I am not a literary giant

Chapter 192 Philosophy, Poetry, and Essential Oils: The Art of Back-Opening and Kneading Facial Massage

Prince Xu lifted the curtain with his fingers.

The woman was covered with a light yellow towel, her collarbone and above exposed; she lay on the bed in a position more comfortable than the Taihang Mountains lying on the North China Plain.

Just as Prince Xu had expected, she was wearing an eye mask. Otherwise, he wouldn't have dared to lift the curtain and peek.

Currently, he is not in a situation where he is certain to die, nor has he reached the point of committing suicide at the Wujiang River. He is still in a state of being besieged on all sides, and there is still room for him to save himself.

"Hurry up," An Younan urged.

The mountains were stirring. If Prince Xu didn't take action soon, she would.

The prince, steeling himself, lifted the curtain and entered the room.

At this point, he had just met An Younan and their relationship was not deep; he didn't yet know her character. If it were the future Prince Xu, he would definitely have stormed out by any means necessary. But at this moment, he thought, "It's just pressing the air conditioner button; it only takes three seconds."

Pressing the air conditioner is simple; just a light touch of your finger, or even a word, and the "beep" of the air conditioner will tell you everything. But Prince Xu doesn't know that yet. He doesn't know how troublesome An Younan is.

In business, she excels at simplifying complex matters and making swift, decisive decisions; but in life, she compensatorily complicates everything. What might seem like simply pressing an air conditioner button can escalate into a series of new demands, ultimately requiring a strenuous climb up Mount Everest to resolve her problem.

However, Prince Xu was unaware of this at the time.

Wang Zixu strode into the room and, as An Younan had instructed, turned down the fan speed by one level. After a "beep" sound, An Younan spoke again:

"Turn the humidifier to tidal mode, and switch the aromatherapy diffuser to the new one I made, it's in my bag, the blue bottle one. Then raise my bed by 30 degrees... no, 20 degrees, please. Change the playlist on the music player, what's that whirring music playing? Change it to white noise to help you sleep. Oh, and ventilate the room for 10 minutes before changing the aromatherapy diffuser."

Upon hearing this, Wang Zixu's mind went blank for a moment.

"Hurry up," An Younan urged, "This aromatherapy diffuser can't be used on low fan speed, switch it quickly."

Wang Zixu had no idea that air conditioning and aromatherapy could be connected in such a way. When Sartre lifted the curtain on the other side and walked in with his hands behind his back, Wang Zixu realized that he couldn't stay there any longer.

"Social death, a good term, somewhat in line with my theoretical direction." Sartre, pipe in mouth and hands behind his back, said, "Unfortunately, I'm already dead, physically. A dead body can't study any propositions."

"What time is it? Still spouting nonsense." The prince glared at him, issuing a silent protest: "If you're dead, don't whine here. You don't even have the greatest virtue of the dead—silence."

Sartre shrugged, put his hands behind his back, and walked to the other side, his smile clearly one of schadenfreude.

"I suggest you don't make her wait. If she gets angry and takes off her blindfold, she'll see you, the uninvited guest—there's an idiom for that, right? 'Uninvited guest'."

You are the uninvited guest.

"In my experience, someone who's listening to soothing white noise and lying in the most comfortable position in bed won't easily get out of bed. So I suggest you adjust the bed angle for her first. Once she's comfortable, you can easily open the door and leave whenever you want."

Sartre finally offered a somewhat useful suggestion. The prince leaned down, grasped the lever under the massage bed, and rocked the bed up slightly.

"Raise it higher... Stop, raise it back... You've raised it too much! Tsk... Okay, that's fine." An Younan gave the order from 10 centimeters above Wang Zixu's head, while feeling the height.

If she knew that the person so close to her was a man, she would jump three feet high like a cat.

When Wang Zixu got up from the ground, he was drenched in sweat. This little thing felt more thrilling and exciting to him than Rambo in First Blood, and maybe only slightly less so than the stunts Jackie Chan does.

Sartre kindly reminded him, "Aromatherapy?"

