Pale Swan in Watery Nest

For many years, my mother, my sister and I had been enslaved by Chinese National Communist Members before coming to America


Many many years ago, prior to our family’s immigration to America, certain things had happened that to this day my mother had forbidden me to tell anyone else. It’s better to bury those shameful events deep in your memory, she tells me, it’s best to completely forget them …

My parents lived in rural Jilin province, the economically under-developed backwater of the barren, rustic northern China. My older sister told me, after her mother had given birth to her, she had been given involuntary abortion four times. “Unable to bear the shame, she killed herself,” that was my sister’s exact words. “In China, if a woman cannot give birth to sons, it’s considered shameful, and whenever the results came back saying that she had been pregnant with yet another girl, our father took her to the hospital and forced her to have an abortion. At the end of it all, it was just too much for her.”

My older sister always said everything without any emotion. She would just as well be describing someone else’s mother. She went on to describe how our father used to torture her. “Oh the cooking is not done right? He picked up the iron stick and beat her.” In winter time, to keep our home warm, every family had a furnace that burned yeontan, and we always had iron sticks, iron chopsticks, and pike poles studded by scary hooks right by the furnace. “He hated her because she was not able to give birth to sons, and it’s considered disgraceful. Sometimes he stripped her naked and beat her in front of guests. Sometimes he used lit cigarettes to burn her flesh. Another time he used his belt to whip her. Another time he even used a plier to twist her nipples. When her screaming became too loud and disturbing to the neighbors, he stuffed his dirty socks into her mouth and continued to beat her.”

I was of course horrified when she told me all this. Then my sister said “We are women. We are cheap and worthless like insects.” After coming to the United States, and finally being freed, I once told her, recollecting all the events that had happened back then, and all the conversations that we exchanged: “Back when you said that, you should have annotated with an asterisk, adding the phrase Asian women. It’s Asian women who are cheap and worthless like insects.” Seeing all the gorgeous beautiful white girls being pampered and treated like princesses by tall and muscular white guys, my sister nodded.

One particular evening, after another round of brutal beating, her mother drank farm-grade insecticide and killed herself. I say “her mother” because I have never met her mother.

My father remarried a second wife and gave birth to me. Exactly one year before my birth, gender-testing during pregnancy was banned and, no longer able to tell the gender of the unborn, my mother had no choice but to give birth to me, and on the day I was delivered in the hospital, my father cried and begged to heaven that I was a boy. Lucky me, I suppose, that I was born and not aborted. Or perhaps unlucky me, that I was actually born, and destined to suffer this life as a lowly Asian girl.

After I was born, my father was on the verge of suicide himself. “I am doomed! My family lineage is cut. I am rootless. I am now castrated.” He said those words all the time. Not only that, but even my grandparents hated me for being a girl and had on numerous occasions tried to kill me. My grandfather once took me into a forest and left me there, hoping that I would never be able to find the way home, or, even better, get eaten by wolves. Miraculously I walked home later that night. There was another instance when my grandfather tried to sell me to a human trafficker, but was stopped by my older sister.

As I grew older, they had given up on killing me, but not on torturing me. From a young age I was told that as a girl I would never be able to receive the same treatment that a boy would get. “You will grow up and then marry and forget about your parents. Feeding you is like feeding my neighbor.” My dad would say. “What’s the purpose of sending her to school? If she learns to read and write, she will just disobey her parents.” My grandfather would say. “Raising a daughter is like raising a poisonous snake. You raise her. You feed her. Then one day, she will bite you and kill you.”

Both my father and my grandfather were members of the Chinese National Communist Society. My American boyfriend once joked that being a Chinese National Communist is like being a National Socialist, but with the added advantage of being a Communist.

I remember when I was little, I once saw my father cooking chicken for a family meal. He had plucked off every feather of the poor bird, and then poured cooking oil on its skin, rubbing into its every nook and cranny. As it was still alive, he impaled a long, slender bamboo stick about the length of a small child through the chicken’s mouth all the way until it came out of its rear end, and then, he put the thing on open fire. Five minutes in, the poor thing was still twitching as fire crisped its skin. Its legs twirled as the flames burst over it.

Another traditional Chinese dish involved skinning live frogs, put the flayed skin into their own mouths and then cook them by tossing them in boiling water.

This earthly saint, adored by this devil, little suspecteth the false worshipper: for unstained thoughts do seldom dream on evil; birds never limed no secret bushes fear. So guiltless she secretly gives good cheer and reverend welcome to her princely guest, whose inward ill no outward harm expressed.

“Poor thing, what are we going to do to you now that you have given birth to a daughter?’

Never hiding the secret that my father was extremely disappointed that his second wife had given birth to another daughter, never forgetting the fact that now, having two children, he would not be allowed to have another child, due to the One Child Policy, my father took out his anger on my mother. And for the first time, I witnessed, that my sister wasn’t lying to me about what had happened to my father’s first wife.

There is something I need to explain about China’s One Child Policy. While urban areas are allowed to have only one child, in rural areas, a family is allowed to have a maximum of two children. After a family such as ours has had two children, and both female, our family would be put on a watch list, and an official would come to visit our home every month to check that we are not having more children. For any family that is caught having children after the maximum two, the wife will be arrested. She will be forced to give an abortion, and afterward, she would be involuntarily sterilized, and the husband will have to pay a hefty fine, if he ever want to see his wife again.

Well, there weren’t absolutely no options at all. You can try to bribe the officials to have a third try, but for poor peasant family like ours, the bribe would cost way too much money, even if my dad had sold both me and my sister into slavery he wouldn’t be able to afford the bribe needed to get a third try, and if we were indeed that rich, my dad would never needed to have to abide to the One Child Policy. He would have had dozens of Chinese concubines and have as many children as he wished, which is in fact what the really wealthy in China do.

During this period my dad resorted to drinking and after he got drunk, he came home and beat my mother. The beatings were extremely brutal. He would strip her completely naked, hung her wrists by the door frame, and whip all over her body with his leather belt. My sister and I would beg him to stop. I had witnessed first hand my sister throwing her own body over my mother’s to try to protect her from the whipping. Sometimes the crying would be so terrible that neighbors would wake up and come over to try to dissuade my father.

“All I ever wanted is to have a son! Why is Heaven forbidding me? Why is the world so unfair to me?” My father would stagger backward, burst out crying, and then crash on the ground.

It was a cold and moonless night. As usual my father had been bloody drunk and staggered home in tattered clothes. Not only was he a drunkard, but in the past few years became a complete hooligan and often got into brawls with others. His clothes were always torn and there was blood on his face, and also on his clothes. He kicked open the wooden door to our house and walked in in zigzag, almost like a crab. My mother, demure and gentle, sat quietly on the edge of the bed, scared to speak, while me and my sister were laying on our single bed and stared at our father. We had hoped that tonight we weren’t going to witness my mother’s getting another round of beating. “Bitch! Slut! You ignore me!” My dad started yelling. He loosened the belt around his trousers, swingingly it in his hand, while his trousers were about his ankles. My sister murmured to me: “Oh no, here we go again.”

My mother looked up, on the verge of tears, and said: “Have you been drinking again? I’m not ignoring you. I’m afraid to irritate you. Here. There’s blood on your face. Let me wipe it off for you.”

In stead of being grateful to my mother, my father continued to yell: “Bitch! Slut! You give me a son. Or I kill you!”

Then he swung his belt and lashed it across her. My mother screamed as she got off the bed and started to run, but my dad grabbed her, pushed her down on the bed, and pulled down her pants, revealing her naked white bubbly butt, which shone like silver under the moonlike lamp-light. Rounds and rounds of whipping on her naked butt ensued, occasioned by the grueling, wolfish, and desperate wailing of my poor mother.

My sighs like whirlwinds labor hence to heave thee. If ever man were moved with woman’s moans, be moved with my tears, my sighs and my groans. All which together, like a troubled ocean, beat at thy rocky and wrack-threatening heart, to soften it with their continual motion; for stones dissolved to water do convert. O, if no harder than a stone thou art, melt at my tears and be compassionate!

Her pleadings fell on deaf ears. The whipping continued from ten in the evening until midnight. Her screams had become tired and listless. Both my sister and I have been crying the entire time. Finally seeing my father stop, my sister timidly got out of bed, and with my both hands offered a cup of water to my dad and said: “Daddy. Please stop beating mother. You are tired. Let’s go to sleep.”

But all he ever said was: “You give me a son. You give me a son.”

“I will make money. We bribe the official. We—”

“Where you gonna make money? How?”

“I will quit school and make money. I will work. I promise. Daddy, I—”

His eyes suddenly brightened, with an evil askance. “What kind of work can a woman do that make lots of money? And quickly too.”

By this time my older sister had blossomed into a very beautiful young Chinese woman, much prettier than me. She had lily white skin like me, but also a perfect S-figure, with perfectly round breasts and upturned buttocks. I have always been an ugly duckling compared to my older sister.

“You go to work! I will arrange you for work. Tomorrow. You go to work. Quit school and go to work. You go work as a prostitute. You make lots of money. Then we pay bribe to official.”

My mother, half naked, her hands and feet tied to the bed post lying on the bed, all of a sudden started to struggle, “No! What kind of man you are, forcing your own daughter to be a prostitute.”

Thinking back now to the way my mother and my sister had been treated, I find it hard—nay, impossible—to deny that it had a very severe impact on how I turned out later on in my life, especially in regards to my relationship with men, and the type of men that I was bound to choose: it is no secret to all who knew me that I am deeply masochistic and sought out men who are sadistic, who are wiling and able to treat me as worthless, men who find no compunction in beating me, abusing me, and taking advantage of me, both physically and emotionally, and in the twisted and sick way that I was brought up, I have always derived immense pleasure and sexual gratification in such treatment. Deep inside I had always had the nagging suspicion that my mother and my older sister too had enjoyed being treated in this way, even though they would deny and abject that such a thing even existed, and will never openly discuss any of what I have written here, but in the buried deep of the subconscious, that interior ecstasy that sexual slavery procures them like sweats that pour out of their pores of their hair follicles as they are being tortured, shows itself underneath the layers of plastic emotional makeup that they wear.

I once asked my sister what they did to her in the “Red Chamber”, the brothel in British Weihaiwei where she had worked as a prostitute and she told me the following: “For the first three days, me and six other girls were locked in a single room without any food or water. Then on the third day, a group of men came in, and smeared honey all over their genitals. We had to lick the honey off their genitals. Later on we were given food to eat, but before we were able to eat, all the men came over and ejaculated into our food. We had to eat the food with their semen on it. The owner told us this is how they train the girls to give the best blowjobs, so that we naturally associate men’s penises with food and would not feel disgusted when swallowing semen. Most of the customers we serve are foreigners, westerners, middle-easterners, and sometimes even African, and in order to stretch out our pussies we had to wear dildos inside our pussies at all times. In addition every night we were ganbanged by as many Chinese men as possible, because most Chinese men had small dicks, so the owner said, we have to be able to take Chinese dicks without any problem and then we’ll be able to serve foreign customers. Many western customers demanded anal sex, and we had to learn to do that as well.”

Even though her training was harsh, the fruition of her labor was sweet and delicious. Within just a few months, my older sister had risen through the ranks to become “big red”, a term denoting the most popular and the hottest girl in the Red Chamber. She was even recognized as having the best blowjob skills among the girls. She said whenever she saw a man’s penis, she couldn’t help but be reminded of the honey that she had sucked when she was near starvation. “The mere sight of a man’s penis made me salivate. I sucked every cock as if it were my last meal.”

Combined with her extraordinary beauty, she was so well-beloved by so many customers that within a year, she had made so much money that our family was able to afford to build a new three-storied house and still had enough left to pay the bribes for my dad to have another child. Not to mention that some Japanese customer was so smitten by her charm that he wanted to marry her and take her to Japan and make her into a JAV actress.

Ay me, the bark pilled from the lofty pine, his leaves will wither and his sap decay; so must my soul, her bark being pilled away.

In order to bribe the official, you must invite them to dinner, make conversations, drink alcohol, flatter them, then and only then, will you be able to lavish your gift to them, which they will refuse to accept, and you have to insist, yes, please please accept this bribe as a gift, it’s sincerely just a gift and mean nothing else, and they will pretend that they have never done this before, that they are not as corrupt as you think and will act as if they were offended that you think so little of them, and then, you have to grovel on your knees, begging them, flattering them some more, obsequiously, subserviently, slavishly, and finally, yes finally!, they will reluctantly accept your bribe.

That day my father, my mother, and I spent the whole day, cleaning the house in preparation for the dinner with the regional officials in charge of the One Child Policy program.

Like VIP customers they arrived and my entire family went out to welcome them with flowers, me and my mom dressed in our best clothes. My mother wore a red skirt, symbolizing joy like a delicious, ripe fruit and I wore a lily white skirt, symbolizing my pure innocence.

The drinking started from 5 PM and did not stop even when it was past midnight. My mom and I had all been exhausted to the point of passing out, but the drinking continued. One official, a chubby middle-aged guy with a bald head, said that they should play a game, a ritualistic game played at the drinking tables that was like a glorified version of rock, paper and scissors that I played at the playground. I didn’t know and still don’t know what it was but the official said, instead of drinking, the loser should get spanked.

“Oh that sounds like fun. I think I’m gonna definitely lose. I’m not good at those games.”

Because my dad was trying to bribe those officials so he could have another child, he was not going to let those officials “lose face” by being spanked, so he already knew he was going to lose and he was going to lose on purpose. As soon as the game started, my dad had been losing. By the tenth round, the official with the pot belly said, “Maybe it’s time to pay up.”

“Do it to my daughter.”

“Okay, if that’s what you said.”

Like worthless insects that can be stomped and killed at their free will, women are to those Chinese men, and so it was no big deal to beat women, unlike it is in the west. My mother, my sister, and I had all been spanked frequently by our father and grandfather, so it was no big deal, at least that was what my dad said.

So, my American boyfriend liked to watch wrestling. I used to remember watching with him and there was a few instances where one guy will bend his opponent over at the waist, pull his arms backward and then lock his arms behind his back and push this opponent’s head into his crotch, so now the opponent’s ass is turned upward and there is no way for him to move out of this locked position.

Well, that was what the official with the pot belly did to me. He pushed my head into his crotch and my arms were twisted behind my back. Then another official, the tall one, flipped my white skirt up and pulled down my white panties so my lily white buttocks were completely revealed. And then, using a big wooden board, he swung with full force and hit my butt cheeks so hard that I felt a shock wave going through my flesh and into my pelvis. In about three seconds, whereas before those three seconds I had been quiet and tried my best to endure the shame, the humiliation, and embraced my self for the incoming pain, as I felt the scolding pain shooting up my nerves I screamed out in agony and my legs kicked wildly around so wildly that my shoes flew off, but the official with the pot belly had so firmly locked me in submission I was unable to struggle free. Then another hit landed. The pain was so unbearable my legs kicked so high my entire body flipped vertically upward and I was screaming and crying hysterically. I heard those men’s laughter as I screamed and cried. Then I felt somebody grabbing me by my bare feet—since my shoes had been kicked off in my wild struggle—so I stayed in position and another hit landed. My whole body went into convulsion and I felt I was on the verge of death. Everything before me started to blur and that was when I heard a woman’s pleading: “Please stop. For Heaven’s sake, please leave my daughter alone. Do it to me. Do it to me,” at which point I passed out from the pain.

The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light and fleckled darkness like a drunkard reels from the day’s path and Titan’s fiery wheels.

My father eventually got what he wished for. The official granted him a special waiver so he could get his wife pregnant, and as luck would have it, he did have a son, but he was never the same afterward. He became morose and taciturn, and though he hadn’t been drinking as much as he did before the birth of my little brother, now he just smoked lot. Like a pack of cigarettes a day. As if his mind was troubled, but troubled by what exactly.

I never knew exactly what had happened that evening after I passed out. By the time I woke up everyone was gone. I had seen a meat cleaver being left on the ground next to my bed. I asked my mother where did all the officials go and she pretended to not understand what I was talking about. They were trying to hide something from me, exactly what, and why, I suppose, I would never be able to know.

My sister was continuing to make so much money at the Red Chamber in British Weihaiwei. For those of you who are not familiar with the name, Weihaiwei used to be a British colony located in northeast China. It was used as a hubbub for commerce and today, even though no longer a part of the glorious empire, many foreigners still go there to do business with the Communist Chinese, who claim ownership to the patch of land like a greedy and evil patriarch, and so as commerce boomed, prostitution also boomed. It was a major sex tourist destination for rich foreigners from America, Europe, Japan, Singapore, the Middle East, and so many Chinese girls went there to sale their flesh.

It is interesting to note that all my family members have very white skin. My mother, me, and my sister all share this trait in common. And our lily white skin won us a lot of favors among the yellow-skinned Asians who adore white skin as a symbol of wealth, status, and beauty. Especially with my older sister who many people have compared her to a pale swan, because she is so white and so slender, and so often seemed so cold and melancholy.

So while the European and American customers didn’t care that much for my sister’s fair skin tone, many of her Japanese customers absolutely loved her and lavished her with gifts, tips and, eventually an expensive trip to Japan from which she never came back. Her Japanese husband called her “my fair love” and kept her there.

Even though my father, being a typical narrow-minded Chinese national communist, didn’t care so much about my sister’s marriage to a Japanese, he did enjoy all the money she had made to our family, and so he didn’t have much to complain. Besides, my sister was the one who enabled him to have a son, so literally it was my sister who gave birth to his son, sort of incestuous if you ask me, for him to be made a man out of his own daughter’s vice, and for my brother to take life from the shame of his sister.


“Stupid pigs die!” I still vividly remember those words spoken by my sister’s Japanese husband. At the time my Japanese was not as fluent as it is now, and those words were the first ones I learned when I arrived in Japan. So it’s true, you always learn swear words more quickly.

Some other Japanese words that I still vividly remember was when he called my sister “shallow, materialistic, gold-digging.” He had a special nickname for my sister. When I heard it for the first time, both me and my mother thought it was a nickname of endearment, like darling, sweetheart, etc. Only later did I learn that my sister’s nickname meant “Anal Slave”.

Initially, right after my sister married her Japanese husband and moved to Japan, my mother and father were of course very proud and bragged to our neighbors about the extraordinary wealth their son-in-law had, “He can buy all the potatoes in our farm! He has a TV and a computer in a every room!” Even though there were still strong lingering animosity between China and Japan due to World War II, money trumped all. Whorish and money-loving, some might say, but others just see it as practical. Besides, well, at least initially, her Japanese husband was indeed not only wealthy but very generous to my sister, even when she was still working in the Red Chamber. And whenever our neighbors walked by our house, which was by then a brand new three-storied house, they pointed and wagged their fingers and said, “This is built by the japs,” with many shades of jealousy and envy.

Sometimes they would also go home and berate their own wives: “Why are we not as rich? We have daughters too! Why don’t we send them to work in the big cities!” Everybody knew what kind of jobs my sister and many other poor peasant Chinese girls did in the big cities. It was an open secret … that my sister was a prostitute and catered almost exclusively to foreigners, mostly Japanese businessmen.

There was even a period of time when everybody in our province was actively planning to sell their daughters into brothels to make money, and human trafficking of girls was such a huge problem that the government had to intervene to put a stop to it. Even though prostitution is technically still illegal in China, it’s literally everywhere. Everywhere.

“Sister is doing this so you can go to college one day,” my sister told me. “Sister’s life is hard, so it can be sweet to you. You must not let me down.”

During those periods of time I tried my best to focus on my study, to prepare for gaokao, the college entrance exam, the hardest test in all of China, one that will determine one’s life for the rest of their lives. Those that make through it, will be on top of the world, and will be able to move to upper echelon of the Chinese society, and those that don’t, will forever be relegated to inferior positions in life.

But sometimes life just throws a curve ball at you that there is no way for you to prepare. My father had become very arrogant and some into a fight with the relative of a local official. He was emboldened because, he felt, “My son-in-law is a foreigner,” and so no one dared to touch him, but he forgot that he was still living in China, and in China, officials are like gods while a poor peasant like him were as worthless as an insect. No sooner had he done the deeds, he was arrested and detained without a trial. My mother had become very scared and tried to go to the police station, but being uneducated, the only thing she knew how to do was to make a scene and soon she was arrested for disorderly conduct. The lucky thing was that my mother had been released a few weeks later but our dad was never to be seen again. Rumor had it that he was being set up, because he had previously offended the officials at the One Child Policy Program, who held a grudge against him. And in China, there is the expression, “Officials take care of other officials. They are connected like open ducts.” If you offend one official, then another official from a totally different department will try to get back at you when they have the chance.

In the meanwhile, my mother—though she was often abused by my dad, she also realized that she could not go on without him, in a male-dominated society—did something that she was going to regret for the rest of her life. She went straight to the prefecture district above ours for an appeal and she told them that her husband had been wrongfully imprisoned and the officials were using the incident to take revenge on something that had happened before, even with allegations that the officials of the One Child Policy program were trying to rape her. Her stories were even published on newspapers. Except that she didn’t have any evidence. The details were blurry, but soon the newspaper ran articles that she had fabricated the entire story. Stories even further reveal that my father had sold his daughter into sexual slavery, and not only that, but he was involved in blackmailing, kidnapping of women and smuggling them to Japan for sex work. “It was all part of the scheme,” my mother to this day fumes. “If he had that kind of ambition, he would not have been that poor.” In an authoritarian society, with no independent press, simple poor folks like us had to take whatever the authorities throw at us, with no recourse. Not only did she not save her husband, but our family had become the black sheep of the entire village. Everybody shunned us. We had nowhere to go. That was when we decided to join our sister in Japan.

Alone, abandoned by her premonitions, fleeing the chill that was to accompany her until death, she sought a last refuge in the warmth of her oldest memories.

When my mother told my sister about her plans to move to Japan, my sister was very, very upset, and my mother was angry at her for not being understanding. “Your father is dead. The whole village thinks he was a rapist and a murderer. Nobody in the village even talks to us anymore. You have to get us to Japan. Please!” But it all became clear when we arrived in Japan. It turned out that my sister’s husband was a Japanese porn producer. He has been using my sister as a porn actress in their house.

Every week my sister had to produce five pornographic videos, so one video a day for every business day, as agreed upon in her contract, for a period of two years, and if she fail to do so, she would have to repay the production company 50 million yen in lost revenue. She has been given over ten different nicknames or aliases to be used for different scenes and for different producers. The scenes she has been acting in included bondage, enema, anal sex, waxing torture, whipping-torture, gang-bang, no-condom bare-shot, fellatio, amateur, exhibitionism, etc. There were scenes in which she would go to a person’s house, pretend she was his girlfriend, and perform “amateur” scenes under the name “anonymous slut”. In addition to forcing her to performe in pornographic videos, her husband has been renting her out to fans who wanted to have sex with her for a fee. This was also included as part of her contract to “interact with fans”, and whatever amount of “fee” was collected, her husband split between himself and the production company. I felt so pitiful for my sister and yet, when she saw that I was crying, she beamed at me with the sweetest smile, and said to me,”Don’t cry, little sister. This is nothing compared to what I had to endure while I was working the Red Chamber in China. I used to have sex with 200 guys in a single night. My life is good now.”

On the first day my mom and I came to my sister’s house, as we unpacked our things upstairs, my sister was being hogtied, and given an enema treatment in the living room. Then her “Master” dripped hot wax on her bare ass, and she screamed in pain and jumped to get away, he stepped his foot on her face and shouted at her in Japanese. Many years later, as I recollected those events, I finally understood what the man told my sister. “Behave. Endure. Or else your whole family will be punished.”

The next morning, when my mother and I woke up and came down for breakfast, we saw my sister being tied to a wooden post, completely nude, and her husband was shoving a dildo down her throat. My mother started to cry but my sister tried to comfort her and said, “Don’t worry, mommy. It’s all just an act. We all have make a living. It’s no more degrading than being a waitress or a doctor. I will fix you breakfast as soon as we finish shooting this last scene.”

An inner coldness which shattered her bones and tortured her even in the heat of the sun would not let her sleep for several months, until it became a habit. The intoxication of power began to break apart under waves of discomfort.

Being Chinese myself and still in the process of learning Japanese, very quickly I became acquainted with a Japanese citizen of Chinese descent. His mother was Chinese and father Japanese; he spoke both Chinese and Japanese fluently. After being together for nearly half a year, during which he not only taught me Japanese but helped me in so many ways in life, being grateful to his help, I established our relationship as boyfriend-girlfriend, by giving ways to his lust. At the time he was attending one of the best universities in all of Japan; not only was he extraordinarily smart, but very good-looking. I was a recent immigrant to Japan, coming from a rather poor family, living with my mom and sister and her husband, and I felt a tremendous sense of shame and inferiority before him.

In order to maintain a deeply unequal relationship with a man of so much higher social status compared to myself, I never dared to say “No” to him and compromised in every way imaginable. However, I was still traumatized. I told him that I had a previous boyfriend while I was living China, after which, he said, I must confess to him all the sins that I have committed prior to meeting him. He was bothered that I was not a virgin, and to him, “Virginity is very important to a woman. It’s a symbol of her chastity, her purity and her innocence. You lost your virginity to a Chinese man. That is an affront to me as your current boyfriend. It’s a disgrace to my lineage.”

At one time he even lamented: “My poor fate! My girlfriend didn’t even give me her first time. Why is my life so full of suffering?”

I asked him if he ever had a girlfriend before me and without much hesitation or any affectation of hypocrisy he told me he had three girlfriends before meeting me, and then he went on to explain: “But it’s different for a man. For men, there’s no such a thing as virginity. In fact, it’s considered a pride, an honor, that a man is able to copulate with as many females as possible. On the other hand, for a woman, losing her virginity is a disgrace. It’s shameful. After losing her virginity, she becomes nothing but a slut. She is no different than a whore. Any man can now use her as a cum dump. She is seen as dirty as a public toilet in the eyes of men.” Then, he even proceed to show me a picture of a naked Asian woman, bound and blindfolded, with piece of cloth covering her sex, that said “public toilet” on it. He said, “Since you are not a virgin, then you are a slut, and this is the proper way to treat you from now on.”

After much arguing, as my whole face flushed deep red, he went on to say, “You did not give your virginity to me; you have disgraced yourself and your whole family. You should atone for your sins.”

Despite of my continued deference and submission to him. gradually, I came to discover, he became even more obsessed with my previous boyfriend. He asked me in great detail about my sex life, and made me swear to him that I was telling the truth or some disastrous events will unfold upon my family. He seemed especially infuriated by the fact that he was Chinese, even though he himself was half-Chinese. One time he told me, he felt disgusted by that fact that my previous boyfriend was a “dirty Chinese man.”

In order to punish me, “because you have sinned against me,” he said, I would need to obey him absolutely, and ever since, he started making me call him “Master” (主人様), and stopped referring to me as his girlfriend, but used such names as “bitch,” “slut”, “slave”, etc., even in front of his friends.

One day, he demanded that I have the words “Chink Slave” tattooed to my body, with the tattoo session videotaped. “Go to the tattoo shop. Take off all your clothes when you get the tattoo. I don’t care who sees your naked body. You are not a virgin, so you shouldn’t care anymore. Get the tattoo artist to videotape it or have yourself videotape it and then send the video to me.” I wanted an explanation and he said “I love to see the painful expression on your face as you endure pain and torture to demonstrate to me your absolute devotion to me, through your painful and humiliating act of mutilation, in the form of this degrading tattoo.”

Ever since, I have ceased to feel any sense of dignity as a human being in front of him. I have been transformed into his property, his slave. He even brought a dog collar and a leash for me to wear at his home.

I was his full time servant, maid, and sex toy. I cooked, cleaned, washed his clothes and complied to his every depraved, perverted sexual demand imaginable. Saying “No” was never an option and if I ever showed the slightest reluctance, he would administer punishment to me, each one more terrifying and more deviant than the last one. To give you an example. He once had me tied and flicked his fingers on my eyeballs to teach me a lesson about obedience. Afterward I had trouble seeing straight for an entire week.

One time, he and his classmates came to our apartment and apparently I had said something that offended him—perhaps it was an impolite use of a pronoun, since at the time my Japanese was still conversational and not fully fluent, and in Japan, being impolite is considered a grave offense, especially for someone inferior to offend someone superior—he told me to slap myself in the face. I was highly embarrassed, being in front of his classmates and I told him I couldn’t understand what he was saying. Once his classmates left, he threatened to report me to the Japanese Immigration Bureau for immigration fraud and have me, my mom and my sister all deported back to China. In order to appease him, I knelt before him and slapped myself hard across the face. But in stead of pleasing him, as I had expected, he then said, with the querulous touchiness peculiar to Japanese men, “So you did understand me. You have lied to me once again. You are a very typical Chinese. Dishonest, full of fraud and deceit, just like your whorish sister and mother. Go wait for me in bed. You need more punishment tonight.”

