Super Rich: Starting the game by going back ten years to buy Bitcoin

When the car stopped in front of the Heaven on Earth, Liu Bing hadn't even taken her hands off the steering wheel when Han Fei pushed open the car door and jumped out.

He quickly made his way to the back seat and opened the car door before the valet could.

"Brother Li, we've arrived."

Li Yichen stepped out of the back seat, his leather shoes clicking on the granite floor, and glanced at the Heaven on Earth before him. The signboard at the entrance wasn't large, embedded in a single piece of dark marble, the gilded lettering casting a warm yellow glow from the light shining through it. It lacked the noisy, flashing neon lights of a nightclub, and there were no large golden pillars or revolving doors—just a stone, three words, hanging there quietly.

Two rows of neatly trimmed holly bushes lined both sides of the porch, and the steps were so polished that they reflected one's image.

He had passed by this place before. Back when he was a food delivery driver for two years, he would deliver orders at night and pass this road, seeing that dark brown glass door, the doorman in uniform standing at the entrance, and occasionally a few cars with unrecognizable brands parked on the steps. Back then, he never slowed down, because he knew this place was beyond his means.

And now he stands in front of this door.

The doorman had already opened the dark brown glass door, bent down, and kept his voice at a level that wouldn't disturb the peace.

"Welcome, gentlemen."

Li Yichen put his hands in his pockets and stepped inside.

The air conditioning in the lobby carried a subtle sandalwood scent, not the overpowering kind, but a gentle, pervasive fragrance that seeped into the nostrils—you could smell it, but it didn't overpower anything. The floor was covered with a thick, dark gray carpet that made no sound underfoot. The chandelier overhead wasn't a ostentatious crystal chandelier, but a set of warm-toned sheepskin lampshades that cast a soft, warm glow on the carpet.

The countertop at the reception desk was made of marble, with the grain perfectly aligned. Behind the counter stood two young girls in navy blue uniforms, their hair neatly pinned up in buns with hairnets.

The one on the left bowed slightly towards them.

"Gentlemen, do you have a reservation? Would you like to become a member or would you like to be seated in a private room?"

Liu Bing stepped out from behind Li Yichen's left, her hand already inside her coat pocket. She pulled out a black card from her fingertips, slapped it onto the table, and the card made a crisp sound as it hit the marble.

"VIP members, top-floor private room. A full-body massage package will be arranged, with three therapists, performed to the highest standards."

He pushed the card forward half an inch.

"I'll cover all the expenses."

The receptionist had just reached out to take the card when Han Fei squeezed in from the right. He placed his hand on Liu Bing's card and pushed it back.

"You have the nerve to pull out a VIP membership?" Han Fei pulled a card from his wallet—black background, gold lettering, and a subtle pattern on the edges. "Black Gold Card, exclusive technician, private suite."

He turned and glanced at Liu Bing.

"Liu Bing, you can't even book a personal technician with that card, how are you going to take care of Brother Li?"

Liu Bing turned his neck forty-five degrees, tucked his chin in, and stared at the black gold card in Han Fei's hand for two seconds. He then uttered a sentence in a low voice.

"Han Fei, does your dad know you stole this card?"

"What do you mean by stealing? This is a supplementary credit card my dad got for me."

"Supplementary card? Last month, your dad told my dad himself that you used his black card to buy drinks three times, and your dad paid for all the subsequent bills—"

"That was my dad's own choice."

"Why don't you say 'voluntary' again?"

The two clashed in public. Han Fei's hand was on Liu Bing's card, and Liu Bing's hand was on Han Fei's wrist. The two cards were placed side by side on the marble countertop, one black and one black and gold. The receptionist's hand was suspended in mid-air, unsure which one to take.

Li Yichen stood behind the two of them, watching them argue until their faces turned red.

He suddenly remembered the delivery riders he used to work at, squatting by the roadside sharing a pack of cigarettes, one for you, one for me, and when only two were left, they'd push them back and forth, no one willing to take one more. The only difference was that back then they were pushing packs of Double Happiness cigarettes that cost nine yuan a pack, while these two were pushing membership cards worth tens of thousands of yuan.

The same action, two completely different experiences.

He suppressed the thought, took a step forward, put his hands on Liu Bing and Han Fei's shoulders, one on each side, and pressed them down.

"Alright."

Two words.

Liu Bing released her hand from Han Fei's wrist. Han Fei withdrew his fingers from Liu Bing's card. The two of them simultaneously turned to look at Li Yichen.

Li Yichen glanced at the front desk.

"A quiet massage room will do. No need to argue—there will be plenty of opportunities to treat later."

After those words were spoken, Liu Bing and Han Fei exchanged a glance.

One person saying "There will be plenty of opportunities in the future" wasn't rejecting their flattery, but reassuring them—this big shot had acknowledged them as his underlings. This wasn't a one-off thing, it was long-term. This signal was far more important than who ultimately footed the bill.

They've been in Shanghai for over twenty years and have dealt with many people—some people ask you to treat them to a meal as a favor.

Some people ask you to invite them a second time when they're testing you.

