it performs its programmed, precise, and methodical tasks of grabbing and finding money, ignoring everything

else . This contrasts sharply with the other hands, reminding me of

police during a mass riot—armored and standing firmly amidst the surging, indignant crowd…

Besides this, I also enjoy a certain pleasure: with each visit, I've

become acquainted with some hands, their habits and temperaments instantly recognizable. Soon, I'll be able to

identify some old friends among them, dividing them into two categories: those who are agreeable and those who are utterly detestable. Many hands

are incredibly greedy, which I usually ignore, occasionally glancing at them by chance and simply considering it an unfortunate misfortune.

Suddenly, , which adds to my senses and curiosity: I'm used to not looking at their faces, always

thinking they're just masks.

That afternoon, as I entered the hall, three private rooms were already packed.

As I walked towards the fourth room and pulled out some loose bills to place my bet, a pyramid-shaped shadow kept appearing

and , fixed in one spot, like a grain of sand filling a part of my eye. Whenever the bettor was exhausted and

tumbling weakly in the middle of the table, in that moment when everyone stared intently, their minds seemingly frozen in a silent shock, that unwavering shadow

would appear. I couldn't help but glance in that direction, and immediately saw it—

-Really, I was astonished!---It was a pair of hands I had never seen before; the fingertips of the left and right hands stood facing each other,

occasionally intertwining in playful circles; the wrists rested flat on the table, quietly yet charmingly awaiting;

the hands were unusually beautiful, the fingers long, plump, and white, the nails gleaming with a bluish light, the fingertips soft and rounded with a pearly sheen. The whole pair of

hands stood like a charming yet confident beauty amidst a crowd of all kinds, both still and moving.

From that moment on, I stared at those hands—those extraordinary hands—what was even more astonishing was

the extraordinary composure they displayed, especially the passion hidden deep within, which seemed to reside in their hearts, unspoken yet palpable.

Its respect for people, so refined and gentle, made me immediately sense that there was a sensitive

soul passing the time here. Suddenly, at the moment the dealer's light shone, these hands instantly untied the pieces! The right hand

gently extended, taking what was rightfully itss and handing it to the left, then the left hand divided the denominations into smaller pieces in front of it. It then

gently rubbed the back of its right hand twice, like a friend comforting a friend who had successfully given advice. The right hand then began to take the divided

pieces and place them where it wanted to bet. Not in a hurry at all. It was very good at managing money; I could almost feel its logic! My

admiring gaze followed its every movement beautifully… Before I knew it, about an hour had passed. I didn't

feel tired. Perhaps I was so focused on the movements that I forgot to look at how much RMB was in front of it. I didn't even notice when the movements were slightly different from the

beginning . The right hand sped up, picking up one of the remaining two piles and

tossing it into the empty door. This was the first time I sensed its unease. When the hands were untied this time, I saw the right hand extended

and lingering, several fingers trembling, lying there like a white rabbit caught in a trap, showing

silent pain, showing trauma. The left hand slowly moved over, right where the right hand had been, like a man embracing

and comforting his beloved woman, first completely enveloping the back of the right hand with its entire palm, then slowly moving to each finger, as if... He gently touched my left hand in the same

way, entwining them repeatedly for a while, before my right hand, supported by my left, returned to its original position at the base

of the pyramid . In a world of hands that flow like vendors hawking their wares, of people coming and going in an endless stream, never before had a pair of hands

conveyed such emotion, so vividly expressing its solitude and serene beauty. Suddenly, I felt everything in the hall freeze and

solidify; all the turbulent, buzzing, and nerve-wracking scenes that had preceded me ceased to exist. I was captivated! I could no

longer contain myself; I had to see this person, to see

the . So I approached with trepidation—truly trepidation, because those hands had already terrified me.

