He leaned closer, lowering his voice—but not enough to hide from the hungry ears around them. "You're nothing but dead weight."
The whispers turned sharper, slicing into Chen Hao's back like knives.
"Dead weight, haha."
"Pathetic, just pathetic."
"Bet his wife screams at him worse at home."
"Wouldn't be surprised if she beats him too. Look at his face—always like a kicked dog."
Snickers and muffled laughs rippled through the cubicles. One bold colleague even muttered, "I'd quit if I were him. No balls, no pride."
Chen Hao's ears burned, his face pale as paper. His heart hammered like it wanted to claw out of his chest. For a fleeting second, he wanted to scream—wanted to tear the smug grin off Sun's face and crush every laugh in the office into silence.
But instead, he bowed his head, forcing the words through his dry throat. "I'll… finish it right away."
"Better be!" Sun barked, straightening his cheap suit like a victorious general. He jabbed a fat finger at Chen Hao. "And don't even think about leaving tonight until it's perfect! Or don't bother coming back tomorrow!"
With a derisive snort, Sun stomped back into his glass cage.
The moment the door shut, the whispers erupted again.
"Spineless."
"Even my intern works faster."
"He should just resign already, save us the embarrassment."
Chen Hao sat down, clutching the papers like they were shackles. His vision blurred. His teeth dug into his lip until he tasted blood.
His shoulders hunched, his monitor still dark.
Before he could even press the power button, Wang Peng swaggered over, chewing gum with the arrogance of a man who thought the world owed him something. He slapped a file onto Chen Hao's desk with a grin that made Chen Hao's stomach twist.
"Brother Hao, do me a solid, yeah? I've got a hot date tonight—absolute stunner. This form? Just fill it out for me. Won't take more than a minute."
Before Chen Hao could even open his mouth, another shadow loomed. Liang Wei. The smirk on his face was as greasy as the fried chicken.
"Oh, add mine too. Promised my kid I'd take him to the amusement park. You understand, right? Family comes first."
Chen Hao's fists clenched under the desk. Family? He was single. Everyone knew it. The bastard didn't even bother to invent a believable excuse.
Then the flood began.
"Chen Hao, you're the fastest typist here, right? Knock this data in for me."
"Hey, your English's better, yeah? Draft this email real quick."
"Bro, finish this spreadsheet for me. I'd owe you one—but then again, you don't need favors, haha!"
Laughter exploded around him like fireworks, mocking, jeering, stabbing into his chest. One by one, hands dumped files, folders, papers onto his desk. The stack grew until it leaned dangerously, a paper mountain ready to collapse and bury him alive.
Chen Hao sat there, frozen, throat tight. The words he wanted to scream—No! Do it yourself! I'm not your damn servant!—burned in his chest. But when he opened his mouth, the sound that came out was small, broken.
"…Alright. I'll help."
A cheer went up.
"Knew we could count on you. Reliable old Chen Hao!"
"Haha, our department's free intern."
"Manager's pet punching bag."
Their laughter roared in his ears. He forced his lips into a smile, though it trembled, though his jaw ached from the effort. Inside, his heart screamed.
"Just endure… just endure…" he whispered to himself, each word like swallowing glass.
By the time night fell, the office was already deserted. One by one, colleagues strolled out laughing, their voices echoing in the empty corridors like knives scraping against Chen Hao's bones.
"Don't stay too late, Hao!"
"Yeah, finish my report properly, thanks!"
"Hahaha, see you tomorrow, sucker."
Their laughter faded, leaving only the cold hum of the air conditioner and the faint buzzing of fluorescent lights.
The once-bustling floor was swallowed by silence, save for the rhythmic clacking of Chen Hao's exhausted fingers on the keyboard.
Chen Hao sat hunched at his desk, shoulders stiff, back aching. His fingers hammered at the keyboard until they trembled, his vision swimming with lines of black text.
The overhead lights had dimmed to a pale glow, a mercy to no one. His fingers were stiff, aching from endless typing. His eyes burned, veins crawling red across their whites. His stomach twisted and growled, punished for another skipped meal.
He reached into his worn-out bag and pulled out a cup of instant noodles—the same one he had shoved inside this morning, already broken and crumbling.
He poured boiling water into the cup, the faint smell of cheap seasoning filling the office. That was his dinner—hot, salty broth that scalded his throat but couldn't warm his heart.
