[Incest] Unleashed Desires (Complete) - 15

[Volume 2: A Life of Debauchery] Chapter 134: Taipei's Hedonistic Adventures (4)

That night was my first experience with a one-night stand. But it wasn't the only one.
From then on, I fell in love with the thrill and excitement of uncovering the unknown hidden in the dark and mysterious. That excitement and joy is like opening a well-sealed bottle of aged champagne. You know it will pop or even louder. But first you need to know how to open it correctly, and then you can eagerly wait for the sudden, surprising pop and the overflowing liquid after opening the bottle.
This kind of erotic hide-and-seek always reminds me of the computer game I was most obsessed with during my middle school years—Fantasy Space.
The protagonist of the game is a penniless middle-aged man who indulges in the pleasures of different entertainment venues around the world. His name is Larry. The exciting and charming part of this game is the continuous hot encounters. And you never know what your next step will be to fulfill your dream of getting intimate with so many beautiful women. You're playing the role of Larry in a computer game. Larry is a short, unattractive man with balding hair, sunglasses, wrinkles on his brow, and a small belly. He's neither tall nor handsome, and he's penniless. A man like him is exactly the character you're playing in the game; he's the protagonist! He needs to know how to utilize every opportunity and item. He should know the skills and boundaries of talking to women. He's like 007 when he goes to the bathroom or in any situation, except he's not as brilliant as Pound; instead, he's a shifty-eyed, monkey-faced guy. He rummages through everything he can find and use.
I'm glad I'm much better off than Larry. But I don't have his shamelessness and perseverance. Because I know clearly that the game I'm playing requires a certain level of restraint. That is, I can't cross certain lines, and I can't press restart. It's difficult to start over like Larry, who repeatedly rewound time to try again after failing once. After all, I'm playing a game set in a real-world scenario and within a real timeframe. So I only have one chance. I need to understand what kind of reaction or what kind of words I should have in what kind of situation and at what point in time, and each response will lead to different results. I can't predict the outcome, and that's what makes it exciting.
I can't know for sure what will happen or what the outcome will be after I approach this girl or after we leave. I've opened this door, this window, but I can't clearly know what kind of different life I'll be exposed to. Perhaps it will be a lifestyle or unimaginable life experience that I've never thought of before, or perhaps I will change myself because of it, and begin to revise some of my thoughts and views on people, things, and events. What I know for sure is that I'm walking on the edge, and everything during the day automatically pulls me back to the routine of my real life. I'll eventually return to my life's order; this is just a nighttime game of sensual pleasure where I transform before the moon.
It's real, but it doesn't resonate with my daytime life, so sometimes it feels like a dream, something no one around me would believe.
It's just too unbelievable. During that time, I experienced a rollercoaster of emotions: excitement, anxiety, waiting, hesitation, and bewilderment. Later, fueled by my fascination and the courage to challenge the unknown, I slowly became a composed and experienced player. Is that a good thing? I don't know. I only know that it's a game that can be captivating, immersive, and addictive. And when a game goes too far, it's when it almost makes me lose my way. That's when I should understand that a game is just a game, even if it's incredibly realistic and thrilling; it's still just a game. And games should have an end.
The hardest part of playing games is taking the first step and ending the last. When I pressed the start button, I had to be sure I had the courage and perseverance to press the end button, otherwise I might become a loser and lose the right to play games again.
This is a game similar to One Night Stand.
There's no need for any burden; it's all about mutual consent, and there's no need to feel guilty afterward. We're still friends. Very compatible friends, with a touch of romance and confidant.
We share our secrets and physical intimacy, but we don't have to bear each other's emotions and suffering. It's fast-paced, convenient, and disposable.
Perhaps it's because we've become accustomed to indifference and coldness.
As the two lines gradually approach each other, only at the point of intersection do we distort our originally cold and rational lines, blossoming with a little patience and warmth, talking about feelings without saying love. We briefly remove our cold, defensive masks, telling each other our stories and experiences. And I always dutifully play the role of a listener. Perhaps it's because my own life story isn't exciting or dramatic enough, or perhaps it's because I always listened and watched intently with my eyes and responses, that they kept talking, sharing their deepest, unspoken thoughts and past experiences. Afterwards, the two lines that accidentally intersected were destined to extend in different directions, perhaps only intersecting again after circling the earth—but who knows when, in what month, on what day, or in what future.
Acheng was still jumping on the speaker. Standing beside the speaker, I struck a match and lit another cigarette to continue my thoughts.
I prefer using matches to light cigarettes. Who still lights cigarettes with matches these days? It's precisely because everyone uses lighters that I find striking a match to be unique and cool. In the fairy tale, the little match girl lights small matches in the cold winter, burning away her last hopes and a sliver of longing for this world. And I, using the remaining match to light one unhealthy cigarette after another, pondered past memories or present feelings.
The words "Smoking is harmful to your health" and "Smoking causes cancer" on the cigarette pack had no powerful warning effect whatsoever. I let the layers and wisps of smoke carry me on an endless journey of thoughts and imagination. The nicotine slowly explored down my lips, my tongue, my mouth, even leaving its rampant, crawling marks on my once pristine gums and between my teeth, making them no longer pure white. Then, with a deep breath, the smoke reached my lungs, taking root and tangling around my heart. A rapid exhale followed, and I tried my best to expel the toxins from my body, turning them into wisps of mist.
If the cigarette pack said "Smoking causes impotence," would men who like to smoke reduce their intake by half or even a little? I think not.
Fish and bear's paw, cigarettes and a penis, sensual pleasures and life—a series of difficult choices?
Smoking addiction, in essence, is nothing more than a "fetish." Some are addicted to money, some to fame and status, some to power, and some to aimless, unrestrained extramarital affairs, a wandering of the soul. It's neither normal nor abnormal. A person who doesn't indulge in alcohol, sex, wealth, or power might seem more like an anomaly.
Acheng was still swaying and jumping on the speaker, his forehead dripping with sweat and his signature slightly toothy smile.
Suddenly, he turned and glanced at me, who was smoking to the right of the speaker.
He squatted down, patted my shoulder, and said, "Come on up and jump!"
"Okay!" I gave him a simple and clear answer. I casually let the cigarette fall to the ground and stomped it with my boots.
Smoke continued to billow and leap from people's mouths and fingers. White mist drifted through the air, like the burning incense of a temple of passion, slowly rising to pray to the moon goddess for her grey wishes.
And the night was not yet over.
Tonight, Taipei's most beautiful butterflies and roses seem to have all gathered by this decadent pond, fluttering and blooming freely, showering the pub's young and old, men and women with alluring pollen and captivating fragrance. Perhaps vulgar, perhaps intense and lacking in purity, but undeniably possessing a seductive charm, making one willing to temporarily shed the constraints of propriety, morality, and clear reason, joining the ranks of those vying for attention.
In the hazy, diffused smoke, under the colorful lights, watching the figures of these beauties easily reminds me of some beautiful or no longer beautiful souls and bodies I once possessed or never truly possessed, and the resulting memories—perhaps tinged with bitterness, regret, or melancholy—a complex mix of unspoken emotions.
One evening, while driving a girlfriend to the house of my former high school girlfriend for a routine visit, I suddenly realized that it was women who led me to understand a large part of this world and all sorts of different lives. Through interactions, conversations, and games with them, I learned about their thoughts, their past experiences, their future aspirations, their lives, and even their fathers' jobs or their family stories.
That was my bad habit. Whenever new women visited my hometown of Taichung, when I drove or rode my bike with them, besides acting as a competent guide showing them the traces of my growth in this booming city, I would often inadvertently take them to the homes of my ex-girlfriends. As we passed, I would always tell them about my past relationships with my former lovers, the youthful naiveté, innocence, and even the now-precious and touching unwavering devotion of those times. I remember when I first came to Taipei to study, beginning my solitary academic journey in a foreign land, it was also these women who introduced me to Taipei.
Perhaps it sounds absurd, but it was through picking them up from school, taking them home, and even dating them, that I gradually learned about the culture and geography of Taipei. From the East District to Tianmu, from Tamsui to Banqiao, and from Xindian and Jingmei to Sanchong and Xinzhuang. Don't laugh at my absurdity, but it is an obvious fact. There are only men and women in this world. It is men and women who make up this world. I just danced on the speaker with Acheng for a while, and then I came down to the bar to drink and rest by myself. After finishing a can of beer, I asked the bar for another one. I held the can of beer in my hand, with layers of white foam in it, and looked at the chaotic dance floor. In the crowd, I saw Xiao Yang, who is Acheng's lover. I walked over, patted her on the shoulder, and smiled and greeted her.