Living with him had become pure torment. Like a sailor who sat in a small boat in the boundless raging sea, surrounded on all sides by heaving mountainous waves, I quietly suffered and endured in the middle of a world of horror, as though I was asleep in a nightmare from which I was never able to awake. The initial love and romance that I had so cherished had been turned into hell fire. The sight of his naked body filled me with trepidation and fear as he repeated his assault upon me and I felt disgusted, I felt angry. I felt raw emotional hatred when he ejaculated inside me.

I tried to leave him, but he said if I ever leave him, he would commit suicide. He said he had fallen in love with me, in the deepest love he has ever experienced. He could not possibly go on living without me, he told me, with a sincerity that made my heart melt and my blood coagulate.

In the days that I escaped from his apartment I shut myself in my bedroom in my sister’s house and wept an inconsolable weeping that lasted for days, the cause of which I had kept well-hidden from my family. I had always been raised to be a cordial and warm-hearted person, but deep inside I always had a solitary and impenetrable heart which I had allowed no one to peer into … until I met him, that is. No one else was ever able to understand me. No one else in the world. Repeatedly I told myself those lies as my tears melted into my pillow case. On a rainy afternoon, as my mother and her friends—a group of Chinese women all married to Japanese men—chattered away in the dining room on the most recent gossips, gradually I lost the thread of conversation and slipped into a delirious netherworld of melancholic dreams and a sudden attack of anxiety overcame me. I walked across the dining room, and into the bathroom at the end of the kitchen, and locked myself inside and, in the midst of trying to cover my hysterical crying, I lowered my head into the toilet and started to drink the water out of the bowl.

Fascinated by an immediate reality that came to be more fantastic than the vast universe of her imagination …

I was confounded by my own behavior at the time. Looking back now, I think—according to my psychologist, and this was her analysis of my behavior—it broke out as an reflection of my repressed urge, to be the public urinal that my Master had always intended for me to become, and so when I saw the toilet in the bathroom, the image of myself as a public urinal flashed before my mind and I acted in accordance with my repressed urge.

I could not bear the taste of disgust in my mouth, but I persisted. I drank the entire bowl of toilet water and I was filled with an eerily confused feeling of pleasure and rage, as an unbridled satisfaction for humiliation overcame me. After I drank the water I started to lick the ceramic rim of the toilet and made a point to lick up every speck of dust and refuse. Big drops of tears rolled out of my eyes and touched the ceramic and I licked my own tears. I thought I had realized at that point that he was the only man who deserved this show of degradation. I thought I had come to the conclusion at the time that the image of him peeing into the toilet at another location was transubstantiating to me the warmth of his bodily fluid through the aquatic savor that left a humiliating aftertaste in my mouth and a sediment of peace in my heart.

I could no longer resist the longing and sadness. After two weeks I went back to my tormentor to apologize to him knowing full well that he had more deviant torment awaiting for me when I returned. He told me that I must beg him like I would beg for my life. I crawled before him in the lobby of his apartment complex and I kissed the ground that he walked on without a care in the world that I was making a scene and strangers were staring at me. In his intoxication of rage he sought to aggravate still further the wounds that he had inflicted upon me as he dragged me into the men’s room and ordered me to drink his piss. I did as I was told, but then, after put his semi-erect penis back into his trouser and zipped up his fly, he said, “As a descendant of the honorable Japanese lineage, I cannot possibly keep this degrading promiscuity with a tainted chink who had lost her virginity to a non-Japanese man.” In a harsh and cutting tone I told him it was he who had been threatening me with suicide if I didn’t come back to him; it was he who had been begging me to come back; it was he who threatened to kill my parents if I didn’t come back; it was he who had threatened to report me to the Japanese Immigration Bureau; it was he who made me swear that mother and sister will all die horrible deaths if I didn’t do as he demanded. Drunk with this melodrama, he began to hit me all over my body as I could not deny the satisfaction of seeing the amazement, the anxiety, the grief, the rage, and the mirth that my unconventional courage to defy him for the first time in my life caused him to lose his temper and, perhaps soon, his sanity, and the resulting punishment that I deserved and received transformed itself into a translucent alabaster of hatred and love in which I was lost and of which I’m still incapable of communicating into the English language, despite of leaving Japan eventually and coming to live in the United States for the rest of my life.

“Repent and suffer for your sins”—that was his motto for me. An unending need for redemption. A perpetual list of sins for which I would never be able to atone for in an eternity. Because to him, I would never be able to fully atone for my original sin, that I was not a virgin when I became his girlfriend. So I must repent and suffer and obey his every command, comply to his every degrading and humiliating demand.

In order to prevent me from leaving him again, he started to videotape all of our sex sessions and he said, that if I ever tried to leave him again, he would have all those videos sent to my family, my classmates, and shared on the internet. In total, there was more than one hundred such videos in existence, including videos of me drinking his urine, being whipped, licking his feet, etc. I thought back to my sister and I felt that through what had been happening to me had made me infinitely more connected to her than ever before. Deep in the burrow of my heart, even though I pitied my sister, I, perhaps, had also looked down on her because of her profession, but, at that point, I realized. I was no better than her. I was perhaps even worse! Because I was not being honest.

His level of sadism was rising in parallel with his adrenaline level. After I went back to living with him, he said he had more plans for me, and beaming with pride, he told me he would have my nipples pierced and studded with large golden rings, to punish me for being an unchaste woman. In his notes I found that he also planned on having my nose pierced and put in a septum ring. “Then I would have your vagina sewn together so you would never be able to cheat on me again.” He even showed me pornographic videos in which those procedures were being done to other women, and I shuddered at the thought that one of those women would turn out to be my sister or my mother, and he told me, he wanted to turn me into one of them eventually.

Whenever I think back to those things that he had said now, I still feel delirious with fear, anticipation, and trembling, and yet at the time, I remember, when I looked at him in disbelief, I saw nothing in his face other than an ineffable joy which seemed to have come from paradise. I realized that my torment and degradation had brought him a super-terrestrial joy, that his morbidly sadistic, depraved treatment of me brought him nothing less than a voluptuous pleasure corresponding to an immortal and compensating glory that glowed in his face. For him, my suffering was his ecstasy.

Despite the numerous times that he had threatened me with suicide, it was me, I thought to myself at the time, “who will succeed in killing myself.” One time, I tried to commit suicide by slitting my wrist. My second attempt was by overdosing on sleeping pills. I dreamed that I woke up in another world.

“Mommy, baby want a hug.” I still remembered the text he sent me that morning.

“Baby, mommy will atone for her sins once and for all tonight. Mommy will receive her ever-lasting punishment tonight and be finally cleansed of her sins.” I woke up, text-ed him back and committed suicide.

And then I fell asleep again, and then I reawakened again, albeit for a few short moments, long enough to hear the creaking of the wooden floor, and to open my eyes to stare at the shifting kaleidoscope of darkness, to savor, in a momentary glimmer of consciousness, the sleep of death which lay heavy upon my flesh, the whole of which formed a part of my entire being, and whose insensibility I soon found myself return to share.

It was too lonely in death, the yearning for the living so intense in death, the need for company so pressing, so terrifying the nearness of that death within death, that I ended up loving life, holding unto life so dearly as I held unto my mother’s arms.

so the desire which directs our actions descends toward them, but does not reach back to itself, whether because, being unduly utilitarian, it plunges into the action and disdains all knowledge of it, or because it looks to the future to compensate for the disappointment of the present, or because the inertia of the mind urges it to slide down the easy slope of imagination, rather than to climb the steep slope of introspection.

Sometimes as I lay awake in bed, I could see my father being tortured in prison, except, when I got closer, I realized it wasn’t my father. It was my sister re-enacting the scenes of torture in her porno. Sometimes I feel as if I was dead and and I went over to the other side of the world and over there I talked to my sister and saw her still making pornos in Japan.

We all sort of knew in the back of our minds that the marriage between my sister and her Japanese husband was a sham, not in the sense that they weren’t having sex or making money, or that there was no genuine love, but in the sense that whatever love there was it has been plastered over and strengthened or, perhaps, ill-founded by money and an unbalanced power dynamics. After she obtained her permanent residence in Japan, she divorced her husband and, of course, her husband wasn’t happy. He cursed at her, cursed at my mother and me, because, according to I know, he had given a substantial sum of money to my sister, and even had given her a residential property; not only that, but my sister had made millions of yen from the Japanese pornographic company, but that, apparently, wasn’t enough for her; she sued the company for exploitation and the company decided to settle the case and she got another lump sum payment. So our family was once again able to live a relatively comfortable life all thanks to my older sister who has always been the breadwinner of our entire family.

In the three-year period since our family moved to Japan, not only did we repay our debt, but my mother and sister—infused with an entrepreneurial spirit that would later shock and awe my white American boyfriend, when I retold my story to him—started our very own brothel in the red light district of Japan. The front operated as “Chinese Massage Parlor”, the walls outside featured beautiful and scantily-dressed Chinese girls kneeling on the floor and smiling, and once you go in, you would be led to a large hallway with ornate decoration like a five-star hotel, and you would hear the catlike feminine voices of girls eagerly cajoling customers to have sex with them in broken Japanese interspersed with constant bickering in Chinese.

“Good blowjob. Master. Me. Give blowjob. Good blowjob. Master. Very comfortable for you.”

Customers are politely referred to as Masters.

“Little Jin, you are so desperate. Haven’t you had enough dicks to suck last night? Let me have this customer, will you? O-Master. Me. Good blowjob. Me horny. So horny.”

“Hey Jie-jie (old sister), talking about me being desperate? Looks like you are more desperate than me since you haven’t had a customer in the last two days. With your looks you would be standing in the street flashing your pussy at strangers and still no one will be wanting you. Ha! Me. Master. Me.”

“Eh! Bitch. O-Master. Me cheap. Me full service. No condom. Bareback. O-Master.”

“Jie-jie, you might as well be offering yourself for free. Me. No condom also. Master. Me. Shaved pussy. Master. I show you now. Master.”

“Why don’t you go out in public completely naked and beg for people to fuck you already? You desperate little slut. O-master. Please. Me. Me horny. Me so horny. O-master. Big dick. Please.”

Even though they were all prostitutes, they looked down on and ridiculed each other mercilessly. And this was just a very typical conversation that they would have between themselves. Sometimes argument would even lead to them physically assaulting each other.

Many of them were my sister’s former colleagues and acquaintances from Weihaiwei. They arrived Japan on tourist visas and, once they were here, they would start working while simultaneously be on the look-out for potential Japanese men to marry. Many ended up marrying their customers. In about just six months after launching the brothel, there would be hundreds of Chinese girls waiting for customers on every given night and they offered unlimited varsities of sex as long as you had the money to pay for it.

The business operated solely based on referral basis. And for every newly referred customer, the first time was completely free, provided that you must have had a referral from another customer. The guarantee was that, there was no way you would only visit once. When I told this to my white American boyfriend, he was amazed and extremely tempted and even started to beg me to introduce him to the place. Unfortunately, the business was only open to Japanese customers and do not admit foreigners, not even Chinese, despite the fact that the prostitutes themselves were Chinese. When he asked me why, the best explanation I could think of was “It was just because they were Japanese. It has something to do with the national character of the Japanese. They are different in that you can do it with them in this way and trust that they would not take advantage of you or try to exploit it for their own selfish interest. They have to be Japanese for this business practice to work.”

Sweet, gay, innocent moments to all appearance, and yet moments in which there gathers the unsuspected possibility of disaster, which makes the amorous life the most precarious of all, that in which the unpredictable rain of sulphur and brimstone falls after the most radiant moments, whereupon, without having the heart or the will to draw a lesson from our misfortune, we set to work at once to rebuild upon the slopes of the crater from which nothing but catastrophe can emerge. I was as carefree as those who imagine their happiness will last. It is precisely because this tenderness has been necessary to give birth to pain—

I woke up three days later in the hospital with my mother besides my bed.

It was during this period that I reflected upon all that had happened since our family moved to Japan. The pleasure, so long lost, of being with him was intoxicating, and the suffering, from the pleasure of our love, was inseparable; like a pitiless eagle whose beak was rending my heart, and in whose claws my tortured mind was unable to escape for even an instant, love had driven me to madness.

I reflected with shame and a creepy bitter sweetness upon the time he “interrogated” me for my alleged sexual intransigence prior to becoming his girlfriend. He had me sit in a wooden chair, and placed a lamp that was shining directly into my face, while a video-recorder was placed on a table opposite of me documenting everything I said. He was wearing a black police uniform and waving a stick in his hand like it was a sword, then, he asked me “regarding your your ex-boyfriend, the Chinese guy,” he sneered when he said it, “to whom you lost your virginity, how big was his penis? Remember, if you lie to me, you will swear, all your family will die a miserable death. Do you understand?”

And he would continue: “Did you engage in oral sex with him?” And, “in what sex position did he fuck you? You must be completely honest with me or I will shove this stick in your asshole, you Chinese whore.” And, “Look at the camera, and tell everyone that will be watching this, how wet were you when you lost your virginity to your little Chinese ex?”

The interrogation went on and on and I became agitated and horrified with pain at his jealousy at an unknown person—I felt like I was watching an eagle dipping its beak into the bright blood of its prey as I sat there, motionless, being forced to confess to my sins.

After the “interrogation” he would tied me up and have sex with me and he would say things like “My Japanese cock is so much bigger than your little Chinese ex, isn’t it?” My whole body went limp like a wounded deer accepting surrender while his penis was pumping in and out of me. “If you ever lie to me I will teach you the language of my whip.”

“Silly child, why would you do such a foolish thing? The light is right at the end of the tunnel. Do you not remember all the suffering we have already gone through while we were trying to escape from China? There are no hurdles that we cannot overcome now.” The soft and compassionate voice of my mother interrupted the incessant torment of my recollection and my cheeks were refreshed by new streaks of tears.

Many years later, after we emigrated from Japan to America, my mother told me that on the night before my second suicide attempt she had a nightmare, and she dreamed seeing me asleep in my bed, and blood was running out of my body like rivers, and it poured onto the floor, slithered across the living room, the hallway, crept underneath the door and like a flood roared through the streets in broad daylight. Then she woke up and followed the trails of blood to find me laying unconscious on my bed, just as in her nightmare.


Chinese Woman becomes a Prostitute to save her husband, ends up getting herself killed.

True Crime Documentary

Chinese Woman becomes a Prostitute to save her husband, ends up getting herself killed.

original source in Chinese:

During one of her many, and frequent arguments with her wimpish Chinese husband, she wailed and screamed that she would sell one of her kidneys so they would have money and not to live this egregious life of abject poverty and humiliating captivity.

