Write your fantasy,
make it real.

Lin Man is the front-office manager of an upscale hotel — born in ’98, one meter seventy, fifty-two kilos, the kind of ice-cool woman who commands a lobby: uniform pressed sharp, smile held in check, not a single strand of hair out of place. But only she knows that on the deep overnight shifts, once the whole floor falls quiet, she slips down to the far end of a corridor no camera covers and, leaning against the cold wall, does something that would make no one recognize the daytime her. She hid this secret craving for half a year — until the patrolling security guard caught her in the blind spot. Three alternating POVs: the guard who takes over everything from behind, the inner Lin Man who is caught yet only sinks deeper, and her flawless, ice-cold professional self clinging to its last shred of composure before it collapses.

Thirty-five-year-old Shen Manzhi is the top saleswoman at an imported-car dealership. Married eight years, she has learned to smile and close deals even while a client’s hand wanders. The night the showroom closes, her boss keeps her back. He bolts the glass door, dims the overhead lights, and pins her into the leather sofa with a look she has dodged for years and finally no longer wants to dodge. Reason still whispers of the man at home who has left a light on for her, but her body gives in before her mind does. Three POVs alternate: the boss consumed by possessiveness, Manzhi losing ground in the gap between resistance and pleasure, and the husband who knows nothing and waits tenderly for her to come home.

Dumped to her face by the first love she had dated for a year — who brought his new girlfriend along to gloat — twenty-five-year-old she cried until nightfall, went a whole day without eating, and wanted nothing but to drink herself blind. Dressed to bare her skin, she slipped into a corner of a bar and threw back beer after beer until she lost count, when a foreign stranger sharing her table asked why she was drinking alone. Drunkenness, heartbreak, and a self-destructive, vengeful recklessness pushed her step by step toward the hotel down the street — toward something her hand could not even close around. After a surrender that was half refusal and half consent, she realized there was no going back.

Barely twenty, fresh out of a small town to study at a junior college, she was the kind of girl who knew how to work a room — sweet-mouthed, bold in what she wore, mobbed by a crowd the second she posted in the group chat. She thought she already understood how it all worked, until she met Brother X, a man from the streets. It took him just one drink, one hickey, one kiss that pinned her against a door, and one hotel room next to the bar to break her down from a pampered little bad-girl darling into a bitch on a leash. She followed along, half-resisting, sinking step by step into the pleasure of being led astray, until she was passed around and toyed with by him and his whole circle of grown-men friends — and even learned to rinse her mouth out with a sip of water before letting anyone kiss her. This is the story of how a confident girl willingly hands herself over and sinks down, ashamed and thrilled all at once.

A young language teacher born in ’99, raised under an iron-strict upbringing, a blank page before marriage — the most daring thing in her college years was holding hands. Two years into the marriage, her husband is so busy he treats her like air, and she can only feed her own hunger with toys that keep getting bigger. An inter-school teaching seminar leads her to add a fellow male teacher on WeChat, and over two weeks of chatting they only grow closer. On the day he is on duty with his family away, he invites her over — and when her husband, at a dinner banquet, tells her to stay safe, she is in fact already driving to his place.

At thirty, Keke is poised and capable, having risen to deputy director at her company. In public she is meticulous to a fault; in private she guards a marriage stretched thin across two provinces, swallowing alone a thirst pressed down to its very deepest point. She has always known what the older senior manager feels for her; she has simply gone on pretending she did not understand. Then comes a business trip, one hotel, two rooms. Mature and practiced, he pushes step by step, and the desire she has suppressed for too long quietly gains the upper hand. In the half-yielding, half-resisting, her reason gives way first, and her body betrays her right behind it. This is not a matter of who forced whom. It is a lonely young wife, after a long stretch of repression, finally admitting to herself that she wanted it.