The Self-Cultivation of a Reborn Massage Therapist

Chapter 368 Diagnosis
The comment section instantly filled with questions and jokes:
"That's it? This design... it's not that it has no highlights, but it's just that there's absolutely no design at all?"

"It works well."

"Is making money in the fashion industry really that easy? I could do it too!"

"But it works so well!"

It seems that some domestic customers of the "Relaxed and Slow Travel" group have infiltrated the comments section.

Finally, netizens shifted their focus from the simple and unpretentious linen products to the relaxed and leisurely boss.

"This simple and direct aesthetic is very much in line with my style, Chris Hemsworth."

"Speaking of which, don't you guys think the most surreal thing is the boss himself?"

"Orphan, no branches, acquired a listed company, want an S-set?"

"That kind of person is good at making a fortune quietly. Who would jump to the forefront like him, confront Jinling and Ugly Donkey head-on, and fight to the death?"

"His fighting style is more like someone who has nothing to lose and is fearless when they're pushed to the limit, flipping the table when pushed to the limit. This isn't an S-set, it's a hammer, designed to cause trouble."

"Although it's a cliché, Brother Hammer is a tough guy who doesn't talk much."

"These products are very much in line with my style, simple and direct."

So, are they... fashionable?

"..."

……

Is it fashionable?
As dusk settles, Jinchan North Road comes into view.

Evangeline Foster stepped out of the car slowly, dressed in a sharp black suit and sporting her signature bob haircut.

She didn't immediately head towards the door, but paused slightly, looking up at the building in front of her.

Then, the fashionable older woman revealed a silence familiar to the Chinese fashion world…

She ultimately said nothing, only slightly adjusted her gloves, and then, accompanied by her entourage, walked toward the dark gray glass sliding door.

Behind the dark gray one-way glass sliding door, Zhao Xiaochui stood with his hands in his pockets, quietly watching the fashionable queen outside.

He then tilted his head, turned to Pan Xiaoli beside him, and spoke with a hint of uncertainty:
"Although I have no evidence... I just feel like this old lady is cursing me with her eyes."

Pan Xiaoli, standing to the side, pursed her lips and nodded, suppressing a smile. Evangeline Foster outside the door had such an undisguised look of disgust that it was practically written all over her face.

"Although I know our store will attract this kind of person sooner or later... I really don't like this kind of thing."

He frowned, glancing at the faintly visible group of fans and media outside the window, and waved his hand: "Finish the service quickly and let her leave. All that noise is annoying."

Pan Xiaoli nodded, suppressing a laugh, took a deep breath, and smiled familiarly as she went to greet her idol.

"Good evening, Ms. Foster, welcome to the new Relaxation Walk." She bowed slightly, trying to maintain a proper posture.

Evangeline Foster's gaze merely swept over her briefly, without lingering or responding to the greeting.

Her assistant immediately stepped forward and said in fluent Chinese in a low voice, "Ms. Foster is having a long journey."

But this explanation is weak and unconvincing.

“Black glass, paired with the beige, natural wood, and warm white of the lobby…” the old lady finally spoke, “A color combination so safe it’s boring and utterly unimaginative. Is this a hotel lobby, or the living room of some middle-class housewife?”

Pan Xiaoli's smile froze for a moment.

Foster did not wait for a reply, ignored the doorman's action of stopping the casual visitor, and walked straight through the gate.

“It’s too bulky,” she said sarcastically, glancing at the prominent tea bar. “It’s full of primitive, unthinking crudeness, screaming ‘I’m expensive’ but exposing its aesthetic poverty.”

Pan Xiaoli felt her cheeks burning.

Foster then looked at the various glasses displayed on the bar, "And these glasses... trying to imitate 'luxury' with intricate glazes and clumsy gilding, but they just look like a bunch of ill-fitting nouveau riche."

She paused, her gaze finally settling on Pan Xiaoli from head to toe.

"Just like your uniform."

Pan Xiaoli: "..."

“Pockets with no design whatsoever, cheap cotton and linen texture, and this drab color…” Foster’s brow furrowed even more, “making you look bulky, lazy, and utterly unprofessional.”

She paused again, her gaze sweeping across the empty massage parlor:
"And here..."

"This suffocating emptiness. A high-end service establishment, yet so... desolate during prime business hours."

"In my industry, we call it deadly silence. It's not about being low-key, it's about lacking appeal; it silently tells people that nobody cares and it's worthless!"

"You're even stingy with creating the illusion of a busy atmosphere!"

“Ms. Foster,” Pan Xiaoli liked that she was the one who would criticize others rather than herself. She took a deep breath, suppressing the rise and fall of her chest, and tried to keep her tone steady, “This is a massage and therapy center, not a fashion show. Everything here is designed to help guests completely relax, not to create a visual impact.”

She turned slightly to the side, making a guiding gesture, and quickened her pace: "The boss is already waiting for you in the studio. Please follow me, this way please."

Before the other party could speak again, Pan Xiaoli almost half-guided and half-urged, leading this powerful woman through the empty hall and quickly to Zhao Xiaochui's studio.

In the studio, Zhao Xiaochui was looking down at the detailed information about Evangeline Foster on a tablet computer.

Scanned copies of diagnostic reports from top global medical institutions such as the Mayo Clinic and the Cleveland Clinic.