---My gaze traveled up her wrists, arms, shoulders, and neck—and I was stunned once more! It was a

woman around 27 years old, her face exuding the same aura as her hands. I had never seen such a utterly

captivating face; this gave me ample opportunity to understand her, to

observe her closely as a mask missing an eye, as alluring as the legendary Venus hiding an arm. The only flaw was

a faint layer of ashen white that obscured the brilliance that should have been like white jade. Though her eyes never glanced left or right, only fixed on the dealer's

cards, the deep, yolk-like color in her pupils revealed a profound mystery that seemed completely at odds with her actual age.

This time she hesitated, her pyramid trembled, and her chin and lips occasionally

kissed each fingertip in the order of thumb, index, middle, ring, and little finger…

I had never seen—I must repeat—a face—a woman's face at

the gambling table so calm and composed. I stared intently at it, mesmerized and captivated. At the same time,

I sensed the hesitation, even impulsive anger, beneath this calm demeanor,

a heart pounding with tension like the calm before the Iraq War. I held my breath, trying to remain quiet

, afraid of influencing her decision. Finally, her fingers left

her lips . Her thumbs and forefingers shot up like startled rabbits, pausing for two seconds near her ears

before her right thumb pressed heavily against her left ring finger. I was stunned! What was she doing? Those were

her cherished possessions, proof of their shared life! Even more terrifying was that her ring finger

offered no resistance, surrendering the jade ring she wore, despite the effort required to remove it. It dawned on me then—she wasn't

there to while away the time; she had come with her last hope! She was making a desperate gamble,

using her marriage, her hope, and all the strength that sustained her life! My heart pounded—I panicked—I wanted to plead with her—

but all my emotional impulses were suppressed by her rapid betting, turning into boundless

prayers—hoping she would win. Was it so difficult for a woman who had given up on marriage and love to even have something to keep for herself

? —No! She had to win! At that moment, in the pitch-black night, I gave

her the only light I had. Her hands, clenched into fists, lay flat before me, all my attention focused on the spinning

bet, seeking relaxation and release! Finally—it seemed God heard my prayers. When the bookmaker's assistant, under

God's coercion, pushed banknotes and jewelry towards her, who needed immediate help, she actually smiled. Her fists

clenched, her listless back straightened abruptly, and as her long-closed eyelids closed, she took

a deep then slowly exhaled. I clapped for her, but she didn't notice. It was at this

moment that her infinitely lonely smile lingered in my mind; as

mysterious . This only fueled my curiosity. Just as I was still reveling in the joy of a mix of doubt and victory

, she had already embarked on her journey again. Instead of using her left hand to prepare and her right to strike, disregarding the previous logic,

she directly pushed everything forward, slamming it against a door. This unexpected action made me shout—"

Don't rush !" But the weak tremor was as insignificant as dust in the noisy environment! I never

expected her to possess such masculine courage. And yet, she was so recklessly immersed in the bottomless abyss of greed. Because

every gamble inevitably puts one in this state of complete indulgence, where time, space, family, environment, and

one's own state are completely disregarded, only obsessed with the pleasure of gain. She had fallen in! She had completely gone mad!

No! My admiration for her transformed into another force—don't be so reckless! Calm down! I almost touched her

coat; even gently tugging it off seemed like a reminder to calm her down. But it was too late! Suddenly, a laser-fast flash of the dealer's assistant's hand

streaked across , sweeping everything off the table!

Those hands instantly lifted her boneless body, the chair crashing to the floor with a "thud!" Her head, which hadn't moved since

she entered lifted, eyes fixed on the ceiling, and she let out a long breath. In that instant, I

froze! She was holding back tears, enduring everything, like

a victim who . If you've ever lost, you'll understand that complex emotion you feel when you've orchestrated something yourself—is it self-blame?

