The Self-Cultivation of a Reborn Massage Therapist

Chapter 294 I'm going to get aroused, the old man is about to explode.

He was covered in blood, his clothes were tattered like rags, and every inch of his exposed skin was covered with marks from cuts, punches, and burns—marks left by a primitive and brutal close-quarters combat.

His cheeks were swollen high, his mouth was torn, and his entire face was contorted with pain and shock. His right leg had clearly been shot; his trouser leg was soaked in blood, sticking stickily to his flesh, and every step he took was accompanied by a heart-stopping tremor.

He won.

Under everyone's stunned gaze, he practically hopped out of the door, supporting himself on his left leg.

For all the staff members of the bureau who were on the scene, they knew that he had recently experienced a test of blood and fire in America.

But this is South America, and most of his enemies are madmen and thugs, thugs who will stop at nothing for money and a good life in retirement.

They knew he was nineteen years old, a massage therapist who had healed and restored the fighting spirit of countless experienced seniors in the bureau.

They also knew he was there for tourism and wanted to do the bureau a small favor because he had encountered trouble in China, and in exchange, he would also help resolve some problems for the South American station.

So what trouble could a 19-year-old massage therapist encounter in China that would require him to face those lunatics and thugs, to become a desperate criminal, and to make such a great contribution in exchange?

What kind of dire predicament could drive a 19-year-old massage therapist, who should be enjoying her youth and living a carefree life, to this desperate situation where she is on the verge of death?
This forced him to confront those bloodthirsty madmen and inhuman thugs, even to the point of acting like a desperate criminal to gain some unknown "merit," just to exchange for something.
"He... is two years younger than me."

Watching Zhao Xiaochui, who had stopped jumping and was slowly approaching with his injured leg, the tour guide muttered to herself.

The old stationmaster also had a complicated expression. The young man in front of him was not much older than his grandson, but what had he been through?
Anger flashed across his face. The old station chief suppressed the urge to call headquarters to question him, took two steps forward, and tried to help the young man up, but was refused.

Zhao Xiaochui waved to the old man, took one of the two large satchels he was carrying, and threw it in front of the old man.

He pointed to the headphones and said to the old man, "The guys backstage said I did a great job."

"Don't worry, you'll be fine!" The old man said with concern, extending his hand again. "Let's go back first and heal your injuries..."

Before he could finish speaking or fully extend his hand, Zhao Xiaochui waved him off.

Those present, seeing the young masseur's resolute expression, suddenly felt a sense of foreboding.

Zhao Xiaochui slowly removed the earphone from his left ear and whispered to it, "Buddy, don't play patriotic songs anymore. They're too over-the-top for those occasions; you could easily get yourself killed."

He then placed the headphones on his satchel on the ground and said to the old station chief, "Since you've done a good job, the information in the file folder you gave me isn't enough in exchange. Remember to give me some more!"

The stationmaster, having already learned the whole situation through the earpiece, nodded repeatedly and said, "Give it all, give it all, give it whatever you want, child, let's go get our wounds treated first."

To everyone's surprise, Zhao Xiaochui shook his head again. He adjusted the large satchel he was carrying, and the people present could tell from the bulging shape of the satchel that it was full of cash.

Adjusting the bag to a comfortable position, the young masseur, dragging his unsteady right leg, walked through the crowd and, incidentally, patted several support staff members to help absorb some of the stagnation.

However, it was only a drop in the ocean, allowing him to put some support on his right leg.

After taking photos of the people, Zhao Xiaochui walked back the way he came, under everyone's gaze.

"..."

He had only taken two steps when he stopped, turned around, and asked the tour guide with a sheepish grin, "To America Run, is that the way?"

The tour guide thought for a moment and then pointed in the opposite direction.

Zhao Xiaochui turned around and walked through the crowd again, heading towards that distant place—he had already done it once, although it was from Mexico, so he was considered 'experienced' and didn't need any help from the authorities to give directions.

The old stationmaster opened his mouth, as if to speak up and stop him, but then he closed his mouth and let out a deep sigh. He knew that in the face of the terrifying and fierce retaliation to come, they would only be a burden to Zhao Xiaochui. In this backyard of America, they had no reason to stop him.

"Child, what else do you need us to do?" The old stationmaster just wanted to do something.

Zhao Xiaochui stopped his unsteady steps, scratched his head, and thought for a moment: "Get the chartered tourist plane to take off and return home as soon as possible, and help the thirteen girls get American tourist visas. If those bastards dare to do anything to them..."

At this point, Zhao Xiaochui stopped, sighed, and said, "I'll open a massage parlor over there and wait for them. From now on, I won't be in the limelight anymore, so please rest assured, the country. I just plan to open a shop and live a good life with them."

"Also, those senior cleaners have acquired the skills of the girls. You can recruit them into the bureau to improve everyone's lives."

"That's all. You should all leave now. You're all in logistics, so don't drag others into this!"

After Zhao Xiaochui finished speaking, he took another unsteady step and walked forward step by step under the gaze of everyone. He walked faster and faster until his figure flashed and disappeared completely into the night.

The old stationmaster gazed intently into the distance for a moment, then, without further thought, quickly bent down, unzipped his large satchel, glanced inside, and handed it to his assistant without hesitation.

"go!"

The van started and quickly disappeared into the street.

"Everyone, speed up!"

Inside the vehicle, the old stationmaster distributed documents from his satchel, rapidly issuing orders:

"Contact the domestic military, send them our findings. It concerns the Military World Games, let them handle it!"

"Contact the Ministry of Foreign Affairs immediately and send them all the information about Richard Keaton's crimes against us in the Middle East!"

"That's it. Tell them I'm going to save that child's life! Otherwise, I'll take theirs!"

The old stationmaster made a harsh statement and then tapped his earpiece again.

"Station manager, I'm here." The backstage staff kept a close eye on the situation.

The old man, with a sinister expression, said, word by word, "Contact the General Administration, the Labor Bureau!"

"Connected!"

"..."

There was silence in the earpiece.

How could we not remain silent? Everything that happened on the front lines was being broadcast live from the General Administration's command center.

The reason no one interrupted the old stationmaster's orders was that he was not only Lei Zhen's master, but also a senior colleague of the Labor Bureau. The highly experienced old man was a rehired employee of the General Bureau (fictional).

No one, especially no leader, wanted to be scolded by this old man.

The labor bureau didn't want to either.

Nineteen years old!

The old stationmaster started to lose his temper.

(End of this chapter)