Southern people's first experience of bathing in the Northeast, here is the record.
First is the head massage. Lying on a bed, the master started to massage my head while chatting. From the loss of talent in the Northeast to the difference between the righteousness and unreliability of the Northeasterners, suddenly the conversation shifted: your friends all got a salt bath, it would be awkward if you don't get one, so I'll give you a free back massage. Alright, let's do it.
The second step is milk scrubbing. The master put on a pair of gloves, the material of which resembled a rich woman's happy ball. At this moment, I was naked, and the master poured some milk on my body as if it had just been squeezed out, and started scrubbing. Every inch of skin below my neck felt like it was being crushed by a tiger tank. I endured the pain and itching, with my eyes wide open, waiting for the world to shatter. I even felt a bit of sympathy for Li Hongzhang.
Suddenly, the master extended the scrubbing glove to my face: look, it's mud. I suddenly woke up, this is not mud, it is the stain of my life, I need to repent and atone, the priest is baptizing me. This is not a bath center, it is a crying wall, it is the Aksa Mosque, it is the fallen Hagia Sophia Cathedral. I couldn't help but silently recite: yes, I am a fool, I will never touch Chinese concept stocks again, I should not have believed the devil's slander of Wooden Sister.
The third step is the salt bath. The master poured a mixture of honey and salt on my body, and my entire abdominal muscles became a place where milk and honey flowed, just like in the Bible. Then the master started using kneading techniques to press my whole body, like the palm of Buddha. I thought of "Kung Fu", I thought of Stephen Chow, I thought of his "God of Cookery", I thought of the Urine Beef Balls, I thought of the short and beautiful days in Shunde, but I couldn't control my drooling.
Finally, the master gave me a back massage. A pair of strong hands rhythmically tapped on my back. Ah, it's the "March of the Volunteers", it's the "Yellow River Cantata". Two words appeared faintly in my chest: "China", and four words were engraved on my back: "Good men spare lives", no, "Loyalty to the country". But the rhythm was getting faster and faster, this was no longer a song that humans could sing. My back turned into a set of drums, and the bath master was the devil instructor in "Whiplash". I just realized that the master happened to be bald. Spare me, good men!
Finally, everything ended. I lay naked, without a trace of dirt or bondage on my body, as if I had returned to the beginning of life. At this moment, my soul had left this body, wandering in the void. I was a follower of the Gulei family, an Indian ascetic, a black slave on an American plantation, and the founder of the Northern Qi Dynasty. I led a camel caravan out of the peninsula, I fasted, I crossed the Atlantic in a cramped cabin, and I sang the "Ejina Song"...
The master's final question brought me back to reality:
- Do you feel good?
- It's 188 yuan in total.
I didn't answer, I didn't need to answer, I just showed my wristband. This wristband is such a perfect circle, if there is no god, how can such a perfect creation exist in the world. I understood it in my heart. Ah, God, you fooled me again.
A silly blogger once said: the end of the universe is in the Northeast. He didn't deceive me.
I dare not say that I am a spiritual Northeasterner, I am just a passerby, a convert and a betrayer. It's better to say that the Northeast is my Mecca.
In the bathhouse, one day is like a thousand years in the world. It's already completely dark outside the window, and it's snowing heavily.
So I turned and walked towards the third floor, and ordered a bowl of chicken stew with mushrooms.