Lin Juan's Professional Demo
It wasn't until nearly noon that Chu Fei finally brought He Shishi back to the dorm. By then, most of the girls were already up, bustling around together as they prepped lunch. Spotting the pair coming and going as one, they erupted into a fresh round of teasing. Chu Fei just let them carry on, but over the meal, he casually asked if any of them had worked at a proper beauty salon.
He hadn't held out much hope for an answer—who from a legit salon would end up in a place like this? But life has its surprises. Sure enough, after a brief hesitation, one girl timidly raised her hand.
Her name was Lin Juan, English name Lynn, a Hong Kong girl. She was easily the prettiest in the shop, with a figure and face that turned heads. But the flashy dragon-and-tiger tattoos covering her body, the cigarette-burn scars on her arms, and the dozens of ugly marks slashing across her wrists kept everyone at arm's length. As a result, she didn't get much business.
That was none of Chu Fei's concern, though. He beckoned her right over. "You free this afternoon? I want you to demo some proper salon therapy massages for me... You know how, right?"
"I do... but what kind of treatments?" Lin Juan eyed the young boss curiously, finding him utterly mysterious. She was still reeling from He Shishi's miraculous transformation, completely baffled at how it'd been done.
"Hmm, facial care, body work... everything you're trained in. Do it all on me." Chu Fei figured if he was going to learn, might as well go full package, right?
"Ah? But we don't have the maintenance products here, or the essential tools..."
"No worries. Skip 'em. Use facial cleanser for the face, massage oil for the body." Chu Fei only cared about the techniques, not a real treatment.
"Alright..." Lin Juan nodded softly. Truth be told, she wasn't thrilled about the extra hassle—no pay for demoing on the boss, and it'd eat into her working hours. But something in Chu Fei's gaze tugged at her; she felt like she should help.
"You little rascal, what are you scheming now!" Mom He Peiling suddenly swooped in, yanking her son's ear. "You've already messed up Shishi—now you wanna go after Juan? The poor girl's been through enough! I warn you, keep your hands off the other girls!"
"Mom!" Chu Fei groaned helplessly. "I just wanna learn proper salon massage techniques..."
"Is that right?" He Peiling shot him a skeptical glare.
"What else would it be?" Chu Fei glanced at Lin Juan, now flushed red, and sighed. Anyone stuck in this line of work—who wasn't pitiful? Even he, Chu Fei, was no different. Just a pack of wayward souls with no path left.
After lunch, the group headed to the shop together—day's work officially underway.
Truth was, the place didn't wait till then to open. Every morning, two girls pulled early shift, unlocking the doors at nine. Morning business was dead anyway, especially since most hustled through the night...
Of course, that was just for irregular spots like Chu Fei's family salon.
With bedtime at dawn, the girls slept till noon. Regulars knew the routine: afternoon crowds came for hair or legit massages; evenings into the wee hours were for fun—you get the idea.
He Peiling generally forbade full-on action in the shop, though. Kissing, groping? Fine. But real pounding meant hitting a hotel. That meant the girl's service fee plus the shop's escort charge. Overnight? Pricey upgrade.
Exceptions cropped up, of course. Some couldn't—or wouldn't—hotel it: cops, gangsters, that sort. They'd barge in, drag a girl to a room, finish up, and bounce. He Peiling would just shutter the place temporarily.
In other words: folks inside, but doors locked, no new customers.
Her savvy kept things smooth. Over the years here, neither white hats nor black had given her much grief. Hell, post-fun good moods sometimes meant tips!
Most times, though, it was freebies all around. Reality bites—no changing it.
Once at the shop, the girls dashed inside to change.
It was a "beauty salon," after all. Even irregular, uniforms sold the legit vibe. Said uniform? Sheer white T-shirt—bras on full display—paired with a micro white miniskirt. Bend over, and panties flashed.
But hey, this line of work? Nobody cared. Emerging, they even giggled and flipped skirts for Chu Fei...