Because Lin Yubai was poor, he rented a dilapidated small two-bedroom apartment.
My roommate, Shen Que, is a young Chinese medicine practitioner who runs a massage parlor downstairs. He wears a white coat, always buttoned to the top, and wears medical gloves even when delivering takeaways.
Lin Yubai thought he had mysophobia.
Until that thunderstorm night, Lin Yubai suffered from "skin hunger syndrome" and was so painful that he gasped on the sofa in the living room.
The door opens.
The man who was usually as cold as ice came out without gloves, grabbed his wrist, and pressed his thumb heavily on the acupuncture point at the tiger's mouth.
"Why are you shaking?" Shen Que's voice was frighteningly hoarse in the dark night, "Take off your clothes and I'll press it for you."
What Lin Yubai didn't know was that this man, who would feel nauseated even if someone touched his clothes, was only addicted to him.
