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After enduring a massage that felt like a descent into hell, the man finally sensed the therapist's hands gradually coming to a stop. Those once iron-like hands now gently patted his waist twice, as if announcing the end of this "torture." He lay limp on the massage table, feeling utterly drained, sweat soaking his temples and even trickling down his cheeks to drip onto the bed. His breath was still rapid, his chest rising and falling erratically, but the dull ache that had clung to him for so long had mysteriously dissipated, replaced by a sensation that was not quite comfort but felt remarkably light.
He attempted to move his waist; although it still felt sore, the oppressive pain was no longer present. He slightly lifted his head and peered at the therapist through the gap in the face cradle. Before he could speak, he heard her laughter. The therapist looked at him, sprawled out and exhausted, with a hint of amusement on her face, teasingly saying, "Mr. Lin, it seems that treatment had some effect after all? Your waist feels much better now, doesn't it?"
The man took a breath and grunted in response, "There is an effect, but you nearly pressed me to death." Though he complained, his tone lacked the irritation he had when he first entered; instead, it carried a hint of relaxation amidst fatigue.
The therapist shook her head with a smile and handed him a towel to wipe away the sweat. She then spoke earnestly, "Mr. Lin, your waist issue requires long-term care; relying on just one or two massages won't solve the fundamental problem. You’re busy with work and can’t come for massages every day, right? I suggest you consider buying a Massage Chair. The model we use in our shop is specifically designed for Lumbar Vertebrae support and is particularly suitable for someone like you who sits for long periods."
As he wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, he cast a lazy glance at her and replied, "A Massage Chair? Sure, but where would I even put that thing at home?"
The therapist chuckled softly and continued patiently, "There are many styles of Massage Chairs now; some are quite compact and can be folded away without taking up much space. The key is that a Massage Chair can be used daily to maintain frequency and regularly relieve pressure on your waist. This way, your Lumbar Vertebrae issues won’t worsen. After all, back problems are serious; they shouldn’t be neglected."
Listening to her recommendation, although his expression remained lazy, he felt somewhat swayed internally. He rubbed his waist and realized this long-lost relaxation was indeed hard-won. He thought about how he couldn’t always wait until his back pain became unbearable before seeking help. He mumbled softly to himself, "I’ll think about it later when I have time," then closed his eyes again and let out a heavy sigh as if sinking into an abyss of fatigue.
The therapist smiled but didn’t say anything more; she simply tidied up her tools and gently closed the door behind her, leaving him alone in the dim light to continue lying there, feeling a sense of solace and liberation after exhaustion.
The man propped himself up using his hands on the edge of the massage table and slowly sat up. The muscles in his waist still throbbed faintly, but the heavy feeling of oppression seemed to have lifted, replaced by a sensation of soreness from release. He reached back to gently massage his waist with careful movements as if handling a fragile item freshly repaired—afraid that any misstep might break it again. Lowering his head, he glanced at the bathrobe draped over him; gripping the collar with his fingers, he tugged sharply, producing a soft rustling sound from the fabric before casually hanging it back on the rack with practiced ease.
Next to him, he picked up his shirt and slowly put it back on—first slipping into the sleeves and then buttoning it one by one. His fingers moved somewhat sluggishly as if each action reminded him of the "battle" he had just endured. When he fastened his belt, the slight constriction made him frown momentarily; however, he quickly took a deep breath as if accepting this familiar pressure before standing up straight.
Looking around, the dimly lit room still lingered with the scent of essential oils, quiet as if nothing had ever happened. Ensuring he hadn’t left anything behind, he stepped through the door with slightly heavy footsteps into the cool night air that hit him unexpectedly with its chill. He shivered involuntarily as he pulled at the collar of his coat and shoved his hands into his pockets while exhaling deeply—a breath that felt almost refreshing in its coldness.
The tranquil residential area unfolded before him; street trees swayed gently in the wind while shadows under streetlights stretched long and thin like a still painting. He walked slowly with measured steps; occasionally hearing the sound of his shoes against the pavement echoed clearly in the quiet night. Distant car sounds came occasionally but quickly faded into silence. From nearby homes occasionally glowed warm lights from windows that added a touch of humanity to this desolate street.
His gaze casually swept over the houses by the roadside until one slightly ajar window caught his attention. Through the gap in the curtains, he saw a bald middle-aged man sitting in a Massage Chair. The chair vibrated gently, its backrest moving up and down softly. The man had his eyes half-closed, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and his entire face radiated relaxation and comfort. His arms hung naturally over the armrests, as if he had sunk into the soft embrace of the chair, completely immersed in that moment of relief.
As he walked a few steps further, another scene from a different window made him raise an eyebrow. A housewife was also seated in a Massage Chair, her body swaying slightly with the movements of the chair. Her head rested against the backrest, and she held a magazine in her hands, though her gaze was clearly not on the pages. A lazy smile graced her face, as if she were entirely separated from all fatigue at that moment, left only with the sensation of her body being released into relaxation. The faint buzzing sound of the chair seemed to be the only noise around her, making the whole scene appear both ordinary and imbued with a touch of luxurious ease.
The man paused, a twitch at the corner of his mouth betraying a hint of self-deprecating amusement: these people truly understood how to live, far better than my own hectic existence. He looked down and gently rubbed his lower back again. Although he hadn’t taken the massage therapist’s repeated suggestions about the Massage Chair entirely to heart earlier, seeing these “real users” now made him feel an involuntary stir of doubt within himself.
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