Through the glass window, the city stretched wide and heartless. Neon lights flickered like mocking stars, painting the skyline in cruel brilliance. Cars streamed like silver serpents below, people living lives far more vivid than his. Chen Hao sat alone—just another shadow behind the glass, too small to be noticed, too weak to be remembered.
Past midnight, Chen Hao finally stopped. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the towering stack of completed files—the work of ten men shoved onto one. His body screamed for rest, but what greeted him wasn't gratitude, nor reward. Only silence.
His vision blurred from fatigue
Then—ding.
A notification buzzed from his phone.
He hesitated. At this hour, there was only one person it could be.
His wife.
His heart didn't race. His breath didn't quicken. He just stared at the glowing screen, numb fingers sliding to unlock.
He picked it up.
A single message glowed across the cracked screen:
Let's divorce, Chen Hao. I'm tired of this life.
One message. Short. Blunt. Brutal.
No insults. No curses. No tantrums. Just a blank, merciless sentence.
Chen Hao sat there, motionless. He waited for something—pain, sadness, fury—to rise in him. Anything at all.
But there was nothing. No anger. No heartbreak. Not even curiosity about why she chose this night, this hour, this silence.
It was as if his heart had already been emptied long before she sent those words.
He thought back to their past. High school sweethearts, holding hands under streetlights. Running to class together. Promises whispered over cheap meals. Then, marriage right after graduation, when he still believed love alone could conquer reality.
He had loved Liu Mei with a devotion that bordered on madness. He loved her so much that he once thought he could trade his future, his dignity, even his life, just to keep her smile.
But tonight—tonight he felt nothing.
His lips twitched into the faintest, bitter smile.
His thumbs moved almost mechanically, typing two words that should have broken him apart.
Hmm. Okay.
That was all he typed.
No questions.
No pleading.
No blame.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket, his face expressionless.
The pile of files sat in front of him like a mocking monument. The cold noodles cooled beside him. The city lights outside flickered, painting his hollow eyes in neon blue.
And for the first time in years, Chen Hao realized—
He wasn't sad.
He wasn't broken.
He was simply… empty.
A faint breeze slipped through the half-open glass window, brushing against his face like the mocking caress of fate. Drawn to it, he moved closer—like a moth lured to a flame it could never touch. His eyes didn't seek the dazzling neon outside, the laughter, the bright lights of the city alive with celebration. No, they lingered on the suffocating darkness above, a sky as hollow as his heart.
Then, the breeze shifted, sharp and cold, striking his cheek like a cruel slap. His head snapped slightly, and his gaze finally fell on the neon lights below—so vivid, so vibrant, so alive. The very opposite of him.
He pressed both hands on the cold windowpane and leaned forward. The glass trembled faintly under his weight. That was when he saw it—his reflection.
A ghost of a man.
Messy hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Bloodshot eyes sunk in dark circles. Wrinkled shirt, yellow stains on the collar. Shoulders slumped like a beaten dog. His lips twisted in a bitter smile that looked more like a grimace.
"Pathetic," he whispered, his voice hoarse.
"Absolutely… pathetic."
The words dragged themselves out like chains.
And then came the flood.
His wife's disdainful sneer. Useless trash.
Manager Sun's daily barrage of insults. You're nothing but dead weight.
His colleagues' mocking laughter, treating him like dirt, like a clown put on display for their amusement.
Each memory stabbed into his chest, hammering his ribs until his heart screamed.
He clenched his fists so hard his nails carved into his flesh, warm blood seeping out. His breath grew ragged.
"Am I… really this worthless?" His voice cracked, trembling with rage.
"Is this the life I deserve? To be humiliated every single day? To swallow poison and call it patience? For what am I enduring this torment?!"
Silence.
The only reply was the old air conditioner groaning like a dying beast.
His lips curled upward—not into a smile, but into something far colder.
"Chen Hao…" His voice was low, almost foreign to his own ears.
"When did you become this pathetic?"
The reflection in the window shifted. The cloudy, defeated eyes hardened. The bent back straightened, like a man rising from his own grave. The tired, lifeless face morphed, radiating not warmth, but frost—cold and ruthless.
For the first time in years, Chen Hao did not look like prey.
He looked like a predator remembering his fangs.