Floating World Bitten Peach

It was difficult to tell that they were even engaging in clouds and rain. The rice merchant was perhaps Xiu’s most refined client. He was a connoisseur of the tea ceremony, and anyone passing by the chamber would have thought that this was all the merchant Fu Yang and the young jinan—male prostitute—were doing: drinking tea and having an intimate moment.

And having an intimate moment was exactly what they were having. They were kneeling, closely side by side, on a tatami mat in front of a tea service on a low table. They were both clothed in rich-colored silk hanfu—robes—which billowed around their bodies in folds that intertwined with each other. The merchant had an arm around Xiu, holding him closely into his side. Xiu was twisted away from Fu and rolled over on his thigh and hip. Somewhere in the twisted folks of the two men’s hanfu an opening had been created that permitted access to Xiu’s channel by Fu’s yang chu—cock. The rice merchant was slowly and languidly pulling Xiu on and off his yang chu by the pressure and release of his arm around the jinan’s body.

Xiu caught the hint of motion at the door to the chamber and looked over to see the new zhaoguzhe—caretaker, manager of the Cut Sleeve Nanleshijia men’s pleasure house—peeking around the door frame. He signaled to Xiu that they had something to discuss. Xiu inclined his head. He usually didn’t rush Fu when he visited, sometimes letting him overstay his time. Xiu was too senior to have to stay within the set bounds on time, and for the men who were the most attentive in scheduling his time, he liked to extend the time, telling them that it was because they were so good to him. That kept them coming back and paying well—and bringing him gifts for himself.

The zhaoguzhe’s signal, though, told Xiu to keep the session short. The caretaker would not have interrupted the session if he did not have something important to discuss with Xiu. The new zhaoguzhe was as strict, organized, and commanding as the old one had been. Xiu wondered if all zhaoguzhe were alike. This one had stepped in like he knew the Cut Sleeve Nanleshijia intimately and had a schedule set up for Xiu almost before his month of rest after the initiating clouds and rain ceremony was over. Considering the unusual demands made on Xiu for his first clouds and rain experience, he might have asked for extra rest—he had done so for Bolin, who still had not recovered from the assault of the rough, golden-haired kueilo—foreign ghost—sailor. But the new zhaoguzhe reviewed the requests coming in for Xiu’s services and decided that the benefits to be had of scheduling Xiu within the usual custom was just too tempting to pass up.

Xiu turned his face to Fu’s and took the merchant’s lips in his. The merchant was surprised—but not angry—at this forwardness by Xiu.

“I’m sorry, sire, I cannot resist you,” Xiu murmured. “You are irresistible to me in your attentions. You make me lose control.”

The rice merchant grunted his surprise and pleasure as Xiu moved his buttocks up onto Fu’s lap without losing the purchase of the merchant’s yang chu inside him, and started to pump his pelvis up and down on the cock, moaning and sighing, and congratulating the merchant on the size and strength of his yang chu.

Fu ejaculated well before his usual time was up, but he had been given such a surprising and unusual clouds and rain that he gave no complaint, not even realizing he was being bundled out earlier than usual.

When Xiu came to the zhaoguzhe’s office after kissing the rice merchant away, he discovered that the issue was connected with the benefits to the nanleshijia’s treasury that the zhaoguzhe could not resist. He found the caretaker talking in hushed and serious tones with his associate, a strange, quiet young man from the north of the kingdom of Wu who the zhaoguzhe had brought with him.

The zhaoguzhe looked up at Xiu as he entered, almost startled that the jinan had been able to end his session so quickly.

“Don’t worry,” Xiu said. “Fu Yang left happy.”

“You are such a blessing to the nanleshijia, Xiu,” the zhaoguzhe said. “I am quite sorry what must be done. But there is no choice. You have been requested specifically.”

Xiu didn’t speak. He was accustomed to not being the one in any scheme that was given notice or preference.

“You have, no doubt, heard of the pirate, Ming Lei?” The zhaoguzhe spoke in a low voice, while looking around the office, as if the walls had ears.

“Yes, certainly. Who has not? What of him? I have heard that he has not been bothering the shipping at the mouth of the Yangtze recently.”

