The next day, the hospital.
Lying on the bed covered with white sheets, Nan Zhubin felt he had lost control over most of his upper body.
A pair of rough, powerful hands were pressing against Nan Zhubin's back, kneading his flesh like dough.
Strangely enough, the muscles that Nan Zhubin felt he had lost sensation in and couldn't control still had good tactile and pain sensitivity.
So —
With the kneading of those large hands.
"Hiss —" Nan Zhubin couldn't help but take a sharp breath.
"Oh, too much pressure, right?" Hearing Nan Zhubin's sharp breath, a deep, weathered voice immediately came from behind him.
The voice then said, "Dahui, is this your junior brother's first time at the gym?"
The speaker was an old doctor, nearly fifty years old, wearing a white coat. At this moment, he was gently shaking his head at Nan Zhubin. His rough hands were kneading Nan Zhubin's back, and as his palms moved, the muscles on his arms also rhythmically flexed.
