The dusty silence of the antique shop was thick with unspoken questions. Wang Lihua stared at Su Yang, her mind reeling, trying to reconcile the office phantom with the man standing amidst her grandfather's beloved, decaying treasures. The grocery bag was now securely back in her grip, the rescued lemon looking absurdly bright against the muted browns and grays of the shop.
Grandpa Wang, blissfully unaware of the tectonic shift occurring in his granddaughter's perception, clapped his thin hands together with a dry rustle. "A colleague! This calls for tea! Lihua, put the kettle on. Our guest must stay."
Lihua opened her mouth to protest, to find some excuse to usher this unsettling anomaly out of her private world, but the look of pure, undiluted joy on her grandfather's face stole the words from her lips. It had been so long since he'd had a visitor, someone to show his "treasures" to.
"I… of course, Grandpa," she said, her voice tight. She shot a wary glance at Su Yang before disappearing through a beaded curtain into a small back room that evidently served as a kitchen and living space.
Su Yang took the opportunity to gently place the items he'd been holding back on their shelves. The pretense of shopping was over.
Grandpa Wang gestured for Su Yang to follow him to a small, rickety table near the back. "Sit, sit, young man. Su Yang, was it? Tell me, what do you do at that technology company with my Lihua?"
As Su Yang gave a vague, pleasant answer about debugging code, Lihua returned with a simple tea set. The tea was cheap and bitter, but Grandpa Wang sipped it as if it were the finest imperial tribute. As they drank, the old man's frail body was wracked by a sudden, deep, rattling cough that seemed to come from the very bottom of his lungs. Lihua was at his side in an instant, her face etched with familiar, helpless worry.
"It's nothing, nothing," Grandpa Wang wheezed, patting her hand. "The dust. Always the dust."
But Su Yang could see it was much more than dust. It was the slow, inevitable closing of a long life. The weight of it pressed down on Lihua's shoulders, a burden she carried alone.
The story came out in fragments, prompted by the old man's nostalgic ramblings and Lihua's defensive, clipped answers to Su Yang's gently probing questions. Lihua's parents, caught in the relentless churn of modern corporate life, had been suddenly transferred to a development project in a far-off province. The opportunity was too good to refuse, the implication being that refusal would mean termination. They had left, promising to send money, leaving Lihua—their only child—as the sole caretaker for her ailing grandfather and his financially sinking shop.
"They video call every week," Lihua said, her voice trying for brightness and failing miserably. "They're doing very well." But the strain in her eyes told the real story: the guilt of being away, the pressure of providing, and the crushing daily reality of being the only one there to hear the coughing in the night.
The stress of her high-pressure job at Celestial Code, a job she desperately needed to keep, was bad enough. Combining it with the constant worry for her grandfather was stretching her dangerously thin. Her own Qi, what little a mundane person had, was frayed and depleted.
Seeing her struggle to hide a wince as she moved her neck, a legacy of long hours hunched over a computer, Su Yang saw his opening. It was a chance to help, to repay the karmic debt of this unexpected connection.
"Grandpa Wang," Su Yang said, his voice taking on a softer, more resonant tone. "Lihua. If I may… I come from a family that knew a bit about traditional medicine. Old remedies. I might know a few things that could help. A gentle massage to improve circulation, some very common herbs to ease the cough and bring back a little energy."
Lihua's first reaction was immediate skepticism. "Traditional medicine? Su Yang, with all due respect, my grandfather needs real doctors, not… superstition." The word 'superstition' hung in the air, aimed at his robes, his calmness, his entire inexplicable demeanor.
But Grandpa Wang's eyes lit up. "Old ways! Yes! They knew things, they did. Better than all these chemical pills that make my stomach hurt. Let the young man try, Lihua. What harm can it do?"
Trapped between her grandfather's hope and her own desperation, Lihua reluctantly nodded, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
Su Yang asked Grandpa Wang to sit upright in his chair. He stood behind him, closing his eyes for a moment. He didn't need complex techniques. He simply placed his hands gently on the old man's bony shoulders. He allowed a minuscule, carefully controlled trickle of his Yang Qi to flow through his fingertips—not to heal, which would be catastrophic, but to *stimulate*.
It was a warmth unlike any the old man had ever felt. It wasn't the heat of a heating pad or a balm. It was a living, soothing energy that seeped through his stiff muscles, into his weary joints, and down into his congested lungs. It was a warmth that spoke of life itself. Grandpa Wang let out a long, shuddering sigh of pure relief. His head drooped forward, a beatific smile spreading across his wrinkled face.
"Oh… oh my," he whispered, his voice losing its rasp. "It's like… like sunshine is flowing into me. I feel… light."