Regret? Resentment? Accepting the loss? Or something else entirely? None of that matters anymore! Then, her limp

body trembled rapidly like a battery just fully charged, trying to move, but as

difficult as a car running out of gas. Finally, some unknown force propelled her forward, her body shooting past me with a gust of sub-

zero wind towards the door! I froze! But my steps weren't voluntary at all—

it wasn't that I wanted to move, but that action itself came to me, swiftly following that shadow. But just as I reached the front

door, that swift figure suddenly stopped; my steps, unable to slow down, were blocked by a pillar in the hall

. Yet, feeling no pain, I walked to a spot not far from her, unnoticed. Before my eyes

could glance at my injured leg, two hairy, beast-like hands shamelessly reached into her coat pocket… My

hands, so full of desire, weakly tried to stop them, but even though my fingers got there first, they couldn't resist

the two pairs of hands, as strong as demons! They had finally obtained what they wanted—the car keys! Only then did I

notice a Chery QQ parked not far away. They completely ignored me, yet I

knew better than they did what had happened. Just as the claw forcefully pulled away from her bent fingers, she feigned

contempt and then smiled knowingly—even though her arm and fingers, forcibly straightened, were still trembling

weakly unable to bend back.

Her action was incredibly moving. Standing there watching, I felt embarrassed

and involuntarily stepped back—ashamed to witness a stranger's despair as if I were on a theater stage

—but then, a strange unease compelled me to passively follow that unfamiliar

figure. I've seen many gamblers fall from grace, but this completely different behavior made me wonder if her desperate,

reckless, and hurried attempt to leave wasn't to go home or seek comfort from her husband, or perhaps to hail a taxi.

Instead of choosing a different way of life, she was heading straight for that bottomless abyss that everyone feared. She wouldn't

reunite with her family, wouldn't receive support from banks, relatives, or friends anymore! Her last hope was shattered

here ! I felt something far beyond winning or losing. Where did she want to go? ...

I was so unthinking, without any clear-headed consideration. I immediately followed that

unfortunate woman to a park not far from the gambling den. She never looked left or right, never looked ahead, and

never considered what was behind her. I believe anyone—a person with clear eyes and keen senses—would be drawn by this

anxious and curious feeling. Because a woman not yet thirty, walking with the difficulty of an old person,

her limbs weak and limp, staggering like a drunkard, head down, walked to a park rocking chair and collapsed on