In order to make money, according to her friends, she never refused any customer and often did everything to please them just for some extra cash. And yet, contrary to what the reader might think, she did not receive any gratitude for her hard work; she and her husband frequently bickered, and constantly fought, violently, viciously, and eventually, fatally. In fact, her husband had become involved romantically and sexually with one of her coworkers, another Chinese prostitute, and his justification was that, “Since you are having sex with many strangers every night, what’s with me having sex with one of your coworkers?”

During one of their many, many vicious arguments, she started to lose control and yelled at him with his real name, the name associated with a murder case seven years ago; and, frightened, and losing his own mind, he choked her and did not let go until she stopped breathing. Afterward, in order to cover up his crime, he had cut off her entire face so the police would not be able to recognize her.

The murder that had happened seven years ago was the reason she fell in love with her husband. She was 18 years old at the time, and, due to her beauty, she was harassed by several gangsters. The man who was to become her husband saw what was happening, and decided to get involved. During the ensuing fracas, he used a knife and stabbed one of the gangsters to death.

They fled and, enamored by his heroism, she lost her virginity to him. Together they started a life on the run, using aliases, hiding from broad daylight and only coming out to scavenge for money and food at night. Like rats they lived at the very bottom of the brutal and inhumane Chinese society, frightened, ostracized, estranged from home.

They have a daughter together, and that daughter was sent back to live with her grandparents. Her husband has another son with her coworker, and it was his relationship with her coworker that pushed her to the edge.

She became fiercely jealous of his womanizing, and his betrayal. He became extremely resentful of her being a prostitute. “Your cunt has been used by so many strangers. Your mouth reeks of cum. You cum slut. You cum dump. You disgusting whore.”

She had many opportunities to leave him. She was not a murderer. At most, she was complicit in his crime. And because of her extraordinary beauty, she had been offered to become the wife of many of her customers, and many times, even foreign men from western countries offered to take her out of China, and yet she refused. “So you prefer to live like a sex slave?” They asked her, and she nodded, for love. She only thought of her husband when customers gnarled her breasts with their teeth, and stretched her cunt which once, she promised, only belonged to her husband.

“Many of the foreign men have very large penises. Having sex with them feels like losing my virginity every time.” She complained. “My husband won’t even touch me anymore. He says my vagina is too loose. He only has sex with Feng (her coworker with whom her husband has a son). But I need the money. My husband needs the money. He killed a man for me. My love for him is forever. The only way I will leave him is if he kill me.”


Some men can only dream, and some men pursue their dreams.

Mr. Zau (赵富强) was such a man who had a dream and pursued what he dreamed.

Popularly known as the “Little Red House”, derived from the classic Chinese novel Chamber of Red Dreams, the apartment complex–otherwise ordinary and without remarkable distinctions from the exterior–situated at Shang Hai Shi, Yang Pu Qu–had over the course of 20 years housed over 100 different young Chinese females, all living as the personal sex slaves to Mr. Zau.

They were also coerced to have sex with Mr. Zau’s customers, friends, and high ranking officials of the Chinese Communist Party. And Mr. Zau had pocketed all the money they had earned.

Any woman who dared to rebel, disobey or protest were dealt with threats, violence, corporal punishment and unlawful imprisonment inside his self-made cells in the otherwise exorbitantly decorated interior of the Little Red House. In one form of punishment,the female slaves were tattooed with the words “Personal Use by Mr. Zau” above their vaginal openings.

In 2000, Mr. Zau was still a poor broke man with an ordinary job, and an ordinary life. But in 2017, he became one of the most powerful man in Shanghai and had accumulated a wealth over 1 billion in RMB.

Not only did he coerce his sex slaves into prostitution alone, but he also started business in selling their eggs. Many of them were given fertilization shots to produce as many eggs as possible, which he then sold on the black market. One sex slave had been coerced to have as many as ten such shots in the course of 20 days. Her belly became bloated and consequently became infertile due to complications.

And though many of those sex slaves had chances to escape, nearly all of them, according to the Chinese source, were “brainwashed” and actually enjoyed the lifestyle that Mr. Zau had provided for them. Three of them were nominally married to Mr. Zau and a dozen more had given birth to Mr. Zau’s children, and to this day they love their children dearly, even after Mr. Zau’s death sentence in 2020.

He lived the life of an emperor. And the women whom he kept as his sex slaves loved him.

A woman doesn’t care about your race, your height, or your looks, but only your power. If you are a man with a vision, and the will to implement your vision, then you ought to have no compunction in regard to the weak masses, or of being viewed by the larger society as “evil”, “immoral”, “bad”, or “criminal”, and then you can conquer any woman. Think of all the white women who date black criminals. Think of all the women who write love letters to murderers and rapists. Think of all the Japanese schoolgirls professing their love to Japanese soldiers after the conquest of Nanking. Think of Genghis Khan and all his descendants today. What is evil? Weakness is evil. What is good? Anything that increases your power is good.


Dumplings made of human flesh

“… one lives a super-normal life, like the Chinese. That is to say, one is unnaturally gay, unnaturally healthy, unnaturally indifferent. The tragic sense is gone; one lives like a flower, a rock, a tree, one with Nature and against Nature at the same time. If your best friend dies you don’t even bother to go to the funeral; if a man is run down by a street car right before your eyes you keep on walking just as though nothing had happened; if a war breaks out you let your friends go to the front but you yourself take no interest in the slaughter. So on and so on.”

~ Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

It is said that there is something inherent in the nature of the Chinese, the cold, pathological indifference to the suffering of their fellow human beings, their own compatriots, even their own neighbors as long as whatever is happening does not concern themselves or their immediate family members. Western observers only get glimpses of it and mention it in passing, sporadically in their writings, but it is the Chinese themselves who are the most virulent critics of their own salient national trait. Xu Lun, the leading figure of modern Chinese thought, famously described this sociopathic apathy of the Chinese as the tradition of cannibalism, a result of rigid, deep-rooted and cannibalistic Confucianism.

Whatever the merits of Xu Lun’s remark might be, there are indeed many instances of cannibalism throughout Chinese history, and many on such large scale that it’s difficult for a westerner to fathom its scale.

During the period of five dynasties and ten nations (五代十国), it is said that one particular nation state in north-east China captured 10,000 concubines from the Sima royalty’s palace to be sold as sex slaves, and as the victorious army marched back to its northern capital, food shortage became a serious problem, and the soldiers began eating those concubines. Once the army had returned to its capital, only 5,000 concubines were still alive. The rest were all eaten by soldiers.

In north-western region of China during the same period, a nation state famously kept “two-legged sheep” for its army. “Two-legged sheep” were human females captured during war. When there was no battle to be fought, the soldiers ravished those females for pleasure to boost their morale, and when they became hungry, they cooked them for food.

During the interregnum between Ming and Qing dynasty, several warlords ruled China, and one particular man, by the name of Zhang Xianzhong, was legendary for his level of cruelty, even by Chinese standards. He kept thousands of concubines in his palace. They were not allowed to wear anything to cover their genitals and walked around in his palace half-naked, with beautiful clothing on the upper half of their bodies, and completely naked below the waist. This was to ensure that whenever Zhang was in the mood, he would have unimpeded access to their vagina. After he had sex with one of his many concubines, he sliced off her breasts and vagina, cooked and ate them.

As I lay on my bed and listened to countless stories of cruelty beyond the limits of human imagination narrated coldly, objectively by historians, I felt my limbs numb and I was unable to move, partially paralyzed by fear, partially stunned by those incredulous historical records. Surely, even if those things were made up, who would have the imagination to make those stuffs up? So they must have been real!

There were many, many more: such as how, after capturing a city, Zhang would gather all the females in the city, cut off their breasts, vagina, and feet, and pile them into different piles, so there would be several small mounds made of human parts. Then he would bring his favorite concubine over and let her observe with him. When she said, “it was so pretty, specially those women’s dainty feet.” Zhang said, “but your feet are the prettiest,” and proceeded to cut off her own feet and placed them on top of the mound made of human feet. Those human parts all became Zhang’s troops’ food ration.

Speaking of cannibalism, one cannot possibly omit the story from Chinese classic literature Outlaws of the Marsh, a story known to all ethnic Chinese, in China, within the greater China region, and in overseas Chinese communities. A restaurant hotel uses human flesh to make dumplings for travelers. Wusong, the main protagonist of the story, finds a human nail inside the dumpling.

As always, fiction is merely an imitation of real life. There has been at least ten reported cases of restaurants using human flesh in modern China since 1960. The problem is, CCP (the Chinese Communist Party) refuses to release details on any of the cases, so what we are left with are merely urban legends, rumors, hearsays, and no real accountable sources to back up any of the stories.

One account of cannibalism verified and reported in the western hemisphere that I know of is by Nicholas Kristof of the New York Times. According to a Japanese soldier stationed in Manchuria during World War II, there was a Chinese street peddler who sold human flesh as pork. “I brought some pork from this Chinese street peddler and ate it. Then someone told me it was actually human flesh. I vomited nonstop for an entire day,” according to Nicholas Kristof’s recount of the Japanese soldier’s recount of the event.

For what is worth, according to stories posted on the internet, allegedly a dumpling restaurant in Beijing served human flesh in 1982.

The story goes as follows:

A customer has an argument with the restaurant owner. The owner accidentally kills the man. Without any place to hide the corpse, the owner decides to butcher the remains, slices all the flesh off its bones, mixes them in with pork to use as fillings for his dumplings. The taste of human flesh turns out to be so delicious that the restaurant business is booming. Many customers especially likes the taste of those fresh, sweet-tasting meat inside the dumplings. “Not as greasy as the other pork.” “More tender than regular pork.” “I don’t know what kind of meat you are putting in those dumplings, but it’s so damn good!” The customers allegedly tells the restaurant owner. Because the taste of human flesh is apparently so delicious the owner of the restaurant goes on to kill several more people to make his human-fleshed dumplings, including a husband and wife from Xian, and a factory worker from the outskirt of Beijing. Eventually a medically doctor eats his dumplings and felt something odd. “Why does it smell like dead people?” The medical doctor allegedly says to a neighbor. According to the story, because the doctor deals with corpses all the time, he is able to detect the distinct smell of human corpse that no other people is able to detect. The doctor calls the police, and the police raids the restaurants and finds a human leg in the freezer.

Another restaurant that used human flesh for dumpling fillings allegedly took place in Chifeng, inner Mongolia, 1988. A couple’s daughter died and was about to be cremated. Before cremation, the mother accidentally touched her daughter’s remains inside the body bag, and felt it was empty. She felt weird and asked the staff to open the bag for her to see her daughter’s remains one more time and was shocked to find out that someone had sawed off her daughter’s legs. She called the police. After investigation, the police discovered that the staff in the funeral home had sold her daughter’s legs to a local restaurant. The restaurant, one of the oldest and most well-known in all of Chifeng, coincidentally, also sells dumplings, and was famous especially for its dumplings. Further investigation revealed that the restaurant owner had been buying human flesh from the staff of the funeral home and using them as dumpling fillings for over seven years.

1960, Tianjin: A local restaurant was famous for its dumplings. The owner was Mr. Wang, a middle-aged bachelor. A perpetual loner, he came to Tianjin and lived in a single apartment by myself, without any relatives in the city. According to Mr. Wang, he had a wife before but his wife ran off with another man but “I feel content living by myself now.”

Everyday he started to made dumplings at four in the morning, begun to sell his dumplings by six, and by eight o’clock, all his dumplings would be sold out. People would fight over one another to buy his dumplings. Everyday he only made 500 dumplings, never hired any helper, and never had any apprentice. People thought his secret recipe was handed to him by his ancestors and he had no intention to let anyone else outside to know.

One day a woman came to the police station, complaining that after eating Mr. Wang’s dumplings, her son nearly choked to death with a small fragment of a bone inside the dumplings. The police dismissed the woman, merely said that the staff from the sanitation department would give Mr. Wang a warning. An elderly police officer took over the bone and said the bone looked weird. “It doesn’t look like an animal bone.” At his insistence, the bone was taken for forensic examination and when the result came back, the whole police department dropped its jaw to the flower.

The bone turned out to be the fragment of a human toe bone.

At Mr. Wang’s place, the police unearthed a basement filled with the remains belonging to seven different people. According to confession, Mr. Wang killed beggars who came to his house begging for food, then dismembered their bodies and used their flesh to make dumplings. He said he has also eaten his own dumplings made of human flesh, and he didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary. “Besides, nobody ever got sick from eating my dumplings, and I’ve been using human flesh to make my dumplings for over two years.”

Nanjing beauty turned into KFC

September 2014

Nanjing, the provincial capital of Jiangsu province, China, the ancient capital to six different dynasties, witness to countless historical atrocities, is today one of the largest city in Southern China, on par in terms of GDP to Suzhou, Hangzhou, and Shanghai.

Eerily similar to our story about Dao Aiching, our story begins with a beautiful young female being carved into many pieces …

At Nanjing’s famous Toulejia Food Street, cleaning staff noticed something strange. Over a period of three consecutive days, enormous amount of cooked meat was discarded in the industrial-sized common garbage dump. Given that the location was a food street, clustered by dozens of restaurants, many of which would throw out hundreds of pounds of processed food in a single day, strange it may be, but still within bounds of reason.

However, within the cleaning staff was Mr. Gao, a Vietnam war veteran.

According to Mr. Gao:”I have seen thousands of corpses. I have seen people being hacked, burned, and maimed. And when I saw the meat inside the bag, I just knew it was human.”

The large plastic garbage bag containing the cooked meat had loose seams and a piece of it fell out out of the bag. It was a large chunk of well-cooked meat, with ketchup smeared all over the smooth surface. As Mr. Gao picked it up and was about to toss it back into the bag, he paused and said to the other staff: ”What kind of meat is it? It’s not chicken. It’s not pork. It looks like a human thigh.”

As the realization shocked Mr. Gao, he immediately called the police.

The police arrived within a few minutes and confirmed that they were indeed human flesh.

In total, police recovered two dozen garbage bags all filled with hundred pieces of human flesh. Forensic examination indicated that flesh has not only been cooked, but also frozen prior to being cooked, and might have been frozen and cooked, frozen again, and then cooked again.

“The entire process would have taken at least ten days,” according to the police report.

Putting the pieces together, forensic investigators identified the remains of a young female in her early twenties. No human head was recovered. Her body was white and smooth. Her breasts were buxom and her nipples perky. Her hips were wide and rotund.

The perpetrator seemed to have no knowledge of human anatomy. Much of the cutting was done by brute force with no particular skill.

Surveillance camera revealed a person in dark clothing, wearing a baseball cap and a mask over his face, throwing those plastic bags at the garbage dump.

There was one piece of fingerprint on the rope tying the bag, but a search for the fingerprint returned no result, indicating the perpetrator did not have any prior criminal history.

The police focused on the fact that remains had been frozen, and searched for all transactions involving freezers. However, given the mega-city status of Nanjing, it was impossible to trace every single buyer of freezers over a period of several months. It lead to nowhere.

Particularly puzzling was the fact that no human head was recovered anywhere.

And who is the young female? No one reported any young woman missing that fitted the description of the victim.

The case became cold for two years.

October 2016, a couple in their late forties came to Nanjing from Yanchengshi, the rural area of Jiangsu, and reported that their daughter, Hee Chingching, has been missing for two years. After identification, the remains indeed matched that of Hee Chingqing. At the time of her death, Ching was 20 years old, and was working in Nanjing as a prostitute in an unamed high-end KTV club.

According to the mother, Ching has stopped called home two years ago, and instead would send a few text messages stating that either she wanted to move to a different city or she had no mood to talk. When the couple tried to call their daughter, her phone would either be deactivated or no one would answer. The father said that “Ching has always been a very stubborn child. She never listened to us, and did whatever she wanted.”

During the two years, Ching’s parents continued to make efforts to contact Ching, but she never responded, only sending text messages once in a while. Fearing some ill-foreboding, the parents traveled to Nanjing to look for her. In Ching’s apartment, the parents found that while all her furnitures were still inside the room, her expensive jewelries, bank cards, phone, and laptop were all missing. At the time they still thought that their daughter was traveling or “eloped” with someone.

The father said, “When Ching came home, she wore very revealing luxury-brand clothes and had all kinds of jewelries and fancy stuffs, so we sort of knew what kind of job she did in Nanjing. I forbade her to go back to Nanjing, but she wouldn’t listen. She said she will go back to Nanjing even if I break her legs. We have no control over her.”

As early as January 2015, the couple had tried to report their daughter’s missing to the police, but rural province is very different compared to big cities such as Nanjing. The police there are very lax and won’t even make a police report. “If you make a police report, then you have to solve the crime. So they often talk you out of making police reports.” The father said, “They told me because my daughter was still sending me text messages, so she was not missing. We had to wait for two years before we can officially declare her to be missing.”

For more than a year, the middled-aged couple had been living in Nanjing searching for their daughter.

Due to the two year gap, police investigation became very difficult. Surveillance do not keep record for two years. Also trying to reach Ching’s former friends have now become difficult. Since she worked in high-end KTV clubs, most of her associates were either fellow prostitutes or johns, many of whom are very shy around the police, to say the least.

Eventually, they were able to track down a former prostitute-friend of Ching who lead the police to investigate Mr. Chiao, a senior level industrial engineer working in a large state-owned enterprise.

Mr. Chiao came from a well-educated family. Both his parents are college professors. Mr. Chiao is mild-mannered, slightly chubby, and spoke in a soft and submissive voice. Initially the police was suspicious whether he was indeed the murderer.

A lengthy confession and the gathering of material evidence sealed the case airtight.

After becoming a senior-level industrial engineer, Mr. Chiao was frequently invited to high-end KTV clubs by wealthy clients and he became acquainted with Ms. Hee Chingching. Enamored by her beauty, Mr. Chiao kept her as his concubine, secluded her in a luxury apartment in the wealthiest district of Nanjing for his own enjoyment. However, at the time Mr. Chiao is already married and has a daughter. Ms. Hee not only demanded large sums of money from Mr. Chiao but eventually started to demand that he divorce his current wife and marry her instead. Whenever she was not getting what she wanted, she threw tantrums and threatened to reveal their affairs to his wife and parents. Mr. Chiao is by nature docile, submissive, and cowardly, and caved in to her every demand but, as her demand became more and more outrageous, Mr. Chiao reached a tipping point. One night, after a particular grisly fight between the two, Mr. Chiao strangled Ms. Hee.

He kept her remains inside the bathroom, brought a freezer from a local store, had it delivered to her apartment. The delivery man was inside the living room while Ms. Hee’s corpse was in the bathroom. After the delivery man left Hee’s apartment Mr. Chiao dragged her corpse out of the bathroom and stuffed it inside the freezer and then went and brought a set of butcher knives and several large pots in preparation to dispose the body by cooking her. However, realizing that the smell of cooking human flesh might be too strong and invite suspicions from neighbors, he decided to do it at a different location. He rented a vacation house in a remote country area outside of Nanjing metro area and had the freezer along with Ms. He’s corpse inside delivered there via a rental mini-van. Then he started the process of cooking her. He dismembered her in a total of two hundred small pieces. Cooked each piece for over a day. Then fried. As he was cooking her flesh, he added in soy sauce, and ketchup, and other ingredients to make it appear like KFC-styled chicken meat. The entire process took him fifteen days to complete. Then he had her remains shipped back to her apartment, inside the same freezer, via the same rental mini-van. And later dumped her remains in separate garbage bags in the nearby Toulejia Food Street.

Regarding the missing head.

Mr. Chiao testifies that he had boiled Ms. Hee’s head until nothing was left except for the skull and her brain. He then carefully took her brain mass out of the skull, dumped it into the sewer, and locked the human skull in a safe, along with her ID, bank cards, and clothes. The safe, whose password is only known to Mr. Chiao, was then given to a work-associate. Mr. Chiao told the work-associate that it contained some very important work-related documents and cannot be opened without his permission.

He later sold the freezer that was used to store Ms. Hee Chingching’s remains to a local restaurant at the Toulejia Food Street.

Nanjing University, China, January 1996: freshman college student Dao Aiching was found carved into 2,000 small pieces. Her remains cooked, neatly stacked in plastic bags and scattered around the city of Nanjing.

Nanjing University, China, January 1996: freshman college student Dao Aiching was found carved into 2,000 small pieces. Her remains cooked, neatly stacked in plastic bags and scattered around the city of Nanjing.

Reality is always stranger than fiction.

Due to insomnia, I have been listening to some podcasts to help me fall asleep, and one particular podcast, a documentary of true crimes that happen in China, turned out to be so interesting, so thrilling, so gruesome that it had kept me awake for entire nights.

This story, that of Dao Aiching, is one of the hundreds of stories that I have listened to.

There are even more interesting ones and when I have time I will translate the best ones into English and share them with my western audience. My last post, pear garden’s underground palace, was a literal translation of two separate true crime stories reported in China.

It is said that China only reports solved crimes. It is very rare that you get an unsolved crime, such as this one about Dao Aiching, reported and the only reason that it was reported at all was because it was so extremely gruesome it was nearly impossible to cover it up.

There are many, many stories about people going missing and years later their corpses were found stuffed in freezers, their remains cooked and eaten.

Those murders that happen in China, the forbidden East—so mysterious, so extremely cruel, and on such massive scales the most horrifying western thrillers written by the most creative writers of the Occident pale in comparison.

A couple and their children sleep next to a small room with a freezer locked with chains and inside hides the remains of a corpse, for four years. A man who kills his wife and keeps her remains for … 11 years. A man who has been “hunting”, butchering, and eating his victims for 20 years, who is frequently seen pushing a cart with mysterious cargo in the middle of the night, strolling his neighborhood like a ghost. A woman who has poisoned to death her brother-in-law’s three children, her sister-in-law’s four children and their livestock—dozens of sheep, hogs, and ox, over a period of ten years. A rapist who sliced off the genitals of women after he rapes them and got away with it for five years. Each story seems more unbelievable than the next. Each story seems to undo the next for its level of depravity, its descent into unimaginable terror.

This particular case that I write about now happened on January 19th, 1996. It took place in Nanjing, the provincial capital of Jiangsu, an area known to produce the most beautiful women in all of China.

The victim was Nanjing University’s freshman student Dao Aiching.

Ten days after she went missing, her body was found carved into 2,000 plus pieces, cooked, neatly stacked into medium-sized plastic bags and scattered around the neighborhoods near Nanjing University. The first report of discovery was made by a middle-aged housewife who claimed to see a black plastic bag in the snow outside of her house. When she picked it up, she thought she saw chopped pork meat inside. She went home to take the meat out and discovered severed human fingers hidden under the thick layers of meat. After nearly passing out, she called the police. And she was so agitated that she was not able to speak coherently for several hours.

Another location of discovery was in a garbage dump. Cleaning personnel discovered a bag full of cooked meat discarded near Huajiao road. Human breasts were discovered in the bag.

The police overseeing the case said that they have seen cases involving dismemberment, but dismemberment of more than 2,000 pieces was a first since the end of World War II.

Because the victim’s body has been cooked, there was little evidence of forensic value to use for the detectives. Even though over thousands of police were involved in the case, to this day, it remained unsolved.

The murderer—whoever he or she or they is or are—has never been caught and roams freely on the surface of earth.

According to what I can recollect in the podcast, they said the murderer was most likely to be either a doctor, a cop, or a medical scientist. “No ordinary human has the ability to carry out such intricate level of dismemberment, under the extreme duress of killing another human being. The murderer has some extraordinary psychology. All the flesh was meticulously severed, cooked, and neatly stacked, like sushi platters. He must have had very competent knowledge of human anatomy and possibly had experience dissecting human corpses.”

The police investigated all the people in this respect but to no avail. Aiching was a peasant girl from rural province of Jiangsu. She has never had any romantic relationship, and has just been in Nanjing for less than a year. It was unlikely to be a crime of passion. So, perhaps, it was random. But her friends had said that she was a very shy girl who never talked to strangers. So it was must be someone she knew. Maybe a professor. Or a classmate. The person must be very gentle-looking and well-educated in appearance in order to gain her trust.

Three roommates of Aiching were asked to identify her corpse, but the police was hesitant. “It’s difficult even for a trained professional to look at the body and not want to vomit. How can those 19 year old girls look at it?” One of them became so shook up even before going into the morgue and refused. Another stopped at the entrance. Only one was brave enough to go in. The grisly sight was so overwhelming she saw only a tiny bit before she rushed out and started to throw up.

After some research on the internet, there is actually one account in which the author claims that the case actually had been solved just within three weeks of initial discovery. The perpetrators were a couple who worked as doctors and medics in the Chinese military PLA (People’s Liberation Army). They in fact had confessed to killing Dao Aiching. But the police were unable to find any material evidence form a complete chain of evidence to prove their case in court. The district attorney therefore refused to prosecute due to lack of evidence. Eventually the couple was released from jail.

The author further claims that the couple in fact had connections to high ranking officials within the PLA and that was the real reason they were never prosecuted. Within a year after they were released, the couple fled to the United States and never returned.

Source and reference: [graphic warning]

google 南京大学碎尸案

The Pear Garden’s Underground Palace 梨園の地下宮殿

Many years later, after the truth about his atrocities surfaced and became known to the wider public, the reporter, working for the Japanese national newspaper wrote down the following sensational subtitle: “He kidnapped women from China and Korea, turned them into sex slaves in his underground palace. Like an imperial emperor, he entertained by torturing, maiming and mutilating his victims. When he got bored, he killed them.”


translated from Japanese

On April 23rd, after being sentenced to death, Mizuno Ken was executed in the Fukuoka’s Sawara-ku’s northeast district. With a crisp gun-shot sound reverberating through the clear, fresh air of the bright noon, Mr. Mizuno ended his bloodthirsty criminal life, but his atrocities still lingered like a dark cloud that refused to dissipate, especially so for the local Chinese women who had come to Japan to work and study. Whenever they were reminded of the mournful ghosts floating in the pear garden, their hair bristled up and their bodies trembled uncontrollably.

Above the pear garden, over the quiet night sky, a young woman’s pleading shot across the air, “Please save me. I need to go to school.”

Mizuno Ken was the owner of the largest pear garden in the Fukuoka prefecture, a well known businessman with many connections in the trade of agricultural export to China, Korea, and Taiwan. Six years ago, on a shimmering, aestival day of March—just the season when pear flowers blossomed, sitting in front of his pear garden—thousands of pear trees had the entire place covered with luscious green leaves—as the snow-white pear flowers floated whiffs of fragrance in the air, Mr. Mizuno pondered the implementation of an evil scheme.

Spending over the span of a year, with elaborate planning and intricate design, he built a secret underground palace in his own pear garden. From the outside looking in, it was a wooden shack, plain, simple and commonplace. Nothing special, you would say if you saw it. However, the interior was complex, maze-like, and spacious. The underground palace had two structures. The shack above ground served as a cover-up, but once you remove the wooden plank covering one of the corners in the shack, you would see an opening, and following the long, serpentine path spiraling downward, you would be led to the menacing underground chamber.

Once inside, you would see an upholstered king-sized bed with mahogany on one side, a throne made with golden frame and beige velvet right in the center. A few other household items all neatly displayed on the other side of the wall: the most distinctive ones being knives, hem ropes, industrial grade duct tapes, a pair of heavy-duty scissors, a steel-grip plier, and a forged iron fire tong.

Anyone who entered this underground chamber never came out alive.

Mr. Mizuno called this secret location his “梨園の地下宮殿”, (the pear garden’s underground palace).

“The palace has been built, the only thing missing are beautiful, young women.” Darkness, like a furnace of foul reeking smoke, filled the chamber. Mr. Mizuno sat on his throne and pondered, “If only I could get a few beautiful young women to accompany me inside my palace, how wonderful that would be! There will be delicious fruits during the day, and voluptuous, sensual females to play with at night. This is the heavenly paradise that Mizuno Ken pursues.”

Chen Xiao Jing was Mr. Mizuno’s first prey. At the time she was only 18 years old, immigrated to Japan with her mother from northeast China when she was ten. Her face was a perfect oval, white and smooth like porcelain, and long silky black hair fell to her soft creamy shoulders. Her virginal innocence, angelic purity, and dainty feet and delicate hands made Mizuno dying with lust the first time he saw her.

On March 22nd, 1998, as Mr. Mizuno was coming from the Hakata rail station he bumped into Chen Xiao Jing who was accompanied by three other Chinese girls. He walked up to Jing. After greeting her, he said: “The flowers in my pear garden are very beautiful. There’s a lot of small butterflies. And bees. Glow-worms at night. Oh what a wonderful sight! Do you want to see?”

Jing said, “I want to see,” and threw her book-pack to her friends and came to Mr. Mizuno’s pear garden. Seeing she had been completely isolated from her friends, Mr. Mizuno revealed a lascivious, evil grin that bared his carious teeth. He stripped Jing naked and pushed her into the shack, threatening her that: “If you scream, I will kill you.”

Chen Xiao Jing was 5 feet 2 and weighed 90 pounds; Mizuno Ken was 6 feet tall and 200 pounds. Years of farm work made him strong and muscle-bound.

