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墨書 Inktalez
The man stood at his doorstep, the dim light from the porch casting a faint glow that elongated his shadow, making him appear somewhat weary and lonely. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket, the cold metal sliding against his palm as his fingers deftly searched for the right one. His brow furrowed slightly as he hovered over several similar keys, testing them one by one, the metallic clinks ringing out crisply in the stillness of the night.
Just as he was focused on identifying the correct key, a somewhat shrill voice suddenly emerged from the neighboring yard. "Oh! Mr. Lin, you're back so late!" The man stiffened momentarily, caught off guard, and then saw a familiar figure peering out from the small courtyard next door—Mrs. Wang, the most seasoned gossip in the entire alley, was scrutinizing him with her keen little eyes, her face adorned with her trademark enthusiastic smile.
Before he could respond, Mrs. Wang eagerly stepped out from her yard, arms crossed and standing under the porch light, excitedly launching into her "evening news report." "Oh dear, have you been working overtime lately? I’ve noticed you’ve been coming home so late; you must take care of yourself!" Although her tone was concerned, there was an unmistakable glimmer of excitement in her eyes as she probed for information.
The man smiled helplessly, knowing this was merely an opening line and that the real focus would come later. He didn’t reply but continued to rummage through his keys, hoping to quickly get inside and end this conversation.
As expected, Mrs. Wang swiftly changed her tone, raising her voice a notch and quickening her pace. "By the way, did you hear? The family across the street—Mrs. Zhang—was fighting with her husband again yesterday! It was such a commotion that the whole alley could hear it! I tell you, those two are bound to split up! How can anyone live like that with all that shouting every day?"
The man took a deep breath and finally found the right key, inserting it into the lock while silently praying that Mrs. Wang would take the hint and let him go home to wash up and end this day’s torment. However, this was clearly just an appetizer for Mrs. Wang.
She leaned in closer, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. "And do you remember that young woman who moved in not long ago? I saw her coming home around eleven the other night, and she was with a man! Can you believe it? A single woman coming home so late with a man—what kind of decent person does that?"
The man rubbed his forehead, struggling to suppress a sigh before finally speaking up. "Mrs. Wang, it's quite late; aren't you going to rest?" His tone sounded gentle but clearly carried an underlying message of "I'm tired; please let me be."
Mrs. Wang seemed unfazed by his indifference and continued enthusiastically. "Oh come on! I was just out for a walk and happened to see you return; it's nice to chat! You know what? Last time Uncle Li's dog actually pooped right at my doorstep—such bad manners..."
Her topics had already drifted into absurdity with no sign of stopping.
Finally managing to push open the door with decisive fluidity—as if executing some sort of escape plan—the man turned back to Mrs. Wang and forced a somewhat stiff smile. "Mrs. Wang, it’s too late; I have work tomorrow. I need to rest now; goodnight!" Before she could respond further, he stepped inside without hesitation and swiftly closed the door behind him as if something monstrous lurked outside.
Once inside, silence returned at last. He exhaled deeply, shedding his coat and hanging it by the door. Through the crack of the door, he could still faintly hear Mrs. Wang muttering outside, "Young people these days just lack patience..." Fortunately for him, she didn’t continue knocking but instead slowly ambled back to her own yard.
After shutting the door, he let out another long sigh and tossed his keys onto the entryway table; their metallic clatter echoed momentarily in the quiet room. His footsteps felt heavy as he trudged toward the living room, hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders slightly slumped as if he were running low on even the strength to stand upright.
He walked up to the sofa without a moment's hesitation and plopped down, his body sinking deeply into the soft cushions with a muffled sigh. He lifted his head and stared at the ceiling, his gaze unfocused, as if his mind had temporarily entered a state of emptiness. He wanted nothing more than to sit quietly for a while. Today had been another exhausting day.
But to be honest, he didn’t even know what he was tired from. The routine of waking up, going to work, attending meetings, working overtime, and returning home repeated like a machine. He had grown accustomed to this lifestyle, yet often felt as if something was gradually hollowing him out. He closed his eyes, trying to relax completely, but the fatigue clung to him like a deep-rooted shackle, tightly binding him.
