143: Hormone Steam Room

One hour.

A full sixty minutes.

The massive cast-iron flywheel was like a tireless beast, idling wildly at a heart-palpitating constant frequency, then driving the belt to violently transmit kinetic energy to every sewing machine.

If you were to take that grease-covered man apart, every one of his muscles was currently performing a textbook-perfect exertion. His biceps bulged like granite, and as he pulled, his latissimus dorsi expanded and contracted like two massive bat wings, creating an explosive visual impact.

This wasn't a human working.

This was a god descending.

The windows in the workshop were tightly shut to trap the heat; by now, it had become a 'high-pressure sauna' in every sense of the word.

The sweat on Wang Fugui's body wasn't just flowing; it was spraying.

The 'furnace' inside his body was burning wildly; the ten pounds of fatty meat and five boxes of chocolate he had consumed were instantly vaporized. White mist radiated out from him in a frantic circle, its concentration terrifyingly high—he was a literal human humidifier.

If it were ordinary sweat odor, the sealed workshop would have long since knocked everyone out.

But as it happened, this mist carried a 'poison.'

A lethal poison that made female biological instincts weak in the knees and sent their hearts racing.

A rich scent of cedar, carrying an extremely excited male aura, seeped into every pore.

"Huff... huff..."

Before the sewing machines, the female workers' breathing was as heavy as bellows.

No one spoke, nor did they need to.

Their eyes were even somewhat glazed, their pupils slightly dilated—a typical case of 'oxygen intoxication,' or rather, 'intoxication by man.'

In this state, their minds were blank, leaving only instinctive pleasure and obedience. The fabric in their hands moved at lightning speed, their feet worked the pedals like Wind-Fire Wheels; the originally dull and tedious overlocking and topstitching now brought an indescribable pleasure.

With every stitch that fell, it felt as if an electric current surged through their bodies, tingling and numbing; their waists no longer ached, their legs no longer pained, and they felt as if they had inexhaustible strength.

"Clang! Clang!"

This wasn't an electronics factory rushing an order; this was clearly a scene of fanatical pilgrimage.

"Oh my god..."

In the corner, Bald Strong, who was originally there to keep watch, was now squatting on the ground, his eyes glazed over, not even noticing the nosebleed trickling down.

He was a thug who didn't understand any scientific principles; he only felt his whole body burning up, his blood boiling.

This feeling was just like the first time he saw Crow flipping the table in Young and Dangerous at the video parlor—that urge to take two watermelon knives and hack his way from Causeway Bay to Tsim Sha Tsui was surging wildly through his veins.

"Everyone, shout for me!" Bald Strong jumped up suddenly, his bald head covered in greasy sweat. Grabbing a discarded iron pipe, he rhythmically struck the railing. "We can't let Brother Fugui be the only one working hard! Shout!"

"One, two! Pull!"

Behind him, several lackeys who were originally lazy now seemed to have been injected with chicken blood, their faces flushed and necks thick as they roared along:

"Heave-ho!!"

"One, two! Pull!"

"Heave-ho!!"

The chanting, combined with the roar of the machines, made the fluorescent lights overhead buzz and vibrate.

Wang Fugui was at the eye of the storm.

He didn't actually feel tired.

Quite the opposite, he felt... great.

An unprecedented cycle was forming. The heat inside him was expelled through his sweat, while the women around him, infatuated because of him, emitted a sweet, feminine aura. This aura was inhaled into Wang Fugui's lungs, instantly turning into a cool, sweet dew that extinguished the nameless evil fire in his heart and transformed into a continuous stream of pure power.

He was 'consuming' the ambiguity filling the room and spitting out violent kinetic energy.

"Fugui..."

Chen Yun's voice was incredibly raspy, as if she had a mouthful of hot sand.

She was closest to Wang Fugui.

She had inhaled the most of that lethal scent. At this moment, two buttons on her collar had popped open at some point, revealing a large patch of skin steamed pink by the heat. Sweat slid down her slender neck into that deep cleavage.

She held a wet towel, her hand trembling as she wiped Wang Fugui's scorching back.

"Sizzle—"

When the towel touched his skin, it actually emitted a wisp of white smoke.

The feel was as hard as iron, the heat as scorching as fire.

Chen Yun felt her fingertips burning, a heat that traveled from her fingers straight down to her lower abdomen. Her legs felt weak, and she could barely stand, leaning half against the railing, her eyes so misty they looked like they were about to overflow.

She wanted to bite him.

Right on that trapezius muscle that rose and fell with his movements, she wanted to take a hard bite.

"Brother, drink some water!"

Lin Xiaocao's voice interrupted Chen Yun's reverie.

The young girl wasn't faring well either; her face was as red as a ripe tomato, but her eyes were frighteningly bright. It was the gaze of a fanatic looking at a deity.

She held a large enamel mug big enough to hold a liter of water, standing on her tiptoes to bring it to Wang Fugui's lips.

Wang Fugui didn't even have a hand free to take it.

He simply lowered his head sharply and, like a whale inhaling water, downed the entire mug of cold water in two gulps.

Water flowed from the corners of his mouth, past his bobbing Adam's apple, and merged into the dense forest of hair on his chest.

Lin Xiaocao watched in a daze, subconsciously licking her dry lips, feeling as if a fire was burning in her throat.

"Go... go get more water!"

Chen Yun snatched the enamel mug and shoved it at Lin Xiaocao, forcing herself to maintain her authority as the boss. "Don't just stand there, move! Don't let him get thirsty!"

She was the 'first wife.' Even if she didn't have the official title yet, she had to maintain control in this situation and couldn't let herself go crazy—even though she really wanted to... At the same time.

Outside the factory building.

The night was deep, and the cicadas chirped irritably.

"President Zhou, something's not right with this noise."

Zhou Dalong, the owner of the neighboring factory—also known as Zhou the Skinflint—was standing outside the wall of Shengfa Garment Factory, his brow furrowed into the shape of the character for 'river'.

He held a Chunghwa cigarette in his hand, followed by the lecherous-looking electrician, Old Liu.

"What's not right?" Zhou the Skinflint exhaled a smoke ring and said disdainfully, "Section Chief Li from the Power Supply Bureau is a close buddy of mine. After two rounds of drinks, it's not just a matter of a tripped breaker anymore; he's 'servicing' the transformer for this whole area. The power won't be back for at least two days and nights."

"No, President Zhou, listen..."

Old Liu tilted his head, his expression strange. "Inside... it sounds like they're renovating?"

"Renovating?"

Zhou the Skinflint was taken aback and instinctively pressed his ear against the large iron gate.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The ground seemed to vibrate slightly with a certain rhythm.

It wasn't the ordinary roar of machinery; the sound was deep, powerful, and dense. Each thud felt like a heavy hammer striking the concrete floor, making even the soles of Zhou the Skinflint's feet feel numb.

Furthermore, he could faintly hear synchronized shouting.

"Heave-ho!!"

"Heave-ho!!"

"What are those paupers up to?" Zhou the Skinflint's heart skipped a beat for some reason.

Logically, with the power out, it should be pitch black inside, and there should only be the sounds of that woman Chen Yun's desperate crying.

But now, with this noise, how did it sound even livelier than when there was power?