Melinda Liang greeted me. I wasn’t surprised—it was just standard hospitality etiquette.

Plus, she’d been caught slacking off on her phone earlier. Getting caught meant a pay cut, so her manners felt impeccable.

But… eh, I won’t rant too much!

“Hi there! I’d like a haircut and styling. My hair’s grown super long—I want to trim it into shape and refresh my look. I heard this place is the most famous beauty sanctuary nearby, so I came to try it out.”

I smiled back as she smiled at me.

Politeness is reciprocal. It lifts moods—hers and mine.

Seeing how warmly I spoke, her expression shifted slightly. She seemed… closer now.

“Got it, sir. Do you have an appointment? Any preferred stylist? And would you like the main hall or a private room?”

“No appointment, no specific stylist. Just recommend someone good. Oh… the main hall is fine. Thanks!”

Melinda Liang sat down, tapped at her computer, spoke briefly into a walkie-talkie, then grabbed a tablet. She fiddled with it for a moment.

“All set! Follow me, sir. Let’s start with a shampoo. Here—this is your digital bill for later. If you get bored, you can play games on this tablet. It’s got mini-games, novels, magazines… helps guests beat the wait. Enjoy!”

Wow, so high-end! I remembered old barbershops using paper slips. No wonder this place is Shangsha City’s top beauty spot!

Melinda Liang headed deeper into the hall. A staircase led to the second floor—she walked that way. The shampoo area must be upstairs.

I followed her. We climbed the stairs to the second-floor washing zone.

It was quiet. Well, not exactly—just a huge space with few people. Probably because private rooms had their own shampoo beds. Compared to that, this felt sparse.

I kept following Melinda Liang. She stopped at one of many shampoo beds and pointed to the one beside her.

“Right here for your shampoo! Oh, sir—would you like a head massage too?”

I thought it over. Yeah, a massage. Today had been exhausting—hotel drama, drunk driving scares, license issues. My body wasn’t tired, but my mind was drained. A massage would soothe my soul.

“Mm, yes. A massage during the shampoo. Thanks!”

It’d cost extra, but relaxation was worth it.

“Perfect. Please lie down, sir.”

I obeyed and lay back.

Melinda Liang didn’t call another assistant. She handled it herself.

I was a little surprised. Wasn’t she front desk staff? Why do this personally? Eh, I’ll keep the question. A little mystery makes life sweeter.

Lying there, distant music washed over me. My mind felt purified. Everything was cozy—the faraway sky, the distant earth. The pressure on my scalp melted my whole body into relaxation!

Wait—this is a barbershop! Don’t fall asleep! Stay sharp!

But warm water flowed over my head. Shampoo foam swirled gently. So… comfortable.

As Melinda Liang massaged, I seized the chance to ask about her name.

“Hey, Melinda Liang—you look so pretty and young. Fresh out of school, or still studying?”

Flattery first. Make her feel good, then slip in the real question.

Sure enough, my compliment loosened her up. Now I could probe my earlier curiosity.

Her fingers glided across my scalp, soft and rhythmic. Total relaxation flooded through me.

“Oh, stop! I’m not that young. I graduated three years ago—way past college age! You’re such a sweet talker.”

Graduated three years ago. Assuming a standard four-year degree starting at 18, she’d be 22 at graduation. Plus three years… around 25. But Melinda Liang looked seasoned, with mature grace. Probably 26.

My brain crunched the numbers.

“So you’re about 26? That’s the peak of life—no wonder you’re so gorgeous!”

“Thanks! How’d you guess my age? You really are sweet!”

“No magic—just careful listening and observation.”

“You’re sharp!”

“Appreciate it. Oh, Ms. Melinda Liang—can I ask something?”

“Sure! If I know it, I’ll answer.”

“That name—Melinda Liang—it’s self-chosen, right?”

“Huh?! How’d you know?!”

“Simple. You’ve got an Asian face. Shangsha City’s diverse—Chinese, Japanese, Korean folks everywhere—but ‘Melinda Liang’ breaks Asian naming rules. Your surname ‘Liang’ marks you as Chinese.

So maybe mixed heritage? Or a trendy Western name for global flair? But your features are purely Asian—no mixed traces. Your skin’s smooth, no rough Western pores. Definitely full Asian.

Eliminate the impossible, and what’s left must be true. You’re Chinese, and you picked this name. College reshapes people most… but I think you chose it for work here. Am I wrong?”

I spilled my analysis while she shampooed and massaged. Her hands paused briefly—caught off guard. Having secrets exposed is scary. But she resumed smoothly. Strong nerves.

Melinda Liang kept massaging as she spoke: