Hello... Hello, I am Massage Therapist Number 08

“You, already at the peak of the Eighth Realm, half-step to becoming a Martial God, had to go and risk your life to save a few dozen ordinary people by fighting off a horde of mutant beasts. Was it worth it?”

In a pure white room filled with the soft hum of medical equipment, a man lay on a hospital bed, his body wrapped in bandages and connected to numerous tubes. Despite his condition, Wang Xian smiled faintly at the man beside him.

“There’s no such thing as worth or not. I started my martial journey too late, and I followed the old martial path. My body’s potential was already drained, and the Eighth Realm was my limit.”

“Besides, as a martial artist, it’s my duty to protect the nation and its people.”

Beep—beep—

The monitor beside the bed flickered with weak pulses.

The man by the bed sighed. “Stop pretending. I know you too well. Was it because Chen Yuting was among those people? Over the years, you’ve met no less than a thousand outstanding women, haven’t you? And don’t you spend half your time scrolling through those short videos of attractive girls? Why are you so hung up on her?”

“You know some of those seductive mutant beasts can transform into human women to lure men. I was just… looking out for the safety of the masses by watching those videos…”

“Cut the crap!”

Wang Xian fell silent for a moment, then sighed.

“Back in my first year of high school, during the initial martial aptitude test, my innate vitality was measured at 0.1—the lowest in the entire class. It was almost impossible for me to pursue the martial path. I was devastated.”

“If it weren’t for that painting she gave me, I might never have stepped onto this path.”

In the martial aptitude test, the higher one’s innate vitality, the stronger their life force, and the easier it was to achieve a life leap. Even without awakening any martial talent, one could still achieve great things.

But an innate vitality of 0.1? For a young high school student dreaming of a future in martial arts, it was a crushing blow.

Because of this, Wang Xian wasted his first two years of high school, idling around and becoming the class’s infamous slacker.

It wasn’t until the start of his third year that he received an anonymous letter. Inside was a painting of his future self, clad in a Martial God Cloak and wielding a Martial God Weapon.

The message was clear: you will become a Martial God.

It was a naive and seemingly absurd encouragement.

But…

It was like a faint light piercing through the darkness, illuminating a path forward.

From that moment, Wang Xian found a glimmer of hope.

He worked tirelessly through university, honing his martial skills, and after graduation, he ventured to alien worlds, surviving countless life-and-death battles.

Eventually, he achieved greatness late in life, becoming a renowned half-step Martial God in the Blue Star Martial Alliance.

And that painting? It was from Chen Yuting, the class beauty, because she was the only one in class who was good at drawing.

“What letter?” the man beside him pondered for a moment. “Wait, was it after that one P.E. class?”

Wang Xian nodded slightly. He remembered it clearly.

The man sighed.

“You’ve got it all wrong. After that P.E. class, I went back to the classroom to get some water. I saw Ye Miyue from another class sneaking into our room and slipping a piece of paper into your desk… A few days later, she died in an accident. I thought you had a crush on Chen Yuting because of that.”

Wang Xian’s body trembled violently, his eyes filled with disbelief.

“No way… I asked her later, and she said she was the one who sent it!”

“How could it have been Ye Miyue?”

“She… lied to me!”

Beep——!

As Wang Xian uttered his final words, the line on the heart monitor flattened, signaling the end of his life.

---

Rongcheng, North Fist Martial Hall. On the soft mat beneath the arena.

“Xian, wake up!”

In a daze, Wang Xian heard a familiar voice and felt someone shaking him vigorously.

What the hell?

Can’t a dead man get some sleep?

“Dad, stop shaking him. Let me handle this.”

“Huh? Is that a 50D black-stockinged JK pure and alluring beauty?”

Wang Xian’s eyes snapped open, his pupils sharp like a hawk’s as he scanned his surroundings.

The brand-new wooden dummies, the dense array of plum blossom stakes, the force-measuring device, the speed-testing track, and the massive character for “Martial” on the wall—all of it flooded back into his memory.

Finally, his gaze landed on the two familiar faces before him.

Their features gradually overlapped with the figures in his memory, and he blurted out:

“Third Uncle, you’re not blind yet?”

“Second Brother, where’s your prosthetic leg?”

The two men exchanged a glance, their faces darkening, before each delivered a knuckle rub to Wang Xian’s temples.

Only when Wang Xian begged for mercy did they stop.

Wang Xian looked at them and suddenly broke into a silly grin.

This must be a dream.

Third Uncle Wang Dabiao was like a father to him. His parents had passed away early, and it was Third Uncle who had raised him.

Second Brother Wang Yan was Third Uncle’s son and Wang Xian’s sworn brother.

But later, while Wang Xian was off fighting on alien worlds, Third Uncle was blinded by an enemy’s scheme, and Second Brother had his legs broken after offending some powerful figures. By the time Wang Xian returned, it was too late…

“Alright, kid, take a rest. I’ll have someone come and give you a massage later,” Third Uncle said, patting Wang Xian’s shoulder. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, working so hard…”

“You know what they say: first year of high school is like a young girl, second year is a teenage girl, and third year is a mature woman. If you don’t nurture the first year or charge forward in the second, how do you expect to conquer the third year?”

“Too late.”

Wang Xian chuckled but said nothing.

Third Uncle’s dirty jokes were still the same.

He quietly walked over to the coat rack, pulled out his phone, and checked the date.

New Martial Calendar 2024, December 1st.

“I’ve been reborn,” Wang Xian murmured to himself.

This was a day he would never forget.

On this day, Rongcheng was struck by a rare S-Class Mutant Beast, the Wind King Falcon. The aftermath devastated several streets, leaving thousands dead or injured.

It was also the day Wang Xian had trained himself to exhaustion at Third Uncle’s North Fist Martial Hall, sparing him from the disaster.

And most importantly, it was the day Ye Miyue died on Tianfu Street, her body torn apart by the Wind King Falcon’s residual energy.

In his past life, Wang Xian hadn’t known Ye Miyue well. She wasn’t in his class, and her brilliance made her seem untouchable. He had been content to steal glances at her from afar.

After receiving that painting, his attention had shifted entirely to Chen Yuting, his classmate.

“If that painting… was really from Ye Miyue…”

Wang Xian took a deep breath, his mind racing.

“Xian, Dad’s got everything arranged for you. Room 18, come with me.”

Second Brother walked over, slinging an arm around Wang Xian’s shoulders and leading him toward the back of the martial hall.

“Wait, I’ve got something to do…”

“What’s more important than this? We’ve got a newbie today, and I’m letting you have a taste…”

Can you not make it sound so suggestive? Wang Xian thought to himself.

The North Fist Martial Hall had a proper massage room.

Of course, there were also the “improper” ones, but those cost extra.

Ahem—by “improper,” it meant the kind that could leave your entire body feeling like jelly, using Martial Essence to help students open their meridians, stimulate blood flow, and expand their channels.

Those packages started at tens of thousands.

The regular ones cost a few hundred to a thousand and were just for relaxation.

Dragged into Room 18 by Second Brother, Wang Xian was pushed onto a soft bed.

“Kid, enjoy yourself.”

The dim, soothing indigo light relaxed Wang Xian’s mind.

“No, I need to find Ye Miyue.”

Wang Xian thought for a moment and was about to get up when—

Click.

The door opened.

A faint, delicate fragrance wafted in, like a serpent curling into his nostrils, making him pause.

Then, a soft, slightly cold voice spoke:

“H-Hello… I’m the number 8 masseuse…”

Her voice was like a heavenly melody, carrying an otherworldly elegance that instantly stirred memories deep within Wang Xian’s mind.

It was her!