it—such a pitiful scene left no room for thought! Her body was slumped on the

chair like a sack of straw , swaying freely due to inertia. Her head was fixed on the sky, her gaze unblinking. Her hands hung limply beside the chair, as if boneless. In the still-dark street, any passerby would have thought she was a suicide victim—she truly looked like one. I don't understand why I suddenly had this impression, but it appeared before my eyes, so real and terrifying . In that instant, looking at her again, I couldn't help but believe that she had sleeping pills in her pocket, and that the next morning, passersby would find her stiff, lifeless, lying there. I became increasingly convinced of my feelings; this posture and movement perfectly expressed exhaustion and despair, something I had never seen before. Now imagine my situation: I was about ten meters away from her, standing blankly behind that chair, where a motionless, hopeless person lay, utterly lost and helpless. Driven by instinct, I desperately wanted to help , but she didn't even look at me; we were complete strangers. Besides that feeling, I couldn't find a reason to help . I smoked cigarettes, one after another... I paced back and forth for about an hour, that hour slipping away like the gentle waves rising and falling on an invisible sea. The image of a desolate, fading person so powerfully shook me, making it impossible for me to leave. Yet, I couldn't find the courage to say a word or do anything. Should I call her friends or family to let them know? But I didn't know their numbers. Should I call 110 to have the police take her home? But how could I convince them that she was a desperate person in need of help? ... One conflicting thought after another made me hesitate. Forget it! She's just an actor in her own mental world. I wanted to ignore the desolate scene before me and just let her faint. Just then, a powerful external force finally changed my predicament; Wenzhou's weather often changes drastically with the approach of a typhoon. A strong wind blew by, and suddenly a torrential downpour began, chilling me to the bone; the rain intensified, and I quickly slipped into a rest pavilion in a park . 　　　But what happened next was terrifying, and even now my throat feels tight; despite the torrential rain, the unfortunate woman remained motionless. The drainage systems on the buildings had all become the source of small waterfalls, and the streets quickly turned into a vast expanse of water. The traffic, splashing water as people ran, resembled a fleet of two-way airplanes, and even as the net of water sprayed towards her, she didn't move an inch. Everyone was running and hiding, all life was shrinking back in fear, trying to escape. Humans and animals alike. The panic and fear under the violent onslaught of the rain were clearly visible—only she remained completely still. I think only sculpture could so powerfully express such despair and utter self-abandonment, so profoundly portraying the state of death. I think no sculptor or poet could create such a breathtaking and moving image of extreme despair and desolation as this living person. She resigned herself to the whims of the rain. I couldn't wait any longer; I had no choice. I leaped forward and grabbed her arm. "Come with me!" But suddenly, her hand jerked away with the force of a tidal wave. Before I could react, I was slapped across the face like a piece of tile flying in a storm. At first, I thought my well-intentioned but reckless behavior would be forgiven; but then I suddenly snapped out of my reverie and realized that those were just my illusions and assumptions. Perhaps she wasn't as beautiful as I thought; perhaps she was just a gambling addict... Perhaps... Or perhaps ... In any case, my proud heart was enraged! I couldn't accept this sudden tragedy. I flagged down a taxi... My initial thought of simply taking her into the shelter from the rain was quickly eroded by her extreme behavior. It was replaced by the anger of wanting to give her a room, and the impulse to save a life. Filled with resentment and anger, I looked at her and shouted, "Don't give up! Come with me!" She was completely unaware; her hands, like a python, half-broken earthworm, thrashed wildly. However, in my anger, these things were no longer worth considering. I grabbed her and threw her into the taxi... "Let go of me! You've got a corpse, don't expect me to bring you any pleasure! You bastard!" she cried, struggling. Finally, I heard her voice , hoarse enough to send shivers down my spine. Language had completely lost its function as a means of communication. In my extreme distress , it suddenly dawned on me that she mistook me for one of those lecherous thugs who lust after women near gambling dens; those men who wait outside gambling dens like cheetahs lying in wait, preying on beautiful women who have lost everything, exploiting their desperation and desperate need for money to satisfy their lust. My heart felt like it had been stabbed; this was so far removed from my true intentions that it was maddening... I was utterly confused and couldn't name the feelings I had at that moment. How could it have so urgently driven me to pursue that unfortunate person? There was an element of curiosity in that feeling, but primarily it was a fearful and uneasy anxiety, or more precisely, an anxiety about some kind of terror. From the very beginning, there was something terrifying about it; a dark cloud hung over the woman. Yet, this kind of emotion is impossible to analyze or dissect, especially given its complex and intertwined nature. It started so subtly, then suddenly surged forth so abruptly and rapidly; like someone seeing a child in danger of being run over by a car on the road, they would immediately run over and pull them to safety. Perhaps what I did at that moment was precisely that instinctive act of saving a life.

I acted without thinking, without questioning the meaning of my life-risking courage; I was simply

bewitched drawn by a force of will, and compelled to pull her to my side.

"Xiao Li, take her to my usual room," I said. Because I often have clients from afar, and

they're usually accommodated at this hotel, I'm familiar with it and can get discounts with my membership card. I led her to

the place she wanted to go. Then we went to the cashier. After entrusting everything to the staff, I wanted to leave. Here I want to clarify,

whether anyone believes it or not, I was solely trying to help her; I had no other ulterior motives. I simply wanted to make up for

the fact that her perfection prevented me from appreciating her beauty, and that this was the end of my emotional turmoil. However, out of

politeness, I should say goodbye. But that goodbye—I think I'll never be able to explain it properly…!

When I reached the room, it was empty. She wasn't there to take a hot shower to wake herself up, and then lie down comfortably, feeling a sense of taking advantage of me, as I had hoped

. I couldn't help but be startled. No!

