He Ming takes him back to the bench. A few feet away, the system of tubing and vacuum is lying inert for now. The milking machine is as clean and well-maintained as all of He Ming's other equipment, metal gleaming dully as he pulls it over on its wheels before locking it in place.

"Up," He Ming says, patting the bench. "Scoot forward. I need your teats over the edge so I can attach these, okay?"