"May I have your name, sir?"

"I’m surnamed Xia Chuan!"

"Xia Chuan, I have to admire your IQ! Your cleverness exceeds my expectations. Yes, the origin of my name matches your analysis exactly!"

After saying this, Melinda Liang paused briefly. A flicker of nostalgia crossed her face—a look I caught clearly from the shampoo bed. But it vanished instantly, replaced by her initial warm smile. *Definitely someone with a past*, I thought. She continued:

"I am indeed Chinese. Both my parents are ethnically Chinese—I’m no mixed-race. This name? I adopted it after starting work here for international flair. The story behind it? I’ll skip that. My old name? I’d rather not say. Some mysteries should remain... after all, mystery makes a woman beautiful!"

She fell silent. Sensing her reluctance, I didn’t press further. Pushing too hard breeds annoyance—and enemies. My gut screamed: *Keep digging, and you’ll regret it.*

"Understood—I won’t pry. But one more question: As a receptionist, you outrank shampoo assistants. You shouldn’t be washing my hair. Look around—plenty of staff could replace you. It makes me uneasy. I read too many detective novels; my brain jumps to worst-case scenarios. If that offends, I apologize—but could you explain?"

My throat went dry after that breathless speech.

Melinda Liang didn’t seem offended by my polite suspicion. Her reply carried no anger:

"Haha! Overthinking again, young detective fan! Life isn’t that complicated. I washed your hair for reasons. Since you’re curious, I’ll explain: First, I’m not reception staff—I’m the Deputy Fashion Director. Our receptionist called in sick today, and I was free. I was actually watching a movie when you arrived... your comment caught me off guard, made me flustered!"

"I’d planned to play receptionist, but your sharp eyes would’ve seen through my act. One slip, and you’d pounce! So I dropped the pretense.

Second—you’re a rough diamond buried under messy hair. I saw potential. So I offered the full package: wash, cut, styling. I’ve never done this for an ordinary customer before. Though... with that quick mind of yours, ‘ordinary’ doesn’t quite fit, does it?"

"Bottom line: I chose you. Stop overanalyzing—you’ll age faster. At your age, life should be carefree. Relax, honey!"

*Damn. Her logic is airtight. Even my genius brain can’t counter it.*

I stayed silent.

A comfortable quiet settled between us. Her fingers worked through my hair; I surrendered to the calm.

...

"All done! Up you go—we’ll cut and style next. I’ve got a feeling this’ll be a stunning transformation!"

I’d nearly dozed off when Melinda’s voice startled me awake. My body felt light, but the day’s mental exhaustion had finally lifted. *Bliss.*

Ever cooperative, I sat up. She towel-dried my hair—enough for cutting, not full drying. Blow-drying would wait until after styling.

I hopped off the bed, dabbed my hair with the towel around my neck, and followed Melinda downstairs to the dazzling lobby. She guided me to a corner station and pointed.

"Right here. Have a seat while I grab my tools. Feel free to play with the tablet—we’re a premium salon. Personalized service is our creed."

She left. I sat, waiting.

As I scrolled the tablet (premium salon = free Wi-Fi, coffee, snacks—*like a net café!*), I scanned the massive lobby. Thirty styling stations at least. Bigger than any barbershop I’d known.

But I wasn’t just killing time. Barely 24 hours in this new world, I still had gaps in my knowledge. With fragmented memories and muscle memory as my only guides—and living alone, no risk of being exposed as an imposter—I needed deeper intel.

*Economy. Politics. Culture. That’s how you understand a world.*

*And music. Films. Novels. Manga. How did I survive before them?*

Just as I began searching, Melinda returned with her tools.

"Sorry to keep you waiting! Ready for the haircut?"

"No rush. Five minutes? I’ve endured sixteen years of loneliness—I can handle five minutes of boredom."

"Xia Chuan, you’re delightful! Such wit!"

"Just a humble party trick!" I grinned.

"Haha! Brace yourself—after this cut, you’ll barely recognize yourself!"

Melinda wielded her scissors like the Deputy Fashion Director she was. And I? I kept scrolling the tablet. *In this world, you really can’t survive without one.*