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[Volume 2: A Life of Debauchery] Chapter 135: Taipei (5)

"Did Acheng come today?" she asked me.
"Yes! He's dancing on the speaker over there. Do you see him?" I said, pointing in the direction of the speaker.
"Okay. I'll go find him. See you later." She gave me a smile and then disappeared into the crowd.
Less than a minute later, Ah Cheng popped out of the sea of heads like a groundhog and appeared in front of me.
"Did you tell Xiao Yang I was here?" he asked.
"Yes. You're here."
Ah Cheng patted my head and laughed, "You tricked me. She wants me to take her home. It'll take at least an hour round trip. I won't be able to play anymore."
"No way! You should hurry back now, you should be back around 1 or 2. Hurry up, I'm waiting for you to take me home. Haha." I couldn't help but laugh.
"It's all your fault. Humph. You take a taxi home yourself, I don't care about you."
"Oh. Please, please. I've come out to play with you. I promise I'll keep my mouth shut next time." I said, pretending to beg for forgiveness.
"Okay. Never mind. I'll be back as soon as possible. You play by yourself first, I'll come back to find you." Ah Cheng said, glancing at Xiao Yang who had just appeared in front of us.
"Okay. Hurry back." I said.
So they left together, leaving me alone at the bar, observing the diverse crowd in the pub. Sometimes, even without dancing, just "watching" in a pub can be quite interesting. It's always summer in a pub; you can tell from the women's clothing, which is always airy and cool. It's all about covering up rather than keeping warm;
their lower bodies have no sense of temperature. For example, a woman less than three meters away was wearing a white camisole that exposed her midriff, paired with bright red hot pants that barely covered her buttocks, and black high heels over ten centimeters high. She swayed her whole body, with the most seductive movement coming from her hips and waist, full of sexual innuendo and provocation.
Her two female companions, surrounding her, were no less alluring in their attire and dancing. Almost formulaically, their shoes must be at least ten centimeters high with thick, flat wooden soles to accentuate the length and slenderness of their legs, giving them an overall tall and unapproachable appearance.
The girls' upper bodies are typically dressed in shimmering black faux leather, pure white, or even bright red – colors most commonly seen in pubs. They usually place light-colored cotton coats on high chairs. They wear dark blue hats or carry small backpacks with rope straps that resemble a frog's legs, wrapped around their shoulders and waists, before heading to the dance floor. Of course, she might also wear an extremely short white skirt, so short she has to cover herself slightly with her hands to avoid any accidental exposure, over a pair of dark, alluring lace-trimmed panties. Or perhaps she wears a padded, push-up bra that accentuates her cleavage, wearing only that one top, bracing herself against the cold and the stares of others, paired with faded blue denim shorts with frayed hems.
The girls on the dance floor danced, swayed, and flirted freely. Looking at their curvaceous figures, the few pieces of cloth barely covering their vital parts, their long, alluring legs, and their slender waists, the men around them stared intently, their eyes wide with lust. Looking at their faces, could you guess or even fathom what secrets lay hidden beneath their cold or unrestrained expressions? Looking at their high, prominent breasts, barely concealed by the thin fabric, did you imagine the feeling of your hands on them? Did you feel the urge to approach them? Looking at their slender waists, their exposed, sexy bellies seemingly smiling at you, did you want to hold them in your arms and take liberties with them?
You might, you might not. But once you take that step, everything will change.
She is a girl as pure as a little white rabbit, yet exuding a natural, generous, and sexy aura. What attracted me wasn't her figure, but the familiar aura and expression on her face. Yes, she reminded me of a girlfriend I once deeply loved and who left an indelible mark on my heart. She exuded youthful energy and vitality, naturally confident and possessing a bright and pleasant charm. Her large, expressive eyes, simple yet persistent, revealed her unwavering passion and dedication to certain things in life.
At that moment, I knew perfectly well that going to a pub meant indulging my desires, not searching for a fresh, bright, innocent, sexy, and confident girl. It was supposed to be a decadent world of lust, where you only needed sexual urges, not romantic feelings. But that's how I met her. I had no other thoughts or impure ideas about her, let alone any sexual desire to sleep with her. Not at all.
I simply enjoyed the feeling of looking into her eyes and listening to her speak.
That early morning, we were smoking and chatting by our motorcycles downstairs at her apartment building. She told me she was going to release an album in a year. She said her life was exhausting; after a six-hour nursing shift at the hospital, she had to take a series of performance courses in stage presence, dance, singing, hosting, talent shows, and drama. She said she was still young, only nineteen, and wanted to let go of everything and have fun. But she wanted money, lots and lots of her own. She didn't want to be a nurse earning 20,000 yuan a month until she was old and faded. She didn't want to get married either; she didn't want to marry her boyfriend, whose father was a famous TV producer. She wanted her own career. In any case, it was at least her own dream. To realize her aspirations, she had to endure the fatigue of work, the physical and mental burden. Mentally, she couldn't indulge in pleasure or go astray. In real life, she had to obey her boyfriend who provided unlimited financial support, even though he might represent an emotional burden, a nightmare of an uncertain future in the entertainment industry, and a daily schedule full of assignments and activities.
And I, a temporary passerby and listener, accidentally stumbled into her orbit. She gave me a few light, fragrant kisses, imbued with the pure tenderness of a young girl, and her stories, before we disappeared from each other's life journeys, awaiting the next unexpected encounter. Listening to the girls' stories, their past unforgettable experiences, or even the hardships and burdens they anticipated in their present or future lives, I often felt powerless. I could only listen intently, think, and respond. But I had no power to change the established past or the future to come. I even avoided any promises of forever between us; I couldn't even utter words like "like" or "love," words that represent strong emotions. Because those were neither real nor in line with reality.
Love, childhood innocence, pure romance—those were all too far removed from my heart. And I was only twenty-two.
I understood love, but what is forever? To put it bluntly, love is nothing more than a shackle, a constraint, and boredom, plus a little bit of promise and pain. Love is just an excuse often used by immature individuals to cling to another. Feelings are dependence and habit, but when they become a burden on one's journey of exploration and growth, they become heavy and unbearable.
That's why I loathe love.
Why talk about love? Why make it so difficult? Isn't it better to be relaxed, carefree, and happy? Why make promises, to bind and restrict each other's lives? I hate being possessed and I don't like possessing. I hate possession; no one should be the center of another person's life. What I want is real experience of life and society. But when I get too close to those living, breathing stories of others, over time, I always lose the motivation and courage to explore and investigate. Because once you know the truth, you have to choose to accept it or escape. Of course, you can occasionally, like me, choose to linger in the narrow gap between specific situations and cold, hard reality.
I used to believe that life was about constantly trying new things. Life was about experiencing, feeling, and challenging the limits of what you could tolerate and achieve amidst constant change. That's what made life exciting and fulfilling, ensuring I hadn't lived in vain. But sometimes I feel I've had enough. I no longer want to endure the pressures of competition and challenges. I just want to live a simple, easy, and happy life, to experience the freedom of not needing to grow or achieve anything.
For me, life is still a struggle. It's a struggle between emotions and moral principles, between selfishness and conscience, between books and pubs, between the future and the definition of success.
What is success? Why must one be successful? Is only a successful life truly genuine, universally acknowledged, and praised? Why must my own "successful" life be recognized by others to be considered "successful"? Does a successful life necessarily require fame and fortune, constantly living in the eyes of others' approval, attention, even envy and praise? I'm starting to tire of all those so-called life dreams, so-called life goals, all that nonsense I used to set for myself.
I tilted my head back and gulped down the beer in my glass bottle.
Now, I just want to forget everything, to immerse myself in the joy of liberation and decadence. I don't want fame or fortune. I don't want to live in other people's eyes and expectations anymore. Suddenly, I remembered a drunken night.
That night, Ah Cheng and I were sitting in his Jaguar luxury car, and he was driving. We were both completely drunk.
I shouted at him, “What’s the meaning of your life? How do you think of your life? What’s this?”
“Life is just for fun, be happy, don’t be sorry,” he said, letting go of the steering wheel, shaking his head, spreading his hands, and smiling, giving me a lighthearted answer. The car suddenly went out of control and swerved on the road.

