Chapter 1: The Doorway

Once I stepped out of the Guangdong Airport Terminal, it hit me like a warm, wet towel. It had been five days since arriving, and the air still clung—thick and fragrant with the exhaust of street food and something green and ancient I couldn’t name. My tiny apartment felt like a terrarium. My new office, with its sleek glass and humming efficiency, felt like a completely different planet. About me: my name is Julie Chin, and I am a 26-year-old Seattle native reporting for duty in southern China, not far from the small village where my grandparents once lived before moving to Washington State decades ago. Excitement warred with jet-lagged nausea and the challenge of improving my language skills. This was the big break—International Business Development Manager for East Asia Logistics. My Mandarin was passable, my Cantonese non-existent, but my spreadsheets were impeccable. That’s what mattered, right?

My direct manager, Chen Wei, seemed ... efficient. Reserved. He’d welcomed me with a curt nod and a stack of reports taller than my coffee mug. His wife, Lily, however, was the embodiment of sunshine. I’d met her briefly in the office lobby two days ago—a whirlwind of silk, laughter, and impossibly perfect posture. She’d squeezed my hand, her eyes crinkling. “Welcome, Julie! You must come to our home soon. We’ll have a little gathering. Make you feel welcome!” Her warmth was disarming, a stark contrast to Chen Wei’s professional chill.

Friday evening found me navigating unfamiliar streets in a taxi, clutching a bottle of expensive Californian Pinot Noir like a shield. “Little gathering.” My mind conjured images: canapés, polite small talk in a mix of languages, maybe some awkward karaoke. I smoothed my new, conservative silk dress—deep blue, professional but festive. Make a good impression. Blend in. Observe. My Seattle sensibilities were firmly buttoned up.

The Chen residence wasn’t a sprawling mansion, but it radiated quiet wealth—a modern villa tucked behind a high wall, lush tropical foliage spilling over. Lanterns glowed softly along the path. I could hear the murmur of voices and soft jazz from inside. Deep breath. Showtime.

I pressed the bell. Chimes echoed faintly within. The heavy wooden door swung open, and my brain ... stopped.

Lily stood there. Smiling that same radiant smile—utterly, completely, devastatingly naked.

Oh my God. The thought slammed into me, silent and paralyzing. Every ounce of blood in my body seemed to rush to my face, then drain away just as fast, leaving me icy cold and dizzy. My grip tightened convulsively on the wine bottle. What? Is this ... a joke? A horrible mistake? Did I mishear the time? Is she sick?

My eyes, traitors that they were, flicked downward for a microsecond—the smooth curve of her shoulder, the dip of her waist, the undeniable reality of bare skin everywhere—before snapping back to her face, wide with shock. I couldn’t look away from her eyes, which held nothing but a warm welcome and ... amusement. At my expense? Was she laughing at me?

“Julie!” Lily’s voice was exactly as I remembered—warm and melodic, completely unperturbed. “So glad you made it! Come in, come in, it’s getting stuffy out here.” She stepped back, gesturing gracefully with one bare arm. Her movements were fluid and confident, as if she were wearing the finest evening gown, not ... nothing. Absolutely nothing.

My feet felt rooted to the spot. My mouth opened, but only a faint squeak emerged. Say something, Julie! Anything! My internal voice was screaming. This is insane! Is this some kind of test? A hazing ritual? My American upbringing screamed PRIVACY! MODESTY! INVASION! My professional persona whimpered in a corner. The humid night air pressed against me like a heavy blanket, saturating my skin. My silk dress, chosen for modest elegance, now clung like a second skin—soaked, outlining every secret I meant to keep hidden. My nipples stood out clearly, no bra to shield them. At least my thong kept the VPL under control. I could feel sweat trickling down my spine, pooling at my waist before running down my legs, sticking the fabric to my thighs. My breath came in shallow gasps. I felt overdressed, overwhelmed, and under-prepared.

“Lily ... I...” I finally stammered, my voice barely a whisper, hoarse with panic. My eyes darted past her shoulder. Inside, I could see people—men in suits, women in elegant dresses—standing, talking, and holding drinks. All clothed. All seemed seemingly oblivious to the completely nude woman welcoming me at the door. A server, also naked but composed, glided past with a tray of champagne flutes, weaving effortlessly between guests with practiced grace. What. Is. Happening?

Lily tilted her head, her smile softening into something almost sympathetic. “First time, ah?” she asked gently, as if reading the utter chaos in my eyes. “It’s quite right. Please, don’t stand during the ceremony outside. Come join us.”

She reached out—not to touch me—but to gently usher me forward. I flinched a tiny, involuntary jerk backward. Mortification burned through me. Don’t be rude! Don’t offend her! But ... she’s NAKED!