Wang Zixu squatted down, picked up the briefcase on the ground, and a document naturally slid out. The cover read:

Wenai Acquisition Plan (Draft for Discussion)

"Oh, wow." Sartre leaned down, staring at the contents of the bag. "An unexpected find!"

For some reason, Prince Xu wasn't particularly surprised at this moment. He could glean some clues from the conversation between An and Ning earlier.

If Xunyi's goal is indeed as An Younan said, then their optimal solution is clearly not to acquire Qingyan, but to acquire Wenai. Wang Zixu's only question was whether they had spoken with Wenai.

If they had consulted with Wen Ai's side, why didn't he know? Was Zuo Ziliang involved? Was Ye Lan aware of it? Or was he the only one of the three who was kept in the dark?

To find out the answers, all you need to do is take out this project proposal, look at its contents, and see if there's any record of Zuo Ziliang and Ye Lan's involvement. But that's not possible now. An Younan is still waiting for him to make the aromatherapy.

Wang Zixu calmly took the blue scented candle out of his bag and placed it on the table beside him. He didn't know how to use it, so he just fiddled with it, making noises as he worked. Anyway, the steam eye mask seemed to be at a sufficient temperature, and An Younan showed no sign of opening it.

An Younan said, "Forget it, let's not do anything else for now. Can you give me an essential oil neck and shoulder massage first? I'm exhausted today. That woman is just a hopeless romantic."

Mentioning Ning Chunyan, An Younan's tone was quite dissatisfied: "You can't imagine how tiring it is to communicate with someone who's obsessed with love. It's always like someone's eyeing her little prince. You're joking with me about a business deal worth over ten million?"

"It's ridiculous, a contract worth millions. If word got out, I'd be willing to give you my contact information, and even give you my boyfriend. People would fight over it and break my reputation."

"If the Little Prince were her boyfriend, that would be fine. But it turns out he's nothing at all, we've never even met! What a waste of my feelings! I took a risk, you know. What if the Little Prince turns out to be a bald, greasy middle-aged man in his forties or fifties, with nose hairs sticking out of his nostrils like a vine of agave? Should I sign the contract or not? So, being love-struck is really scary. The consequences of online dating have spilled over and now NetEase has to bear the burden for her."

An Younan's words made Wang Zixu feel guilty. He reached out and touched his nostrils; his nose hairs were all obediently inside, not growing into the shape of an agave.

My appearance, though it can't add any money, shouldn't be enough to evaporate Xunyi's market value, right?

Noticing the person behind her standing there motionless, An Younan turned around and said, "Auntie, don't just stand there! Press the button, okay?"

Prince Xu and Sartre exchanged a glance, then turned to look at An Younan's exposed shoulders and neck, her skin as white as jade, her collarbone delicate and lovely.

Sartre asked, "How much do you know about massage?"

"It knows a little more about cycling than an anglerfish."

"Silly boy, run!" Sartre said. "If you get the hang of it, the sentencing will take a huge leap forward."

"Can you hurry up?" An Younan's tone became quite impatient. "I feel like you're ruining everything. Why are you so slow today?"

After An Younan finished speaking, she suddenly fell silent, her expression becoming serious.

She was preoccupied with something and hadn't noticed, but now she did—since the aunt came in, she hadn't said a single word.

Wang Zixu also sensed the change in her emotions, and his back muscles stiffened. Time seemed to slow down in the room, and the humidifier's whirring sound was unusually jarring.

He walked to the dressing table and searched for essential oil bottles among the ten thousand bottles on the table. They were all in English, French, and Greek, which he couldn't understand at all. He just made "clinking" sounds, trying to prove to An Younan that he was doing something.

But now that the seeds of doubt had been sown, An Younan's unease was rising rapidly, and she was just one opportunity away from removing her blindfold.

Sartre took a deep drag on his pipe: "What do we do now?"

"Wasn't it all because you gave me bad advice? If we had left from the beginning, even if we had been discovered, the sentence would have been much lighter."

At some point, the Little Prince, wearing a trench coat, sat on the nearby sofa drinking tea, his face hidden under the wide brim of his hat.

"In Chinese terms, this situation is like a death throes, or a cornered beast fighting back—these two phrases seem to mean the same thing."