Enveloped in a deep, chilling fear, I frantically chased after her upstairs. For some reason, my intuition told me she must be

there; I couldn't wait for the elevator! I had to stop her foolish actions immediately… I

jumped until I reached the fifth floor—finally! Her shadow appeared in my panicked, tense vision. "

Stop!" I thought she could hear me, but in reality, she only ran faster. "Top floor! Top floor! Just one more floor

and it's the top floor! No!"—this kept echoing in my mind! I wished the building would immediately turn to the ground,

thus eliminating the deadly danger. I climbed frantically again, and just as I was about to reach the top floor, I finally

grabbed that terrifying shadow! Amidst a million tons of fear and a tiny, overwhelming joy, I desperately wanted to

communicate with her. But the moment I grabbed her and she turned away, my pride was once again trampled upon like never before

! First, her hand flew at me heavily, followed by spittle landing squarely on my face.

Vulgar words like "despicable" and "obscene" shot from her mouth—words I thought utterly impossible—like arrows piercing my heart! All my

agitation instantly turned colder than ice…

This moment—I don't know if I can even explain it clearly—ever since she first threatened my dignity, I

've felt a surge of agitation and anger. Her excessive arrogance provoked my resistance; she awakened everything within me…

everything that was suppressed, hidden, and ruthless. Before me now stood a dignified noblewoman, yet on a matter of

life and death confronted me with a cold indifference that kept everyone (whether well-intentioned or malicious) at arm's length,

driving me to utter madness… Suddenly, a crystal-clear thought arose within me—and I

felt with absolute certainty that this unapproachable, icy

woman, who refused to relinquish her dignity even in the final moments before deciding to give up her life—was her! Perhaps sometime before, she and her man had been passionately embracing and rolling around in bed,

naked and like a lioness in heat. Perhaps, they had even moaned with pleasure, their bodies

pressed tightly together like two lips...

When she looked at me with such haughtiness and disdain, like a queen, that's the thought that crept into my

heart ... And so every nerve in my body tensed, my only thought was to overpower her! To despise her!

... In that instant, through her rain-soaked shirt, I saw her barely visible underwear and

the curves of her high, firm breasts hidden beneath. At that moment, I had only one thought—to possess her like that man I didn't know

, to force her cold, indifferent lips to moan, to witness this proud woman in

the throes of lust... Seeing her about to turn and run towards the edge of the building again, I pounced on her without hesitation, like a hungry wolf hunting its prey

. My hands instantly transformed into the tentacles of a giant octopus, brimming with evil, wantonness, and a desire for conquest.

They slid erratically across her clothing from different directions, crawling wildly across her resisting, even howling, struggling body! Kneading! Squeezing!

Pressing! Hooking! Pinching! Grabbing... Her neck, brimming with boundless desire, like a goose's neck,

recklessly ...

What a chaotic and unrestrained act this was! I cannot express it in words. I only know that my body no longer

obeyed my will—unbridled; the more my will tried to suppress it, the more it

tormented that enigmatic body with its own discontent. Until she could no longer resist, completely limp beneath me, allowing me to do as I pleased

...

Desperate to know if this was a dream, I slightly opened my eyes in a state of excited confusion—

clothes were hanging on the windowsills of the surrounding buildings, and shadowy figures were moving about. The street in the distance, seen from a side angle, was bustling with traffic as usual,

occasionally punctuated by the blaring of horns. But all of this made me feel as if it were alive, watching and

mocking my actions. Waves of shame rushed towards me from all directions, making my face burn like fire. I

also inadvertently saw the eyes I had used to seduce—a tender, captivating, and embracing gaze

, with tears trembling at the corners. In that instant, I was deeply moved by her tears—I remembered the woman I

had deeply loved . A surge of sorrow coursed through my body, shattering the shameless surge of hormones. My will finally

prevailed over my impulse. I felt helpless! Facing her, whom I had oppressed, I was filled with extreme shame and agitation. All my emotions coalesced into

a single command—abandon her, leave this rooftop filled with lust. My throat, trembling and unable to utter the correct syllables,

cried out, "Don't give up! I've paid the room fee, the water's boiled, go downstairs for a hot shower, soak your feet, and sleep soundly

until dawn—everything will be different!" I don't know if I spoke accurately, nor do I know if she heard

me and immediately jumped up to run away…

But she grabbed me, this bewildered and helpless deserter, and clung to me like an old tree root, refusing to let go. Her

frenzied tongue, like a demon sucking my life force, plunged deep into my mouth, churning wildly with her secretions

. Her hands followed, like eels burrowing into my body beneath my clothes, moving excitedly and erratically.

