Chen Hao didn't go home that night.
After slogging through the endless mountain of files that no one else wanted to touch, he dragged his weary body out of the office. The streets were bathed in neon—bars alive with drunken laughter, young couples walking arm-in-arm, engines roaring as luxury cars sped by.
The thought of returning to his cramped apartment, to Liu Mei's eyes colder than knives and her tongue sharper than any blade, made his stomach twist. He couldn't bear the sight of her curled lip, her disdain every time she looked at him—as if he weren't even a man. Tonight, he refused to bow his head beneath that roof.
So, with what little scraps of savings he had left, he checked into a cheap business hotel near the company.
The room was pitifully small. A narrow bed with flattened sheets. A buzzing fluorescent lamp overhead, flickering occasionally as if mocking him. Thin curtains failed to block the glare of a neon sign outside; red and blue light bled into the room, staining the walls like wounds.
But it was quiet. Blessedly quiet.
No accusations.
No scolding.
No contempt.
For the first time in years, Chen Hao lowered himself onto a bed where no one could spit venom at him. He lay on his back, staring blankly at the stained ceiling while the air conditioner hummed like a tired machine on its last legs.
The voices came back, as they always did—his wife's disgust, Manager Sun's barked insults, his colleagues' laughter that cut deeper than blades. But tonight, they felt… different. Not like daggers in his chest, but echoes. Faint. Hollow. Like an old recording replaying on a broken tape.
And beneath the emptiness, something stirred. Something quiet.
He exhaled slowly, his fists unclenching for the first time in days. His heartbeat, usually frantic and erratic from anxiety, now beat in a steady rhythm. He closed his eyes, and for once, there was no storm in his head. No torment. Just silence.
And in that silence, Chen Hao slept.
Not like a beaten dog crawling into the corner of his cage. But like a predator, gathering strength before the hunt.
The Next Morning
Chen Hao woke up before the alarm.
For a moment, he lay staring at the ceiling, the pale hotel light filtering through the curtains. His chest rose and fell steadily. He felt… different.
Dragging himself to the mirror, he confronted the reflection he had hated for years. Puffy eyes, uneven stubble, messy hair. The kind of face that could blend into any crowd, passed over without a second glance.
Ordinary. Forgettable. Weak.
But today… there was something different in his eyes. A quiet sharpness, as if something deep inside had finally awakened.
He reached for the cheap hotel razor, scraping away the stubble until his skin felt smooth. He combed his hair neatly, straightened his shirt, and even used a hotel tissue to wipe and polish his worn-out shoes until they caught a faint gleam.
When he was done, he didn't look like a different man—he looked like the same man who had finally remembered his dignity.
He stepped out of the hotel.
The streets were the same, yet everything felt brighter. The sunlight cut sharper, the air fresher, the city… alive. Even his battered electric scooter, its seat cracked and paint peeling, no longer felt like a symbol of shame. It was his ride, steady and upright. Cars whizzed past, but for once, he didn't feel small.
For the first time, Chen Hao wasn't late.
For the first time, he wasn't rushing.
For the first time… he was arriving.
Entering the Office
The company's glass doors slid open with a soft hiss.
Chen Hao walked in—not hurried, not shrinking—but with shoulders straight, chin lifted, and eyes calm, sharp enough to make others instinctively move aside.
The receptionist, who had ignored him every single day for a year, looked up out of habit. Then froze.
Her pen slipped from her hand.
Her pupils widened.
Chen Hao's gaze locked with hers for a brief second. He nodded slightly, his voice smooth.
"Good morning."
Her breath caught. "M-Morning…"
When he turned and walked toward the elevators, she rubbed her eyes furiously.
What's going on? That's Chen Hao? Chen Hao? The same one I never bothered looking at? Since when was he… this handsome?
Her cheeks burned red as she bit her lip.
The office floor was filled with the usual chatter. People leaned against desks, sipping coffee, scrolling phones, exchanging gossip about managers and weekend plans.
Then the sound of steady footsteps entered.
Someone turned.
And froze.
"Wait… who's that?"
Another looked over, then nearly spit out coffee.
"Holy shit—is that… Chen Hao?"
"Chen Hao? No way! Look at his hair—combed. His shirt—tucked. His shoes—shining?"
"Not just that… look at his face. He's actually… handsome?!"
The volume of whispers grew louder.
"God, is this really the same guy who used to sneak in late with his head down?"
"Don't lie to me—this looks like a whole different person."
"I swear I've never noticed his face before. He's actually better looking than all the so-called rich second-gens here."
Across the office, girls exchanged wide-eyed looks, then leaned toward each other, whispering with excited voices.
"Damn, Chen Hao's jawline is sharp as hell…"
"His eyes… did you see his eyes? He actually looked at me—my heart almost stopped!"
Their voices carried, making several boys' faces darken instantly.
"Tch, what's so special? Just combed his hair and tucked his shirt. Big deal."
"Exactly. Handsome? Please. He's just pretending."
"Ha! Let's see how long this act lasts. Don't forget, he's still the guy riding that shitty electric scooter."
"Yeah, handsome or not, he's still broke."
But even as they spat their jealousy, their eyes betrayed their unease. Because no matter how they tried to dismiss it… Chen Hao's presence was undeniable.
Chen Hao walked forward slowly, deliberately. Every step echoed in the sudden hush of the office.
He didn't hide. He didn't lower his head.
Instead, he lifted his gaze, letting it sweep across the room calmly.
And then—he smiled.
That small, calm smile was like a thunderclap.
A few girls gasped audibly, hands clutching their chests. Their cheeks flushed crimson, their eyes shimmering like spring water.
"Oh my god, he's smiling at me…"
"No, it was at me!"
"Shut up, I'm literally about to faint…"
Meanwhile, the boys clenched their fists, teeth grinding.
"Smile all you want, you're still trash."
"Just wait. Sooner or later, people will see your real face."
But no matter what they said, none of them could stop the truth pressing down on their hearts—
Chen Hao no longer looked like someone they could step on.
He walked past them, unhurried, and sat at his desk.
With calm, practiced movements, he placed his briefcase down, powered on his computer, and began typing.
It was nothing special. Just a man starting his workday.
But in that moment, the entire office felt like it was revolving around him.
The first fool to test the waters was—of course—Wang Peng. The office clown, self-proclaimed "big brother," and parasite who lived off others' efforts. He swaggered over with his trademark greasy grin, a half-crumpled file dangling from his hand like some charity case.
"Brother Hao, my savior! You know I had a late night, didn't finish this form. Be a pal, do it for me, yeah?"
The old Chen Hao would've nodded immediately, smiling bitterly while swallowing his resentment. But today?
Chen Hao lifted his eyes slowly, gaze calm yet sharp enough to pierce Wang Peng's fake smile. His voice came out polite, but cold as steel.
"Wang Peng, you should do it yourself. It's your responsibility. Honestly, it's simple. Copy the figures, check the totals. Ten minutes of focus, and it's done. But if you're careless, you'll screw it up anyway."
The grin on Wang Peng's face cracked, stiffening like old plaster. "Ah… uh… you're joking, right?"
Chen Hao's fingers tapped the keyboard again, indifferent. "No."
That single word—flat, absolute—landed like a hammer in the silent office.
Then came the whispers.
"Wait… Did he just refuse Wang Peng?"
"Impossible! Chen Hao never refuses anyone."
"Not only refused, he even lectured him!"
"What the hell happened to him overnight?".