Chapter 192 Philosophy, Poetry and the Art of Kneading the Dough with Essential Oils

Chapter 192 Philosophy, Poetry and the Art of Kneading the Dough with Essential Oils

Chapter 192 Philosophy, Poetry and the Art of Kneading the Dough with Essential Oils

Wang Zixu lifted the curtain with his fingers.

The woman was covered with a light yellow towel, with her body exposed above her collarbone; she was lying on the bed, her posture more comfortable than if she were lying on the North China Plain from the Taihang Mountains.

Just as Wang Zixu expected, she was wearing a blindfold. Otherwise, he would not dare to open the curtain and peek.

At present, he has not reached the point of death, and has not committed suicide at the Wujiang River. He is still in the stage of being surrounded by enemies on all sides and there is still room for him to save himself.

"Hurry up." An Younan urged.

The mountains were stirring. If Wang Zixu didn't do something, she would.

The prince gritted his teeth, opened the curtain and walked into the room.

At this time, he had just met An Younan and did not know each other well, so he was not sure about the other party's character. If it was Wang Zixu in the future, he would definitely run away by any means necessary. But at this time, he thought to himself, it's just pressing the air conditioner, it only takes three seconds.

It's very simple to press the air conditioner. You just need to tap it with your finger. You don't even need to speak. The "beep" sound of the air conditioner will tell you everything. But Wang Zixu doesn't know it yet. He doesn't know how troublesome An Younan is.

In business, she is good at simplifying all complex things and cutting through the Gordian knot; but in life, she complicates all problems. On the surface, it is just pressing the air conditioning button, but in the process of execution, she will constantly put forward new requirements, and finally you will find that you have to climb the Himalayas to solve her problem.

But Wang Zixu didn't know it at that time.

Wang Zixu walked quickly into the room and, as An Younan said, lowered the wind speed. After the "beep" sound, An Younan spoke again:

"Set the humidifier to tidal mode, and change the aromatherapy to the new one I made, the one in the blue bottle, which is in my bag. Then raise my bed by 30 degrees... no, 20 degrees. Change the playlist on the music player. What is this humming? Change it to a white noise that helps you sleep. By the way, ventilate the room for 10 minutes before changing the aromatherapy."

After hearing this, Wang Zixu's mind went blank.

"Hurry up," An Younan urged, "This aromatherapy can't be used in low wind mode, change it quickly."

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

"Social death, a good term, and it has something in common with my theoretical direction." Sartre held his pipe in his mouth, with his hands behind his back. "Unfortunately, I am already dead, physically. A dead body cannot study any proposition."

It's already this late, and you're still making sarcastic remarks. The prince looked at him with a blank look, protesting silently: If you're dead, stop whining here. You don't even have the biggest advantage of the dead - silence.

Sartre shrugged his shoulders, walked to the other side with his hands behind his back, and the smile on his face looked like gloating:
"I suggest you don't let 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.

"Based on my experience, a person who is lying in bed in the most comfortable position while listening to white noise to help her sleep will not easily get up from the bed. So I suggest you help her adjust the angle of the bed first. Once the young lady is sleeping comfortably, it will be easy for you to open the door and go out."

Sartre finally gave a somewhat useful suggestion. The prince leaned forward, grasped the rotating rod under the massage bed, and raised the bed a little.

"Roll it higher... Stop, shake it back... You've shaken it too much! Tsk... Okay, let's do this." An Younan felt the height while giving orders from 10 centimeters above Wang Zixu's head.

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

When Wang Zixu got up from the ground, he was sweating profusely. For just such an incident, he felt more thrilling than Rambo in First Blood, and maybe only slightly worse than those stunts performed by Jackie Chan.

Sartre kindly reminded him: "Aromatherapy?"

Wang Zixu squatted down and flipped up the briefcase on the ground. A document naturally slipped out. On the cover was written:

"Wen Ai Acquisition Plan (Draft for Negotiation)"

"Oh oh." Sartre leaned over and stared at the contents of the briefcase, "An unexpected reward!"

For some reason, Wang Zixu was not surprised at all. He could tell something from the conversation between An and Ning.

If Xunyi's goal is indeed as An Younan said, then their best solution is obviously not to acquire Qingyan, but to acquire Wen'ai. The only thing Wang Zixu is curious about is whether they have talked to Wen'ai.

If they had discussed this with Wen Ai, why didn't he know about it? Was Zuo Ziliang involved? Was Ye Lan aware of it? Or was he the only one among the three who was kept in the dark?
If he wanted to know the answers, he only needed to take out the plan and look at the content to see if there was any record of Zuo Ziliang and Ye Lan's participation. But not now. An Younan was still waiting for him to make the aromatherapy.

Wang Zixu calmly took the blue aromatherapy 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 and made noises. Anyway, the temperature of the steam eye mask seemed to be sufficient, and An Younan showed no sign of opening it.

