Hormones That Can't Be Hidden - Chapter 29

Early the next morning, Xu Jun called Dong Junhao to his office, his face wearing a complex expression that mixed scrutiny with expectation. He looked the young man whom he had practically reshaped with his own hands up and down before speaking leisurely. “Junhao, I’ve given you all the ‘hard skills’ I have to teach. But the VIP section on the second floor…”

He paused, flicking his fingers as if brushing away invisible dust. “A different kind of ‘skill’ is played up there. For the rest, it depends on your own perception how much you can grasp, and whether you can integrate it all.”

Dong Junhao’s heart tightened as he nodded in silence.

“I’ve already made the arrangements,” Xu Jun finalized. “Report to the second floor today. But don’t think about taking guests right away. Start by following Supervisor Sun Yuejuan.”

“She’s a veteran of the bathhouse worked her way up from a waitress to supervisor; she knows every corner of this place. Follow her, learn the environment, the process, the rules, and…” He dragged out the syllable meaningfully. “…all those unwritten ‘tricks.’ Remember, that really is… a ‘different world.’ You need to tuck away that straight-shooting, rustic bluntness you used on the first floor.”

Stepping onto the stairs leading to the second floor, the thick carpet swallowed all sound. It felt like a silent curtain, completely sealing away the noisy steam and the honest scent of sweat from the bathhouse below. Dong Junhao took a deep breath, pushing open the heavy, soundproof door.

A carefully blended, warm, and sweet fragrance greeted him entirely different from the plain body wash and disinfectant scent of the floor below. The lighting was designed to be hazy and soft, perfectly outlining the winding corridor while skillfully hiding the details. Dark patterned wallpaper covered the walls, adorned with abstract decorative paintings; everything spoke of “expensive” and “private.” Occasionally, muffled laughter or soothing music drifted from behind a closed room door, like a fish swimming quietly in a dark river slippery and untouchable.

Though he had been up here twice before, his mind had been too occupied by tension and anxiety to observe the environment so closely.

Sun Yuejuan was already waiting at the entrance. She was about thirty-five or thirty-six, with makeup so exquisite every eyelash seemed perfectly placed. Her sharp, dark suit highlighted the curves of her figure. She wore a standard yet distant smile, but her eyes were like searchlights, scanning Dong Junhao from head to toe in an instant.

“Junhao, Boss Xu told me about you this morning. Just focus on working hard here in the VIP section.” Her voice was steady, devoid of excess emotion.

What followed was efficient and cold “process training.” Sun Yuejuan spoke at a moderate pace but with impeccable logic, introducing the service items, the price list, the room facilities, the standards for item placement, reception protocols, and precautions… Her terminology was professional, framing everything within “standardized service.” Yet, from her occasional pauses, subtle emphasis, and the vague “notices on special guest preferences,” Dong Junhao could sense the undercurrents swirling beneath the polished surface.

During a break in training, Sun Yuejuan checked her watch. “It’s almost time for the shift handover. I’ll officially introduce you to the girls in the VIP section.”

The technician lounge on the second floor was a relatively spacious and bright room, with seven or eight young women scattered across sofas and massage chairs. Most were quite attractive, wearing uniform-style modified qipao that outlined their graceful figures. Some were touching up their makeup, others were on their phones or resting with their eyes closed; the air was thick with the scent of powder and the specific lethargy of a work break.

Sun Yuejuan clapped her hands to get their attention. “Ladies, stop for a second. This is Master Dong Junhao. I’m sure you’ve all seen him around before. He’ll be officially working here in the VIP section from now on, so make sure to look after him!”

In an instant, almost every gaze focused on him. The lazy atmosphere was like a still pond hit by a stone, rippling with circles of interest.

“Oh—!”

A girl with dyed ash-gray hair and slightly upturned eyes was the first to speak, her voice a long drawl as her gaze traveled over Dong Junhao. “If it isn’t our most masculine ‘Master Dong’ from downstairs! I didn’t believe it when I heard you were being transferred up here!” This was Lin Wei, a bold personality and a regular “live wire” of the second floor.

“Exactly,” a girl with a round face and almond eyes chimed in. She was Su Xiaoxiao, and she had dimples when she smiled. “Master Dong, you’re the definition of an ‘upright gentleman’ in our bathhouse. You can’t even say three words to us without blushing. Will you be able to handle those tricky, difficult ‘Lords’ up here?” She intentionally emphasized the word “Lord” with a coy weight.

“That’s right, Brother Hao,” another voice came from a corner a high-pitched, doll-like voice belonging to the tall Song Qian. “Is your ‘willpower’ up to it? I’m afraid before the guest even does anything, you’ll have cooked yourself into a pulp from blushing.” This elicited a round of low laughter.

Dong Junhao had never experienced being publicly critiqued and teased by a group of young women. He felt his face ignite, and the tips of his ears turned incredibly hot. His limbs felt stiff, and he didn’t know where to look, only able to nod vaguely and squeeze out a sentence from his throat: “…Hello, everyone. I’ll work hard to adapt!”

