a woman in a white miniskirt. Actually, it's so short that the word skirt hardly applies. Every movement reveals the lacy edge of her underwear. Her long legs are like ivory columns, the skin slightly pink. White, high-heeled lambskin boots stop just above her knees; a small red silk scarf makes her neck seem ringed with dancing flames. Her small, lovely face is partially hidden behind a pair of oversized sunglasses. She has a slightly pointed chin, a tiny mole just to the left of her mouth and loose almost brunette hair that falls to her shoulders. She walks up confidently to within three feet of the big man. He is shielded from the back by the four men in white who stand at a distance of about five feet. She removes her sunglasses to reveal a pair of mournful eyes and with a sad smile begins to speak. ‘Lan Laoda, I am Shen Gongdao's daughter, Shen Yaoyao. I know that if my father came here today he would not return alive, so I laced his drink with a sleeping potion and came to die in his place. You can kill me, Elder Brother Lan, but I beg you to spare my father.’ The man stands there like a statue, and I can't tell what effect her words have on him because his eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses. But I guess she's put him in an awkward position. Shen Yaoyao stands calmly in front of him, chest thrown out to receive a bullet. Elder Brother Lan carelessly flings his cigar in the direction of the Jeeps, turns and heads back to his Cadillac. His driver steps up to open the door for him. The car backs up, the driver turns the wheel and the car skids back onto the road. Then the four men in black open their windbreakers, draw their weapons and shoot holes in the three Jeeps before climbing back into their Volvos and racing to catch up with the Cadillac, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. In the temple, a choking miasma of gunpowder terrifies me and makes me cough. As if a scene from a film has played out in front of me. This is no dream. Three Jeeps leaking oil and sitting on flat tyres prove that. So do the four men in white who stand there dumbstruck. And finally, so does the self-possessed woman in white. I see two threads of tears running down her face but she puts on her sunglasses again and her eyes vanish from view. What happens next is the most exciting part—she begins to walk up to the temple entrance. It's a joy to watch her. Some beautiful women lose their appeal when they walk. Others walk elegantly but aren't particularly attractive. This one has a gorgeous figure, a lovely face and a graceful walk; she is, in other words, a woman of rare beauty. And that is why even Lan Laoda, as cold and brutal a man as there ever was, did not have the heart to shoot her. The way she's walking now gives no indication of the frightening scene that has played out across the way only moments before. Now that she's drawn closer, I can see she's wearing nylon stockings, and those nylon-encased thighs arouse me more than bare thighs ever could. Her knee-high lambskin boots are adorned with lambskin tassels. I can only see her from the waist down, because I don't have the nerve to gaze at the top half of her body. As she steps over the threshold, the subtle fragrance of her perfume lets loose a flood of sentiments in me. Never before has such an exalted feeling visited my humble mind. But it does now. My mouth hungers at the sight of her delectable knees. If I had the courage, I'd fall to my knees to lick hers. Me, Luo Xiaotong, once a local tough who feared neither Heaven nor earth. If the Emperor's wife's tits had been within reach, I'd have fondled them. But today? I'm as timid as a mouse. The woman lightly brushes the Wise Monk's head with her hand. My God! How strange, how bizarre, how lucky, the Wise Monk's head. She doesn't touch mine. And by the time I find the courage to lift my tear-streaked face in the hope that she will, all I see is her splendiferous back. Are you up to hearing more, Wise Monk?