“He hasn’t because he’s been up the river bothering the shipping up there.”

“And you know this because—?”

“Because his emissary has told us so.”

“His emissary?” Xiu didn’t like the thought of where this was heading.

“Yes. Ming Lei is coming here, to the nanleshijia. Under a cover of secrecy, of course.”

“And he is coming to clouds and rain with me?”

“Yes. We have no choice, really.”

“But why me specifically?”

“He has heard of the kueilo ship’s captain and his use of the crude position of the dog with you in clouds and rain, and he wishes to have that experience.”

“Aiee, is there no relief from that?” Xiu exclaimed.

“There is a threat of raiding us and burning us out if we do not cooperate. The emissary wasn’t at all delicate about establishing that.”

“And a threat of the same if we inform the prefecture authorities he will be here, as well?”

“No threat was needed, Xiu. If we tell the Duke of Shi the pirate is here, our world will surely end in the ensuing attempt to capture or kill him. All that you have heard of the reputation of the Duke of Shi is true. He is ruthless and wouldn’t think twice of burning us out as soon as you were engaged with the pirate captain. This is a time to be quiet and politic. And that is not all I must inform you of.”

“What else is there, zhaoguzhe?”

“The reports that the Jin kueilo—foreign devils—and their warship are sailing off the mouth of the Yangtze again are also true. And I know this, as I am sure you are going to ask, because they too have sent an emissary saying the captain wishes your services again. I’m sorry, Xiu.”

Xiu was not quite as sorry at the prospect of another clouds and rain experience with the hungmao—red hair—with the gigantic yang chu and the crude, but satisfying, position of the dog as he was with the unknown pirate captain, who was known for ruthless cruelty. But he would not show this to the zhaoguzhe.

“Which will come to me first?” was Xiu’s simple question. He was resolved to do what he was trained to do. He just wished that he would not be used as a political pawn.

“The pirate Ming Lei.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow, in the dark of night.”

“I will be prepared, of course.”

* * * *

The zhaoguzhe and his assistant stood by the dock below the cliff-top compound of pavilions making up the Cut Sleeve Nanleshijia for nearly two hours in the dark of the next night. The assistant was holding a lantern, muffled on the land side with a cloth, so that the beacon could only be seen from the waters of the Yangtze. Both men were dressed in black hanfu. They didn’t want to call attention to their vigil, and they needed to be the ones to greet the pirate, Ming Lei. Very few at the nanleshijia knew of his planned visit. The fewer who knew the more likely that the Duke of Shi would never know the pirate had visited the nanleshijia. The zhaoguzhe could easily lose his head for not warning the authorities. The pirate had put the nanleshijia in a very tough spot.

As the two looked out to the river, the clouds that had been scuttling across the sky, blotting out the full moon, moved away, and the zhaoguzhe could see the outline of a vessel that must be that of Ming Lei. He also now could hear the muffled oars dipping through the water as a small boat with three figures in it approached the dock.

The boat hit the dock and one of the figures jumped out and tied a rope from the boat to an iron ring in one of the dock’s posts. The figure that had been in the middle of the boat—a man of great height and imposing figure—climbed to the dock and approached. The zhaoguzhe’s assistant lifted the lantern to shine on the countenance of the late-night visitor.

“You!” the pirate and the zhaoguzhe exclaimed in unison, and, with surprise, in a louder tone than either had expected to be speaking, privacy not being a concern of one any more than of the other.

“Niu?” the zhaoguzhe then said, in a more hushed tone.

“Shun?” the pirate promptly countered.

“You are the pirate Ming Lei?” the zhaoguzhe asked in disbelief. “The last I knew you had been taken before the King of Wu.”

“That ultimately did not work out too well. So, you are the zhaoguzhe of the famous Cut Sleeve Nanleshijia now? I thought you were dead. I was told that the raiding party from the kingdom of Chu had killed you, although no one would show me a body. Several said they saw a killing sword stroke applied to your back.”

“I think your dirty tunics in the pack on my back saved me.”

Niu laughed. “You must tell me how you came to return to Nantung. And this, your assistant,” Niu said, with an indulgent smile, turning his attention to the young man at Shun’s side. “Haven’t I seen him before too?”