But only a very few people will tell you "there will be plenty of opportunities in the future." When they say this, it means they've relegated their relationship to the "there's plenty of time" category. It's not just a perfunctory remark; they're serious.

Liu Bing's Adam's apple bobbed.

Han Fei closed his wallet and stuffed it back into his pocket.

Liu Bing took the card first and gave an awkward laugh. "Then I'll go first today, Han Fei can go next time."

Han Fei patted him on the back. "Okay, I'll treat you next time."

The receptionist's gaze flickered back and forth between the three of them twice. Her fingers had already finished typing, and her voice was softer than before.

"Gentlemen, the private suite on the top floor has been arranged, and your personal technician will be on her shortly. Please follow me."

She came out from behind the stage and led the way.

Passing through the lobby, I turned into a corridor. The walls on both sides of the corridor were a matte dark gray, with a wall lamp embedded every two steps, casting a small glow that just illuminated the path beneath my feet. The carpet was even thicker than the one in the lobby; stepping on it made me sink half an inch, and all the sound of my footsteps was swallowed up by its plush texture.

A delicate jasmine scent wafted in the air. The background music was a classical piano piece whose name I didn't know; the keys fell slowly, the sound just soft enough to be heard without interfering with conversation.

Every few steps along both sides of the corridor was a door, all closed, with no light or sound coming through the cracks. The soundproofing was impeccable—Liu Bing had been here so many times and had never heard a sound coming from any of the other private rooms. The owner here must have spent enough on soundproofing to buy a small apartment in Pudong.

After turning two corners, the waiter stopped in front of a door, swiped his card, pushed open the door, and stepped aside to make way.

"Gentlemen, please come in."

The suite was surprisingly spacious, unlike a typical massage room. Three massage stations sat side-by-side, separated by a semi-sheer curtain, which was still drawn. Next to each station was a low table with teacups, towels, essential oil bottles, and a fruit platter. Against the wall was a row of leather sofas, and a pot of tea was already brewed on the coffee table, the steam rising gently. On the other side of the relaxation area were lockers and a shower room, their glass doors gleaming.

The lights were dimmed, casting a warm, yellowish glow that lazily fell on the dark wooden floor.

Li Yichen glanced around the suite. It was quiet, clean, and sparsely furnished. He sat down on the sofa, leaning back in his chair. Just as his spine touched the leather, Liu Bing asked him a question.

"Brother Li, do you prefer a strong or light pressure? What are your preferences for the technician? Would you like to order some tea first?"

Han Fei chimed in from the side, "Brother Li said to just keep quiet, don't treat it like you're checking someone's background."

"What's wrong with me asking? It's basic—"

"Alright, alright, get a proper technician, stop with all that nonsense."

"Of course, can I do that for Brother Li?"

Han Fei turned to the waiter and added, "All three technicians must be certified, the professional kind, according to Brother Li's standards."

The waiter nodded in agreement, left, and closed the door behind him.

A few minutes later, three technicians walked in one after another.

The technician assigned to Liu Bing was a woman in her late twenties, with her hair up, wearing a dark blue overall, and the sleeves rolled up to her forearms. The technician assigned to Han Fei was about the same age, with a round face and two dimples when she smiled. She nodded to Han Fei as she entered, and Han Fei replied, "Long time no see," indicating that she was a regular customer.

The technician assigned to Li Yichen was the last to come in.

She was about twenty-three or twenty-four years old, tall and slender, with the kind of fair skin that comes from being kept indoors. When she entered, her gaze lingered on Liu Bing and Han Fei for a fraction of a second each—she recognized these two rich kids; they weren't strangers in this store. But the young man in the white shirt sitting in the middle was someone she had never seen before.

She knew Liu Bing and Han Fei. Someone who could command such respect from these two rich kids couldn't be simple.

She walked over to Li Yichen's massage station and placed her hands in front of her.

"Sir, shall I hang up your coat for you?"

Li Yichen nodded, took off his coat, and handed it to her. When she took it, her fingertips deliberately avoided his fingers, hung it on the hanger, and then turned back.

"Sir, is this your first time visiting our area?"

"Um."

"Would you like me to explain today's massage procedure to you first?"

"Need not."

She swallowed her words and began preparing essential oils and hot towels.

The massage begins.

The technician's technique was very professional. Starting from the neck and shoulders, he pressed his thumb into the gap on the inside of the shoulder blade, with just the right amount of pressure at the edge of soreness. It wasn't so painful that it made you tense up, nor was it so light that it was perfunctory.

You can feel the direction of the muscle wherever your fingers touch it—first use the outside of your palm to loosen the entire muscle, then use your fingertips to knead it little by little along the fascia line.

When she encounters a small nodule, she will press it with her knuckles for three seconds, then slowly release it, letting the taut muscle spring back on its own.

She pressed the button while keeping her voice down.

"Sir, is this pressure alright?"

"good."

"Would you like another cup of hot tea? We have Longjing and Jin Jun Mei tea here."

"Need not."

Li Yichen closed his eyes. The force on his shoulders pushed down inch by inch, from his shoulder blades to the erector spinae muscles on both sides of his lumbar spine, and then to the quadratus lumborum muscles on his waist. His breathing slowed down, and half of the air in his chest was released.

