Massage 8

Section Six: On her way back to the company from the hotel after her second home visit
, I was still thinking about what she had said to me.
"Your hands weren't quite at ease this time, but you can be bolder next time," she said, her words echoing in my mind, lingering long after she turned away. I also
pictured her faint smile before she finished speaking. I felt like a complete novice, all my little actions being observed, thinking myself clever, when in reality, others simply saw through me but chose not to say anything.
Massage therapists, a profession that wasn't particularly memorable to me, became somewhat mysterious because of her. My
early memories of massage therapists weren't good; these bad memories stemmed from the numerous bathhouses. Bathhouses today are different from those of the old days. The most primitive bathhouse I remember was the one from my childhood. Back then, bathhouses only opened in winter and closed after the beginning of spring. In those days, conditions were harsh; people couldn't bathe at home in winter, so bathhouses could only do business during the winter.
Now, bathhouses are open year-round, and business is even better in summer than in winter.
Bathhouses of all sizes have upstairs private rooms, which also serve as rest areas. Besides ear cleaners, foot massagers, and cupping therapists, the lobby also houses various massage therapists.
The lighting in the lounge is always dim, so dim that you can't see the women's makeup or their ages.
Sometimes, the massage therapists are even categorized. Some are dressed neatly and elegantly, while others are dressed in shabby clothes.
It's hard to say what their techniques are. But one thing is certain: they definitely don't make a living from massage.
Frankly, some massage therapists in bathhouses are synonymous with prostitution, a profession that can't be seen in the light of day.
I admire a certain director who made a film like *The Flowers of War*, a film with sentiment that redeems the reputation of courtesans along the Qinhuai River, but a film is still just a film.
Getting back to the point, since meeting her, I've had a new understanding of the massage therapist profession. A massage therapist who truly makes a living through massage genuinely understands the secrets of the body's meridian points. A true massage therapist is particular about the points and pressure applied during massage, and the tools used vary depending on the individual and their constitution. Different people require different massage techniques. "Among three people walking together, there must be one who can teach me." She made me truly understand the culture and value of massage. Her skills are those of a genuine massage therapist; I can attest to that.
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Back at the company, I reported to my supervisor, briefly and half-jokingly recounting some details from last night's dinner, and then returned to my office.
Once there, I quickly organized and printed the documents I needed to follow up with clients on. The drinks were over; it was time to get down to business.
I envy those in the system; once they're in, their income is practically guaranteed. Those of us struggling in companies are focused on performance; a fixed basic salary won't allow us to achieve our dreams.
I suddenly thought of the massage therapist again. She wasn't part of the government system, nor was she affiliated with a private company like us; she was self-employed, without a storefront or business license—at most, a family-run massage studio. Her husband was a taxi driver; they were among the lowest strata of society, every penny they earned soaked in sweat. I suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for this woman.
I also wondered how I would respond to her next meeting, but I didn't have the courage to face her again.
Her words, "Your hands were a bit restless this time, but next time you can be bolder," echoed in my mind.
The project progressed very smoothly, from signing the contract to approval and awarding it to the project manager. The group headquarters was very satisfied with our work in Huai'an. To celebrate, our supervisor gathered all the men and women in our project team at the Wanda Realm Hotel in Huai'an, booking a large table for a celebratory banquet. The key was that I had to pay for it myself. Later, I learned that due to my outstanding performance in this project, my supervisor had gained special appreciation from the group headquarters leaders and might be transferred to another branch office to take charge of work at the beginning of next month.
That night, we drank a lot. I actually quite liked this supervisor, though it was a male-to-male appreciation. I didn't think I had his abilities or charisma. He was a natural leader; having him in charge of a project made you feel very secure. You felt that as long as you followed him, you could just do whatever he asked you to do. You didn't need to ask if his plan would work; you just needed to be responsible for doing the details of every step he assigned. Such an excellent person deserved to be promoted, and I was genuinely happy for him.
After the celebration banquet, some of the men and women in the project department went on two separate trips, while others went home on their own. My supervisor and I were both from out of town and didn't have homes in Huai'an.
We both drank too much. He drank too much because he was happy, and I drank too much because I was happy for him. He always treated me like a brother, and I always treated him like an older brother, even though he was actually a few months younger than me, but his demeanor was like that of an older brother.