“I trust the story of my journey here is as unusual and blessed with luck as yours. And you should recognize my assistant, Rong, here. But I’m surprised you do. He became a bitten peach under you the night before we parted. But you enjoyed the virginity of so many young men—and threw them aside without another thought or look thereafter. I’m surprised you can distinguish one of them from any of the others.” This was spoken almost bitterly. Shun himself had been used thusly many seasons ago, right here in Nantung, when Niu was the baoan—protector—of the Cut Sleeve Nanleshijia and Shun was a mere servant of the establishment.

“Let me have a word with Rong,” Shun went on to say, “and he will go ahead and prepare the way. Then we must converse before going up to the pavilions.”

Shun took Rong aside and whispered, “Go quickly and tell Xiu he most hide. The storage room in the west wing is the best place. Tell him there will be no pirate captain for him to service this night. But do not tell him why or who the pirate is. Do you understand, Rong? Pay attention, Rong, this is very important.”

Rong had been standing there, his eyes agape. The last time he’d seen this god of a man now called Ming Lei, the pirate, the man had been taking Rong’s virginity. And afterward, Rong—like most of Niu’s conquests—would have given anything to be taken again. When he focused on Shun, he simply muttered, “I do not understand.”

“You need not understand,” Shun hissed. “Just do as I say.”

The zhaoguzhe did not have time or opportunity here on the dock in the dark, with the pirate captain just a few paces from them, to explain what had instantly come to him he must do—that he wanted to do. Shun, no less than Rong, had fallen under Niu’s spell when he’d lost his virginity to the man. And he had chaffed, during months of service to the man, that Niu would not lie with him again thereafter—that he had eyes only for Xiu when they were still at the nanleshijia and could speak of no one but Xiu all the time they were tramping together through the kingdom of Wu, trying to meet up with the king. Shun was flat out jealous and always would be. He no longer wanted to lie under Niu—or at least not as much as he once had. But he also didn’t want Niu to have what he wanted—Xiu lying under him.

When Rong had started running up the stairs ascending the cliff to the men’s pleasure house above, Shun went back to Niu’s side.

“I am sorry, Niu—may we drop pretenses and call each other by the names we knew seasons ago?—but I have shocking news. We cannot go up the stairs before I’ve told you. You probably will not wish to go.”

“What is it? I’ve come for the services of Xiu. You know that I want him.”

“Xiu is no more, Niu.”

“I do not understand. Explain yourself.”

“Xiu died between the time your emissary visited us and now.”

“How can this be? It has only been days.”

“If I had known it was you, I could have saved you the trip. I know you only want virgins. Xiu was a bitten peach jinan—male prostitute—anyway. And that is why Xiu is no longer of this earth. You have heard of the fighting vessel of the Jin—the monster foreigners—kueilo—from the north that has been lurking in our waters.”

“Yes, so? Do not tease with me. Your news has sorely wounded me.”

“By the order of the Duke of Shi, Xiu’s virginity was given to the kueilo captain. The clouds and rain ceremony was only two moons ago. But the hungmao—that is what we called him—was so massively built and so cruel that Xiu was torn asunder inside. He lingered from then until now, but he has succumbed from the servicing. You may remember Bolin. He too was ruined by the kueilo. He still breathes, but when you see how wounded he is, you will understand why Xiu passed on.”

“This does not please me,” Niu said angrily. “It does not please me one bit.”

The zhaoguzhe looked at the man who had become a legendary pirate, with concern. The nanleshijia was still in danger of being burned, it would seem. Shun did what he thought he had to do.

“We have young jinan in preparation who I am sure would please you—ones not yet bitten peaches. I would not have you come and be disappointed in having your need unmet.”

“I have no time or patience for a formal clouds and rain ceremony with one of your uninitiated jinan. And I am in a foul mood now. I feel like conquering someone. Whatever the kueilo can do I can surpass.”

Niu’s eyes were full of anger and Shun knew that vengeance was on his mind. Thinking quickly, but not without regret, Shun sighed and said, “We have a young servant—just barely of age—who is comely and is a virgin. He appears a boy, but he is a man. He is shy and very innocent of the world. He is what I remember that you like. There need be no ceremony. You may do as you wish with him.”

