The Self-Cultivation of a Reborn Massage Therapist

Chapter 342 The Butterfly Effect
Zhao Xiaochui had a dream week.

Upon arriving in the United States, he did not heed the advice of the Asian youth—as someone without legal status, he should have stayed in the house.

But with his skills and courage, he went out the next day to investigate the local massage market.

The massage industry here is clearly stratified: the high-end market is standardized and professional, while the lower levels are gray and ambiguous. In the legitimate sector, a license is the prerequisite for everything. To practice here, one must complete over 500 hours of certification courses, pass a background check, and ultimately obtain a license from the California Council for Massage Therapy. Zhao Xiaochui is a law-abiding citizen, so he had to temporarily abandon his idea of ​​working in the industry.

He wandered aimlessly through the streets of San Francisco, observing the bustling and diverse city like an ordinary tourist. Just then, he unexpectedly encountered a wealthy man who had once spent lavishly at "Easy Walk."

Their eyes met, and the air was still for two seconds. A hint of surprise flashed across the other's eyes, which then turned into unbelievable joy.

"...A small hammer?" the other person asked tentatively.

What followed unfolded like a miracle. Zhao Xiaochui truly experienced the power that money and connections could play in this country.

Upon arriving in San Francisco, he started working at an independent massage parlor that very night; the next day, he received a job offer from a high roller as a "personal assistant" and provided massage services to two officials from a U.S. department; by the third day, he had obtained temporary status and was able to skip the queue for an O-1 visa for "extraordinary ability".

"How much did it cost?" Zhao Xiaochui asked.

The wealthy man simply smiled mysteriously and didn't answer. Compared to how Zhao Xiaochui had saved him from years of flying and his near-collapse, using this money and connections was nothing.

"when are you going back to China?"

Hao Ke still hoped Zhao Xiaochui could return to that old street. He knew that once the kid made a name for himself there, he wouldn't be able to compete with those Anglo-Saxon elites—even though he had some "small fortune."

Zhao Xiaochui did not answer Hao Ke's question either.

Because he himself was also waiting for the reply from that Asian youth, or rather, "a certain company".

He wants revenge.

He wants to strike hard enough to avoid being hit a hundred times.

He wanted to punish those people severely and frighten them so that they would never dare to have any more evil thoughts, so that he and his companions could work and live in peace and without any disturbance.

This is why the two sides disagreed on the "strength of retaliation".

It wasn't until Zhao Xiaochui's process of obtaining his US citizenship was fully revealed to the Asian youth that "a certain company" finally gave in.

There was nothing they could do; they were afraid that the boy might really never return.

No one can bear the responsibility of losing such a talented person.

So, a week later, Zhao Xiaochui started a live stream on her way to work at the massage studio.

…………

A bustling street lined with luxury stores near Union Square in San Francisco, California.

Zhao Xiaochui appeared unexpectedly in the center of the frame. Wearing an ordinary black hoodie, hands in his pockets, he strolled leisurely through the bustling crowd, his relaxed demeanor clashing with the fast pace of the surroundings. He seemed to have found the perfect backdrop for his live stream, slowly turning around, grinning at the camera, revealing a set of white teeth:
"Hello everyone, I'm Zhao Xiaochui, the chief technician of Easy Slow Travel!" Before he finished speaking, the world behind him, like a precisely calculated domino, began its chain reaction.

On a street corner, an Asian youth took a sip of bubble tea, and a ball bearing suddenly slipped out of his trouser leg.

A tourist who was using navigation slipped, cried out in surprise, stumbled forward two steps, and bumped into a street artist's easel on the roadside.

The easel collapsed with a crash. A bucket of bright red paint shot into the air, tracing an arc before landing precisely on the helmet visor of a cyclist waiting at a red light.

The messenger's vision went completely red in an instant. He instinctively slammed on the brakes and tried to wipe it away with his hand. The bicycle veered off course and tilted to one side, the handlebars slamming heavily against a metal trash can with a deafening crash.

The loud noise startled the drug addict who had been dozing off beside the trash can. Like a frightened wild animal, he sprang to his feet and rushed headlong into the road.

At the same time, a bright yellow Lamborghini with a low growl was turning from the intersection. The driver, a young Chinese man wearing sunglasses, saw the drug addict rushing out, his pupils contracted, and he swerved sharply to the right, trying to avoid the suddenly appearing human obstacle.

The sports car screeched to a halt as its front end narrowly missed the addict's body. This extreme evasive maneuver sent the car hurtling out of control and hurtling towards the sidewalk!
Zhao Xiaochui had just finished his opening remarks and hadn't even had time to look at the comments when he felt a tremendous force coming from the side.

"boom!"

The Lamborghini's rearview mirror scraped heavily against his shoulder.

The immense impact sent him flying, his phone flying out of his hand. The live stream then spun around, the street scene, the sky, terrified faces, and speeding cars being sliced ​​into countless chaotic fragments that flashed by in an instant.

Finally, the phone clattered against the metal trash can that had just been overturned, bounced once, and miraculously came to a stop leaning against the side of the can.

The image stabilized, creating an eerie low-angle perspective.

Across the street, the Asian youth, pale-faced, watched everything unfold before him, finished the last sip of his milk tea, and looked down at his phone.

At this moment, the live broadcast room became an unexpected yet dynamic stage.

The camera angled sharply towards Zhao Xiaochui, who had fallen to the ground, capturing his pained expression and the surrounding chaos. Nearly ten million viewers held their breath at that moment. The live chat almost stopped; everyone waited, waiting for a result.

"hiss--"

The dark gray Lamborghini Urus, with a low growl, came to a stop, and the door rose smoothly.

Three young people got off the bus.

Wei Xiaoting, dressed in a well-tailored dark casual suit, had a cold and stern expression. Leng Chao stepped out of the passenger seat, his face arrogant. Finally, a young woman, Jin Ruiyi, gracefully stepped out of the back seat. She wore an expensive casual suit, her makeup impeccable, and stood to the side with her arms crossed, her face displaying an indifferent detachment.

Wei Xiaoting's gaze quickly swept over a thin but clear scratch on the side of the car's front, and then locked onto Zhao Xiaochui a few steps away.

He didn't shout, but spoke clearly in fluent English:
"Sir, please stay where you are. You have just caused damage to my vehicle."

Leng Chao stepped forward slowly, his gaze sweeping over Zhao Xiaochui as if assessing an object, his tone calm yet carrying a chilling coldness:
“This isn’t the place for you to stand there doing nothing. The solution is simple: contact your insurance company immediately and provide valid identification and proof of insurance. Or,” he paused, lowering his voice, “we can call the police and let them decide. But I suspect going through the official process might be a bit… complicated for you.”

(End of this chapter)