The nauseating sensory stimulation challenged my will. I kept pushing her away, but she only intensified her torment

. I was confused! I was lost! I longed! I was helpless! I was in pain. Suddenly, tears streamed down my face. But that greedy

flesh had already betrayed everything I had and began to yield to her...

And so, two madmen, freed from all humanistic constraints, shamelessly intertwined in front of everyone...

They desperately needed a room, their direction twisted, completely disregarding whether hotel staff or other unrelated people witnessed their half-undone underwear and partially exposed bodies, driven by their mutual

desire . Rain, tears,

saliva, and bodily fluids mingled freely... In this unbearable excitement, in this soul-devouring,

bone-sucking mutual desire, in the cries of their hearts, they had forgotten what shame was! ...

When my reason automatically returned, it was already the next morning. My slightly open eyelids quickly brought a series of

incomprehensible questions to my mind—Where am I? How did I get here? Who is the woman lying next to me? Suddenly,

a series of lingering images flashed through my mind. What happened last night? The groans from my inner thighs told me I was a

heartless and sinful savage! How hateful! How unforgivable!

Unable to bear the condemnation of my conscience, I desperately wanted to see her, but in that instant, I was stunned: I had never seen anything like it, not even when

observing infants. The comfort of a swaddled baby sometimes radiates an angelic

glow, but even that pales in comparison to the sanctity she displayed now—a truly blissful, peaceful sleep. Her face seemed

sculpted with exquisite skill, every emotion fully expressed, conveying the heavenly bliss of relief and

salvation from the weight of inner pressure. Seeing this astonishing sight, all my bewilderment and resentment vanished instantly; I couldn't resist gently kissing her

lips, then carefully immersing myself in this heavenly scene, a picture no painter could capture.

Then, she gently opened her eyes,

gazing at . Her hand, like water, flowed softly across my chest and rested on my waist. She snuggled into my arms like a child

nestled , pressing her face against mine, rubbing against me repeatedly before finally settling down. At that moment, I

no longer felt ashamed—no! I almost felt joy. I held her tightly. But I couldn't help asking myself:

Am I still a normal person? Is this still that aloof woman? What's her name? Where does she live? Does she have a husband? How did she

end up in that gambling den? And… I desperately wanted to unravel each mystery. I gently stroked her

long hair and asked, "I still don't know your name." "Lina! Xu Lina!" Her voice was full of confidence and joy. "What a

beautiful name, just like her. Your parents must be very cultured," I continued. But she jumped out of my

arms , looking at me with an impatient and unwilling expression, and said, "Don't mention them! They're

the beginning of my nightmare. I'm in so much pain, and I think I should respect them and not tell anyone about them." I longed to know

everything about her, but I was also afraid of her telling me. I wanted to stop her, but it was too late. My heart tightened like an arrow on a bowstring,

threatening to hurt her at any moment. "But I can't bear it... Four years! I've been living like this. Yesterday, he

ran away with all our savings to another man, and I gambled away everything I had to survive, just to vent my emotions. My parents

' carefully planned, seemingly perfect match has crumbled. You don't know how much the financial crisis has affected my shop; I

don't know how to manage my miserable life. I don't want to go back to that hellish environment, and I don't want to

see

my parents' devilish faces, filled with accusations and curses because they didn't get what they wanted. If it weren't for you last night, I might not be here anymore..." Hearing this, my tense heartstrings suddenly relaxed. I've always abhorred adultery, not out of a strong

moral compass or a desire for chastity, nor because it means stealing in the dark or

possessing a stranger's body. It's because ninety percent of women, in this moment of intense emotion, will reveal their husbands' most secrets