Shun regretted offering Tang like this. He was such a likable and trusting young man. Shun had been thinking of making him into a jinan, but he did not think the young man wanted that and he was really too old to start the long training process. But he was such an affable young man.

“My mood is to punish—to conquer . . . to lay ruin,” Niu said grimly. “I have heard of this tasking position of the dog the kueilo use, and I was looking forward to engaging it with Xiu.”

“We would not tell the young man what is to befall him, then,” Shun said, with a deep sigh. “You could conquer him. Would that appease you? He belongs to the nanleshijia, so whatever you wish to do . . . whatever. He has no family. There is no one on earth who would know he ever existed.”

* * * *

The jinan, Ping, was posed on a tatami mat on the decking outside the pavilion, singing a sad song and accompanying himself on the lute. Folds of silk robing swathed him from the waist down, cascading in folds around his kneeling body. His boyish, but well-muscled chest was bare and glistening with oil under the flickering lights of the torches.

Inside the dimly lit pavilion, a steaming tub of scented water had been prepared by the house servants, among them the shy Tang, who had been pointed out to the pirate captain when the servants had entered the room. The jinan, Wangan, was supervising the unrobing of Niu while the house servants prepared the bath. The scene had been orchestrated by Wangan, still smarting from how the kueilo captain had taken him by surprise in the tub. His mind had told him that if another one in the house of the Cut Sleeve was taken the same way, the embarrassing stories of his own ordeal would not be so baldly bandied about.

When Niu was naked, Wangan knelt before him and took Niu’s magnificent yang chu in his mouth and gave him suck. After a few moments, with Niu in full erection, Wangan led Niu to the bath and helped him get into the tub and sit back. He sponged Niu’s body off while the servants renewed the bath with hot water from jars. As the servants started to withdraw, Wangan took hold of Tang and crowded him against the side of the tub. Niu reach up under the hem of the young servant’s tunic and took hold of Tang’s small cock. Tang gave an exclamation of surprise and Wangan took hold of the sides of the young servant’s tunic and pulled it over his head and discarded it,

Tang began to whimper and to struggle, and Wangan pushed him into the tub with Niu and then turned and left. But he only went as far as through the beaded curtains to the corridor and then turned to watch from the shadows what would transpire. He’d heard the rumor that the cruel pirate had been given permission to take the unknowing servant to the grave and would use the Kueilo Position to do so. Such a story would completely eclipse the indignity that Wangan had suffered in that tub.

All the time Ping was singing his sad song and playing on his lute as if unaware of what was happening in the pavilion—although of course he knew what was happening.

Tang thrashed about on top of Niu in the tub, held there by Niu’s strong encasing arms. Niu lowered his mouth Tang’s nipples and bit him there, unconcerned and only laughing that Tang was flailing against him and had buried his hands in Niu’s head hair. Niu’s yang chu was between Tang’s thighs, curving up into his buttocks and knocking for entrance, but the bulb was too big and Tang’s virginal entrance was too small—and Tang was writhing and trying to get away, out of the tub.

Niu turned in the tub, getting Tang under him and pushed Tang’s head under the water. He held it there for several seconds. When he pulled Tang’s head up by his hair, the small, wild-eyed youth gasped for air, sputtered, and flung his body around.

After the third head dipping, though, all of the fight went out of Tang. Niu turned the young servant’s body belly to the curve of the back of the tub, sternum against the rim, and arms dangling, useless and exhausted over the back of the tub. Tang looked to Ping with eyes that pleaded and showed his fear and lack of understanding of why this was happening to him. Ping cast his eyes down and continued singing his song and playing his lute. He knew what his position in the house was. He had not, however, been told that license had been given to take Tang beyond the pale.