The Little Prince said, "I think this is called 'burning one's boats'."

"Anyway, fish that have been caught on land will still jump around a couple more times, as if they're using up their oxygen too quickly."

"Don't make sarcastic remarks at a time like this."

"Without making sarcastic remarks, it seems there's no other way. Right now—there's no other option."

"No, my dear friend, my closest comrade," the little prince said casually, "you are a writer, but you always forget to use the writer's most powerful weapon to solve problems."

"The writer's most powerful weapon? The pen? You mean to kill her with the pen?" Sartre asked.

The Little Prince stretched out his index finger and tapped his temple: "Imagination, my friend, the writer's most powerful weapon is imagination."

"Humans, without scales or wings, are able to fly and dive into the sea because of their imagination. Imagination is the starting point of all problems, and the beginning of all solutions. As long as your imagination is vast enough, there should be nothing in this world that can stump you. In other words, all troubles stem from a lack of imagination."

Sartre opened his mouth: "If what you're saying is correct, then why does our friend Prince Xu, who clearly possesses Nobel Prize-level vision and imagination, face so many troubles and difficulties?"

"Because," said the little prince, "he also lacks a little courage."

In the unbearable silence, An Younan finally spoke: "Pass me my phone."

The command was simple, without any unnecessary modifiers; it didn't say "please," "help," or even "Auntie."

Upon realizing that Prince Xu hadn't made a move, An Younan swiftly raised her wrist and reached for the blindfold. Just a second before she could lift the blindfold, it was caught by a large, gentle hand.

"Excuse me, miss, but if you use your phone during sleep aid sessions, the magnetic field you've worked so hard to create will be drained away, which will greatly affect your mental energy."

"ah?!"

Hearing a man's voice behind her, An Younan was so startled that she almost jumped up like a cat.

Wang Zixu lowered his voice to an extremely deep, husky tone, making sure An Younan couldn't recognize him. And indeed, she didn't recognize him either.

"Who are you?! How did you get in?! Where's Auntie?!"

"Employee number 1008, Chief Diamond Technician. I'm here because you need help."

"ah??"

Wang Zixu picked up a towel from the radiator and, without a word, covered An Younan's exposed shoulders and arms, both to avoid direct contact with her skin and to prevent her from reaching out to lift her blindfold.

Do you read poetry?

"what?"

"Poetry, wet clothes—do you like reading poetry?"

"ah??"

"I especially love reading poetry, such as the poem by the Syrian poet Adonis: 'You may rise up, to chase the stars on your body in the sky, but to chase the stars on the body of a woman, I am about to fall now. The woman comes to me in the form of an abyss, which makes me reach a peak...' Now, please relax your body and sink like an abyss, let me sink in, so that you can have the best experience."

"Huh? Huh? Are you sure you're reciting a proper poem??... Hmm!..."

An Younan spoke urgently, her body not only "sinking like an abyss," but her whole body was tense, practically in a state of high alert. Unfortunately, her arms were tied with a towel and she couldn't move. Then she felt a pair of strong hands grip her shoulders, pressing against her muscles. A "buzz" sound came from her neck upwards, and she couldn't help but let out a soft groan. Her body went limp.

The hand gently rubbed through the towel; the cotton fabric of the towel was prickly and itchy, but it felt quite comfortable.

An Younan had never seen a male masseur here before, but after this massage, she began to have doubts again. Could it really be masseur number 1008? That would be too far-fetched. When did they agree to let men in?

"I love, I live, I command the stars, I gaze and anchor, I enthrone myself, to be the king of the wind." Madam, you are not relaxed enough. You should be as happy and gentle as if you were engraving your name into the chest of the wind, melting into the experience, not losing yourself in the time you waste, freezing this moment, and welcoming each new day with the best attitude.

An Younan couldn't help but ask, "Which poem were you reciting? It sounded alright."

"Adonis, madam, Adonis. However, I did not recite the entire poem just now; part of it was my own reflection."

Wang Zixu changed his technique and increased the force, causing An Younan to make a sound again.