Like a starved beast tormented by sharp pangs of hunger, Mr. Mizuno raped Jing over and over again, quenching his dreadful, evil thirst. After the fourth time of ejaculating inside her vaginally, he groped all over Jing’s body with his hands—rubbing her breasts, fingering her vaginal opening until he became hard again—and penetrated her anally and ejaculated, this time directly into her rectum. Until he could no longer maintain erection, he proudly stood over Jing’s puny body and proclaimed: “Now you will belong to me forever.”

After the repeated rape, he shoved a gag—consisting of two steel claw hooks that artificially held the victim’s mouth in an open position—into Jing’s mouth so she could not speak. Then he used the hem ropes to tie her hands and feet together behind her back, so she was in a hogtied position. He put her into a large burlap sack, and ditched her into a hole that was dug up previously using a shovel. With a slab of concrete to cover the hole, he left and waited to use her for the next installment of rape.

Mr. Mizuno returned home, walked around his neighborhood, and did not notice anything unusual. He felt his heart stopped pounding so violently.

“Initially, my heartbeat was driving me crazy. My whole body was shaking. I was sweating so much. The front and back of my shirt were all soaking wet. I was looking at myself from the outside. An out of body experience. Jing was my first victim. I will never be able to forget her.” Mizuno Ken said according to police report.

Later that night, Mr. Mizuno returned to the pear garden, dug her out of the hole, removed the burlap bag so that she was half-sitting inside it. Taking off her gag—while caressing her naked body with one hand and using another hand to embrace her into his massive chest, he said to her, looking into her large, round, tearful eyes: “If you obey me, I will let you go.”

Jing was wrapped and confounded in mind-numbing fears. She stared pleadingly at Mr. Mizuno and nodded. Her pitiful state of weakness and submission provoked his bestial lust again and he inflicted on her young and poor flesh another round of brutal rape that lasted for five hours. During the process he bit into her flesh with his bare teeth. Her breasts, buttocks, and inner thighs were covered with bloody teeth marks. As he penetrated her both vaginally and anally, he lifted her body upward and then slammed her against the ground and the violent impact caused Jing to break her rib bones. There was fracture in her left arm. Her wrists and ankles were bleeding from laseration.

After the rape, once again, Jing pleaded with her abuser: “Please let me go. My homeworks are not finished yet. I need to go to school. Please let me go.”

Grinning, Mr. Mizuno said, “Forget about going home. The underground palace will be your home from now on, and your purpose in life hereafter will be to serve me, satisfying me in any way I desire. You are from now on my sex slave.”

He wrapped several layers of industrial grade duct tape around her eyes and mouth, only leaving her nose for breathing. Putting her back inside the burlap sack, he ditched her into the hole for the second time and put the concrete slab back in place.

The night—hateful, vaporous, foggy—was silent to the extreme, like a guilty burglar scared to reveal his crime. Suddenly, the ear-piercing siren could be heard. There were people shouting Chen Xiao Jing’s name. Groups of people holding flashlights were looking for her. Mizuno Ken also joined them. They went and searched, ran and cried, furious and begged, frustrated and mourned, angered and stomped their feet in the ground, until the morn, in russet mantle clad, walked over the dew of yonder high eastward hill.

The next day, around 9 A.M., Mr. Mizuno went over to his pear garden, dug Jing out of the hole, and gently tapped her, while shouting, “My sweet angel. My child.” His purpose was to wake her so he could molest and rape her again, but Jing never opened her eyes again. There were only streaks of tears crisscrossing her round and smooth cheeks that radiated with hatred over the bright sun. Hastily, Mr. Mizuno buried her corpse under his pear tree.

Ever since, the pear garden was covered by the shadows of something mysterious and terrifying.

Getting on the Death Table. Eager and Willing to leave the living behind.” The words Mizuno Ken carved on the stone spirit tablet for every woman he killed. Were they really so eager and so willing to leave the living behind?

The hot afternoon of a bright summer day. The glorious sun, scorching the earth with heat. The pear garden, filled with the buzzing of cicada. Beneath the ground, from the underground palace, stealthily, faintly, one heard the sound of laughter and crying.

Mizuno Ken was sitting on the golden throne in his underground palace while several completely naked, young East Asian females served him. Sometimes he made them sing for him. Sometimes dance. Sometimes massage his back. Sometimes massage his feet. When he was in the mood, he had sex with them. After he vented his lust, those naked females crawled on their hands and knees and begged for mercy. They prostrated before Mr. Mizuno and kissed his feet. And if any of them dared to annoy or disobey Mr. Mizuno, he used corporal punishment to maintain discipline. Light infractions involved whipping, spanking; wearing electric shock collars, handcuffs and ankle cuffs for extended period of time. Heavy infractions involved mutilation, dismembering, disemboweling.

In order to prevent escape, Mr. Mizuno ordered those women to be completely naked both day and night, making them live the most primitive lifestyle. And if he ever got bored with any of them, he killed them one by one, and buried their corpses under the pear trees in his garden, as pear trees’ organic fertilizers. Then he would start to hunt for his new prey. Kidnap them. Enslave them in his underground palace. Train them. Discipline them. Domesticate them.

Police: “Why only Chinese and Korean women?”

Mizuno Ken: “Because it’s easier to kidnap non-Japanese women. The Japanese police would not take lots of time and effort to look for non-Japanese Asian women. After all, many of them are illegally trafficked to Japan anyway. Nobody cares about them. I have seen beautiful Russian women too, but I was afraid white women will cause too much problem. East Asian women are cheap and exchangeable.”

A day in 2001, August, Mr. Mizuno was riding his motorcycle on the countryside road and he saw a gorgeous, young East Asian woman, around 30 years old. Immediately he went back home and changed to his van to start hunting for his prey. This woman was Li Xiao Cui, 29 years old. Due to marital disputes with her husband, she decided to come to Japan looking for work. Mr. Mizuno used the pretext of hiring her for a job successfully seduced her to come to his pear garden’s underground palace. When Cui realized that something was amiss, she started to run. Using a baseball bat, Mr. Mizuno hit her over the head, causing her to become unconscious. He then dragged her into the underground palace, stripped off her clothes, tied her hands and feet. Over the course of one week he raped her 15 times. In order to prevent her from escape, he did not give her any clothes to wear. And if she screamed, he put the gag over her mouth.

Police: ”How long did you keep Li Xiao Cui.”

Mizuno Ken: “I kept her for two weeks.”

“How did you treat her?”

“So, my everyday routine was—come into the palace, have sex with her, and, after I have sex with her, beat her. I beat her until I became aroused again. Have sex with her again. And repeat.”

“Then what happened?””

“Her whole body was covered with bruises. I used a plier to twist her nipples. I loved hearing her scream. I used the same plier to twist her clitoris. I got so thrilled from looking at her pitiful and painful expressions—the way her whole body trembled as soon as I held the plier in her face, the way she cried and begged me to stop—it was so hot. I’m different from other men. I get turned on by the sight of women in pain. After I fucked her vaginally, I fucked her anally. Even as I fucked her I used my leather belt to whip her ass. I used a lit cigarette to burn her nipples and pussy. I felt this calmness and unspeakable comfort and joy. After I cummed in her, I stood up and pissed in her mouth, but she spilled some of the urine on my legs, which made me angry. So I used a fire tong, burned until it’s red hot, and pinched her clitoris. Then it would be about daytime, and I would head for home. The next evening I would come back.”

“Do you ever feel remorse or guilt?”

“Initially, yes, but afterward, the feeling would cease.”

Another time, Cui cursed at him, so to punish her, Mr. Mizuno used a sewing needle and thread to stitch her upper and lower lips together, with a total of 12 stitches shutting her mouth completely. Then, he stitched her vagina shut by sewing her outer labia together, with a total of six stitches.

“I can’t even stop laughing as I remember it. The way she tried to scream as I sewed her vagina shut. She couldn’t open her mouth. She got tears and nose water all over herself.”

Unable to feed or properly urinate, Li Xiao Cui begged and pleaded with her tormentor for release. With brinish pearls dropping from her once bright eyes she mumbled: “Please. Please. I do anything you want.”

So Mr. Mizuno decided to get her anti-inflammatory drugs, hemostatic, and bandage for some simple first-aid. But Mr. Mizuno never stopped tormenting her. Very soon, she became mentally unstable: everyday, naked and shackled, she crawled to and knelt by the toilet that contained her own feces. Morsel by morsel, she chewed and gulped down her own excrement.

The pear garden under the veil of pitch darkness, the shifting kaleidescope of darkness: gentle breeze caressed pear tree leaves to a rattle noise. As if to savor a momentary glimmer of consciousness, a shooting star slid across the sky above the pear garden. Poor Xiao Cui. That night she was raped and tortured by Mr. Mizuno for the very last time. After her mouth, vagina and rectum were all pumped full of Mr. Mizuno’s semen—the seed of monstrous birth brought out of hell itself, he bound her left arm to left foot, right arm to right foot, duct-taped her mouth, and holding a girdling knife—used for pruning off tree barks—sliced off her breasts, vagina, and her thighs, until she stopped breathing. Thereafter, he dragged her out of the secret chamber, a trail of blood like a dreamy rivulet slithered and meandered on the ground, unwinding, curling, strengthening, circling, in irregular patterns toward the exit.

“The Ambrosial joy of power, and victory, I feel when I maim and kill those weak, and inferior Asian women. It’s quite inexplicable. It’s the feeling of heaven. I felt like a god. My pears are also so sweet and delicious because of them, knowing that each bite I took was fostered by the decomposition of their once sweet, fragrant and tortured flesh.”

Like the previous victim, Cui was buried under a random, indistinguishable, nameless pear tree in the pear garden.

Asano-Yang Yuki (Yan-Li) was a voluptuous, young housewife with big, round breasts, a wide hip and upturned buttocks, and a slim dancer-like waist. Her eyes were large and bright; her lips juicy-red. Her face was as clear as morning roses newly washed with dew. She was 26 years old at the time, 5 feet 7, with a sweet, seductive voice that mesmerized men. One night, Mr. Mizuno kidnapped her into the underground palace. He stripped her clothes, and made her sing and dance completely naked to entertain him.

She swung her wide hips from side to side and waltzed to show off her salacious buttocks and shamefully-exposed pussy as she was singing to the tone of popular Japanese love songs. Using her long and slender fingers she massaged her own breasts, squeezed them, lifted them, then shook them. Her sweet, melodious voice reverberated the cold, damp, heinous room filled with death, torture, rape, and slavery. As she stood with her back toward Mr. Mizuno, she slid down and knelt on the floor, spreading her sensual, creamy thighs, and then, pulling her silky, long black hair into a pigtail, she humped the floor, her naked hip bouncing up and down like balloons and her breasts and her pigtail moved synchronously. Her bright red toenails and fingernails appeared brighter under the electric pale lamp. Still on the floor, slowly she turned around to reveal to him her welcoming pussy, and two streaks of tears like two vertical scars cut across her face.

Ken Mizuno: “As I watched her, I thought to myself, if I had not kidnapped her, and enslaved her in my underground palace, I would have been her slave, because her beauty had enthralled me. So I had to do what I had to do. I had to enslave her to free myself from the lust that was burning inside me.”

While she was crying, he was smiling from ear and ear, licking his lips and smacking them together from time to time. As he watched her erotic dance and listened to her love songs touched with the shade of melancholic boughs, he took another big bite into the lewdly over-ripened pear, masticating a big trunk of it in his open mouth.

After he finished eating, like a crazed beast, he used a knife to stab into Yan-Li’s lily-white feet. Blood splattered and flowed, as if her red nail polish became amoebas and multiplied. Then he said: ”From now on, you are my slave. You are to be naked. To serve me. And if you try to escape, I will dismember you. Cut you into five pieces. You will be left with only a limb-less torso, like a pumpkin.”

Yan-Li was so scared that her whole body shook uncontrollably. Her teeth were clacking non-stop. All her wits banished the frail sepulcher of her flesh. Like a shell of her former self, she let him reign freely and wantonly over her, without any resistance.

In the pear garden’s underground palace, she had entered an alternative reality, into a world where there was no longer any morality. No more humanity. No more bounds of law that held the civil society together. Only the most depraved sexual desire of sadism reigned.

“I remember when I was a little boy, I used to vivisect little animals like rabbits, rats, and frogs. And I felt immense joy after doing this. This secret desire that I have carried has been living with me for my entire life. I wanted to withdraw from the outside world so I could live in a world of mine own making, where I am a king, an emperor, a lord, a deity; where I have the freedom to freely torture, rape, maim, kill. I feel so happy. So satisfied. I have lived a life that most people don’t even dare to dream of. Only in their nightmares maybe.”

Police: “Do you have any humanity left in you? Do you not have a wife? Do you not have any children? How could you do this kind of thing?”

“Where will be your bright star if it were not for the darkness? Where is the glory of your god if there is no evil? I simply did something that any man would do when he had completely given a free reign to his desires. I simply am living according to my true nature as a man. I forgo the mask of morality and civil society that enslaves man and inhibits man’s most natural and most rapacious desire. I did nothing wrong.”

The police officer felt his skull numb.

“How did you meet Asano-Yang Yuki (Yan-Li).”

“I met Yuki two months after I killed Cui. I was at a karaoke bar and I heard her singing. I like torturing women like her. Her body was so sensual and erotic. From her accents,I knew she wasn’t Japanese. So that fit my description. I went there everyday to meet her, showering her with gifts. From chatting with her, I learned she was married to a Japanese man. Now divorced. And a single mother. I told her I had a cousin, a doctor, still single, and very wealthy, and that one day we could get together for dinner to introduce her.”

“How did you kill her?”

“But she was tough. She didn’t want to obey me. I had to whip her everyday. I poured salt on her open wounds. I beat her in this way for ten days. There was not a single healthy patch of skin left on her body. But she still did not submit. The next day I used a piece of branding iron, burned red hot, to brand her. On her nipples and on her back. She just couldn’t take it anymore.”

Everyday of her life in the underground palace felt as long as a year. Yan-Li had tried to escape, but she never succeeded. After the branding torture, she eventually submitted. She called him her lord and master and obeyed his every command with an absolute obedience. One day, after Mr. Mizuno’s bestial desire was quenched, as he was lying on his king-sized bed, Yan-Li, her feet shackled to the bed frame, was kneeling by his side and massaging his body, and she said: “My lord, please take pity on me. My parents are old and bed-ridden. I also have a child who’s only 7 years old and needs to go to school. Please just let me go take care of them at home. Once everyone is taken care off, I will come back to be your most obedient and royal sex slave. Everyday I will serve you. I will satisfy you in anyway you wish. My good lord, my merciful master, please, okay?”