“Go on, you little hussies, stop making a scene.” Sun Yuejuan scolded them with a smile, but her tone wasn’t harsh; rather, it was indulgent. “Master Dong has undergone ‘special training’ personally from Boss Xu. He naturally has his… superior points. Don’t go showing off your little tricks.”

“Superior points?” Lin Wei’s eyes suddenly lit up. Her gaze boldly swept over Dong Junhao’s sturdy, hairy thighs and powerful waistline as she suggestively licked her lips. “Sister Sun, exactly which ‘superior points’ are we talking about?…” She didn’t finish, but the girls around her laughed knowingly, their gazes becoming even more fervent.

More explicit teasing followed: “Brother Hao, when can I book your time?”

Su Xiaoxiao blinked her large eyes, looking “expectant.” “We’re all waiting to ‘inspect the goods’! I’m the first to sign up!”

“The first time must be left for me! Serving those pot-bellied ‘old masters’ who smell of cigarettes and booze every day, I want to experience what it’s like to be tenderly served by a handsome brother too!”

“Yes, yes! I want a spot in line!”

“Brother Hao, you must be gentle~”

“Can you give us a special ‘family and friends’ discount?”

The babble of giggles and teasing rushed over him like a tide, carrying naked flirtation and the unspoken suggestions shared between men and women. Dong Junhao felt like he was being roasted over a fire. Sweat broke out on his brow, and he was so mortified he wished he could find a crack in the floor to crawl into. He could only stand there, stiffer than ever, his face alternating between red and white.

Seeing that they had teased him enough, Sun Yuejuan waved her hand to rescue him. “Alright, alright, dial it back. Don’t scare the newcomer away. Dong Junhao, go and familiarize yourself with the equipment room and the storeroom.”

Dong Junhao felt as if he had been granted a general amnesty. He practically fled that “danger zone” of perfume and giggles, his footsteps clumsy and uncoordinated.

In the days that followed, Dong Junhao was like a silent shadow. He followed Sun Yuejuan or lingered alone in the corners of the corridors, observing this “different world.” His initial embarrassment was quickly washed away by what he saw, replaced by a mixture of shock, discomfort, and a deepening contempt.

He saw a middle-aged man with a massive beer belly and a greasy face, addressed respectfully as “President Wang.” He entered with a staggering scent of alcohol, bossing around Sun Yuejuan who had hurried to greet him nearly spitting in her face as he complained loudly that the technician from last time, Number 8, was “clueless” and “too inhibited.”

Sun Yuejuan bowed her waist in a humble arc, her face full of apologies and her voice soft enough to drip water. she said every kind word possible until the man gave a huff. Then, he entered a private room with his arm around Song Qian, who had arrived on cue and leaned into him with a giggle.

Through occasionally unsealed door cracks, Dong Junhao saw pairs of fat hands wearing thick gold rings “accidentally” resting on the silk-stockinged legs of female technicians, slowly stroking them. He saw guests closing their eyes “exhaustedly,” yet burying their faces deep into the chests of the girls massaging their necks. He heard the responses from within always the sickeningly sweet, coy tones of the technicians: “President Wang~ don’t do that, it tickles~” “Boss Li, if you keep moving, the oil will stain your clothes~”… followed by the satisfied, gravelly laughter of men and the various grunts of comfort from the massages.

He watched with cold eyes as the girls memorized guest information like a script: Director Zhang has a bad neck and likes deep pressure; Boss Zhao is superstitious and prefers Room 8 and lemongrass oil; President Qian is a lonely divorcee who needs a listening ear and the feeling of “being admired”… They played to these preferences, manufacturing a unique “exclusive experience,” allowing men who might be mediocre or frustrated in reality to find a delusion of kingship and a hypocritical warmth here. Tips, in this atmosphere of delusion and warmth, were usually given exceptionally freely.

In Dong Junhao’s eyes, all of this gradually condensed into two bone-chilling words: Hypocrisy. The smiles of these women were carefully measured commodities; their passion was a performance for sale. Their goal was naked and singular to extract money from men’s pockets, perhaps while daydreaming of being “saved” from their suffering by a patron and rising to high society in a single leap.

No wonder the veteran masters on the first floor, who earned their living through strength and skill, always curled their lips in disdain when mentioning the second floor. They said it was a place where “a smile is worth the least, and everything but the body is for sale.” He also began to believe firmly that this was indeed a world completely distinct and disconnected from the public bathhouse. And those women with their exquisite makeup and wandering gazes likely never spared a thought for the “stinky back-scrubbers” downstairs; after all, they had no “value” to speak of.

This increasingly solid prejudice was like a coarse, hard shell wrapping around him, making it difficult for him to truly integrate into the environment.

Until that late night, when the shell was suddenly pierced by a string of scalding tears.