The Self-Cultivation of a Reborn Massage Therapist

Chapter 248 doesn't represent me

When Zhao Xiaochui announced the store's closure, Qian Mankun happened to be receiving service on the second floor.

As a long-time customer of "Relaxed Stroll," this wealthy man has long been accustomed to letting his guard down here.

As he lay on the spa bed, what he heard was not music, but the sound of highland winds simulated by the "three senses system," mixed with extremely faint chanting.

The air was filled with custom-made cedar and ambergris, a scent that allowed him to relax his nerves, which had been on edge all week, from the tension of chasing wealth.

The technician's movements were gentle yet firm, guided by his breathing; he knew what was coming next.

Twenty minutes later, when he enters the deepest state of relaxation, the technician will gently brush his earlobes with a special feather to wake him from his light sleep.

Then, two silent waiters will appear, one handing over a hot towel at just the right temperature, and the other preparing his favorite cornflower hydrosol.

The bathroom lights, water temperature, and shower settings were already preset according to his habits. All he needed to do was open his eyes.

With money, the world should be this smooth, precise, and taken for granted.

He exhaled a long breath, his consciousness completely dissipated, and he drifted away into a trance.

"Didi dididi~"

The piercing alarm brutally dragged Qian Mankun back to reality from his reverie.

This is a signal from the spa bed detecting an abnormal heartbeat in the customer. What should have been a silent reminder to the therapist has now become a jarring noise.

The wind and hymns from the highlands abruptly ceased, all equipment stopped operating, and only the flagship air purification system was activated—it was rapidly filtering out the residual fragrance from the air.

Qian Mankun suddenly opened his eyes.

He was stunned.

The technician has disappeared.

He lay shirtless on the cool spa bed, his body still covered in unabsorbed essential oils that glistened greasy in the white light.

Clearly, the service didn't end before it was fully completed.

He waited for ten seconds, twenty seconds, a minute...

No feathers, no hot towels, no cornflower hydrosol.

Nothing at all.

"anyone there?"

No one either.

His voice sounded particularly abrupt in the empty room, even echoing slightly. The only answer he received was the sound of his own heartbeat.

An unprecedented sense of absurdity welled up inside him. He, Qian Mankun, a man accustomed to being surrounded by followers and able to mobilize billions of dollars with a single phone call, was now like a forgotten package, abandoned here.

He sat up, the sticky feeling on his body making him frown.

He grabbed a towel draped over him and roughly dried himself. The towel, devoid of any romantic atmosphere, seemed rather ordinary in its texture.

He walked barefoot onto the cold floor tiles towards the shower room.

He stood in front of the smart control panel, with dozens of icons and options that he had never given a second glance to before.

He tentatively pressed one, and a blast of icy water poured over his head, sending a shiver down his spine. He cursed and frantically tried to adjust the temperature, nearly slipping as the water slicked against him.

A dozen minutes later, he finally rinsed himself off and emerged from the shower, looking disheveled. He needed to find his locker.

He navigated the VIP rooms with only a vague memory. Without a silent attendant to guide him, he opened the wrong door twice, even though the distance was only a dozen steps. In the dressing room, just like before, his bespoke suit, shirt, and his priceless Patek Philippe lay there quietly.

He started dressing himself.

He fastened the cufflink himself, a process that required special skill.

He tied his tie himself and adjusted the angle of the tie in front of the gleaming cabinet door.

He put the watch on himself.

Every movement was both incredibly practiced and utterly unfamiliar. At home, there's a nanny; at the office, a secretary; here, there are waiters.

He couldn't remember the last time he had completed this entire process.

When he transformed back into the impeccably dressed tycoon, his face darkened, a nameless rage burning within him, and he strode out of the room.

Originally, after this treatment was completed, he could, as Zhao Xiaochui had suggested, resume the sexual activities he had been looking forward to, but...

He needs an explanation for whether it's finished or not—it's not that he was mistreated, but whether he can engage in sexual activity.

In the lounge, more than a dozen distinguished guests with the same expression had already gathered, half of them still wearing silk bathrobes, each with a different look on their faces.

The privacy protection before the leisurely stroll was very good. This was the first time Qian Mankun had met other customers here. The neatly dressed people looked somewhat familiar, and he knew that he had seen them in some social occasions.

Qian Mankun noticed that they, like himself, were dressed in suits and ties instead of casual wear, which clearly showed their respect for technology.

It can be submitted.

The group nodded to each other in tacit agreement.

In the center of the hall, the most eye-catching figure was a beautiful woman in a bathrobe with a cool and aloof demeanor. She simply leaned quietly to one side, as if everything was irrelevant to her.

Qian Mankun then noticed that the partition between the men's and women's areas had been opened, doubling the size of the hall and revealing a wide passage leading directly to Zhao Xiaochui's work area.

A printed A4 sheet of paper was pasted on the wall of the corridor:
Due to an emergency, the store is closed immediately. The VIP elevator is shut down; please use this fire exit to leave.

There was no apology, no explanation. Only a single A4 sheet of paper brimming with absolute arrogance.

Even as a super-rich man, Qian Mankun felt that this text was missing a sentence: "We sincerely apologize for any inconvenience caused to you."

At that moment, a man wearing a bathrobe and gold-rimmed glasses tapped lightly on the tea bar in front of him with his knuckles.

We need an explanation.

This wasn't a question, but more of a statement. His tone was forceful, as if he represented the shared demands of everyone present—calm, yet brooking no argument.

"I do not need."

Before Sister Hua behind the bar could speak, Qian Mankun lazily picked up the conversation. He pulled out his frantically vibrating phone, opened the already buzzing 'Morning Erection Enthusiasts Group,' and spoke with a hint of flippant mockery:

"You don't represent me."

After saying that, Qian Mankun sent a message in the group: "Someone is stirring up trouble. I'll find out what's going on and then tell everyone."

He then opened the "Easy Travel" backend and found that all reservation channels and the member mall were closed.

'Damn it, a bunch of greedy bastards who are good for nothing but causing trouble!' Qian Mankun had already guessed seven or eight parts of the truth.

The customers on the first floor are either elderly people or children, and they are obviously not the type to cause the store to close.

It can only be the second floor, only some greedy and insatiable customers on the second floor!

(End of this chapter)