He scrolled quickly across the pages, his gaze sweeping over the lengthy medical jargon and test data, finally settling on the conclusions of each report—

"No obvious organic abnormalities were observed." "Consistent with mild age-related degenerative changes."

"Conservative treatment (physical therapy, rest) and regular observation are recommended."

All the reports reached the same conclusion: modern medical methods could not find any disease in her; they only confirmed the unforgiving objective fact of aging.

Zhao Xiaochui put down the tablet and unconsciously tapped the table with his fingertips.

He certainly wouldn't use his magic touch on the old lady, but it's unclear whether a long-term treatment plan based on traditional Chinese medicine's internal energy cultivation would be acceptable to this efficiency-conscious old lady.

One minute later.

The most demanding client Easy Slow Travel has ever encountered since its inception has finally met its owner.

In the quiet studio, Evangeline Foster sat across from Zhao Xiaochui, making no attempt to hide her disdain for his haute couture attire.

“I don’t understand,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “How exactly do you manage to create the illusion of being ‘sold out’ in that industry with your… utterly undesigned, colorlessly dull ‘fabric scraps’?”

“I don’t understand either,” she said slowly, her tone calm, yet like a precise scalpel, dissecting the other person’s most fundamental pretense. “At your age, what kind of obsession and fear drives you to travel the world and pretend that you have unlimited energy?”

She was in a high position and used to being in control of everything, but the prospect of exposing her physical and mental exhaustion made her uneasy. Her aggressive attitude was merely an attempt to control the pace of the conversation and conceal her desire for help.

“I don’t understand either,” Zhao Xiaochui said, not getting angry, but looking at the fashion queen with curiosity. “What kind of obsession and fear drives you to travel all over the world at this age, pretending to have unlimited energy?”

Zhao Xiaochui knew the old lady wasn't there for comfort, so he spoke frankly.

"Ms. Evangeline Foster, aren't you tired?"

"You have always maintained a dignified and upright posture..."

"Reviewing documents, attending fashion shows, chairing meetings, maintaining a perfect smile in front of the camera, and gracefully navigating social situations..."

Zhao Xiaochui held up the tablet and showed the old lady her medical records.

"You can't even spare a dedicated time to go to the hospital for a comprehensive check-up!"

As Zhao Xiaochui spoke, the smile on Ms. Foster's lips slowly faded. She glared at the young masseur and coldly uttered a single sentence:

"My time is far more valuable than my health!"

Upon hearing this, Zhao Xiaochui scratched his head, thought for a moment, then stood up, gestured towards the door, and called out loudly:

"Sister Xiaoli, see the guest out!"

He didn't want to waste any more time on such a stubborn customer.

However, Ms. Foster did not move at all. Instead of getting up, she leaned back in her chair, placed her hands on her knees, and slightly raised her chin, just like her image in the movie.

"Show them out?" she said flippantly, "before I get the answer I want?"

She looked directly at Zhao Xiaochui:

"So, are you going to tell me, like those quacks at Mayo and Cleveland, 'Everything's fine, you just need rest,' and then send me on my way? You don't even know what's wrong with me?"

“Ms. Evangeline Foster…”

Zhao Xiaochui picked up the tablet with a headache, thought for a moment, then put it down again. He took out the pre-printed medical records and presented them page by page to the Queen of the World.

"If you could just take half a day to stop working and have an in-depth conversation with your doctor, carefully recalling the time, frequency, triggers, and whether the pain was related to any specific work-related event..."

"Then, as instructed by the doctor, I kept a headache diary, recording in detail the time, intensity, symptoms, what I was doing at the time, and medication I took for each attack..."

Zhao Xiaochui pointed to a page of medical records.

"You were at Johns Hopkins, where intracranial problems were ruled out;"

"At the Cleveland Clinic, structural cervical spine disease has been ruled out."

"At the Mayo Clinic, vascular and inflammatory headaches were ruled out;"

Under the watchful eye of the fashion queen, Zhao Xiaochui gathered all the medical records together and shoved them heavily in front of her.

"Your head MRI showed no obvious abnormalities."

"Mild degenerative changes in the cervical spine, consistent with age."

"All inflammatory markers are within the normal range."

"All doctors recommended further examination based on clinical symptoms."

"This is also the last sentence of all the reports, and also the seemingly most useless sentence." Zhao Xiaochui walked around the desk to the old lady's side, tapped on the medical records, and said helplessly, "Madam, you don't need to give me these medical records after you have compiled them, but give them to the doctors."

"They will provide you with a definitive diagnosis based on the compiled medical records."

Ms. Foster's gaze swept over the thick stack of medical records, and she remained silent for a few seconds.

“Young man,” she leaned forward slightly and tapped on the stack of reports, “why don’t you use it?”

Zhao Xiaochui spread his hands and shrugged like the old lady: "I practice traditional Chinese internal energy massage."

"..." The old lady sat up straight for the first time and looked at Zhao Xiaochui seriously: "So, what exactly is my illness?"

Zhao Xiaochui's gaze darted back and forth between the thick stack of medical records and the old lady's stubborn face, finally translating his diagnosis into Western medical terms that she could better understand.

"Ms. Evangeline Foster, your prolonged use of a pretentious posture has led to you suffering from..."

He hesitated for a moment before giving a Western medical diagnosis, word by word, in fluent English:
"Acute exacerbation of chronic neck and shoulder myofascial pain syndrome, accompanied by severe cervicogenic headache."

(End of this chapter)