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[Volume 2: A Life of Debauchery] Chapter 136: Taipei of Debauchery (6)

At that time, I felt dizzy. I knew I couldn’t even walk in a straight line. Drunk in the cold night air that seeped in through the sunroof of the car, lost in the almost deserted night of the city, decadent and unrestrained in my youthful years of frivolity and premature maturity.
The computer control light above the speaker flickered and rotated. Suddenly a pure white beam of light shone on my face, waking me from the memory of that night and bringing me back to the present. The cone-shaped beam of light swelled and shrank, as if imbued with a flexible will to live, constantly changing its shape and color, dancing and shifting to the rhythm of the music. When pure white, it resembled moonlight; the halo of the moon, subtly replicated by human hands, appeared in this enclosed space, shimmering in people's eyes and faces. I once danced around it in a pub. I raised my hands high, trying to mimic its shape, my body moving around the cylindrical beam. The pure white light condensed and took shape, like a solidified cylinder in the darkness, its pure white light reflecting the wisps of smoke rising within the beam, transforming into a mesmerizing scene.
The girls, still haughtily raising their chins, proudly displaying their figures and youthful assets, let their beautiful young bodies be encased in short, thin dresses, waiting to be sold under the greedy gazes of men, awaiting a good price. Yes, price. Though realistic, you have to admit they are pragmatic. A pub is essentially a free market for the buying and selling of desire. Where there is demand, there is supply; people trade their bodies and souls for material possessions, and their ideals and principles for decadent ecstasy and pleasure.
Watching the faces and values of people distorted by revelry and debauchery under the swirling psychedelic lights reminded me of the film "Wicked City" produced by Tsui Hark.
In Tsui Hark's film *Fantastic City*, a monster aptly says, "Monsters are slaves to happiness, while humans are slaves to money." I added, "What's the difference between humans who scheme and hope to buy happiness with money (in the film, 'happiness' is concretely represented as a drug favored by monsters transported from the monster realm, a highly ironic touch) and monsters?" I believe this is the film's main message—humans and monsters are two sides of the same coin. The monsters in the film eat people and drink blood, and isn't the female traitor in the special forces team that attacks monsters also killing and betraying her comrades for money? She reveals her true feelings: "Humans and monsters have been killing each other for thousands of years, and it hasn't ended yet, nor will it ever end. I just want to make enough money to enjoy my life." So when she hypocritically comforts the half-human, half-beast Jacky Cheung, who was wrongly accused of being a traitor but is actually loyal, by saying, "Time will tell," this line echoes later dialogues, creating a striking contrast. At the end of the film, when Jacky Cheung and Leon Lai team up to slay the Clock Monster, he angrily shouts, "Time can't prove everything, because time is also man-made!" He, a half-human, half-beast, doesn't fit into human-made rules. He painfully discovers that time cannot erase humanity's prejudice against him; time proves nothing. Only his lifelong friend, Leon Lai, solemnly tells him that he doesn't need the proof of time, because only he himself can prove himself! What an interesting and vivid dialogue! The Monster Space gradually spreads across the city's skies, and the era of Monsters ruling the land is slowly approaching. Yet I still indulge in sensual pleasures, willingly becoming a beast. Have I also been poisoned by "happiness"? In the Monster Space, "happiness" is a drug that causes the whole body to burn and evaporate continuously once the ingestion is stopped. Once used, it cannot be quit, leading to addiction. I don't feel happy. Is it because I'm not easily satisfied, or do I not know what can satisfy me? And are you human, a monster, or are we both half-human, half-beast? Humans are hypocritical, spouting platitudes of benevolence and morality, yet are cold-blooded and pragmatic; monsters devour humans and drink blood, nakedly pursuing pleasure and indulging in debauchery, while humans and monsters dislike each other and are sworn enemies.
Yet, some monsters and humans believe in peaceful coexistence because Earth's energy resources are dwindling, and humans and monsters should cooperate to stop the abuse of resources. Their conclusion is that only "love" can save the world, but the love depicted in the film is flawed and incomplete, leaving them, like me, to wait for the next opportunity. Time? Oh, it's been cut off. Remember, time cannot prove everything.
Time is like a slow-motion, silent, and colorless black-and-white film. This reminds me of the only brilliant dialogue in that terrible movie, "The Robbers and the Bodyguards." Kevin Costner plays an escaped convict who, while fleeing across the border, tells the kidnapped child hostages in his pickup truck, "Imagine this is a time machine, and we're sitting inside it." Then Kevin turns around, still gripping the steering wheel, and points to the road behind him, saying, "Behind us is the past." Turning back to face forward, his face full of renewed hope, he continues, "Ahead is the future. And you and I live in the present!" Yes, no one lives in the past or the future; you and I live in the present. The approaching tomorrow fills us with hope, or perhaps despair. The past will never return, leaving only slogans of growth and traces of tattered steps.
It's not easy to find a clock in a pub. At least, the one I visited today didn't have one. Perhaps the people here all know they don't need any concept of time here? A girl across from me, her face thickly powdered and rouged, kept glancing at me furtively. Her gaze caught my attention, interrupting my slightly tipsy thoughts. Perhaps she recognized me, perhaps she was interested in me, or perhaps she was trying to subtly suggest I approach her, but I just couldn't muster any enthusiasm. I felt
like I did one night when I suddenly lost all interest in hunting.
I remember it was a beautiful moonlit night. Acheng and I sat in the pub, speechless, completely lacking the interest and energy to pick up girls. Suddenly, I burst out laughing. It was hilarious to see him looking at me, and him looking at me, both of us looking so listless. I jokingly called it playboy burnout. Just then, a woman we both knew walked in; her name was Xiaofang. Nineteen years old, but she looked twenty-five.
"I bet Xiaofang is frigid," I said mischievously to Acheng.
"Don't ask me, I don't know," Acheng said, shaking his head with a slightly helpless smile.
"I think only money can bring her to orgasm. Roll up a thousand-yuan bill into a tube, the more the better. She could even stuff hundreds of bills in, and the more the better," A-Cheng said, his expression a mixture of suppressed laughter and a sense of helplessness.
Honestly, after a while, you can easily figure out the basic habits of women in pubs. Some women won't feel ecstatic unless they're in a million-dollar car, and later in the evening, they'll spread their legs reluctantly. Novices can hardly imagine that women who look twenty-five or twenty-six with their heavy makeup and lipstick are actually only fifteen or sixteen. They're highly objectified, entered society early, and have nothing to hold onto in life. Only money can give them security, and only thick makeup, lipstick, and perfume can mask their fear of aging rapidly due to their debauchery. They've long since stopped wanting to look at men's penises. That thing, like the sweet talk and romantic words men use, is nothing but impractical nonsense, utterly worthless. It's just a tool used in games. Don't the catgirls in the pub need love? All women need love, it's just that the women here might be a little more calculating and calculating behind the scenes when they talk about love. Are they wrong? No! They're not wrong. The only mistake is that I shouldn't judge other people's values with a moral lens. After all, this is an age where "money is everything." And I might just be a small accomplice. We're all sophisticated materialists, so there's no need for anyone else to judge.
The beam of light, which had been shining straight down from the wall, suddenly transformed into hundreds of tiny, dense rays, adding to the illusion and making the situation seem even more unreal, like a dream. It was as if hundreds of tiny holes had been drilled into the wall, and the light was blindingly shooting into people's eyes from the holes. The shifting light holes resembled crawling worms, the beams of light slowly undulating, weaving into alluring spiderwebs. The master of desire peeked out from within these webs, revealing its ugly face hidden beneath its captivating allure, making it impossible to discern whether it was an omnipotent God bestowing bliss or a devil tempting the soul to depravity.
But none of that mattered. What mattered was that the enchanting butterflies of the night, shimmering in the gentle moonlight, had already taken flight, indulging in the unique grace and beauty of the night butterfly.
"Your heart never stops flying, your nights never sleep,
you're like a tireless butterfly flitting between neon lights
, beautiful and unrestrained, dancing wildly, deliberately burning all your greedy eyes,
you give all your youth to the deep night."
Zhang Weijian's love song quietly echoed in my mind. I sang it softly, once again immersing myself in deep memories, sinking into that imaginary world that doesn't belong to this illusory space.

