Ling was one of the very few people who had visited Mei in Chaozhou and who had lent ten thousand to Bing through Mei during each of the three visits. Since Mei started making money again, Ling naturally expected that Mei would sooner or later pay her back. And Ling was right.
Ling, in her mid-twenties, was a slim woman of average height, unmarried. She liked heavy make-up. Her single-fold eyelid was heavily disguised. Her fancy cheeks were unnaturally daubed. Her skin was fi ne yet overly powdered. Her body that drew an ideal “S” line in profile, was most desirable. Two exquisite braids stretched from the middle of her narrow forehead, formed into an elegant heart shape and were bound together on the back of her head with a delicate Chanel hairpin. The rest of her slightly curled hair dyed gold, spilled down one side over her shoulder. Such a classical hairstyle gave her the charm of Chinese ancient beauty. Wearing a pair of dazzling thin high heels and a tight, one-piece, low-cut, high-collared, green uniform in the style of a short qipao, she looked rather like a stewardess serving for a high-class ballroom in Old China. Her plump breasts waved provocatively each time she moved her round hips like a seesaw. Two rows of symmetrical buttons extended from her deep cleavage to where the half uniform half qipao ended far above her knees. Imagine a provoked man tearing all those buttons off in a single gesture.