Gazing into the abyss, I watched her step by step walk into the darkness, and the cost was only $500.

(Here, "I" does not refer to myself, but rather the perspective of the narrator. This article has nothing to do with cryptocurrency.)

At four in the morning, she was completely leaning against me; using the word "leaning" is no longer accurate. She was slumped like a soft-bodied creature, using my body for support. If I moved away, she would fall to the ground, and her top could not cover the four or five hands wandering over her chest.

Looking at her expression now reminds me of the fish waiting to be slaughtered at home when I was a child, with only the whites of their eyes showing, mouths opening and closing but making no sound. Perhaps she wanted to protest or resist, but she was utterly powerless. She couldn't even turn her head, and who would have thought that just five hours ago, she was a vibrant and passionate young girl?

Nitrous oxide is a colorless gas with a slightly sweet taste, named for the brief euphoria and laughter it induces when inhaled, so it also has a nickname: laughing gas.

In this region of the country, although it is not entirely legal, there are countless balloon shops. Filling balloons with laughing gas and inhaling it is a popular pastime among many young people in this country, considered a social soft drug that is not very addictive. I must say upfront that even soft drugs can cause brain and nerve damage if overused, which is harmful to health.

Brother B told me during dinner that there is a famous balloon shop nearby, but I forgot the name; everyone refers to it by its nickname, the "Dead Man's Shop."

It's called the "Dead Man's Shop" not because someone has died there, but because the balloons are very cheap, the cheapest in the area. For young people with not much money, this shop is the most cost-effective choice. One month's salary can be spent in one night at the balloon shop, and after inhaling too much gas, one might faint on the sofa.

It's fine for boys; not many people pay attention. For girls, although there won't be major issues since it's in the shop, it's still normal for people to touch them all over, and many young people directly take photos and videos to upload to short video sites. I asked Brother B if girls would call the police when they wake up. He said they wouldn't. Then I asked if a girl woke up while I was touching her, would she call the police? Brother B replied that she still wouldn't. I pressed on, asking if she wasn't unconscious and I touched her, would she call the police? Brother B gave me the same answer.

I completely trust Brother B. He is somewhat well-known here, embodying what it means to be tough but not talkative, righteous, and wealthy. Every time I come here, Brother B takes care of everything for me, and this isn't the first time he has talked about balloons. This time, he was discussing starting a balloon shop with friends, and I casually asked about it.

Brother B said there wouldn't be any police reports, even if I touched someone who wasn't unconscious; they would just walk away. He advised not to be foolish and touch women as soon as I see them, but to wait until they look dazed. Then I could ask them to inhale a few balloons, and they would collapse onto me, at which point touching them would be fine.

After Brother B finished speaking, I felt an uncontrollable sexual impulse. I wasn't particularly thirsty for sex; in fact, I was somewhat bored. After all, when the channels for obtaining sex are too easy, sex itself isn't much fun. However, this "Dead Man's Shop" made me feel something I hadn't felt in a long time, reminding me of the time I used to pick up bodies outside bars.

After leaving Brother B, I took a taxi to the Dead Man's Shop. Upon entering, it was completely different from what I had imagined. I thought it would be like an opium den in old Shanghai, but in reality, it was nothing like that. The dim lighting, loud music, writhing bodies on stage, and the smoky environment made me cough as soon as I walked in, and tears streamed down my face. Yes, I don't smoke; this kind of environment is like poison to me.

But the uncontrollable sexual impulse still drove me inside. A young man skillfully led me to a row of wide sofas. Although the shop was noisy, this section of the sofa was empty. I knew Brother B had arranged this for me. After he realized I wanted to come and see, he said nothing, made a phone call, and waved me off, telling me to just drink. The balloons would be charged to my account. I understood that Brother B meant the girls' balloons would be on him. I wanted to order something but just nodded and left.

The sofa was large enough for six people, but I was the only one there. Gradually, several young women came to pour me beer, and a young man brought over a few black balloons. I waved him off. Just as I took a sip of beer, I saw a few young girls holding special drink trays reflecting colorful lights, apparently ordered by some Koreans in the back.

Damn, isn't this just like the bars in Shanghai? I sneered inwardly, but my eyes kept searching for corpses or those about to become corpses. Unfortunately, the smoke was too thick, my vision wasn't great, and with the stimulation, I could hardly see far. I could see many people with balloons in their mouths, looking as if they were enjoying themselves.

What Brother B didn't know was that I had tried balloons before. A friend had given me some at another venue, but to be honest, I had no interest in them. I inhaled about ten and felt no excitement.

While I was lost in thought, a girl in a colorful leather outfit, truly leather, with her belly exposed, plopped down next to me, right on my hand. Surprisingly, she was quite soft.

I couldn't understand her language; she babbled at me, and I didn't grasp what she meant. She took out her phone, opened Google Translate, typed a few words, and showed me the English translation, which roughly meant asking if I could let her inhale a few balloons, using a coquettish tone and calling me "brother." I asked her how old she was, and she said 21. Well, calling me "brother" is fine.

When she sat down, a young man was already standing next to her, handing her a balloon. She didn't take it but looked at me with her big watery eyes. In her gaze, I saw a standing ATM and a bit of smoke. I nodded, and she took the balloon from the young man and started inhaling.

The balloon was quite large, bigger than the ones I saw flying in the sky on the street, but in her mouth, it was gone in just two minutes. Although my hand was still pressed under her bottom during the process, she seemed to have no awareness of it. Not only did she remain on my hand, but she also swayed to the music. My hand was actually uncomfortable; it was too thin.

I pulled my hand out, took out my phone, and used Google Translate to ask her how many balloons she could inhale at most. She thought for a moment and indicated with sign language that she could inhale 100, but I didn't need to pay that much; she would buy some herself. I imagined she meant she would go find someone else to ask.

