Sang Ning lay face down on the long chair, her body stiff as a corpse—she felt even more rigid than a body dead for several days.
Even while lying down, Sang Ning could still sense Li Sulan and Duan Wenhu reclining on the massage chairs to her left and right.
The faint sound of footsteps reached her ears, so soft that one couldn't discern its source without careful attention.
Judging by the footsteps, the person approaching was cautious—likely the massage therapist arriving.
"Master, just focus on massaging my shoulders and neck, please," Sang Ning said politely when she felt someone approaching from behind, but the person immediately started massaging her feet without saying a word.
Her feet were Sang Ning's most sensitive area. Instantly, like a cat whose fur had been rubbed the wrong way, she jerked upright and glared: "What are you doing?"