For ten minutes, Su Yang worked, his movements slow and precise. He didn't cure the incurable, but he alleviated the pain, loosened the stiffness, and gave the old man's struggling system a gentle, revitalizing nudge. When he finally stopped, Grandpa Wang's breathing was easier, his color slightly improved. He looked years younger, simply from the absence of constant pain.
"I… I must have dozed off," the old man murmured, blinking awake. "I dreamt I was flying over green fields. Thank you, young man. Thank you."
Lihua watched, her skepticism crumbling into stunned disbelief. The change in her grandfather was visible, tangible. It was impossible, yet it had happened before her eyes.
Unconsciously, she rolled her own stiff neck, a habitual gesture of her own chronic pain. "I've been meaning to go to that massage place on Fifth Street," she muttered, more to herself than anyone. "But it's the end of the month… and with Grandpa's medicine…" She trailed off, the financial reality a constant, tightening vise.
Su Yang turned to her. "The principles are the same. For tension in the neck and back. I can show you. It would only take a moment."
Every rational instinct in Lihua's mind screamed to say no. This was too strange, too intimate. But the memory of her grandfather's blissful expression and the relentless ache in her own shoulders wore her down. The professional barrier between them had already been obliterated by this domestic scene.
"Alright," she said, her voice hesitant. "Just… just the shoulders. Through the clothes."
She sat on a stool, turning her back to him, her posture rigid with tension and apprehension. Su Yang stood behind her. He could feel the knotted, strained muscles even before he touched her.
He placed his hands on her shoulders, over her practical cotton blouse. His touch was firm but gentle. And then, he began.
It was different from her grandfather's massage. With the old man, he had been a benevolent healer. With Lihua, the moment his skin made contact, however间接ly, the dynamic shifted irrevocably.
He didn't even need to consciously channel his Qi this time. His body, a roaring furnace of untamed Yang energy, reacted to the proximity of a female form. His unique pheromones, the intoxicating scent of the Yin-Yang Creation Body, bloomed in the air around them—a scent of ancient sandalwood, ozone, and pure, potent vitality.
Lihua inhaled sharply. The scent was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It bypassed her rational brain and went straight to her primal core. It was dizzying, captivating, and utterly masculine.
Then, the Qi began to flow. A mere whisper, a ghost of the power he possessed, seeped through her blouse and into her skin. It was a wave of pure, soothing, yet intensely stimulating warmth that sank into her knotted muscles, melting the tension away like butter under a sunlamp. A soft, involuntary moan escaped her lips before she could clamp them shut, her face flushing a deep, embarrassed crimson.
The sensation was beyond any massage she could have imagined. It was ecstasy and relief intertwined. The warmth spread from her shoulders down her spine, coiling in her abdomen, stirring sensations she had long ignored under the weight of her responsibilities. Her rigid posture melted. Her head lolled forward, her eyes fluttering closed. She was falling into a sea of pure, sensory bliss, intoxicated not by a person, but by the overwhelming, primordial energy he radiated.
The atmosphere in the dusty shop grew thick and heavy. The air crackled with unspoken electricity. Grandpa Wang, blessedly, had dozed off in his chair, a peaceful smile on his face.
Su Yang worked on her neck and shoulders, his fingers expertly finding every knot and strain. He was focused on the task, but he was acutely aware of the effect he was having. The intoxicating pheromones, the Yang Qi—it was a potent combination, impossible for a mortal woman to resist on a fundamental, biological level.
After a few minutes that felt like both an eternity and a single heartbeat, he slowly withdrew his hands. The flow of energy ceased.
The loss of contact was like a physical shock. Lihua jolted, as if waking from a deep trance. The ache in her neck and shoulders was completely gone, replaced by a lingering, delicious warmth. But more disconcerting was the other warmth pooling deep within her, a throbbing, awakened need that left her breathless and deeply confused.
She scrambled off the stool, putting distance between them, unable to meet his eyes. Her heart was hammering against her ribs. "I… thank you. That was… very effective." The words were absurdly inadequate.
"Anytime," Su Yang said, his voice calm, though he could smell the heady cocktail of her arousal and confusion in the air.
"I should… I should get Grandpa to bed," she stammered, needing an escape. "It's getting late."
Su Yang simply nodded. "Of course. It was a pleasure to meet you, Grandpa Wang," he said to the sleeping old man.
Lihua walked him to the door, her movements stiff with a new kind of tension. As he stepped out into the alley, she finally looked at him, her gaze a turbulent mix of gratitude, fear, and a strange, dawning curiosity.
"Who are you, Su Yang?" she whispered, the question hanging in the twilight air.
He offered no answer, only a faint, unreadable smile before turning and walking away, leaving her standing in the doorway of the dusty shop, her body humming with a forgotten language of sensation and her mind swirling with questions that had no answers. The professional colleague was gone. In his place was a mystery, a source of impossible comfort, and a dangerous, thrilling disturbance in her carefully ordered world.