Mr. Mizuno laughed, then became angry, and said to her: ”Every woman that had ever walked into my secret chamber has never came out of here alive. If you want to live, this is how you will end up.” He pointed at the hangings on the far end of the wall. On that wall, plastered with pale white paint, were several dismembered female genital parts.

He pointed at them and beamed with pride.

“I have this habit, where, whenever after I kill a woman, I sever her genitals and hang them on the wall like trophies. This is to warn the other females in the secret chamber that their only way out is to serve me with devotion and obedience, or else, they will become another mournful 怨霊 (ghost) under the pear trees.”

A hazy Autumn night, the sky canopied in the kingdom of perpetual night. Dark clouds, moonless, starless. Frosty air piercing to the bones, deadened and distorted by the moisture of rain, quivering like arrows in the resonant, empty expanse of dread and terror where foul deformity and misshappen chaos reigned. The thunderstorm roared infants from their sweet dreams with tormenting sights of hell, and then, as sudden as it had come, the Furies left and all was quiet again.

Mr. Mizuno raped Yan-Li once again, and felt like it was time to let her go.

“I felt bored with her. She was not obedient. It was meaningless. I bound her hands and feet together. Stuffed a sock into her mouth, then using a needle and thread I sewed her mouth shut. A total of 12 stitches from upper lip to lower lip. Then I sliced off her vagina and breasts. She was in a lot of pain. She pissed and shat all over herself. It was good enough. I decapitated her. Dragged her headless body out and buried her.”

Asano-Yang Yuki (Yan-Li) was buried under the pear tree of the 6th row and 39th column.

Getting on the Death Table. Eager and Willing to leave the living behind.” written on the spirit tablet, located at pear garden’s south-eastern direction, third row, counting from the northern direction the 42nd column, for Wang Xue Mei. Second row, 12th column, the same spirit tablet, Yu Riyin (Rikio).

“I believe in Buddhism, so I would carve a little stone placard for every woman after I have slept with her. One, I want to remember them. Two, I hope their spirits will not torment me. Even though I conquered every single one of them in my secret chamber, their mournful and revengeful spirits often surround me in my sleep. Their images appear in front of my eyes. One night, I dreamed of them. I saw Xiao-Cui, Jing, Yuki, Mei holding my legs and arms, pulling me in all directions, and dragging me toward a cauldron full of boiling oil. I was scared to death. Thankfully I woke up and realized it was a nightmare.”

Did Wang Xue Mei really want to leave the living behind? In her diary she writes: “1998, after I graduated from technical school, I was full of hope for life. Infinitely bright and radiant everything seemed. But my failed marriage had such a severe impact on me. Once, I was sitting by the bank of Shinano river and I wondered, how much release I would obtain by letting the turbulent river swallow me alive! But then, I saw a seagull. She was struggling against the mighty and contentious river. The tumultuous waves looked as if it was going to drown her. But in a brief moment, she reappeared on the surface of the water, and slowly, rose toward the blue welkin. Humans should strive to live, with the same fortitude of the seagull.”

From then on, Mei decided to reinvigorate her courage to live and rekindle her belief in life, A day of 2002, September, she came to Fukuoka to discuss with her good friend Yu Rikio about starting a massage-parlor business, and when they were looking for a store-front, unbeknown to themselves, they had become Mizuno Ken’s hunting-targets. Once he learned about their intentions, he started to cajole them: “I’m the owner of the largest pear export incorporated in all of Fukuoka. Right now I need female technicians. You two seem bright and motivated. Why not come to my company and assist me in my administrative department?”

Mei and Rikio felt enraptured, as if a gift had fallen out of sky, but was still a bit hesitant. At this point, a truck full of pears stopped at the commercial bus station, and Mr. Mizuno waved at the two to come with him to take a look. He said, “Look! Those are all my pears, from my agricultural center.” As he said it, he waved at the driver who—recognizing Mizuno Ken—smiled and nodded, and from the cabin he reached in and grabbed out a two handfuls of juicy pears for the two girls. “Have a taste. They juicy and sweet.”

The gullible and innocent pair munched on the fruits as they followed Mr. Mizuno to doom, hand-in-hand, skipping and smiling, into the garden of evil.

The innocuous-looking garden, covered by pear trees, a green sea bearing fruit for the sustenance of life, under the sunset glow, seemed golden, hiding its heinous deeds underground. Its luscious pears, heavy, ripe and eager to fall to the ground, bent the tender and delicate twigs as if to the point of breaking.

Mei and Rikio worked for Mr. Mizuno for a few days and started to notice that something was strange about him.

“I don’t know what is it with this guy.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t quite put my finger on it. Everything about this place just seemed eerie and strange. Sometimes it sent chills down my spine just coming to this place.”

“Mr. Mizuno does seem a bit lascivious and leery. I assume all Japanese men are a little bit like that. But think about it. They are just men.”

“Oh my god. You are not saying you actually like this creepy middle-aged guy, are you?’

“Of course not.”

“We must be careful. Remember the proverb, a woman’s beauty will provoke a criminal’s heart sooner than money.”

“I know. Of course I know.”

“Do you? Do you know what he did to me the other day? He tried to grope my pussy.”

“He did the same to me.”

“What! And you!”

“I don’t mind him touching me that much though.”

“We must leave this place. He is not a good person. Call the police. Come on. We must—”

“Don’t. I really need this job. I haven’t had a job for over half a year now. I know how to deal with men. Maybe he just wants to have sex with me. Maybe I will get him to give me some money. My family needs money desperately right now.”

“Listen. I have a very bad foreboding about this guy.”

“I think he is a generous person. Perhaps just too solitary. The isolation of this place does that to people. Japan is a safe place. There are very little crimes.”

For an entire night Rikio tried to convince her friend Mei that something was wrong with the place and urged her to leave, to no avail.

“For my family I’m willing to sacrifice everything, including my dignity. What is the worst he is going to do? Kill me? Haha!”

Mr. Mizuno became aware that they were now suspicious of him and became more cautious. He tried his best to hide his true self. It was easier said than done. It was so hard for him to not stare at those two beautiful young women working in his garden—their soft, puny, white forearms stretching upward to reach his pears, bending over revealing their upturned buttocks. He imagined to himself the depraved acts that he was about to commit to them, and yet he had to control himself, to maintain the facade of benevolence and generosity over the deep, subterranean caverns of his murderous, perverted sexual desire.

The night of Mid-Autumn festival—Tsukimi’s moon, round, brilliant and pale, reminded Mei’s and Rikio’s relatives in China. Time’s deformed hands had written strange disfigurement into Mr. Mizuno’s face. He seemed more and more peculiar by the day. Like a frightened bird Rikio’s heart pounded, a sense of foreboding overcame her, and yet, Mei little suspected the false-worshipper. So guiltless she still securely gave good cheer and reverent welcome to her princely employer, whose inward devil outward harm expressed.

“Mr. Mizuno is hiding something. He is lying to us. He is—”

“We are paid double the usual wage, right?”

“I’m scared. He has ulterior motives.”

“He’s definitely a pervert. He reached his hands under my shirt and fondled my breasts again this morning.”

“We must leave, Mei! It’s too dangerous. We must call the police.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure I confront him and extort some money from me for sexually harassing both of us.”

“Please, Mei. Let us leave!”

Later that night, with deft expertise and experienced ease, Mr. Mizuno kidnapped Rikio and Mei into his vaulty underground “palace”. Mei had forever lost her chance to a happy life. Rikio were vindicated of her suspicions all along, but everything was too late.

“I should have listened to you!”

“It’s too late! It’s too late!” Rikio cried to Mei from inside the cage.

Almost choking with his unresisted lust, Mr. Mizuno kept Rikio inside a steel cage with spindles on all sides, while he tied Mei to the bed, and, over the course of five days, raped both of them continually, repeatedly, taking breaks only when he needed to rest. Every time they tried to put on their clothes, Mr. Mizuno would make them take their clothes off again. Finally, he decided that they didn’t need clothes anymore, and had them kept perpetually naked in the secret chamber. And when Mei and Rikio disobeyed his commands, they received the most brutal beatings of their lives.

Every time Mei disobeyed Mr. Mizuno, he used a butcher’s knife to make a mark on her back, to remind her that she was now his slave. Her lily-white back, crisscrossed with bloody red cuts—a silent war of lilies and roses—testified to humanity her tales of sorrow and misfortune.

Mr. Mizuno’s methods of torture were varied and creative. He had Rikio hang by her wrists from the ceiling and let Mei flog her, watching her feet dangle and dance in midair. Then he would alternate. Suspend Mei in mid-air and let Rikio flog her. He smeared honey on his penis and made Rikio and Mei lick the honey off his penis, and when their oral sex abilities were not to this satisfaction, he whipped both of them with his leather belt.

One night, Mr. Mizuno sat in the alcove of the secret chamber, under the dim lamplight; meticulously, at full attention, using a knife he chiseled on the “spirit tablets” for the two new victims. The stone tablets, motionless and silent, squarish and thick, rested on the circular wooden table; irregular wave patterns were carved on them. Beneath the pattern, in a calligraphy-style imitating Morizawa, he wrote the following words: “Getting on the Death Table. Eager and Willing to leave the living behind.”

On the left side of the spirit tablets were another line of calligraphy, “Sukhavati are little sluts’ paradise.”

The next morning, when Mei was using the bathroom, she saw the tablets, and asked Mr. Mizuno: “Whose spirit tablets are those for?”

He replied: ”Every woman I have played with is my little concubine. Once they leave I will erect spirit tablets for them. After reincarnation they will all still be my little sluts.” After saying this, he embraced Mei, toyed her nipples, and carried her to his king-sized bed again.

Mr. Mizuno lived as an emperor as his “little sluts” alternated in pleasing him. He also enjoyed watching Mei and Rikio having lesbian sex to entertain him. As he penetrated Rikio, lifting her legs so her pussy was directly facing Mei’s face, he asked Mei, “My little slut, does this make you horny.” Mei replied: “Yes, my lord. You are so ferocious. Your little sluts are so enjoying it,” as tears leaked out of her eyes sockets like blood.

During the day, as he sat on his throne, Rikio knelt between his legs and sucked him off, while Mei put on a masturbation show for him, fingering herself, caressing her breasts, all the while singing and smiling, telling Mr. Mizuno how much she wanted to have sex with him, how much she enjoyed being a sex slave. “My lord, I need your penis in my pussy so bad. I ache for you. I would do anything for you. I love being your obedient little slut. I am your slave,” tearfully repeating the lewd sentences she was made to practice.

Life in the underground palace, besieged with horror and deformity, a perpetual dreadful midnight, waiting for a morning that will never come, filled with the foul stench of death—an air unknown on earth—this life had taken a significant tow on Mei. She was only 22 years old and yet her once pristine and sweet-looking face showed significant decrepitude. Her once black hair had become completely white. Her eyes, once bright, seemed deeply burrowed into her deathly pale face. She had become emaciated to the bones. She thought it over, and realized that perhaps Mr. Mizuno was going to replace her and Rikio with a new woman soon. He was more than likely to commit more bloodthirsty deeds to her, so why not put on a last fight.

Rikio had completely lost her mind. She had been locked inside the dog cage in the bathroom for the last several weeks, and was defecating and urinating on herself. Mr. Mizuno enjoyed watching her defiling herself in this way.

Around 8 P.M. the metal gate to the underground palace had been opened. Mr. Mizuno, holding a large brown bag, walked in. He said to Mei: “Come here. I brought some dinner and drinks. Let’s enjoy ourselves.” Mei thought that, after Mr. Mizuno got drunk, she would hit him over with a wooden stick which she had prepared and hidden, and then, she would be able to escape this airless dungeon of macabre. “No strong links of iron can be retentive to the strength of spirit,” she encouraged herself.

After about half an hour, Mr. Mizuno became drunk and rested on bed. Mei held the stick in her hand and swung it with all the strength in her body at the genital area of Mr. Mizuno, but with poor aiming, instead, she hit him over his stomach. Mr. Mizuno became furious. He kicked Mei over to the ground. Using nylon ropes he tied her hands and feet together and defiled her for the very last time. He stared at this woman for a brief moment, and then started the process of “gelding” (宫刑きゅうけい).

First he used a sharpened branch of the pear tree to stab randomly over Mei’s breasts, thighs, and vaginal area. Then he poured toilet water, mixed with urine and feces, down her mouth. Afterward, sticking a small towel into her oral cavity, he used needle and thread to sew her mouth shut. Then he used a knife to carve up her body, slicing off her breasts and vagina. Making a long horizontal incision in her lower abdomen, he removed her uterus by hand.

Seeing that she was still breathing, he started to disembowel her, using a butcher’s knife slicing open her body from the chest vertically all the way down to her vagina opening, exposing all her innards to the air, and then carved out her kidney, liver, and heart. Lastly, he cut off her head, dismembered her legs and separately buried them in the direct-southern area outside the underground palace, third row, from north counting 42nd, 43rd, and 44th column of trees. After he had Mei buried, he took out the “spirit tablet” and buried it along the corpse. Then standing up, he bowed three times.

Similarly for Rikio. Seeing that she was mentally incapacitated, there was no point in keeping her. He took her out of the cage, suspended her from the ceiling, and using a butcher knife, sliced open her body from the front, and with a bucket underneath, let all the blood in her body drip out of her. Then he sliced off the skin around her breasts and vagina. Without any more blood, it became easier for Mr. Mizuno to now carve out her kidney, liver and heart.

Police: “Was Yu Ryin (Rikio) dead or alive at this point?”

Mizuno Ken: “She was alive until her blood that was let out of her body filled the bucket. Mei stopped breathing some time after I carved out her heart.”

“You—basically—vivisected Wang Xue Mei?”

“I vivisected all my victims. It was fun when they were still alive. I felt a happiness that words cannot describe as I did that.”

Rikio was buried in the direct-north region outside of the underground palace, fifth row, from south counting the 89th and 90th column of trees. Again he buried the spirit tablet next to her and bowed three times.

The hallowed full moon, floating above the dark-blue sky, in deep, mysterious repose, as if an eye—that fly from their sights, in darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights—dripped to the ground its sorrowful tears. Suddenly, a cold, gentle wind blew across. Clouds covered the clear night sky. Showers of rain, in tiny drips, fell—left indelible imprints on the muddy soil.

A few minutes later, the pear garden was all quiet again.


District Attorney:

Mei and Rikio were employees of Mr. Mizuno. Xiaocui was Mr. Mizuno’s neighbor. Xiaoliang and Yan-Li were acquaintances with Mr. Mizuno. If Zhang Yami did not escape successfully in 2003, it was likely that Ken Mizuno would still not have been caught.

