Can massaging your palm cure back pain?

At this moment, Chen Anquan resembled an African friend with a massive bundle balanced atop his head—a sight so oddly satisfying it bordered on comical.

He had just spent the 0.03 unused attribute points he’d gained, investing them all in his Constitution. Now, his Constitution had reached 1.02, and his Strength stood impressively at 1.27—both surpassing the level of an average person.

Feeling quite pleased with himself, Chen Anquan shouldered two enormous sacks of corn, overtaking his second uncle and aunt as he strode past them. He walked to the sidecar of the three-wheeled motorcycle and tossed both sacks into its cargo bed.

Bang!

The three-wheeled motorcycle bounced on its rear wheels, as if a giant frog had suddenly leapt on the spot.

Aunt, trailing behind, watched this with concern and scolded him, “Anquan, could you be a little more gentle? Be careful, or you’ll blow out the tires!”

But Uncle only chuckled. “Don’t worry, Anquan, these tires can take it!”

Aunt shot him a fierce glare—since when had the old man started siding with his nephew?

“Auntie, let me help you,” offered Chen Anquan, already having set down his sacks, as he turned to his aunt approaching him.

“No need,” she replied.

Bang!

Auntie hoisted her own heavy sack onto the sidecar.

Three big sacks now completely filled the cargo bed, leaving Uncle no option but to stack his own sack on top of the others.

He raised his sack high, but just as he was about to push it onto the motorcycle, a grimace of pain suddenly twisted his face. The sack slipped from his grip and landed on the ground with a thud.

“Jintang, what’s wrong?” Auntie quickly grabbed his arm, anxiety etched in her face.

Chen Anquan noticed his uncle clutching his waist with both hands, paying no mind to the sack that had just landed squarely on his shoe. He immediately realized that Uncle had likely thrown his back out.

In medical terms: acute lumbar sprain.

Uncle’s brow furrowed, his sun-darkened face turning pale. “My back! It hurts so much!”

He dropped heavily onto the sacks, curling over himself like a mantis shrimp, arms locked around his waist, afraid to move.

“Uncle, you’ve probably strained your back,” Chen Anquan said with concern.

Uncle nodded repeatedly, sweat beading on his brow and dripping down in fat drops.

Chen Anquan was a legitimate rehabilitation therapist—this sort of patient was hardly unfamiliar to him.

Such cases were easy to diagnose: acute lumbar sprain. Yet in clinical practice, one had to distinguish between a simple muscle strain, vertebral fractures, or even more severe issues like herniated or ruptured discs, or internal bleeding from organ damage.

Auntie looked desperately at Chen Anquan. “Anquan, do something! You studied medicine, didn’t you?”

Chen Anquan hesitated. Before him was his own uncle.

He remembered just a few days ago, when he’d treated a patient for cervical spondylosis. The result: the patient was left completely paralyzed from the neck down, and Chen Anquan lost both his job and his medical license.

What if he treated his uncle’s pain, and it only got worse? Would Uncle blame him?

He knew this was a selfish thought, but after such a bitter experience, he couldn’t help the doubt gnawing at him.

Especially now, in the midst of harvest season—if Uncle was laid up for even a few days, his condition could only worsen. Not only would he recover poorly, but the family’s several acres of rice would go unharvested.

“Ah! I can’t move at all—if I even try, the pain is unbearable!” Uncle’s lips were pale as he clutched his waist, his voice weak and fading.

Sweat from his forehead dripped down his thighs and knees, dampening the dry earth beneath him.

Auntie, upon seeing Chen Anquan still hesitating, grew impatient. “Anquan, are you a doctor or not? Do something!”

Suddenly snapped back to his senses, Chen Anquan reminded himself that, though Uncle had never shown him much kindness as a child, he was still family. Placing both hands on Uncle’s arms, he began to take a medical history: “Uncle, does it hurt when you’re perfectly still?”

“No.”

“What about when you move?”

“It feels like my back’s going to split apart!”

“What kind of pain is it?”

“It’s a dull, bursting ache!”

From this, Chen Anquan quickly deduced that ninety percent likely, Uncle had suffered a simple acute lumbar sprain. To be certain, further tests would be needed—but that wasn’t possible here and now.

He pressed his thumbs into the edge of Uncle’s palms, near the little finger, and applied firm pressure.

“Ah!” Uncle howled in pain.

Auntie glared fiercely at Chen Anquan. “What are you doing to him?” To her, it was nonsense for her nephew to be digging his thumbs into her husband’s palms when his back was already in such agony.

But Chen Anquan remained composed, ignoring Auntie’s protests. Keeping his grip on Uncle’s hands, he continued to knead Uncle’s thumbs while giving instructions: “Uncle, try to stand up slowly.”

Uncle was clearly stunned by this request and hesitated, but at last he didn’t get up.

“Ah! It hurts, it hurts!” he cried, feeling an intense, almost piercing pain in his palms where Chen Anquan pressed. He looked at his nephew in confusion. “Anquan, what are you doing?”

Was his nephew having some sort of fit?

Chen Anquan couldn’t be bothered to explain. He pulled Uncle, who was leaning against the motorbike, and shouted, “Get up, stretch yourself out!”

Stretch myself out?

Uncle looked at him in bewilderment, but was hauled to his feet. The intense pain in his back made his face crumple like a pickle.

Auntie, seeing that Chen Anquan showed no signs of letting up, was finally enraged. She fixed him with a furious glare and shouted, “Anquan, what are you doing? Are you trying to kill your uncle?”

Uncle, forced to his feet, kept his back hunched—though he was standing, his posture was awkward and unnatural.

Ignoring Auntie’s tirade, Chen Anquan gripped Uncle’s hands and slowly stepped backward, all the while pressing his thumbs into the palms.

“Slowly straighten your back,” Chen Anquan urged, continuing to retreat and apply pressure.

Gradually, Uncle’s face, so tightly puckered before, began to relax. He was trying to straighten up.

“Huh?” Surprise flashed across his face as he looked at his nephew in delight. “Anquan, why doesn’t it hurt so much anymore?”

Just moments before, he’d felt a rush of energy surge through his back, as if all the blocked channels had suddenly opened.

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Second update—where are my monthly votes, recommendations, and bookmarks? Third update coming soon...