"Your technique is so strange, it feels different from what I've done before."

"Are you feeling unwell?"

"No, I'm alright. What did you do before? I've never seen you before."

"I joined the company last month. I used to work in a massage-related field elsewhere."

"What kind of job?"

"Kneading the dough."

"what?"

Wang Zixu continued his rambling: "Kneading dough and massaging are very similar."

"Is that so...?" An Younan had the urge to lift the blindfold again. If her arm hadn't been numb from being pressed, she would have done so right now.

"Have you ever eaten handmade noodles? Or machine-kneaded noodles?"

"I've eaten..."

"The two types of noodles taste completely different, right? Handmade noodles are just tastier. Dough is actually quite magical; it also craves the warmth of touch and the weight of a body."

"Well……"

“Massage is the same,” Wang Zixu said. “Massage is actually about finding the right spot and applying your body weight to another body. In this process, a kind of energy, a kind of life energy, is transferred. It’s a very mysterious process.”

"Heh..." An Younan had never thought of this way of speaking before. But she felt that something was off about it.

An Younan said, "Actually, I've never had a male masseur massage me. You just startled me."

"Excuse me."

"It's okay, I made a mistake," An Younan said, then couldn't help but add, "But next time you should tell me in advance, so as not to make things so awkward again."

"Okay. Shall I go and ask my colleague to serve you?"

"Well, we've already done the massage," An Younan said, circling her fingers around her shoulder. "It just hurts a little from the friction through the towel. Let's put on some essential oil."

Prince Xu took two steps back and said, "Okay, please wait a moment. Actually, I usually use my usual essential oil, but I couldn't find it just now."

While moving, he silently took the "Project Plan" from An Younan's bag, quietly flipped through it, and continued chatting with An Younan:

"Do you study philosophy? Hegel, Schopenhauer, Kant, and so on."

"You, who kneads dough, are reading Hegel?" An Younan asked.

"It's because of low education that people study philosophy. They can't understand physics or mathematics, so they can only study philosophy." Wang Zixu's hands quickly flipped through the booklet. "We are always making choices. We choose 4K TVs, we choose washer-dryer combos, we choose electric sports cars that can turn around on the spot, we choose 360-degree rotating shavers."

Choose an electric water flosser, a DJI drone, a body fat scale co-branded with an app, and a sugar-free, low-calorie diet meal.

"Choose a school district property, choose a friend with similar financial circumstances, select the most cost-effective premium travel itinerary, choose a flight, choose the highest interest rate savings account..."

Finally, Wang Zixu found the small name "Zuo Ziliang" signed with a water-based pen at the bottom of the "Plan".

He closed the "Proposal" and put it back in its place.

"We thought that by choosing these things, we were choosing our lives. But I have no money. I can't choose what kind of life I want to enjoy; I can only choose to study philosophy. The pain that philosophy brings is more suited to my life than the torment of kneading dough or getting a massage."

After saying that, he fiddled with the bottles and jars on the vanity table: "No, my essential oil isn't here; it's probably in the lobby. I have to go back and get it."

An Younan said, "Okay, then go ahead. Be quick and come back soon."

Her voice became unusually gentle.

The prince strode out the door, followed by Sartre and the young prince. As they reached the door, a sudden inspiration struck him; he lifted the doorknob and easily stepped outside. The cool air rushed in. He, Sartre, and the young prince went out together, locking An Younan inside.

He walked quickly away, his pace increasing until he started running. Before long, he encountered Ning Chunyan.

When Ning Chunyan saw him, she quickly walked over and complained, "Where have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you."

"I need to use the restroom," the prince said succinctly. "Shouldn't we be going?"

"It's time to go."

"Let's go then."

In the sightseeing elevator, Wang Zixu suddenly turned to ask, "You're saying that this gathering of talented women is mainly about reciting poetry?"

"Yes. This salon is actually a poetry gathering."

"Reading poetry is good, reading poetry is good," Wang Zixu said with a serious expression, his back covered in sweat. "Choosing to read poetry is an excellent way to live."

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"What I want to say is, it's wonderful to be alive," said Wang Zixu.

(End of this chapter)