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[Volume 2: A Life of Indulging in Desire] Chapter 137: Taipei of Sensual Pleasures (7)

◎ Sensual pleasures generally refer to all feelings and temptations that come from the senses. You can also simply say that life is actually about sensual pleasures. ◎——From "Sensual Pleasure Quotes"
Watching the celebrities on the music video on the large screen behind the speakers, humming and singing pop songs drowned out by the deafening dance music in the pubs, I saw faces on the screen zooming in and out. I strained my eyes to recognize one of them – a famous Japanese actress known as the "Oriental Madonna." I'd heard she was promiscuous; even as a married woman and mother, she still indulged in extramarital affairs while recording records in the US. I'd also heard her foreign lover had even revealed their past and was planning to write an autobiography. On the screen, she was incredibly seductive, accompanied by a male companion using a X-ray to voyeurize and fantasize. The overall imagery was alluring and seductive, the atmosphere decadent – truly befitting a sex symbol for high-class materialists.
From the visuals, I could almost feel her fanatical worship of money and wealth. Had a Madonna appeared in both the East and West, a representative of sexiness and lust? The media, like a distorted mirror, can never truly reveal the facts. What remains are only the beautiful faces and images presented to the public through lenses that lock onto, magnify, exaggerate, embellish, or even beautify, concealing the secrets between men and women behind the scenes, beneath the cheongsams. In this age where knowledge is valued like dogs and money is all-powerful, women sell their bodies for profit; what should men sell to gain fame and fortune? Is it the irretrievable youth, or the unwavering truths, or even the dignity and principles found in classical poetry—unyielding to poverty, unyielding to power, and uncorrupted by wealth?
The meaning of life is no longer the grand and self-evident creation of the universe, nor is the meaning of living the empty and meaningless pursuit of improving the lives of all humanity—it's about fighting for the greater good. What remains are only the inescapable classes and positions imposed upon people by society. And these unseen yet tangible things are usually only realized when people reach their thirties or forties: "Ah, this is my life." Life is set in stone, dreams have long since vanished, and dreams are gone. All that remains are a tiny craving for minor thrills and a little entertainment amidst the mundane, and the unbearable pressure of daily life, the societal pressures that leave you breathless from waking up every morning, and the unchanging, rock-solid routine of daily life.
I close my eyes, cover my ears, trying to temporarily escape the noise and light of my surroundings, unable to imagine myself ten or twenty years from now, endlessly struggling for a living or under pressure. In six months, I will end my student life and begin another chapter of life completely disconnected from books. What will I become after entering the melting pot of society? What do I hope my future will look like?
Can I not play this game of fame and fortune? Fame brings profit, and profit makes fame easier. Everyone wants to carve out a place for themselves in this game of fame and fortune. I'm starting to feel weary and tired. Should I give up fame and fortune to pursue sensual pleasures or the simple joys of a peaceful life? Fame and fortune are privileges, but they are also burdens. Ah Cheng said it well: "Public figures can't be as free and unrestrained as us, chasing girls everywhere. To be famous? To be something? Forget it!" The joys and pleasures of life are readily available, so why should I burden myself with the shackles of fame and fortune and become unhappy?
But at the end of my life, will I regret not achieving great success? Or will I regret it halfway through? Should I even enter this game of fame and fortune? Should I leave the meaning of my life for me to judge ten or twenty years from now, or should I set goals now, shoulder the pressure, and work hard without letting go?
A nameless worry and restlessness, like the endless cloud of dry ice and carbon dioxide billowing out before the music starts, fills my chest and every corner of the pub dance floor tonight. I just want to stand up and scream hysterically, howling out the depression and unresolved anxieties in my heart. Several girls stood on the stage, swaying their youthful, alluring bodies with abandon. Their skin looked so smooth, taut, and elastic; judging from their clothing and the still-childish expressions on their faces, they were probably no more than sixteen or seventeen years old. Their movements seemed to possess inexhaustible energy and vitality—twisting their waists and tossing their heads, completely absorbed in their actions.
Meanwhile, I leaned my head weakly against the gray-black bar, my mind wandering to questions that might be unanswerable. What unknowable unknown brought me into this world, allowing me to experience all joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness; to be angry, cry, laugh, feel sad, and feel weary? I had never pondered such questions before, perhaps because they were unsolvable, and I was unwilling to easily attribute them to the creation of some so-called God. I don't believe in God, so I can't understand or accept the profound mysteries of life that seem so clearly stated in scriptures or Buddhist texts. I can only feel, experience, and struggle, seeking a small space to breathe within this vast social system, indulging in the sights and sounds of my senses, willingly becoming a slave to the seven emotions and six desires.
In truth, life is all about sights and sounds. Isn't it?
As human beings, everything we see when we open our eyes is color. Within the range of sound waves our ears can hear, there is sound. And those things we may not see or hear are the expectations and pressures imposed upon us by others. Sound and color, pressure and burdens, fear and trepidation—is this life?
Everyone is born different, yet all are equally slaves to desire. Therefore, everyone willingly becomes a slave to the lust of sights and sounds. Everyone must struggle, fear, fall, or even move forward in this so-called game of the creator. Is this life?
My heart aches. My senses begin to distort abnormally, not from pleasure but from pain, as the alcohol ferments in my body in this world of sights and sounds.
The ancient Chinese phrase, "Heaven and Earth are ruthless, treating all things like straw dogs," echoed in my mind. And yet, I had to endure all of this. What is good? What is evil? Everything is merely an excuse for humanity to wage war and fight for survival and power. The sage texts I've read since childhood are not the truth of human society; they are just empty rhetoric to create a false sense of peace. The truth hidden behind the media and appearances is that human nature is inherently evil; humans are inherently selfish. Is this human nature?
I felt I could no longer bear the increasingly loud and depraved music in my ears. I felt so frustrated, so powerless, as if the life within me was slowly slipping away. Don't tell me I'm drunk. No! My mind is perfectly clear! On the contrary, I feel my mind is becoming increasingly clear. So much
sensual pleasure—how many people chase fame and fortune only to pursue more sensual pleasures and material enjoyment?
Sensual pleasures—besides sensual pleasures, is there nothing else in this vast world, in this unseen realm, worth pursuing, numbing, and indulging in? Is the pursuit of sensory stimulation the pursuit of happiness and the goal of life?
Is sensual pleasure a choice made without other options, a compromise after the loss of dreams, a disillusionment after seeing reality clearly, an addiction after seeing the truth, or the confusion and struggle in the hearts of young students before entering society, or the irresistible temptation and forbidden fruit that beckons to past conscience and morality in the melting pot of society?
It is. All of these.
The information saturating all media repeatedly squeezes, squeezes, and drives people, including myself, to pursue all kinds of insatiable desires, whether original, new, or explosive. Humanity and life are distorted, pushed, and driven onto a program beyond our control, drifting with the tide. Everything begins to derail and deviate, deformed and fractured by sensual pleasures. Peel back the layers of morality, rationality, practicality, and fashionable trends, and what do we have left besides the bottomless black hole of desire?
The dazzling neon lights in this space still swirl and blaze with their brilliance. But all I felt was a wave of dizziness.
Is life ultimately just a slave to the senses, the seven emotions, and the six desires?
Suddenly, I felt I couldn't bear it any longer. I can't remember how I pushed through the crowded throng, the cacophony of voices, or the blinding lights, but I found myself hunched over the toilet in the men's restroom, vomiting uncontrollably. I vomited again and again. I emptied my stomach, along with yellow liquid, stomach acid, and all sorts of other things, mingling with tears and snot. Time and again, my throat, stomach, and mouth uncontrollably went through the same nausea, the sensation of vomiting rising, and then vomiting.
During the vomiting process, I suddenly realized, little by little, that the intertwined desire and reason within me were actually two parts that were sometimes completely independent yet inevitably intertwined. They constituted me. As my body continued to vomit, my reason, with a hint of mockery, coldly observed everything unfolding, yet it couldn't help but wish that "I" would quickly stop this action, to avoid vomiting myself into a filthy, foul-smelling mess. But it couldn't stop my actions. Just like when I'm having sex with a girl, I feel that another part of myself, what people call "soul," is hiding in a mirror or floating on the ceiling, conducting a rational and cold observation. It can only coldly observe with mockery and disdain, but it doesn't necessarily have the courage or ability to stop what's happening under the ceiling. At best, my soul, or what is called reason, is just another silent accomplice to desire and senses. Thinking of this, I naturally stopped vomiting. For no reason, I just suddenly stopped vomiting. I casually pulled down the handle on the toilet seat and flushed everything into the sea.