“It’s our way,” Lily continued, her tone soothing yet matter-of-fact, like explaining the weather. “A very old tradition here. Hospitality means the host sheds barriers—shows trust and openness to honored guests.” She gestured toward the clothed figures inside. “Only the host and household staff will be naked tonight. Our guests,”—her eyes swept over my dress with a hint of approval—”are honored by our openness and remain clothed—it’s a sign of respect.”

Sheds barriers? Trust? Openness? The words bounced around my skull, making no sense of the visceral shock of her nakedness. My face was on fire. I could feel sweat prickling under my arms, down my spine—a sharp counterpoint to the cool glass of the wine bottle I was white-knuckling. Honored guests remain clothed. That part, at least, registered. I wasn’t expected to ... undress? A tiny, hysterical bubble of relief threatened to burst, quickly drowned by renewed waves of embarrassment. I was staring at her face, away, then back again—drawn helplessly to the impossible normalcy of her nudity in this elegant setting ... She wasn’t posing. She wasn’t seductive. She was just ... present. Talking to me. While naked.

Lily’s gaze followed mine for a fleeting second, then returned to my eyes, a knowing sparkle in hers. There was no shame there. None. Only a quiet, almost regal pride. “See?” she said softly, a hint of challenge beneath the warmth. “It’s just skin, Julie. The truest welcome we can offer.” She paused, her head tilting again. “Would removing everything help you feel less ... separate?”

The question hung in the humid air. Remove everything? Here? Now? With thirty clothed colleagues inside? My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. The thought was unthinkable. Terrifying. Obscene. My entire body screamed: NO!

“N-no!” The word burst out of me—too loud, too sharp. I saw a flicker of surprise, maybe disappointment, cross Lily’s face before it smoothed back into serene hospitality. “I mean ... thank you, Lily, but ... I’m ... I’m fine. As I am.” I managed a weak, trembling smile that felt like a grimace. Fine? I’m about to pass out or throw up.

“Of course,” Lily said smoothly, her smile never wavering. “No pressure at all. Please, come in. Chen Wei is eager to introduce you.” She stepped fully aside.

Trapped. There was no fleeing now—not without causing a major, career-limiting scene. Every instinct screamed: RUN, but my feet, betraying me again, shuffled forward over the threshold. Automatically, I slipped off my shoes, grateful to obey at least one familiar rule of etiquette. The cool marble floor was a blessing against my overheated soles. The air-conditioning hit my sweat-drenched skin like a miracle, but it did nothing for my clothes. My dress clung tighter than ever, wet silk molding to every curve, turning formality into exposure.

“The humid air does cling to newcomers,” Lily said gently, her eyes flicking to the wet silk molding to my mostly naked body under it. “It reveals more than we sometimes mean to. Would you like to freshen up? There’s a private room with a shower. I have a summer hanfu that would suit you beautifully,” Lily offered, her tone light but precise. “Breathable, elegant—something more forgiving than that silk armor you came in.”

She leaned in slightly and whispered to a nearby server, who nodded once and gestured for me to follow.

I hesitated—just long enough to remind myself I couldn’t stand here dripping sweat on Lily’s floor, half-panic-stricken, all night. Wordlessly, I followed the woman down a side hall. The air was cold on my wet skin as we moved away from the warmth and noise of the gathering. She opened a door to a private guest suite, then stepped inside and turned to bow slightly, palm-out, inviting me forward. I hesitated, then entered. The door closed behind me with a soft click.

The room was spare but elegant: pale tile, polished wood, and soft lighting. The servant stepped behind me and, without a word, began to unzip my soaked dress. I flinched—embarrassed—but didn’t stop her. The wet silk peeled away slowly, clinging to my back, thighs, and breasts. She hung it with care on a lacquered hanger while I stepped toward the shower alcove.

I rinsed quickly, grateful for the cool water and the solitude. A moment later, the servant returned, kneeling behind me as I sat on a wooden stool. Her hands moved with ritualistic calm—working shampoo into my hair, rinsing it, then gently scrubbing my back with a soft cloth. I washed the rest of my body, grateful and mortified all at once.

Afterward, she dried me with soft towels, blotting water from my skin with the same patient, unhurried grace. Still damp, I let her twist my hair into an elegant updo using black lacquered pins. I didn’t speak as I stood there naked while she finished with my hair. Neither did she. There was something sacred about the silence.

In the bedroom, she helped me into the hanfu—a pale jade garment layered like mist, the silk cool against my bare skin. I felt each tie, each fold, each wrap. I was naked in front of her, and I hated how much it made me blush. However, this wasn’t about shame. It was about respect, so I let her do her work.

When I returned to the main room, naked under the borrowed hanfu and barefoot, I could hear and feel it rustle with every step. The eyes of the crowd barely flicked toward me. To them, I was just another guest. Inside, everything started to shift.

When I stepped into the hallway again, the hanfu rustling softly around my ankles, the servant walked silently beside me—still naked, still serene. Her presence, once jarring, now felt like part of the strange rhythm of this place.