Positioning his chest over Tang’s back and kneeling behind him in the tub, with knees on either outer side of Tang’s, Niu assumed the position of the dog, took his enormous, erect yang chu in his hand, positioned it at the young servant’s virginal hole, and worked his way inside. Tang cried out, but Niu covered his mouth with his free hand and stifled off the young man’s attempts to scream. He pinched the frightened servant’s nose and completely covered the young man’s mouth with the heel of his hand so that Tang nearly blacked out before Niu gave him momentary relief, toying with him, keeping the young man barely conscious. Niu rode the young man’s buttocks like a horse galloping across the desert, mounting and covering him like a dog and thrusting, thrusting, thrusting.

Wanting more play from his prey, Niu released Tang’s mouth and nose, and the young servant gasped, taking in great gulps of air. Niu reached around and slapped Tang on the face, trying to make him more animated, more resistant, regardless of how futile that was. Tang began a half-hearted attempt to struggle again, as Niu’s cock slowly worked its way inside him, but his writhing only served to saddle Niu more quickly. Niu’s hands when to Tang’s throat and applied pressure, giving the young servant something else to worry about—where his next breath was coming from—more than the gigantic staff that had taken possession of his channel.

Niu paused, buried inside Tang’s channel, and then began to pump again, slowly at first and then faster and faster, working out all of the anger he felt at the loss of Xiu. Tang lay under him, inert, no longer struggling, and when Niu let loose of his throat and moved a hand to cup the young man’s chin and arch his head backward, Tang took Niu’s thumb inside his mouth with no more than a whimper and gave it suck.

By the time Niu had given the erstwhile virgin his seed, Tang was moaning and sighing and his hips were moving in rhythm with Niu’s thrusting pelvis.

Rising up from the tub, Niu declared, “That was satisfying, but nothing will substitute for the loss of the dead Xiu.”

Ping looked up sharply. Tang wasn’t dead, and it seemed that the pirate was finished toying with him. But, more important, Xiu wasn’t dead. Niu apparently thought Xiu was dead, but Ping knew he wasn’t. And Ping had been in the nanleshijia when Niu had been here as baoan and had lost his position because he was randy for Xiu, who had not been through the clouds and rain ceremony yet. After Niu had escaped north from the nanleshijia with the current zhaoguzhe, Shun, as his servant, Ping knew that Xiu had pined for Niu.

Ping had experienced his own lost love. The son of the cotton industrialist, who had claimed to love him but who had deserted him when he found out Ping was a jinan—and had been his father’s jinan.

When he was sold back to the Cut Sleeve Nanleshijia, Ping had repeatedly been told that he had violated one of the key rules of the world of the jinan—he had made the mistake of loving a man. But Ping, even though he had been deserted by his love, rebelled against this “rule.” The life of a jinan was rough and tragic and they all either died young or were turned into old, bitter men with nothing but the most servile duties ahead of them. Ping would take any chance at love rather than never having loved at all.

He knew that Xiu loved Niu. Xiu had pined for Niu for months after the baoan had left. The lives of so many of the jinan turned to tragedy, as Ping well knew, and he wished that one—just one—of his fellow cut sleeves could receive happiness.

The zhaoguzhe returned to the pavilion. “I hope that our precious servant, Tang, has satisfied your needs, sire,” Shun said, his eyes downcast. He didn’t want to look at the unwitting servant who he had given to Niu, although in his heart he was relieved that the young man still was breathing. Tang was silent, only half conscious and exhausted, still draped over the edge of the tub where Niu had left him. But he was alive. Shun looked at the young man with distaste, realizing that Niu had bitten his peach in the position of the dog, which was almost sacrilege in the nanleshijia. This was demeaning for Tang, but Shun hoped the young man would never know what could have been his fate.

Shun took another look at Tang—and was rewarded with another pin prick of slight disgust—when he saw Tang lift his eyes and look dreamily at Niu. A slight smile formed on the spent youth’s mouth. Despite the demeaning way his peach had been bitten, the young fool wanted more from the pirate. Yet another fool to have lost his virginity to Niu, Shun thought, and roughly so—but who would gladly open his legs to Niu again if given the chance.

“He does not suffice for Xiu, no,” Niu said gruffly. “But I have changed since you last knew me. If a virgin has pleased me, I will lay with him again. If you give Tang to me to take back to my ship and dally with, I will not further show my displeasure for the loss of Xiu. But I am still wild with grief that he is beyond the pale.”