After everyone left, only he and I remained in the room. I found two cigarettes hidden among the dishes on the table, and we each lit one. I don't usually smoke, and I don't smoke when I've had too much to drink. But today was my last heart-to-heart meal with my boss, so I smoked this one with him. We had a lot to talk about, but cigarettes are really comforting after drinking, especially when you're drunk and feeling hazy and carefree, so comfortable that you don't want to say a word. Just as I was about to finish the cigarette, I couldn't resist and inhaled the smoke, which choked me terribly. I coughed incessantly, and my boss laughed and patted my back, teasing me for being such a grown man who didn't even know how to smoke. So we started talking.
Boss: Shu, you're a good person, a good brother.
Me: You're a good leader, a good older brother.
Boss: Am I usually strict with you?
Me: Yes, but I should be. If I'm not strict, I'm not a leader.
Boss: No, some leaders aren't strict, but for people like us, especially people like you and me who have to work hard, you can't be a leader if you're not strict.
Me: Why? We all respect you. You're smart and resourceful. We'd listen to you even if you weren't so fierce
. Supervisor: You're wrong. Haven't you heard the saying, "The actions of the leader are unpredictable, therefore their authority is unfathomable"?
Me: I don't quite understand.
Supervisor: I appreciate that you all listen to me. Sometimes I'm helpless when I encounter problems, and I don't know if my plans will work. But if I hesitate, what can you do? Being a leader has its difficulties. Sometimes you know you're being unreasonable by being fierce, but you still have to be. Shu, you're a good person, but you're not suited to be a leader because you have no temper.
I suddenly didn't know what to say. Giving me this "good guy" card—does it mean I'll be a failure my whole life? I smiled in response. A short while later, he was very drunk and fell asleep.
Yes, I'm a man with no temper, who doesn't even smoke.
I went back to the table, rummaging for new cigarettes. I wanted to smoke one more, a real one, not the kind where you inhale and exhale, but the kind where you breathe the smoke into your lungs and exhale through your nose. But no matter how hard I looked, I couldn't find any. Those two cigarettes were the last two cigarettes on the table.
It seemed I wouldn't be going home tonight. I dragged my supervisor to the front desk of the Jia Hua Hotel and booked a standard room. I would be staying with my supervisor at the hotel tonight.
The room was on the 12th floor. The Wanda Plaza elevators required a card to select a floor, which wasn't very secure or convenient. For example, if someone wanted to visit, they would have to come out of their room and take the elevator down themselves.
I dragged my supervisor to the hotel room, took off his shoes, and pushed him onto the bed. Good grief, he woke up as soon as he was on the bed, but definitely not a sober one. He started yelling about wanting a massage, demanding a massage, and asking me to take him to the bathroom. I'd seen posts online about people drowning after drinking in bathrooms, and I was worried I wouldn't be able to control him there. But a boss is a boss, and I couldn't stop him from getting a massage. I tried to persuade him that going to the bathroom after drinking wasn't good, while simultaneously trying to think of a solution. Suddenly, I thought of her! Yes! The massage therapist!
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Me: Supervisor, we won't go to the bathroom tonight. If you want a massage, I have a massage therapist who comes to your home; her technique is excellent.
Supervisor: Really? You didn't find some business card somewhere, did you? Let me see it. Tonight, I'll treat you to a good time.
He gave me a seductive smile. We're both single, both under 30, and both have sexual needs. He thought I'd found a "ladyboy" card.
Me: No, it's a real massage therapist, with authentic techniques.
The supervisor was probably exhausted after causing a ruckus, and heeded my advice, telling me to contact the therapist quickly. He took off his clothes and went to the bathroom to shower.
I quickly pulled out my phone and tapped on her husband's WeChat profile picture.
Me: Brother, I'll request one more home visit.
Him: Okay, but it has to be finished before midnight.
I checked the time; it was 10:30 PM. She can only massage one person at a time. If she massages the supervisor, she can't massage me, but this is a relief measure. If she doesn't massage me, so be it. I'm not leaving Huai'an anyway; I'll have plenty of opportunities.
Me: Okay, no problem. But this time it's not for me; it's for my brother. We're at the Wanda Hotel tonight; we drank too much and aren't going home.
There was a few minutes of hesitation on the other end of the WeChat message before he replied. I thought the plan was probably off. Two men in one room, and it was nighttime; asking his wife to come over seemed incredibly risky from a normal man's perspective.
But after a while, his WeChat profile picture popped up.
He said, "No problem, bro. Make sure she's safe. My wife works as a legitimate massage therapist."
I thanked him for his trust, but I was also genuinely impressed by her husband's composure.
I replied, "No problem, don't worry. Today's massage will be double the price."
After sending the message, I gave him my hotel room number and told him to call me when he arrived at Wanda Plaza, and I would pick her up that afternoon
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