Suddenly, he remembered—he hadn’t eaten dinner. Oddly enough, he didn’t feel hungry; his stomach was empty but devoid of any sensation of hunger, as if his body had become accustomed to being drained of appetite. He reached up to massage his temples and then glanced at the clock on the wall—it was nine o'clock.
Only nine? It felt like an entire day had already passed. He let out a bitter smile and shook his head, sinking deeper into the sofa as if he wanted the soft cushions to absorb all his weariness. However, just as he began to relax, a nagging pain shot up from his lower back, as if reminding him that the "torment" of the day was far from over.
He closed his eyes again, and suddenly the image of a masseur's hands flashed through his mind—warm palms pressing steadily and powerfully against him. That sensation seemed to linger on his back; it felt as though just a few more minutes could completely dissolve the deep-seated soreness within him. He shifted slightly in search of a more comfortable position but found that no matter how he adjusted himself, the sofa could never provide that profound sense of release.
At that moment, an image popped into his mind—the bald middle-aged man outside, sitting in a massage chair with half-closed eyes, looking utterly blissful. There was also the housewife whose body swayed gently with the rhythm of her massage chair, a satisfied smile gracing her lips. How wonderful it would be if he had one of those massage chairs! No more enduring back pain or waiting until it became unbearable before seeking out a masseur; he could release tension anytime and anywhere…
He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling again, thoughts swirling in his mind. He had never considered such a notion before, yet now that desire was slowly growing within him on this weary night. He shifted his waist slightly and felt the lingering soreness; perhaps it was time to buy one.
The man slumped on the sofa let out a long breath and pulled out his phone lazily opening the browser. He typed into the search bar: “**Massage Chair Prices**.” Instantly, the screen filled with an array of products ranging from basic models costing over **ten thousand** to high-end flagship models priced at **hundreds of thousands**, all dazzling in variety. The advertisements were even more extravagant—
**“Ultimate relaxation, mimicking human touch; it’s like having your own personal masseur at home!”**
**“Top-tier full-body pressure relief; eliminate fatigue and regain vitality!”**
**“Smart AI detects your fatigue points for more precise pressure!”**
He stared at these ads with a twitch at the corner of his mouth, scoffing internally: “What is this price? Am I buying a luxury car? Smart AI? Does it come with a raise too?”
His finger continued scrolling down as his gaze swiftly scanned one price tag after another for various massage chairs—
NT$ 9,900, NT$ 18,800, NT$ 35,500, NT$ 68,000...
There was even one model that boasted itself as a "top-tier AI smart flagship," with a price skyrocketing to NT$ 168,000!
His brow furrowed deeper, and his frustration began to rise. "A chair that moves costs over a hundred thousand? Is this a Massage Chair or a space capsule? How can it be this outrageous!"
He shook his head; these prices were simply beyond reason. Yet he remained undeterred. He returned to the search bar and changed his keywords: "second-hand Massage Chair cheap." Surely this would lead him to some more practical options?
As soon as the page refreshed, a slew of second-hand listings appeared. Some prices were even as low as NT$ 6,000 or NT$ 4,500, and there was even one marked "urgent sale, negotiable price," at NT$ 2,800. The man's eyes brightened slightly; now this was more like it!
**What does it matter if it's new?** As long as it functions properly and can massage, that's all he cared about. He didn't mind who had sat on it before or how many years it had been used. What he needed wasn't a chair that looked fancy in the living room but a machine that could truly relieve his aching body. In this light, second-hand goods were the most sensible choice!
He clicked into several sellers' pages, quickly browsing through photos and descriptions. Some of the Massage Chairs looked quite decent; at least their surfaces showed no significant damage. Although the internal mechanical condition was unknown, such things shouldn't break easily, right? Worst case scenario, he could use it for a few years before replacing it. After all, compared to those fools who paid exorbitant prices for new ones, he considered himself a savvy spender.
A slight smirk crept onto his lips as a glint of cunning flashed in his eyes. **Only a fool would spend over a hundred thousand on something new; for items like this, second-hand is the way to go!**
He continued to sift through the options with increasing focus, his fingers moving swiftly as he calculated how to get the most practical stress-relief effect for the least amount of money.
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