Fearing the pirate captain’s wrath, Shun reluctantly agreed to give him Tang. He tried his best not to look at Tang, but he could not help doing so, and, as he knew would be the case, Tang was now looking well pleased.

The zhaoguzhe left the pavilion to summon Wangan to prepare Tang for travel.

This left Niu and the semicomatose Tang alone with Ping.

Understanding that Niu loved Xiu as Xiu loved Niu—and that Niu would not reject Xiu just because Xiu was no longer a virgin—and driven by his bitterness over how a jinan was supposed to see love of a jinan for a man, Ping stopped singing and said softly, not even meaning Niu to hear him, “Xiu is not dead.”

But Niu heard him. “What is that you have said, singer?”

“Xiu is not dead. He is here in this nanleshijia—and very much alive. I can take you to him,” Ping said in a stronger voice.

When they reached the storage room in the west wing, Niu still naked, not having robed in his excitement at being taken to Xiu, beat down the door that locked Xiu away. Ping stepped back, as the two lovers, in instant recognition, rushed into each other’s arms like two bulls fighting over a cow. They kissed wildly as Niu tore at Xiu’s robes. Still standing, Niu pushed Xiu’s body against the wall, Xiu climbed Niu’s hips with his legs, and Niu quickly was fucking Xiu in long, insistent, deep thrusts.

Ping returned to the pavilion where Tang had been ravished. Wangan was there, drying and clucking soothing noises at the trembling body of Tang, no longer in the tub.

“The pirate is not here,” Wangan said sharply to Ping as he reentered the pavilion.

“He is gone, back to his ship,” Ping said, knowing for a certainty that this would be true as soon as the two lovers had reached their initial explosion. And Ping knew that Xiu would be going with Niu.

“Back to his ship?” Tang raised his head and plaintively whispered. “But he said he was going to take me with him.”

And, looking at the crushed expression on Tang’s face, Ping too now knew that the mystique of Niu continued. Every virgin he conquered wanted more of him.

Shun entered the pavilion at that moment, and upon hearing the news that Niu was gone, his face showed the same utter disappointment as Tang’s did.

The zhaoguzhe, Ping thought, even he remains under the spell of Niu.

* * * *

Not more than an hour later, the alarm bell was ringing at the entrance of the nanleshijia. Shun, Rong, and the jinan and servants were slow to react, as they were still reeling from searching for Niu and not finding him—and then discovering that Xiu was gone as well. It would not have mattered if they were on full alert, though. The nanleshijia was quickly overrun with the crew of the Jin fighting ship.

The raiders of the Jin ship had arrived earlier than expected and had arrived randy, having heard the tales of pleasure their hungmao captain and gold-haired first mate had told of their visit to the Cut Sleeve Nanleshijia.

The gold-haired monster grabbed Shun by the wrist and threatened his life if he did not reveal where Bolin was being kept. Out of fear for his master, Rong, told the gold-hair where he could find the jinan who was still recovering from the kueilo’s last visit.

The gold-hair handed Shun over to two burly sailors, with another set taking Rong, and both were floored and double fucked where they had stood. Both Wangan and Tang were back in the tub of water, one draped over one end and the other over the other, each with a sailor pumping their asses.

The hungmao was standing before Ping who had returned to his tatami mat and his song and lute while the others of the house had been frantically and unsuccessfully searching for Niu and Xiu.

The Jin boat captain smiled cruelly at Ping, shrugged out of his clothing, and grabbed his massively erect yang chu in his hand.

Ping had played his music for the hungmao and Xiu during Xiu’s clouds and rain initiating ceremony and had seen the foreigner’s body and yang chu in all of their magnificence. He had heard Xiu moan for the hungmao as he had moaned for no one else when Ping was playing for Xiu while he entertained a client. And Ping knew how deeply Xiu had fantasized about this foreign devil’s prowess when he had returned to his ship.

Resigned to his lot in life and how few useful years he had left in his profession—and already torched by love—Ping smiled back at the hungmao, opened his robes, took up a pillow, and laid back on the tatami mat, with the pillow under the small of his back. He lifted and spread his legs.