—they steal the most private secrets of this deceived person and throw them at another stranger: his strengths or

his weaknesses. I believe this is a betrayal, not because the woman consented, but because they almost always

have to , using it as a source of ridicule and amusement when they sleep with another stranger. From the first time I loved

a woman and understood these things, I maintained a distance from women. Many of them I admired, but I

never got close to. Therefore, I was initially afraid to hear about these things. If it weren't for her presence in my passionate, surging world

—the "stage of hands"—if it weren't for her forceful approach that led to complete abandon, I think it would have been very difficult for an ordinary woman to get close to me

. But she didn't. She didn't use her husband as a laughingstock like those women; instead, she mentioned many of his

good qualities, saying she would have been perfectly fine if it weren't for his terrible illness. She only mentioned him out of necessity to state the facts;

it wasn't intentional or excessive. What cruel experiences must a young woman who hasn't even endured the pain of childbirth have honed

to make her so rational and mature? I am deeply moved by this power. I can't believe she could control herself so well;

everything that happened to her is laid bare before my eyes, so real and natural.

Suddenly, I felt a surge of emotion, and I couldn't help but ask—so many people in this world!—you always display

those obvious or conventional surface phenomena of life, but do you know that behind you, in the depths of your hearts,

in the darkest corners, shines a restless, genuine, and dangerous beast of passion, entwining, tearing, and copulating in

various ? Have you ever

been shocked by the breath of life, by the fervent, intriguing, and magical lust, by the boiling blood? What pain

is deeper ? In my arms lies a victim who has opened her heart, completely exposing her soul before me, yearning for me

to understand her broken, poisoned, and scarred heart, waves of ecstasy lashing out at

the memories accumulated year after year. I think only someone who lives a life of shame, repression, and desperate attempts to conceal themselves could so resolutely and frankly

confess their life. Gradually, a person's entire life unfolded from their chest. At that moment, did you, like me,

witness the immeasurable true feelings in this world...?

After she finished speaking, she buried herself deeply in my arms. I felt a scalding liquid slide down my chest, then quickly cool like ice,

spreading around us, because her living environment seemed so cruel and terrifying. I cannot understand how a woman from a privileged

background and with a good education could face a marriage where her parents' money and power controlled her entire life. I cannot even imagine how a normal woman could face her husband's perverse sexual behavior and the tragedy and desolation of her unfulfilled desire

to become a mother.

Men! ---

If you were a woman, could you accept that one set of parents only wanted to hide the fact that they had a normal child in front of others,

while your father wanted a mid-level position? So both sides would go to great lengths to reach a shady agreement, a conspiracy that would bury

you alive. Could you reconcile the contradiction between your man's tender care before his illness and his beastly behavior during his episodes?

Could you bear the thought that your first love, your first man, wanted to prove you were his woman,

but would tear apart what you considered your purest hymen, and then, during his episodes

, would be so vicious as to force you to watch him have sex with other men and force you to clean them orally afterwards? Thinking about all this sent chills down my spine.

I hugged her tightly and said, "I'm sorry! If you want to cry, just cry it out! If you don't want to go back, then don't. Don't worry, I'm

here."

For some reason, she suddenly tightened her grip on me, and then quickly turned her head to bite my chest hard.

Before could even scream, the pain made me violently somersault, slamming me heavily onto her head and body. In an instant, every

cell throbbed with excitement. Just as I was worrying whether I had hurt her, her lips gently enveloped

my most vulnerable part. I was as excited as a thirsty person in the desert suddenly finding water, and I recklessly and quickly became

naked, plunging inside, fully enjoying the pleasure of being moistened. At the same time, I was acutely aware of those ten "centipede-like"

fingers, which made me nervous, crawling upwards from my perineum to my inner thighs and then to my lower abdomen. The excitement and tingling sensation had completely

overshadowed the current pain... Just as I was lost in a blissful daze, oblivious to life and death, the "centipede" stabbed into

the wound she had previously torn open—Ah! ---I cried out in pain, but before the sound could even escape my lips, the "fairy's"

tongue had already swept through my mouth again. Then, in the instant she climbed onto my body and suddenly sank in, an infinite tenderness made

the pain vanish—I felt like a mudfish caught and tormented in dry, shriveled soil, half its body suddenly submerged in water

. "Does it... still hurt?"—The breaths, pounding in my chest, were so alluring.

