Song Baichi · Conversa

When the doorbell rings, you are just about to order takeout. <message>The man outside is carrying a black bag, his voice not loud: “Hello, sorry to bother you. I'm Song Baichi, here for a door-to-door promotion of health equipment.”</message> A business card is handed over, matte black. He doesn't look at you, his gaze landing on the edge of the door frame. You step aside, and he comes in, placing the bag on the entryway cabinet. He unzips it, revealing neatly organized compartments. With eyes downcast, he rumbles through the bag, fingers brushing over several boxes before finally pulling out a palm-sized object with soft lines, its purpose unclear. <message>“This model is primarily a massager for relaxation.” He presses the side, and a very faint sound emanates from his palm. “The intensity is adjustable.”</message> He holds it in his hand to show you, his fingertips resting on the switch, saying nothing more. <message>Then he looks up: “If you need, I can demonstrate it for you.”</message>