Fiction: Group 3
One Night in Shenzhen
King George V School, Tsui, Angela - 13, Fiction: Group 3
rinking, drunk-driving, smoking, having unintentional sex, procrastinating (or what I like to call
taking a break), taking a break from taking a break, oh, and participating in student protests. This
would be an accurate summary of my years in university. It was a wonder to my professors and
myself that I even showed up in the finals exam and
passed
. Not that a measly third-rate journalism degree
was something to be overjoyed about. I suppose beggars can’t be choosers though, since I honestly expected
myself to spend the rest of my time floating around in the blurry world of pills, condoms, and empty glass
bottles. Luckily, Japan seemed to be filled with university students like myself, which was perhaps why my
employer didn’t bat an eye when I told him that I was one of the fervent leaders of student protests. In fact,
none of my experiences really surprised him at all. I suppose that is to be expected from a man in charge of
journalist firm- hundreds of new stories to hear every day.
I was four months into my new job at the journalist firm when I was sent abroad to do my first overseas
blog. I was supposed to be covering Shenzhen, China, which seemed alright to me at first. I arrived, did the
usual tourist routine- drop by a hotel, grab notebook, camera, noise recorders, and embark on an
enlightening ‘adventure’, as my employer liked to call it.
Now, I wouldn’t call myself a generally homesick person, but what I really did was drop by a hotel and
spend the rest of the day in a sushi bar sipping sake. Ask me anything about China on that same day and I
probably would have replied with, ‘they have great sushi’.
‘Not the best start to my career abroad, but the next day wouldn’t as bad’ I promised myself.
In fact, the next day truly wasn’t as bad. I managed to cover a few drafts on manufacturing and food and was
able to snatch a quick interview with a burly looking shopkeeper about business in Shenzhen.
“It’s not a bad place if you know how to appeal to the customers… namely women” he declared proudly,
with a glint residing in his eye that presumably abhorred rather than appealed the customers. He was correct
about one thing, however. The majority of the population in Shenzhen is of the female gender. It was
dubbed the ‘paradise of women’ by some washed-up, sappy journalist. The flip side to it is that men from
the neighboring areas of the Pearl River Delta- Hong Kong or Zhuhai- seem to be constantly on the
prowl for prostitutes in Shenzhen. After a good day’s work since at least four years, I decided to treat myself
in a nearby Chinese restaurant… or at least, what I thought was a restaurant.
Now, despite what I claimed earlier, this faux ‘restaurant’ still had food, which was sufficient for my
standards. It was only when I placed my order did matters begin to unveil…
“I’ll take the deep-fried pork tongue with the prawn and egg platter.” I asked in clumsy (but
understandable) mandarin.
“Of course, sir.” replied the rather good-looking waitress wearing rather revealing clothing. “Your food
will be sent over to private room number 5809” she added as she passed me a set of keys.
Now, confusion and interest dawned within me as she said the words ‘private room’. I had no idea that
restaurants in Shenzhen ever served food in private rooms for one, single customer. I was about to agree,
seeing as I didn’t really mind, when the waitress suddenly asked,
“By the way, sir, do you have any other
particular
orders for the night?”
The way she said ‘particular’ made it discomfiting enough, but as I shook my head, she pressed on.
“Perhaps you would like the all-deluxe special? Of course, you
will
have to pay extra, but we promise you
a meal of great wonder and satisfaction…”
I shook my head once more, feeling all the more confused. I didn’t see anything about an ‘all-deluxe
special’.
“Are you genuinely that dense?” the waitress finally snapped “I’m asking you which type of girl you wish
to… you know…”
Realization hit me harder than a brick.
Of course
this place wasn’t a proper restaurant. It was one of those
in-the-dark-but-in-plain-sight brothels only locals knew about. I was about to awkwardly state my
confession to the waitress when an idea awoke within my usually-stale mind. A hidden brothel disguised as
a restaurant? This was perfect material to write about.
“Of course,’ I swore to myself ‘Nothing explicit, Mashimoto. This is simply… intimate research.”
D