Given the defendant’s pathological perversion, it was highly probably that he would have repeatedly committed similar crimes and would not have stopped voluntarily if he had not been caught.

Defendant’s wife, Mrs. Mizuno Natsuko, was fully aware of Mr. Mizuno Ken’s crimes. However, she was not the only one.

In 2003, as Mr. Mizuno was raping and beating Wang Yaya in his underground chamber, he did not have the intention to kill her, but was in stead planning to sell her. Mr. Mizuno once brought Wang Yaya out of the underground chamber, and handed her over to middle-aged bachelor Mr. Fukai and demanded a lump sum payment of 10,000 dollars. After seeing Yaya’s bruises all over her body, and hearing about her story, however, Mr. Fukai refused to buy her. In the face of Yaya’s repeated plead for help, Mr. Fukai refused to help her or to call the police, and instead gave her back to Mr. Mizuno.

Testimony from Mr. Yukio Fukai:

“She [Yaya] was crying herself into a bloody mess. She was kowtowing to me on the floor, banging her head on the floor like a crazed person, but 10,000 dollars is a lot money. The police will confiscate all my money if they find out. Besides, Mr. Mizuno is a scary person. If I call the police, he might kill me. I was scared of Mr. Mizuno. Everybody said he had connections with the Chinese mafia. Even yakuza were scared of those crazy Chinese. I told her I was going to send her back to Mr. Mizuno and she crawled to me and hugged around my leg like a small child, crying hysterically. Mr. Mizuno almost chopped off her wrists to let her go of me.”


Once again, alone, Mizuno Ken sat on the golden throne in his underground palace, showing some signs of weariness, and yet still so full of pride. Slowly, he counted over again and again every female’s panties, bras, and severed body parts that were hanging on the wall, and spoke to himself as in a soliloquy: “You have accompanied me for the last five years. My underground palace—strict, secretive, forbidden to the outside wall—my accomplishment, my recipe for success. Let’s summarize.” He picked up a pen and small pocketbook, recollecting every young, beautiful female’s wonderful encounter with him. He summarized this formula in his note book:

Finding prey ——– Seducing and capturing ——– Enjoyment in my underground palace ——– dismembering and disemboweling ——– Pear garden burial ——– Finding new prey

Police: “How did you obtain Lin Yumi, Lin Yami, and Liu Nana?”

Mizuno Ken: “I did import and export with China, so I went to China on business trips very frequently. It was in Chongqing. Mrs. Wang sold me those three Chinese girls.”

Chongqing—mega-city of southwestern China, with the most-recently estimated population of 15 million, located within Sichuan province. If Shanghai is known as the harlot of the east, then Sichuan is the birthplace of Chinese harlots. It is estimated that a fifth of Chinese prostitutes came from Sichuan, where the local women are known to have petite figure, soft skin, and a docile and demure demeanor that melts the heart of men from all over the world.

Bright Spot Teahouse100 RMB [12 dollars] for 45 minutes. Only things you cannot imagine. Nothing those Chinese girls won’t do. Heaven-on-earth. The avant-garde of international standard.

Undeniably the fearsome spectacle of Chongqing would dazzle and amaze any foreigner who stepped into this forbidden and secretive sexual paradise of the Far East. The general population of its local men are revolting to look upon: gaunt, sallow, hideous, and short, living in abject poverty, and feeding on the bare minimum for survival; and yet, the local women—slim, seductive, sensual, mysterious, and shamelessly lustful. Like a vast cornfield that swayed this way or that by the winds of the ruthless tyrants that ruled over them, the local women are like a swirling harvest which are waiting for the scythe of any western or westernized conqueror to cut down and ruthlessly conquer; and as soon as they are cut down, a younger generation spring up again as dense as ever: a sea of faces, twisted, contorted, exuding through every pore of its skin weakness, oppression, misery, slavery, and sexual ecstasy derived through orgasmic pain and torture.

In 1995, Mr. Mizuno, along with a group of international businessmen from Japan, Korea, and Taiwan, traveled to Chonqing, China, where he became acquainted with local businesswoman and owner of Bright Spot Teahouse, Mrs. Wang Jiki, who, together with her other two sister, were colloquially known as “the three-sisters of Chongqing” by underground crime syndicate.

“I ordered four Chinese girls. They came in to my room, bowed to me, and then stripped themselves with the efficiency of soldiers. Without any facial expression, two girls knelt down in front of me to lick my feet, another one slid herself under my body and slithered her tongue around my asshole—I was sitting on top of her face. The fourth one buried her face in between my crotch and licked my penis and testicles. The one in front of me. I noticed her back was crisscrossed with welts. I remembered what the man in front said, only things you cannot imagine, nothing they won’t do, so I said to the one in front of me how much if I want some extra service—”

“How did you communicate with those Chinese prostitutes?”

“I speak fluent Chinese …”

From 1993 to 2011, the threesisters of Chongqing operated the largest known sex-trafficking network in south-west China, with over 300,000 Chinese women being coerced into sexual exploitation and sexual slavery. It is reported that many of the Chinese prostitutes who acted as witnesses were beaten to death in prison to cover up the true extent of the crimes involved.

“I witnessed a woman being beaten to near-death, and I was exhilarated. A woman in her fifties and a guy in his twenties—walked in, holding a set of ropes and a long wooden stick. The guy tied the girl’s hands above her head, and pulled her upward until only the tip of her toes touched the floor. The guy asked me what I wanted, and I said, I wanted to see her broken in half … She was completely naked from head to toe, and her skin was so soft, so tender, especially so when the stick landed on her flesh. She yelped and cried for mercy and instantly it made me hard. … The Chinese prostitutes—in front of me—who were licking my feet were also crying. I pulled the girl from under my ass up and let her sit next to me to watch. She played with my penis while I played with her nipples.”

Mr. Mizuni initially paid for a lump sum to smuggle ten Chinese women into Japan to be sold to him as sex slaves, but, once the snake-heads from Hong Kong arrived in Japan, Mr. Mizuno was told that one had died en route, five were robbed by triads to work in local Chinese-owned brothels in Tokyo, while another was kidnapped by a rival gang.

“So I only ended up with three. Even though I paid for ten. You can’t really trust those shady Chinese businessmen.”

“How did you kill Liu Nana?”

“I beat and raped her everyday. One day, she cursed at me, saying that you have done things beyond the evil of this world, you, your family, your children, and your grandchildren will all be cursed. I became furious and kicked her to the ground. Using the nylon rope I tied her hands behind her back and her feet to the bed-post, Then I sewed her mouth and vagina shut. She was in such great pain that her body started to convulse. She hit her head against the wall and blood was gushing out of the cuts on her head. After I made the stitches, I was very satisfied. I felt happy and calm. The next day she was losing her mind and smeared feces on her face, like she was taking a shower. Because she couldn’t eat, plus being insane, in two days time she was half-dead. Just lying on the ground, not moving much anymore. I still did not get enough of her, so I used the girding knife to slice off her breasts and vagina. While I sliced her, her whole body convulsed, like she was getting hit by electricity. Not exactly sure when she stopped breathing. I dragged her body out and buried her under the pear trees.”

Liu Yumi and Liu Yami were sold as brides to Mr. Masaki and Mr. Kokura.

Chinese prostitute plunges to her death to evade police arrest on New Year’s Eve

Chinese prostitute plunges to her death to evade police arrest on New Year’s Eve

The New Year Eve of 2017 marked the coldest day of New York in the last 34 years. Yet Ci Ci, a smartly dressed young woman in her late twenties, had been standing on the street corner of Main St. Flushing for the last several hours. She wore a large, bright red overcoat, which covered her otherwise naked body, but one could still see her skin-tight black stockings which were the only fabric covering her long, slender legs. She stood tirelessly on her black open toe stiletto heels. Her round white face was touched up with slight makeup: bright red lip stick and deep dark eye liner. Her naturally black hair was covered under a white fur cap. Tresses of her silky hair fell on each side of her pink cheeks. She seemed distinctly lonely on a bustling street full of people, people with their family, parents, and children, and yet Ci Ci was all alone by herself. She held a fist full of pink business cards and tried to stuff into strangers’ hands, and yet no one took them. Her lips quivered and she pushed her chest out as she leaned back against the brick wall. She was especially coy, and she tried to flirt with any man who looked at her. Yet there was no customer. Her eyes betrayed hunger, even desperation. She hasn’t made any money for several days, and she has just gotten out of prison a month ago. The police took all the money she had made last year, and, she told her working sisters, if she’s ever caught again, she would kill herself. The streets were frozen with coldness. Patches of snow mixed with ice accumulated on the sides of buildings. The people walking back and forth seemed happy yet cold and oblivious to Ci Ci’s presence. There was so much joy in the air, but for Ci Ci everything seemed so bleak. Her elderly parents were still toiling away in the north eastern China, a place renowned for its coldness and which partially explained Ci Ci’s ability to endure cold; her little brother did not have the money to go to school and had to become a migrant worker in Beijing. Her younger sister went to work in Japan in a massage parlor as well and Ci Ci was determined to make money, to let her parents live a wealthy life, to let her brother go to college, and to let her sister find a good husband, preferably a wealthy white man. She was willing to do anything. Anything at all.

A group of Mexican laborers passed by and were ogling at her, whistling and commenting on her looks to each other. Their clothes were dirty and their faces were brown with physical labor. She smiled at them; her white face and red lips contrasted with their dark, dirty faces, and she waved at them by raising her wrist to the side of her cheek. “30 dollars massage. Full body. One hour.” Her legs were shivering from the cold, and her hands felt frozen. As they approached her she handed over the little pink cards to the Mexican men which had written in English: “girlfriend experience $200. No condom vaginal cum shot $250. Free semen swallowing.” The Mexican men read the simple English on the cards, and their eyes were round like dead fish, their faces wide with grin, revealing their crooked yellow teeth. A few started to grope Ci Ci all over, touching her legs, and feeling her breasts through her overcoat. “50 dollars. Blowjobs for all of us.” “No, 100 dollars. You too many people. One, two, three, four, five. Five. Five people.” “60 dollars, 60 dollars, how about 60 dollars. It’s New Year.” “80 dollars I give you discount.” “No condom. You swallow?” “Yes, I swallow everything.”
By this time the two Mexican men standing in front of Ci Ci had already had their hands inside her bright red overcoat partially exposing her naked breasts in the open. Her nipples chafed against the zippers on her red coat and she moaned in pleasure.
“Pay first. Then we go up.” Ci Ci said as she pointed to the metal door behind her. The Mexican men collected their money together and handed them in a roll to her and quickly she led them through the door, then through a dark hallway and went up a serpentine series of stairs. Her bright red overcoat was almost completely open, revealing her naked body underneath and they took turns fondling her large breasts. By the time they reached the third floor Ci Ci was naked, except for her black stockings and black stilettos. They were very happy to discover that Ci Ci had worn absolutely nothing underneath the red overcoat, not even a bra or panties. Her pubic hair was completely shaved so she could cater to western men, and her body was curvy with large hips. The red overcoat was torn off from her and threw to the side. Those Mexican laborers hadn’t had sex for months. They were hungry just as much as Ci Ci was. They quickly dropped their pants, revealing their smelly Mexican dicks to Ci Ci and Ci Ci took them like the pro she was. She put their hardened dicks in her soft little hands and took turns kissing and sucking on each one while working fast with her hands on the ones she was not sucking on. And within just minutes one of them had shot into Ci Ci’s mouth. As promised, she swallowed every drop. “I have earned my worth today,” Ci Ci smiled and thought to herself. “Okay, you finished. 80 dollars more.” “No 80 dollars for all of us. “No 80 dollars for each blow job. You want more? You pay more money.” The men were all horny and somewhat annoyed at her dishonesty. “Okay, 80 more dollars we fuck your pussy.” “150 dollars fuck my pussy.” “100 dollars.” “No 120 dollars.” “Okay okay 120 dollars fuck your Chinese pussy. Your pussy is very tight?” “Of course, I’m Chinese. Our men have small dicks. You have very big dicks”

The Mexican men handed over more money to Ci Ci which she kept in her Louis Vuitton hand bag and with one hand holding her bag, she pried open her pussy with another hand, showing the pink inside and she offered her pussy to those Mexican men by bending over. They took turns fucking her in the pussy, bareback, cumming inside her. It was pure joy for those Mexican men. And it was joy for Ci Ci too. She had been so hungry for cocks, and not only was she satisfied with her carnal desire, she was also making money. “I will finally have a happy new year,” Ci Ci thought to herself. The warmth of those Mexican men’s cum had not just warmed Ci Ci’s body but also her heart. She hadn’t had a good new year in so long. Last New Year’s Eve hers was spent in prison. The previous year she was beaten by a gang of black teenagers. She was happy to finally get some relief, and those men’s sperm were like antidepressants healing her emotional wounds. For those who didn’t cum inside her pussy, she directed them to cum inside her mouth.

But just as she was mesmerized by the bliss of sex, by the success of her little business, the metal door on the first floor was banged open, and there was a loud masculine voice overheard. “Police! Everybody freeze!” She looked over the handrail and her face went pale with fear. The worst that she could possibly imagine had finally happened. All the Mexican men froze on the spot with their hands up, except for Ci Ci. She remembered her previous experience in prison. She remembered being beaten by the police, being tasered while she was handcuffed and hung upside down, being forced to have her pictures taken, humiliated, ridiculed, and forced to have enema liquid shot up into her rectum. She felt terror. A fire burned up all her innards as she thought back to all those horrible things that they did to her in prison. The fear, the terror, the unfathomable sadness, the despair burned her brain like a fire, and had eaten away the last hope. She couldn’t remain still. She grabbed with both her hands over the handrail. Her hand bag slipped off her wrist and the green bills scattered on the ground. “STOP! Do not move! Or we will shoot you!” Ci Ci didn’t care for a word of their warnings. It was as if the police thought death would still scare her, when she had seen far worse than death in prison. She had given up on life already. She ran over to the window directly opposite the handrail and leaped out with a fiery determination to die. Her naked body dropped through the open window, and her head hit the restaurant billboard directly beneath the window, which caused her to somersault in midair and then her body landed onto the street curb. Her bright red overcoat was still on the floor. Her naked body was now three stories down below. Red blood splattered across the wintry ground. The sound of her fall did not impact the bustling streets of Flushing. In fact most people couldn’t even hear her through all the noise. Police lines quickly drew up and medics arrived in nearly minutes to cover up her cold, dead body and then, it was as if nothing ever happened. The streets were bustling with people.