The hungmao came to him quickly, reached under Ping’s legs and spread his buttocks cheeks, at the same time turning Ping onto his belly but elevating his pelvis and putting the singer on his knees. Mounting Ping’s hips in the position of the dog, the hungmao placed the bulb of his staff at Ping’s opening, and began to push.

Ping panted and moaned, wondering how Xiu was able to endure this, knowing that he couldn’t. But then he could, and the hungmao was plowing him deep. Ping groaned and cried out in pain melding into pleasure, the most possession he’d ever felt, and began to move his hips in consort with the hungmao’s thrusting pelvis and to work the hungmao’s yang chu with the undulating muscles of his channel walls. The hungmao gasped and laughed and began pumping in earnest.

Ping could hear the plaintive wailing of Bolin in his faraway room, having been found in his sick bed, still there from the last brutal assault on his body by the gold-haired kueilo. But Ping didn’t care. He was receiving the clouds and rain of a lifetime. If he were to die now, he would not care.

But Ping was not to die now. The debauchery coming to a close, the sailors were choosing their captives. The gold-hair was striding toward the nanleshijia’s entrance with an unconscious Bolin slung over his shoulder.

The hungmao gave the command to fire the pavilions, and sailors had already started doing that. The hungmao, however, fucked on. Ping had come twice for him and had maneuvered the kueilo into the position of the beaten dog, the hungmao still penetrating him from behind, but Ping taking his weight on his chest, spreading his arms wide, and hanging his ankles on the hungmao’s shoulders, while the kueilo captain stood between his thighs and thrust downward. This gave both more pleasure and the hungmao even more depth inside Ping.

At the last possible moment, after lathering Ping’s insides with his cum, the hungmao laughed and rose stepped back from Ping, causing the singer to collapse into the pillows. For an instant, Ping thought he’d be left there to burn, but then the hungmao reached down, picked Ping up—with Ping reaching out and grabbing his lute as he was being raised—and slung Ping over his shoulder.

The crew of the Jin fighting ship was gone from the burning nanleshijia compound as quickly as they had appeared.

Shun and Rong were both among those left behind. They struggled up and stumbled out of the burning pavilion. Pulling themselves together, they began organizing an effort to save whatever of the other pavilions could be saved.

The next morning Shun was standing out on the deck on the cliff overlooking the bend in the Yangtze. He had his back to the smoldering remains of his compound. His mind was assessing what he had left in terms of jinan, servants, and pavilion space. The raiders had not found the house’s treasure store. It obviously had been other treasure they were randy for.

Rong had been sent to the prefecture capital at Yangzhou to inform the Duke of Shi of the debauching by the foreign devils. But for the Cut Sleeve Nanleshijia, at least, any military response to the foreign raid would be too little, too late.

The Jin fighting ship was out there, taunting the people of the Middle Kingdom. Shun could see the masts of the giant ship near the mouth of the Yangtze. Not wanting to look to where who knows what was happening to his lost jinan, Shun looked up river. He saw that the pirate ship of Ming Lei, who he knew as Niu, was sailing back down the river toward the mouth of the Yangtze. By now Shun had guessed that Niu had found Xiu and had taken him away to his ship. Shun also surmised that Xiu had gone willingly. He could not fault Xiu. If Niu beckoned to Shun, even now, Shun would go with him too.

With a jolt, Shun realized that the pirate ship was headed for the Jin fighting ship. His first thought was to descend to the dock and to try to signal Niu’s ship somehow that he was sailing into the arms of a foreign fighting ship of immense size and power. Shun had no idea who would win in a battle between these two.

He started to move toward the top of the stairs down the side of the cliff, but then he stopped. He realized that he really didn’t care. All he really cared about was the welfare of his jinan—and most of them were beyond his help now. He sighed, thinking of the old saying that jinan were lucky if they died young, because their glory came early, flared for a few short years, and then it was all emptiness after that. So, the lucky jinan died young. Most of them died tragically.

Shun turned his face away from the river and walked slowly back into the ashes of the nanleshijia. Whatever drama was about to be played out at the mouth of the Yangtze was beyond his control—or his care.

-FINI-