An Younan said, "Forget it, let's not do anything else for now. Just help me with an essential oil neck and shoulder massage. I'm so tired today. That woman is just a love-brained person."

Speaking of Ning Chunyan, An Younan's tone was quite dissatisfied: "You can't imagine how tiring it is to communicate with a love-brained person. She always makes it seem like someone is coveting her little prince. You're kidding me about a business worth more than 10 million?

"It's ridiculous. It's a multi-million dollar contract. If I tell anyone, not to mention helping me get in touch with them, there will be tens of thousands of people willing to give me their boyfriend. I'm even vying to break your promise.

"You said it would be fine if the little prince was her boyfriend. But it turns out he is nothing, and we haven't even met! It's a waste of my feelings! I took a risk, okay? If the little prince was dead in the open, and turned out to be a bald, greasy uncle in his 40s or 50s, with nose hair sticking out of his nostrils like a bunch of tequila, then I would not sign it or not? That's why they say love-brain is terrible. The consequences of online love have spilled over and Xunyi has to help her bear them."

An Younan's words made Wang Zixu feel guilty. He stretched out his hand and touched his nostrils. His nose hairs stayed inside and did not grow into the shape of agave.

Even though my appearance can’t add money, it shouldn’t evaporate the market value of Xunyi, right?

Noticing that the person behind him was standing there in a daze, An Younan turned around and said, "Auntie, don't just stand there, press the button quickly, do you hear me?"

Wang Zixu and Sartre looked at each other, then turned to look at An Younan's exposed shoulders and neck. Her skin was as white as fat, and her collarbone was thin and cute.

Sartre said, "What do you know about massage?"

“Knows a little more about cycling than a monkfish.”

"Silly boy, run," Sartre said, "if you get the hang of it, your sentencing will take a major leap forward."

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

After An Younan said this, he suddenly fell silent and his expression became solemn.

She was thinking about something and didn't notice it just now, but now she noticed that her aunt hadn't said a word since she came in later.

Wang Zixu also felt the change in her mood, and his back muscles became stiff. The time in the room passed very slowly, and the wheezing sound of the humidifier was unusually harsh.

He walked to the dressing table nearby and searched for the essential oil bottle among the ten thousand bottles on the table. They were all in English, French and Greek, which he could not understand at all. He just made "ding-dong-dong" sounds, trying to prove to An Younan that he was doing something.

But now that the seeds of doubt have been planted, An Younan's uneasiness is rising rapidly, and she is only one opportunity away from taking off her blindfold.

Sartre puffed on his pipe: "What should we do now?"

"You're the one who came up with the idea. If you leave right from the start, even if you're discovered, your sentence will be much lighter."

At some point, the little prince in a windbreaker sat on the lounge sofa next to him drinking tea, his face hidden under the wide brim of his hat.

"The current situation, in Chinese, is a desperate struggle? Or a trapped beast still fighting? These two words seem to mean the same thing."

"I think this is called 'burning the boats'," said the little prince.

"After being caught, the fish will still jump around a bit because they think their oxygen is not being consumed fast enough."

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

"There seems to be no other way except to make sarcastic remarks. Now it is just - there is no other way."

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

"The most powerful weapon of a writer? The pen? Do you mean to stab her to death with the pen?" Sartre asked.

The little prince stretched out his index finger and tapped his temple: "Imagination, my friend, the most powerful weapon of a writer should be imagination.

“Humans without scales or wings can fly into the sky and into the sea because of imagination. Imagination is the starting point of all problems and the beginning of all solutions. As long as your imagination is great enough, there should be nothing in this world that can stump you. In other words, all troubles come from insufficient imagination.”

Sartre opened his mouth and said, "If what you said is correct, then our friend Wang Zixu, who obviously has the vision and imagination of the Nobel Prize, why does he have so many troubles one after another and faces so many problems?"

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

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

The command was simple, without any extra modifiers, no "please" or "help". No "Auntie" either. After realizing that Wang Zixu did not move, An Younan raised her wrist and reached towards the blindfold at lightning speed. Just before the blindfold was lifted, she was caught by a big, gentle hand.

"Excuse me Miss, if you play with your phone while you are sleeping, the magnetic field you have worked so hard to form will be sucked away, which will greatly affect your mental energy."

"what?!"

Hearing a man's voice behind him, An Younan was almost scared to jump up like a cat.

Wang Zixu lowered his voice to a very low pitch, with a bubbling sound that made it very granular, to ensure that An Younan would not be able to tell it was him. Sure enough, she did not recognize it was him either. "

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

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

"what??"

Wang Zixu picked up the towel from the radiator nearby and covered An Younan's exposed shoulders and arms with it without hesitation. On the one hand, it avoided direct contact with her skin, and on the other hand, it blocked her hand from reaching out to lift the blindfold.

"Do you read poetry?"

"what?"

"Poetry, wet clothes-poetry, do you like reading it?"

"what??"