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[Volume 2: A Life of Indulgence and Debauchery] Chapter 138: Taipei's Hedonistic Life (8) I

pushed open the toilet stall door. I walked to the mirror and began to wash up.
I looked at myself in the mirror. Absurd and haggard. My eyes were red, and the blood vessels on the surface of my eyeballs were faintly visible. I looked like I had just cried. My eye bags were even more swollen, and my nose was also red. Heaven knows if what I just did count as crying. I reached out and touched the beard on my chin in the mirror. The stubble seemed to be unkempt, and I felt a stinging pain in my palm. I rubbed my face hard with both hands, as if trying to wipe away something, perhaps the clear rationality and its slightly cold and mocking corners of my mouth. I looked at myself in the mirror again. I examined myself carefully. My pupils were still so deep.
A high, straight nose, tightly pursed yet full lips, and sword-like eyebrows that swept into his beard. It should have been a face brimming with youthful vigor, fearless and brimming with the vitality of a newborn calf. Now, it only seemed to convey a sense of indulgence in sensual pleasures, a worldly sophistication devoid of the innocence and naivety of youth. Those things I considered childish, immature, and clumsy, things I had long since discarded. Perhaps this included the passion and perseverance for pursuing certain things in life.
I bent down, turned on the tap, and splashed some water on my face. Shaking my hands, I grabbed a tissue to dry my face and hands. Then, I gently tossed the tissue into the inconspicuous trash can in the corner, a perfect arc, just as I had discarded everything I had decided was meaningless to me, unnecessary to keep.
Pushing open the door to the men's restroom, the overwhelming, dazzling lights, sounds, smells of smoke, and perfume assaulted my face once more. What kind of allure and intoxicating spell had destined my soul and spirit to be consumed and ecstatic within this place, leaving me utterly powerless to resist? I stepped once more into this decadent, sleepless city of Shanghai—or rather, I've never truly left since.
Nights like this, scenes like this, always evoke strong emotions within me.
Watching the frenzied revelry, the singing and dancing, the intoxicating glow of wealth and power, I often find myself thinking, "Ah, this is the level of pleasure people experience in the end times." Consider the ancient city of Rome, buried by volcanic ash for two thousand years—wasn't it at its peak of debauchery and extravagance before its complete collapse? This island of greed is on the verge of sinking, for the once beautiful and innocent Formosa can no longer bear the excessive desires of its inhabitants and the ugly roars hidden deep within their hearts beneath their hypocritical masks. This convergence has transformed into a civilized game of utilitarian people vying for power and resources. Beyond the decadent revelry and clinking glasses, the fighter jets at Fuzhou Airport are preparing to drop more eggs, taxi drivers in Taipei are fighting at night, and teenagers are racing and slashing each other – this was the tense atmosphere of the previous weeks. And yet, I could only indulge in sensual pleasures, willingly becoming their slave, helplessly watching as this island of greed slowly sinks into the Pacific Ocean, utterly bewildered.
A low, decadent prelude to "Gangsta-Sparadise," filled with the sinful madness of the end of the century, begins to play in my ears. The heavy metal drumbeats draw my attention. " I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I take a look at my life and realize there's nothing left,
"
the music is filled with a low, heavy tone of helplessness and despair, with a clear and brisk rhythm.
"Because I've been blasting and laughing so long that even my momma thinks my mind has gone," I couldn't help but feel invigorated, gently letting the music lure me to the dance floor to dance. "Been spending most our lives living in the gangsta - sparadise been spending most our lives living in the gangsta-sparadise keeps spending most our lives living in the gangsta- sparadise keeps spending most our lives living in the gangsta-sparadise," I closed my eyes, trying to feel the decadent, chaotic, and sinful atmosphere of the end times, squeezing out all my strength. “Look at the situation they got me facing I can-t live a normal life, I was raised by the state soigotta be down with the-hood team” “Too much television watching, got me chasing dreams I-ma educated fool with money on my mind got my ten in my hand and a glea in my eye” The music swelled deafeningly in my ears, mind, and heart. “I-m living life, door die, what can is ay? I -m 23 now, but will I evoke 24 ? The way things is goin-idon-t know” “Tell me why are we oblind to see that the ones we hurt you and me” I clenched my fists and swayed wholeheartedly. I truly listened to the voice in my heart. The low, heavy tone continued to ring in my ears. “Power in the money, money in the power minute after minute, hour after hour everybody-s running, but half of the main-t lookin-

It's going on in the kitchen, but I don't know what they say,
I want to learn,
but nobody tells me if they can't understand it, how can they reach me
?
I guess they can't, I guess they won't. I suddenly opened my fists, forcefully expanding my chest amidst the dance floor crowd, raising my hands diagonally high, then slowly lowering them to cover my face. An image floated into my mind, but I couldn't clearly see the face of the person speaking to me in the image. He was humming a song. The image in my mind became clearer and clearer.
"Been spending most our lives living in the gangsta-sparadise
been spending most our lives living in the gangsta- sparadise
keeps spending most our lives living in the gangsta-sparadise keeps spending most our lives
living in the gangsta-sparadise .
" " Tell me why are we oblind to see
"That they've hurt you and me"
—amidst the rapping of a Black man, I seemed to see a cynical hoodlum standing on a depraved street at night. As he walked through the city streets shrouded in the shadow of death, he glanced back at his life and suddenly realized he had left nothing behind. He lamented that watching too many television programs had driven this educated fool to blindly chase after so-called dreams. He said to me, "Wealth and power, power and wealth, every second, every hour, every day, people keep chasing these things without ever thinking clearly or looking closely. And I have to drift with the tide, chasing after them along with everyone else." He seemed to be complaining to me, "They say I still need to learn, but no one is here to tell me what to do. If they themselves don't understand what this situation is like, what kind of society this is, how can they teach me what to do? I guess they don't understand and can't possibly teach me." "From the past until now, we have lived in this thug's paradise, and we will continue to do so in the future; nothing will change." "He raised his voice, his face full of helplessness and despair, and told me this unchanging truth. Finally, he turned and left, muttering to himself as he walked: 'Tell me, why are we so blind, never seeing that the person we hurt is actually ourselves. Tell me, why are we always so ignorant, never seeing that the person we hurt is actually ourselves. Tell me...' Watching his receding figure, I suddenly couldn't tell whether the person leaving was him or myself. 'Tell me why we are oblind to see that the ones we hurt you and me
' The song ended with the highs and lows of the helpless groans of the crowd still lingering.