This technique is worth the price. It's straightforward and efficient; every application of force hits the right spot, unlike some massage therapists who seem to misjudge the situation, applying pressure either superficially or forcefully pushing into the bone. This technician understands muscle anatomy, knowing which tendons to push along and which to pull horizontally.

She spoke again when she pressed on the cervical spine.

"Sir, do you often look down at your phone or computer? Your upper trapezius muscles in your neck seem a bit tight."

"Um."

"Let me loosen this area a bit more for you, it might be a little sore."

After saying that, she pressed her thumb into the hollow at the back of his head and pushed it outwards along the edge of his skull, applying about 10% more pressure than before. The soreness climbed up the back of his head and then down the sides of his neck into his shoulder sockets.

Li Yichen remained silent.

After massaging his neck, she moved on to his arms. She massaged from the deltoids to the triceps, then down to the wrist flexors. Her fingers avoided the Patek Philippe GMT-Master II on his left wrist, but the distance between her fingertips and the edge of the strap remained precisely two millimeters.

She recognized the watch. Not the specific model, but the feel of the Oyster case and the green bezel with the black dial—a sense of weight that far surpassed the Rolexes worn by ordinary customers in the store.

Her touch became even lighter. Not out of nervousness, but instinct—in front of guests of this caliber, any unnecessary movement would seem inappropriate.

The only sounds in the private room were the background notes of the piano music and the soft friction of essential oils being applied to the skin.

Liu Bing occasionally chimed in with "Gently, gently," while Han Fei occasionally chimed in with "Can you stop whining?" The two exchanged a few words across the distance before falling silent again.

Then, there was a knock on the door.

It wasn't the light tapping of a waiter. It was rapid, restrained, but with an undeniable force—knuckles striking the wooden door three times, quick and muffled.

The technicians stopped working at the same time.

Liu Bing raised her head from the massage position, resting her chin on the back of her hand.

Who is it?

Han Fei propped himself up and tilted his neck toward the door.

The waiter's voice came in from outside the door.

"Mr. Liu, your sister is here."

Just a few words.

Liu Bing's face turned from rosy to pale in an instant. He sprang up from the massage chair, his legs not even steady on their feet, his hands already buttoning his clothes—buttoning them wrong, then unbuttoning them again.

The door opened.

A woman strode in. She was about twenty-six or twenty-seven years old, wearing a black pencil skirt, a white shirt, and the cuffs buttoned up to the second button of her wrist. In her left hand, she carried a cream-colored Hermes bag, the strap leaving a faint mark on her thumb. Her high heels clicked silently on the carpet, but each step felt like a blow to Liu Bing's chest.

Liu Xue's gaze swept around the suite—Han Fei was lying face down on the massage table, his face buried in the hole; Liu Bing was facing her, his hands still fastening the third button; and the young man in the white shirt in the middle had just sat up, the masseuse's hand still on his shoulder.

She targeted Liu Bing.

"I run into acquaintances while I'm out shopping and they tell me they saw you at Heaven on Earth—what did you promise me last time?"

Liu Bing finally buttoned up her clothes.

"Sis... I just... came with a friend—"

"To keep you company with friends?"

Liu Xue tilted her gaze two degrees toward Li Yichen, lingered on him for a second, and then turned back to Liu Bing.

Han Fei had already gotten up from the massage chair, his back against the wall, his hands hanging down at his sides, like a primary school student standing in the disciplinary committee's office.

He knew Liu Xue. Everyone in the circle knew the second young lady of the Liu family.

The time Liu's Pharmaceutical Group tore up contracts with more than a dozen suppliers, it was she who sat at the negotiating table. She single-handedly engaged in a fierce debate, forcing those grown men to the point that they didn't dare to look at the terms too much, and their hands were shaking when they signed.

She was only twenty-four years old that year. The consensus among people in the circle was surprisingly consistent: "Whoever marries her will have their ancestral graves emitting smoke."

It means his ancestors must have accumulated eight generations of good karma to be able to marry such a capable and prestigious woman. Han Fei usually avoids Liu Xue at parties, but tonight he couldn't.

The technicians stood by, at a loss.

The female masseuse who was massaging Li Yichen took a step back, withdrew her hand from Li Yichen's shoulder, and let it hang down in front of her, her ten fingers secretly twisting together.

Liu Bing opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.

"Sis, it really is a massage—look, a legitimate technician, certified and licensed."

He pointed in the direction of the masseuse, and the masseuse who was massaging Liu Bing took a half step back and showed off the masseuse certificate hanging on her chest.

Liu Xue did not check the technician's certificate.

She looked at Liu Bing's face.

Liu Bing's face looked like that of a middle school student dragged out of an internet cafe by his homeroom teacher—his mouth was still moving, but he couldn't form any coherent sentences, and the sweat on his forehead was still glistening under the light. He was afraid that his sister's antics would upset Li Yichen.

Li Yichen sat in the massage chair, his expression neither tense nor embarrassed, simply watching the scene with curiosity.