2008, high school boys' dorm, after lights out.

I had a high fever and was delirious, my whole body burning hot.

The guy in the upper bunk told me to take off my shirt, then got down and pulled out a bottle of 56-proof Erguotou, poured it into a stainless steel rice bowl, and set it on fire.

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

He literally stuck his hand right in, soaked it in the still-burning alcohol, and slapped it hard across my back.

That moment felt incredible. First came the searing heat from the flames, immediately followed by the intense cold as the alcohol evaporated rapidly.

He kept dipping his hand in the fire and massaging my back over and over. Hot then cold, hot then cold. I don't remember when I fell asleep, only that I slept deeply that night.

Later I understood what they meant by "we only knew it was ordinary at the time."

After so many years in society, I've traveled to many places, but no one has ever dared to bare-handedly dip into burning alcohol and massage my back again—not even a gold-rated massage therapist!