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[Volume 2: A Life of Indulgence and Debauchery] Chapter 139: Taipei of Debauchery (9) "

◎All people are born different, yet all are equally enslaved by their senses, emotions, and desires.◎ —From "Sound and Color Quotes"
Acheng still hasn't returned.
Having just danced a bit on the dance floor, I decided to go outside for some fresh air, to escape the noise and light stimulation and give my senses a brief respite. Passing through the door, I had the guard stamp my right hand with an exit stamp, so I could come and go freely later. Pushing open the door, I was greeted by the aroma of grilled meat. The smell came from a nearby sausage and barbecue stall.
I walked to the stall and picked up a chicken leg, intending to fill my empty stomach after vomiting from drinking. I gave the chicken leg to the owner and told him I'd come back for it later. I found a motorcycle near the entrance and sat down.
The Taipei sky was overcast; in the city, you couldn't see the stars, only the moon's slightly hazy face half-hidden in the clouds.
A row of bright yellow taxis were parked outside the pub, waiting to take the revelers inside. Apart from that, the wide road was mostly deserted; it was the middle of the night after all. The roadside was lined with cars and motorcycles.
Some men and women, just coming from the pub, were standing or sitting at the entrance. But I had no interest in looking around. I lit a cigarette and thought about my feelings in the pub. A vague anxiety about society and life, I thought. Perhaps it was a unique sense of loss about the future that belonged to young people in their early twenties. Feelings and frustration.
I recalled my nineteenth year, a sophomore in college, and the dreams and aspirations I held for the future.
Back then, I ambitiously set my sights on my ideals and blueprint for the future, aspiring to be a resident of the global village. After gaining my family's approval and financial support, I gradually rose through the ranks to become a student representative in my department and a leader in national college student activities, hoping that my experience as an outstanding club leader would be more beneficial for my applications to prestigious universities abroad after my military service. Two years ago, I had only one thought in my mind: "Everyone only lives once, and I don't want my life to be ordinary." At that time, a big question mark lingered in my mind: "Where will I be in ten or twenty years?" I told myself, "When I'm thirty-five or forty, I want to be the president of a multinational corporation in Taiwan or Asia." "What a beautiful dream! After that, I diligently participated in club activities, departmental activities, and inter-school events, actively striving to excel and stand out in various competitions and events at different universities, winning numerous honors and achieving the short-term goals I had set in my career plan. At that time, I passionately pursued success and confidently marched towards the long-term goals in my life plan. That was a version of myself that is almost unfamiliar and unrecognizable to me now.
I have been deliberately avoiding seriously investigating and escaping from seriously thinking about what changed me two years ago and made me the person I am today, indulging in sensual pleasures and indulging in decadence and debauchery. The cigarette in my hand burned to the end, and I lit another one. I didn't want to interrupt my contemplative thoughts.
I began to discover the reasons behind my sensual indulgence, whether it was a sense of being lost or disappointed, because I..." I discovered that studying hard and getting high scores wouldn't lead me to the way I wanted; it was a surrender, a sense of powerlessness, because I realized that many of the rules of life in this vast world were beyond my comprehension and application, given my lifelong adherence to rules; it was also a matter of desire, a sense of indulgence, because I found that my younger self could no longer trust the moral codes and ethics I had upheld since childhood, nor resist the temptations beyond them. Only tonight did I recall how long ago it was I who convinced myself not to squander my youthful recklessness, because we only live once, don't we? What kind of forbidden fruit from the Garden of Eden led me, a young boy, to eat it, leaving an indelible, deeply rooted sinful mark on my heart? It shed my immaturity and transformed me into a seasoned mature adult. And how did the serpent, so unintentionally and naturally, lead this proud young man to the gates of paradise, from which there was no turning back?
Stripped of the veneer of sensual pleasures, I am, after all, just a child fallen into the mortal world, adrift in its currents, yet striving to steer my own course while discovering myself powerless to change the cruel reality. Therefore, I have always clung to the veneer of sensual pleasures, for it is the best numbing agent for addiction, keeping one entertained while forgetting that the poison beneath the sugar coating slowly erodes one's soul. What use is the soul? What use is morality? What use are moral principles? Everything has been turned into fertilizer for sensual pleasures, nourishment for the fruits of lust, buried in the soil of strife, utilitarianism, and competition.
Having studied business administration for so long, with graduation just months away, I've realized that my long-held dreams and blueprint for my life may just be a dream. A dream I painstakingly cultivated, built with my own hands, and now one I may destroy with my own hands.
Past honors and hopes cannot give me a definite answer. They cannot tell me that my future will surely be one of great success, bringing honor to my family and happiness to my parents. Perhaps all they've ever wanted is for me to live a peaceful and happy life, which would have been enough to satisfy them and fulfill their expectations. Compared to the countless ordinary people and elites in this vast society, I'm at best just an ordinary, unremarkable mortal with real desires and emotions.
Or perhaps I've rediscovered a new way of life. And for me, at least, my life doesn't need to, nor do I want to, strive tirelessly for achievements, empty fame, or glory, putting too much pressure on myself or clinging too tightly to life. I just want to enjoy my life peacefully, happily, and comfortably, to experience a life of ease and freedom, free from the need to care about others' opinions or conform to their expectations. For me, that's liberation, that's naturalness.
I'm not a saint, but I'm not a sinner either. I'm just an ordinary person with real flesh and blood, emotions and desires, who dares to honestly practice them and bravely admit them. In the midst of a life of hedonism and excess, I repeatedly pondered the essence of society and the truths about life and society hidden behind media reports by observing the stories of others and real-life experiences. Unfortunately, my conclusions were disappointing. This is not a brave new world. Textbooks never mention how selfish or insidious human nature can be, how people can sell their souls, betray the interests of others, or resort to any means to achieve personal goals and interests. This is the reality of society. Only fame and fortune, only those shaped and glorified by the media, are considered something; only the rich and powerful are considered important. Power monopolizes truth, and money buys everything. In pursuit of success and the material enjoyment, wealth, and hedonism it represents, people pay the price of selling their spiritual principles, their moral conscience, and even their bodies, all for money and power. I once tried so hard and passionately to pursue success and the satisfaction of all the desires it represented. I attempted to distort or change my spiritual principles to adapt to the new, different, and so-called realistic rules of this society. I was just tired.
I casually flicked my cigarette into a puddle nearby. The remaining embers, their faint glow briefly and brilliantly grazed the ground, sparking before arcing through the water and extinguishing themselves.