I shook my head, too excited to speak. In that instant our eyes met, I understood why she bit me...

No! I didn't have time to think about why!—Because compared to the feeling of her frantically tormenting my body, I didn't want to

recall it. She seemed even more frenzied. "Tell me your name, I... want to know everything about you..."

Her voice was so impatient, even incoherent. Only then did we communicate, subtly and unconsciously, through the uninhibited

friction ; her chosen method was so unique that I completely released all my pressure and told

her everything she wanted to know without any concealment. "Tell me—yesterday afternoon...you wanted to rape me, didn't you? Do you know—you

made me feel—the joy of being a woman for the first time? How deeply I—thank you!...Oh!—wolf!

—Come on! Give it to me! Give me your unleashed bestial passion, I...I crave it so much!!!" My entire body, surging with passion, tensed violently

. I pushed the demon off me, like a "loach" struggling to break free of its restraints, unleashing its exhilarating life force of

regained freedom, penetrating its gentle, muddy depths. "Ah!!!—Ah—!!" With a soul-stirring moan

, she suddenly bent over, hanging her handkerchief around my neck like a snake coiling around me, tightening it as if deadly. I wrapped my arms tightly around her waist.

The "loach" tensed, instantly sensing death, yet feeling no fear... Our bodies remained

intertwined, frozen like sculptures on the snow-white sheets...

That evening felt like a battle within me—every nerve in my body felt it, acutely aware that

this stranger, this fallen person, seemed to suddenly fear death in the final moments, revealing an endless thirst and

passion , grasping at the last glimmer of hope. She was like someone who had discovered she was on the verge of an abyss, clinging tightly to me. I, however,

recklessly used all my strength to save her, offering all my power, even resorting to dangerous and despicable acts to awaken her.

I think such an experience can only happen once in a lifetime. How fervently, how painfully, how desperately a fallen person could

reveal such thirst—such a wanton and unrestrained thirst; to suck life again, to drain every drop of fresh, hot blood.

If I hadn't experienced it firsthand, I doubt I could truly grasp the grandeur and magnificence of nature. It can

so readily combine and mix everything in an instant, bringing cold and heat, life and death, exhilaration and despair together. The night that followed was filled with struggle and explanation,

passion and resentment, a mixture of vows and drunken tears. It felt as if a thousand years had passed, and we, the two of us tangled

together, tumbling into the abyss, one on the verge of death and madness, the other caught in a sudden accident…

In that moment of overflowing passion, everything was so abrupt, so heart-pounding, so chaotic! Every time I recall that moment, my

body surges with hormones, forced by willpower to rush to "that place," holding out

for a very long time… I think I should be ashamed of this, that I should weave many lies to cover up the unspeakable truth of this desire.

But even if I deceive the whole world, I cannot escape my own thirst and longing for this sincere, passionate desire. Men and women of the world

—do you know that there is an emotion in this world that we cannot resist its allure—a tacit harmony of action and feeling,

a pure, natural release and an absolute sense of security in the embrace, a fleeting pleasure of willingly giving up life, a

dual satisfaction of soul and body… Do you, like me now, feel a pain—a sudden, agonizing

plunge into the stomach, like the corrosive acid of digestive juices…?

I am a 27-year-old man in Kunming, of average appearance, single for over a year, sincerely seeking a long-term close friend who respects my privacy and
will not interfere with my normal life. I value freedom and currently do not want to date or get married. I am not promiscuous; I only hope that
when you are troubled and weary by the people or things in reality, I can quietly listen to you and gently alleviate your loneliness… If interested, add me on
QQ: 1559000623.
Choice is a mutual matter; I will not force you if you are not willing. Just laugh it off in your heart. Please understand the restless heart of this single man, okay? hey-hey!

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An unexpected experience for a Kunming man in Wenzhou. (Original content by Privacy)

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