# 2005, High School Boys' Dorm, After Lights Out

I was running a high fever, delirious and feeling like my whole body was on fire.

My bunkmate above had me take my clothes off, then he climbed down and pulled out a bottle of 56-proof Erguotou, poured it into a stainless steel rice bowl, and lit it on fire.

In the darkness of the dorm, that ethereal blue flame looked particularly eerie. Before I could even ask if he was about to sacrifice me, he'd already stuck his hand into the fire.

He really did stick it directly in—dipping it in the still-burning alcohol, then slapped it hard across my back.

That moment felt incredibly strange. First came the scorching heat from the fire, immediately followed by the intense cold as the alcohol evaporated rapidly.

He kept dipping and pushing, massaging my back. Hot, then cold. I don't remember when I fell asleep, just that I slept deeply that night.

Later I understood what people mean by "at the time, we thought it was ordinary."

After all these years in society, I've been to many places, yet I've never found another person who would dare to dip their bare hands in burning alcohol to give me a fire massage—not even a five-star massage therapist!