I was still sitting on someone else's motorcycle, and suddenly I remembered visiting a company in the Hsinchu Industrial Park a few days ago. The vice president on stage was reporting on the products and company overview, and the slides on the white screen, filled with foreign themes, kept changing the thoughts that had crossed my mind at the time: "How wonderful it would be to travel abroad, wander in a foreign land, travel independently, and enjoy foreign cultures!" To just let myself go, to enjoy my life like that, how wonderful that would be!
Thinking of this, I suddenly felt much lighter. I strolled back to the pub entrance, only to remember that I hadn't picked up the roasted chicken leg I bought earlier. I paid, grabbed the chicken leg, and went back to the motorcycle seat near the pub entrance to devour it, eating with relish and slurping my words.
Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Ah-Cheng returning.
"Wow~~ It's so nice to have chicken legs, I want some too~" Acheng said with a gleam in his eyes.
"Do you want a bite?" I asked.
"No! I'll buy it myself." He dashed to the barbecue stall, picked out his food, and ran back.
"Hey. Why did you take so long to take a girl home? I was going crazy waiting for you inside!" I said accusingly.
"Hey. I won't tell you. If you can't wait for me, you'll just play by yourself!" He grinned mysteriously.
"Sigh. It's so boring to jump around alone!" I replied. Then I got off the motorcycle and threw my food into the trash can not far away.
"I'm going in first! See you later," I turned to Acheng and told him.
"Okay." He nodded. I knew he was still waiting outside for barbecue, so I went ahead.
I showed the guard at the door the shop stamp on my hand, and he then opened the door for me. The sounds and smells of alcohol and perfume mingled with the scents of the crowd, creating a scene of decadent, dissolute figures swaying and clinking glasses.
This life of sensual pleasure, this sea of revelry! Could I simply succumb to the pleasures of my senses and stop the march of time? I thought of the past few days of reckless abandon, which had caused my grades to plummet, even putting me at risk of having to wait until my fifth year of university due to insufficient credits.
Passing the slow, almost agonizingly moving crowd of people, I entered the dance floor, closing my eyes to ignore the stylishly dressed couple beside me, their bodies intertwined, wildly twisting and dancing, making sexually suggestive gestures, and the dazzling, multicolored laser lights. When I'm alone, I like to dance with my eyes closed, listen to music, and think.
My thoughts are still on myself, my past, present, and future.
Being away from home, studying abroad, living alone in a rented apartment—this life feels far too free and unrestrained. My family's generous financial support allows me even more freedom and indulgence in spending. The free and open academic atmosphere at university meant I often skipped classes, spending nights in pubs and sleeping during the day. However, thanks to a bit of cleverness and my exam-taking skills honed since childhood, I managed to stay up all night studying before exams and smoothly made it to my senior year.
Actually, I'm quite willful; my rebellious nature, which had always been hidden behind a studious and quiet image, only gradually erupted in university. Freshman year was exciting; I joined clubs and had a girlfriend. At nineteen, in my sophomore year, I realized I couldn't waste my life and didn't want to live an ordinary life. I actively and enthusiastically participated in various activities, systematically following my career plan, taking on leadership roles in several national inter-college events and serving as a student representative in my department. To hone my abilities, I also participated in several large-scale inter-college events, winning honors each time. At that time, I was so full of vigor and high spirits. By the second semester of my junior year, after all the important events were over and I relinquished my leadership position in the student organization, my life suddenly lost its focus. I became addicted to the virtual world of the internet and the decadent, alluring world of pubdisco. From then on, my life deviated from the normal student routine, with my days and nights reversed. Ironically, I even wrote an article in the China Times about the harmful effects of "internet addiction," pointing out that it causes academic setbacks and makes it difficult to break free from addiction.
Thinking about this, I opened my eyes and shook my head in the swaying music, the dim lights, and the swaying shadows of the dance floor. A deep sense of guilt and shame, along with the fear behind the pressure, overwhelmed me. Suddenly, all I wanted was to escape this decadent world of sensual pleasures and stop myself from sinking deeper and deeper into the sensual world.
If Faust had experienced the depravity and sensual pleasures before selling his soul to the devil, would he still have decided to sell it to the devil at the moment Satan appeared before the bell tolled? In Dante's Divine Comedy, only those who pass through layers of hellish spiritual trials are qualified to enter Heaven, because only a soul that has undergone constant struggle, setbacks, trials, and torment can become stronger and full of unwavering will. After all these trials, am I still just a loser powerless to resist the fallen devil and escape the hell of depravity? If being content with the present comfort and status quo means that I must survive or even regress under the social mechanism of survival of the fittest, where life stops progressing and only regresses, am I still willing to let myself sink endlessly? In the end, this is just a struggle with oneself, a struggle between lust and reason, which will continue to occur in the future, but the final decision still rests in one's own hands. If I were merely afraid of the collapse of the real world's structure and decided to escape and temporarily succumb to the pressure of reality, then I would ultimately remain just a coward lacking a strong will to survive. If I were to choose to escape or succumb, I would rather tell myself that I don't want my life to stop moving forward at this moment, that there are still many beautiful things waiting for me to pursue ahead. Thinking of this, I finally made a decision.
Just as I was about to leave and pushed open the pub's door, I bumped into Acheng, who was about to come in after finishing his barbecue.
"I want to leave," I said to him from the doorway.
"So early?" He looked at my expression and then said, "Not in a good mood?"
"Yeah. I have some things to think about," I replied.
"Okay. Let's go together then."
We got into Acheng's car. The traffic outside never stopped. Yueniang's slightly dizzy face slowly revealed a tired expression as she gradually moved towards the western hills; it was probably time for her to rest and go to bed.
After getting into the car, I was still quietly thinking. Acheng then drove me back to my rented place near the school.
During those days of hedonism and excess, I strayed from the normal path of student life and entered the so-called adult world of society. I chased pleasures in the mundane world, wallowing in the mire of desire and sensuality. My lifestyle, thinking habits, and work habits deviated from the norm, becoming unlike the thinking logic of a typical student. However, I do not regret having gone through this experience. On the contrary, I am grateful that a sliver of clarity and rationality in my mind has always maintained normal function, preventing me from going too far and becoming hopelessly addicted. In fact, I have gained a deeper understanding and appreciation of certain aspects of life and society, and the path of my future is still in my own hands. The past is gone, the future is within reach. And I am still young, aren't I?
The first rays of dawn slowly emerge from the distant mountains, instantly filling the sky. The darkness gradually recedes, and the dizzying moon quietly hides on the other side of the earth, waiting for another opportunity to descend with the darkness. By day, it finally reigned supreme over the entire land.