"I particularly like reading poetry, such as the poem by the Syrian poet Adonis - 'You may rise to chase the stars in your body in the sky, and I will fall now to chase the stars in my body in the woman. The woman is coming to me in the form of the abyss, and has become a peak for me...' Now, please relax your body and sink like the abyss, let me sink in, so that I can get the best experience."

"Ah? Ah? Are you sure you are reading a serious poem??... Uh-huh!..."

An Younan spoke in a hurried tone. Not to mention that her body was "sinking like the abyss", her whole body was tense, and she was in a first-level combat readiness posture. It was a pity that her arms were tied with a towel and she couldn't move. Then she felt a pair of strong hands pinching her shoulders, just pressing on her tendons. There was a "buzzing" sound from her neck upwards. She couldn't help but let out a light hum, and her body softened.

The hand rubbed slowly through the towel. The cotton fabric of the towel felt prickly, itchy, and quite comfortable.

An Younan had never seen a male technician here before, but after rubbing it, she began to doubt again. Could it really be technician number 1008? That was too ridiculous. When did they agree to let men in?
"'I love, I live, I give orders to the stars, I watch and anchor, I enthronize myself as the king of the wind.' Madam, you are not relaxed enough. You need to carve your name into the chest of the wind, happy and gentle, melt into the experience, not get lost in the time you waste, solidify this moment, and greet the new life every day with the best attitude."

An Younan couldn't help but ask, "Which poem did you read? It sounds okay."

"Adonis, ma'am, Adonis. But I didn't read all the poems just now. Some of them are my own feelings."

Wang Zixu changed his technique and increased his force, and An Younan couldn't help but make another sound.

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

"not comfortable?"

"No, it's okay. What did you do before? Why haven't I seen you before?"

"I started last month. I used to do massage-related work elsewhere."

"What job?"

“Knead the dough.”

"what?"

Wang Zixu continued to talk nonsense: "Kneading dough is very similar to massage."

"Is that so..." An Younan had the urge to take off the blindfold again. If her arm hadn't been numb from being pressed, she would have taken it off right away.

"Have you ever eaten handmade noodles? Or noodles kneaded by a machine?"

"I have...eaten it."

"The taste of the two kinds of noodles is very different, right? Handmade noodles are just tastier. Dough is actually magical, and it also craves for warm touch and body weight."

"Uh……"

"Massage is the same," Wang Zixu said. "Massage is actually about finding the right position and applying your body weight to another body. In this process, a kind of energy, a kind of vitality energy, is transferred to the other body. It is a very mysterious process."

"Heh..." An Younan had never thought of this statement before. But she felt that it was a little wrong.

An Younan said: "Actually, I have never had my penis massaged by a male technician. You just scared me."

"Excuse me."

"It's okay, I made a mistake," An Younan said, and couldn't help but say, "But next time you should tell me in advance, don't make it so awkward again."

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

"Forget it, I've already massaged it," An Younan circled his fingers on his shoulder, "it's just a little painful from rubbing through the towel, let's apply some essential oil."

Prince Xu took two steps back and said, “Okay, wait a minute, I actually use my usual essential oil, but I couldn’t find it just now.”

While he kept moving, he silently took out the "Plan" from An Younan's bag and began to flip through the pages while continuing to chat with An Younan:
"Do you read philosophy? Hegel, Schopenhauer, Kant, etc."

"You, a dough kneader, are still reading Hegel?" An Younan asked.

"People with low academic qualifications study philosophy. They can't understand physics and mathematics, so they can only study philosophy." Wang Zixu flipped through the booklet quickly. "We are always making choices. We choose 4K TVs, smart washing and drying machines, electric sports cars that can turn around on the spot, and 360-degree rotating razors.

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

"Choose a house in the school district, choose a friend with a similar family background, choose the most cost-effective boutique travel route, choose a flight, choose a current savings package with the highest interest rate..."

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

He closed the Plan and put it back where it belonged.

"We think that by choosing these, we have chosen our lives. But I have no money. I cannot choose what kind of life I want to enjoy. I can only choose to study philosophy. The pain brought by philosophy is always more suitable for my life than the torture brought by kneading dough and massage."

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

An Younan said, "Well, go ahead. Go quickly and come back soon."

Her voice became unusually gentle.

Wang Zixu strode out of the door, followed by Sartre and the little prince. When he reached the door, he suddenly had an epiphany, lifted the door handle, and walked out easily. The cold air outside the door hit him. He went out with Sartre and the little prince, and locked An Younan inside.

He walked away quickly, and his speed became faster and faster, and finally he started running. Not long after, he met Ning Chunyan.

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

"Toilet." The prince said briefly, "Should we go now?"

"It's time to go."

"Let's go then."

In the sightseeing elevator, Wang Zixu suddenly turned around and asked, "You said that the main purpose of this gathering of talented ladies is to read poetry?"

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

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

"Huh? What on earth are you talking about?"

"What I want to say is that life is so wonderful," said Wang Zixu.

(End of this chapter)