At this point, I didn't know how many she had inhaled, but I was still her first. I waved for the young man to come over and signaled him to continue giving balloons to the girl next to me. He quickly pressed a button on the counter beside me again. I thought, would this young man take advantage of my inattention and press it a few more times? So I paid extra attention every time he pressed it.

100 balloons for just $500 isn't much for me, but if $500 could let me see her transform from lively to unconscious, I was very much looking forward to it. During this process, she maintained a pace of inhaling one balloon every two minutes. Although I was a human ATM, she never wasted any time, ensuring she inhaled every last bit of gas from the balloon before switching to another. Watching her mouth, I instinctively licked my lips.

Experience tells me that when the frequency is the same, it often means the mind is still clear. I gently wrapped my arms around her waist, and she showed no reaction. Under her little leather outfit, she was wearing just a bra, and under her little leather skirt, there was a white thong. It seemed people here didn't care about wardrobe malfunctions at all. During lunch, I had asked a female friend, "Aren't you afraid of wardrobe malfunctions wearing such short clothes?" She replied, "Of course not. Only girls with good figures dare to wear like this."

My hand had already wandered over her bra, but just as I touched her a couple of times, the girl pushed my hand away with her other hand but still smiled at me without saying anything. Alright, she really wouldn't call the police; Brother B was right. At this moment, I finally relaxed. Time was on my side, and I had money, but this close-up performance was the first I had ever witnessed in my life. I just wanted to be a qualified spectator, of course, with my hands moving as well.

Time kept moving forward. After she had been inhaling for two hours, it was clear she had lost her previous rhythm. Although she hadn't fainted yet, the pace had changed from one balloon every two minutes to three or four minutes for each balloon. At this point, she was almost leaning against me, but her hands still swayed to the music. I knew she was probably not far from "getting high."

Another hour passed, and while she was still inhaling, her head suddenly tilted and fell onto me, while the balloon in her mouth gradually deflated. I watched her and the balloon, my hands not moving, perhaps afraid of waking her or ruining my pleasant mood. My sexual impulse had disappeared without me realizing it, replaced by a very pleasant feeling, perhaps influenced by the N₂O in the air.

After dozing for a few minutes, she struggled to sit up. The first thing she did was take a deep breath from a balloon, her greedy eyes revealing a sense of confusion.

When she took a new balloon, my hand once again found its way to her chest, of course, still over her bra. I couldn't remember how many times I had done this. Occasionally, I would think of it and place my hand there once, and each time she would move my hand away. She surely knew what I wanted, but she stubbornly wouldn't leave me. Later, I asked Brother B why she didn't walk away.

Brother B looked at me mockingly and simply said, "Fool."

This time, when I placed my hand on her chest, she pushed my hand away again, but I didn't move. This time, I used a bit of force, and after several attempts, she couldn't push it away and seemed to give up, perhaps resigned to her fate. Just like when we face so many rich dogs, knowing there might be a price to pay, but the temptation is right in front of us, we still rush in.

But when you reveal your bottom line, your bottom line will be infinitely compressed. My hand was no longer satisfied with touching her over her bra. When she fainted for the second time, my hand had already slipped inside her bra.

Damn, that's fake. I said this to everyone, causing my friends to burst into laughter. Brother T patted my shoulder and said that many girls here have fake breasts and butts. They spend their money on enhancements because it makes them more beautiful. Only girls from poor families endure it. The medical beauty industry in this country has been monopolized by Koreans, and this area is currently in a "Korean wave."

When I lost interest in her chest, she had already let her guard down around me. I could clearly feel that even as her hands continued to sway to the music, she had no objections to me touching her all over. She would still slowly switch the balloons in her hands, occasionally glancing at me and smiling.

When she smiled, I smiled too, but the meanings of our smiles were completely different.

She was inhaling more slowly, and I had lost count of how many she had inhaled. I only knew that there were already four or five girls on my sofa, and my hands and gaze remained on the first girl. Her little leather outfit made her look particularly cute. I closed my eyes, enjoying a moment of tranquility, and then made a bold move. I completely lifted her bra, not unhooking it but pulling it down, exposing her breasts to the colorful lights, which were quite white.

I didn't know why I did this; perhaps I hoped she would wake up and escape from my side. I didn't know, but I did it. She looked at me numbly, and in her eyes, I saw a complex expression, but there was no intention to leave. Instead, she leaned completely against me, her breasts still exposed to the air.

After a while, a young man came over. I thought he was going to help the girl put her clothes back on, especially in such a public place, but I was wrong. The young man skillfully pulled the deflated balloon from the girl's mouth and replaced it with a new one. The girl, who seemed to be unconscious, instinctively began to move her mouth, as if it were a baby's instinct to suckle.

Next to her was another girl, who had probably fainted once or twice. After waking up, she smiled at me, pointed at the girl's chest and my hand, and then her hand joined mine on the leather-clad girl's chest, squeezing it a couple of times. Damn, that was the first word that popped into my head at that moment.

When I left, the leather-clad girl had already been taken away by another girl. As she left, she thanked me. Although I couldn't understand, I felt she was saying thank you because she smiled when she said it, just like she did.

After the leather-clad girl left, there were definitely three or four girls sprawled on my sofa, still instinctively inhaling. I had no idea how many of these "corpses" I had touched, but surprisingly, "I felt no sexual impulse at all."

This was the last sentence he narrated to me, and then he looked at me and smiled. Uncle Cat @Cato_CryptoM and I sat beside him, listening to his story. After he finished, Uncle Cat said to me, "That was shocking." I replied, "I'll write it down."

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