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[Volume 2: A Life of Indulgent Desire] Chapter 140: A Woman of a Flirtatious Nature (1)

The suburbs are fresh and the scenery is beautiful, much more pleasant than the noise of the city. Wealthy merchants love to buy land and build houses here as a sanctuary for leisure and summer retreat. The owner, Liang Dawei, is incredibly wealthy due to his skill in business and social maneuvering. Taking advantage of the area's elegance and tranquility, he purchased several hundred square meters of land and built a villa modeled after the Forbidden City, naming it "Yi Yang Yuan" (Retreat Garden). He comes here to escape the summer heat, hence the name "Yi Yang Yuan," where he plans to retire and enjoy his later years.
Although Mr. Liang was over fifty, he was a womanizer and a lecherous fiend. Despite having three wives and concubines, he was still not satisfied. Aside from business dealings, he spent his days frequenting brothels and nightclubs, particularly enjoying the pleasure of buying young girls for their first sexual experience, finding the tightness and cries of pain during deflowering unbearable. He had
long lost interest in his wives and concubines, spending at most three days a month at home, each of them keeping him company for one night. The rest of the time, he indulged in debauchery and extravagant pleasures.
Mr. Liang's wives and concubines were all middle-aged women, their sexual desires at their peak. Could they endure the loneliness of their secluded lives? His first wife, Ms. Qian Shufen, was especially dissatisfied with her husband's behavior.
The villa employed a manager surnamed Hu and his wife, Zhu Yuzhen, who jointly managed all internal and external affairs. Married for over ten years without children, they adopted a son from an orphanage to raise and continue the family line. A year ago, Mr. Hu passed away due to illness. Because Mr. Hu was honest and kind, and had worked for many years, the owner did not hire anyone else after his death, but instead kept his wife and adopted son in charge.
Mr. Hu's widow, Ms. Zhu Yuzhen, is now thirty-eight years old, and her adopted son, Wenlong, is now nearly twenty. During the day, he tends the garden and does all the chores at the villa, and in the evenings, he attends a night school at a junior college. Their life is peaceful and happy.
However, every night, when she is alone in her empty room, unable to sleep, and with heightened sexual desire, Ms. Yuzhen thinks of the loving and intimate moments she shared with her late husband. Her vagina was unbearably itchy, and her juices flowed freely. Every midnight, on moonlit nights, she would weep endlessly for her lost love, biting her teeth countless times. In the empty and lonely years she had endured, the pain was beyond the comprehension of outsiders. She was not a promiscuous woman, and besides, her adopted son, Wenlong, was nearly twenty and studying at a night school. If she were to seek pleasure outside, she feared either falling for a bad man and ruining her reputation, or if Wenlong found out, her image as a mother would be destroyed. But what could she do about her sexual frustration?
At this moment, she stripped naked, rubbing her nipples with her left hand while using her right hand to thrust a large eggplant into her vagina until her vaginal fluids flowed, and she ejaculated and her desire subsided. Only then did she stop. She used this method to seek temporary stimulation and relieve her inner sexual anguish.
After masturbating tonight, Yuzhen took a nap. When she woke up, she saw that it was already past one o'clock. She suddenly remembered that she was going to cook a midnight snack for Wenlong when he came home from school. Because she was too sleepy after masturbating, she slept until now. She immediately put on her silk nightgown, opened her bedroom door, and went to Wenlong's room to see if he was asleep. Wenlong's room light was still on, so she thought that her adopted son was probably still doing his homework. She gently pushed the door open and looked into the room. She saw that Wenlong was not doing his homework. He was lying naked on the bed. Holding a photograph, Yuzhen looked at it while her right hand moved up and down on her own penis. She saw that her son's penis was large, thick, and long, with a glans like a child's fist, its veins bulging. Yuzhen felt both fear and attraction. Then she saw Wenlong seemingly reach orgasm; his glans ejaculated, shooting two or three feet high. After ejaculating, Wenlong opened his eyes and saw his mother standing by the bed, staring at him in shock. He quickly covered his penis with both hands, calling out "Mom," but couldn't finish his sentence.
Yuzhen, as if waking from a dream, blushed and her heart raced. She said, "Wenlong, show Mom the photograph." When Wenlong released his right hand to take the photograph, his penis reappeared. Yuzhen looked at her son's large penis; although it had softened, it was still more than five inches long. She thought, "If Wenlong's big penis were inserted into my vagina, it would be so wonderful!" Thinking of this, her heart pounded even harder.
She took the photograph and saw that it was an erotic photograph. Yuzhen said gently, "Long'er, young people shouldn't look at these kinds of photos. You'll definitely go astray if you do. Look at you, you masturbated after looking at the photos. You're not allowed to look at them again, understand? Be good! Listen to your mother." After saying that, she looked at her son's large and strong body with her seductive eyes.
When Wenlong saw that his mother wasn't angry or scolding him, his heart slowly calmed down. Seeing his mother's seductive eyes looking at his large body, he let go of his left hand and said, "Mom, I'm twenty years old this year, just an adult. I need the comfort of the opposite sex, but I have to work during the day and go to school at night. I haven't had a girlfriend yet. Every night I want to be with a woman, but I don't dare to go to prostitutes for fear of getting STDs, so I can only masturbate to solve my physiological needs. Please help me, Mom."
Hearing her adopted son say this, Yuzhen knew in her heart that men and women had physiological needs, and she herself did too. So she said softly, "Wenlong, I know, but masturbation will harm your health. It has been more than a year since your father passed away. I have been a widow and raised you. My only hope is on you. If you ruin your health, if something happens to you, who will I rely on in the future?" After saying this, she began to cry softly.
Upon seeing this, Wenlong immediately got out of bed. Ignoring his own nakedness, he tightly embraced his adoptive mother, wiping away her tears as he said, "Mom, don't cry. I'll listen to you. You can hit me, you can scold me, anything is fine. Just don't cry, come on, smile."
His left hand reached under his mother's armpit, pressing his palm against her breast. Because Yuzhen hadn't worn a bra after masturbating, even through the silk nightgown, Wenlong felt its softness and elasticity. Half of his adoptive mother's body was pressed against him, his erect penis pressed against her plump buttocks. Seeing his adoptive mother motionless in his embrace, his face flushed crimson. Wenlong, emboldened, recalled the look in his foster mother's alluring eyes when she looked at him earlier. He knew she must have been widowed for over a year and was yearning for a man's comfort. So, he used his left hand to pinch her large nipples, which hardened and throbbed against her plump buttocks. He then kissed her cheek, causing her to gasp repeatedly. But Wenlong wasn't satisfied. His right hand swiftly lifted the bottom of her robe and slipped into her panties, touching her thick pubic hair. His hand moved down to her mons pubis, which resembled a small steamed bun. He inserted his middle finger into her opening. Ah! Such a warm and tight paradise! It was already filled with lustful fluid, which flowed out along his finger.
Yuzhen was shocked and ashamed by her adopted son's sudden action. She trembled, her blood boiling. She struggled, shaking her delicate body and weakly pushing him away with her hands, crying out, "Long'er! You can't do this! I'm your mother! No, no, let go!"
Wenlong, burning with lust, was throbbing with erection and desperate for pleasure. He no longer cared that the woman before him was his adoptive mother. He pulled open the belt of his mother's nightgown and pulled it off. His adoptive mother's two large breasts trembled before his eyes. "Ah!" Wenlong never dreamed his mother's breasts were so large, white as snow, with nipples like big grapes, large, erect, and red, and areolas pink. Wenlong's eyes widened, and he couldn't help but reach out and grasp her right breast, touching, stroking, kneading, and rubbing it. He felt its softness and elasticity. Then, he lowered his head and took her left breast into his mouth, sucking, licking, and biting it, causing Yuzhen's body to sway and moan softly.
Wenlong, seeing this, knew his adoptive mother's desire was burning. He lifted her body and carried her to her bedroom, laying her on the bed on her back. He reached to remove her panties, but his adoptive mother suddenly sat up and pressed Wenlong's hands down, gently saying, "Long'er, let go!" "I am your mother. I don't blame you for hugging, touching, and looking at me, but you must know when to stop and not have sex. Although you are adopted, we are still mother and son. If others find out, how will we face them in the future? Be good! Listen to your mother." Wenlong was already burning with lust and pleaded with his adoptive mother, "Mom! I'm in so much pain right now. Didn't you say that masturbation is harmful to the body? I don't go to prostitutes. I will listen to you and stop masturbating. There is no other woman here to relieve my lust right now. Mom, we are not related by blood, what are we afraid of? If we don't tell anyone, how will outsiders know!" As he spoke, he held his penis in front of his adoptive mother.
Yuzhen saw her adopted son's large, thick, and long penis, the glans as big as a child's fist. She felt a mixture of love and fear; her cheeks flushed, her whole body trembled, and she lowered her head, silent. She heard Wenlong say, "Mom! You've been a widow for many years, raising me. I know you've suffered hundreds of nights of torment, both physically and mentally. Now I'm grown up, and I'll keep you company every night, giving you sexual comfort, without letting anyone know, so you can enjoy life again. Okay, Mom?" Yuzhen was deeply moved. She hugged Wenlong tightly and kissed him passionately. Wenlong pressed his adoptive mother down onto the bed, pulling down her panties to reveal her vulva. He saw her mons pubis, like a small steamed bun, covered with a large patch of dark, glossy pubic hair—extremely alluring. Touching it made a rustling sound; he grabbed a handful, about three inches long, which covered her entire vulva when he put it down. It was incredibly beautiful. Wenlong then parted the pubic hair with both hands, revealing the vermilion labia and the bright red slits. This made Wenlong, a young man who had never truly seen a mature woman's vulva, go crazy with lust. He dug his fingers into the vulva and sucked hard with his mouth!
Yuzhen was being groped and sucked until her soul left her body. Her heart pounded wildly, and her alluring eyes were fixed on Wenlong's large penis. She couldn't believe that Wenlong, whom she had adopted since childhood, would grow up to be so large, probably seven or eight inches long, three inches longer and twelve times thicker than her deceased husband. It was like a divine soldier descending from the heavens, unstoppable. Unable to control herself, she forgot that the person in front of her was her adopted son. Her whole body was burning with desire. She grabbed Wenlong's large penis with her hand. It was hot and hard to the touch. She cried out, "My dear son! Mom can't take it anymore. Mom wants your big one to go inside Mom. Be good! Don't grope anymore. Hurry! Hurry! Mom can't wait any longer!"
Wenlong was experiencing a woman for the first time, especially his voluptuous, mature, and charming adoptive mother. Hearing her moans and feeling his penis being grabbed by her jade hand, he immediately mounted her and thrust his penis into her. Yuzhen grasped the large penis and aimed it at her vaginal opening, saying in a seductive voice, "It's here, push it in with a little force."
Upon hearing this, Wenlong immediately thrust downwards with force. "Ah! Stop! It hurts!" His foster mother's face turned pale, her body convulsed, and she cried out in pain!
Wenlong, on the other hand, felt extremely good. He was nearly twenty years old, and this was the first time he had ever inserted his penis into a woman's vagina. The warm and tight feeling was something he would never forget. Seeing his foster mother's pained expression, he couldn't bear it and said, "Mom! You're in a lot of pain, aren't you?"
Yuzhen said softly, "My dear son, your glans is too big, it's too swollen for me!"
Wenlong said, "Mom, if you can't take it, can I pull it out?"
"Don't pull out, my good boy, don't move. Let it soak for a while, wait until Mom's juices flow more before you play with it again, my good boy. First, kiss Mom's lips, then touch Mom's nipples, quick!" After saying
this, she wrapped her arms tightly around Wenlong's waist like a snake, and slowly began to sway her hips.

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