The sky was thick with dark clouds, rain pouring down in relentless sheets. This damn weather seemed once again to be predicting my failure at finding a job today.
Yet, I couldn't help but admire it, because somehow, it always rained on the mornings I had interviews.
My shoes were soaked, carrying the damp, muddy scent of failure.
There I stood, ugly, adjusting my appearance at the doorway.
My clothes were soaked with sweat, a small step toward the self I longed to achieve.
Standing there, ashamed, I tried to steady my emotions.
Bang—!!
Honestly, I had lost count of how many times this had happened, but now I was extremely confident, confident enough to feel that I could already become a professional actor.
"How did it go?" Grandma, as always, waited at the door, asking with hope written all over her face.
I stretched lazily, putting on an air of nonchalance. "How is it that these interviewers, making just a few thousand a month, always manage to weed us out?"
Grandma didn't say a word. She just let out a long, heavy sigh, her face grave.
As usual, I hugged my frail grandmother and comforted her, "It's okay. I'll keep looking. I'll prepare better. I'll find something eventually."
A woman's words are liars. That's probably just how it is.
I walked into the kitchen with practiced ease, washing dishes, cooking, wiping the tables, switching Grandma to her favorite channel, and then gently closing the door. I opened my laptop, double-clicked through books and materials on Pity's caressing knowledge that college had never taught me, and just like that, time slipped by unnoticed, completely unnoticed.
Eventually, the nine o'clock alarm rang. I was pulled back to reality like a marionette, automatically walking into the kitchen again to prepare Grandma's wash basin, clothes, and hot water.
I had once read a book, and the words still lingered vividly in my memory: "Masks are neither born with us nor forced upon us by others."
Even now, I still did not understand its meaning. I went on as usual, telling Grandma to rest well, mechanically typing on the keyboard to numb myself, while Grandma, as always, spoke in a voice tinged with tears: "Child~ I can't help you. Your parents left so early… if only… if only they were still here… you wouldn't have to live like this."
My name is Feng Mengge, twenty-four years old, majoring in Computer Science at Haixian University.
Some things always struck me as strange. During holidays, relatives would repeat the same tired script year after year: "Xiao Feng, computer science graduates like you shouldn't have any trouble finding jobs, right? Look at your second uncle's daughter—same major, working at a tech company in Guangfu City, making fifteen grand a month! And I heard she even found a boyfriend in the same field, pulling in twenty to thirty grand a month!"
Every time I thought about this, I couldn't help but laugh quietly to myself. Maybe I was "sick," just like those short-tempered people said.
But still, I often wondered: why? Why do they live such tiring lives? Is saving face really that important?
I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to find a reason, tossing and turning. Unable to truly feel it, tossing and turning.
After a while, giving up on that, I began to let my thoughts run wild: "If I didn't exist, would there be so many problems? Would society continue to function as usual?"
Life is like a play, and a play is like life. Is this "play" necessarily a drama? Maybe it's a game.
And so, once again, without realizing it.
And so, once again, belatedly realizing.
In the game of asking and answering myself, my consciousness gradually dissipated, as if falling into the center of an endless abyss.
Weightlessly floating, unable to fully experience it.
Weightlessly floating, unable to cast it away from my mind.
How I longed to live in a beautiful world, a world without suffering or sorrow, without harm or jealousy, without desire or disaster, without anything unpleasant. Surely, the people there must be laughing, living happily together.
The lingering echoes reverberated endlessly, in my mind, in my dreams.
And so, once again, without realizing it, without realizing it.
A man's scolding began echoing through my consciousness, growing louder and louder, louder and louder.
I rubbed my eyes and slowly opened them.
Before me stood a burly middle-aged man, nearly two meters tall, shoulders as broad as walls, his skin dark and rough from years of wind and sun.
A nearly burned-out cigarette hung from his mouth, the strong smell of tobacco mingling with his anger as it hit me: "Hey!! Hey!! You stupid girl!! Are you going to work or just stand there daydreaming?! Snap out of it, or get out!! Did you hear me?! I said, did you hear me?! I'm talking to you!!"
"I-I'm sorry, I'm really sorry! I'll do it, I'll do it, I'll do it right now." I instinctively lowered my head, hurriedly apologizing.
But before my words had even finished, a pungent stench suddenly hit my nose, making my heart jump. "No way?! It's so disgusting!! What is this smell?!"
"Hurry up!!" Before I could react, the man spat in my face again.
Without hesitation, I spun around, moving like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on, my movements sharp and quick, like a cigarette crushed on the ground.
"What is this thing so stinky, this black-yellow lump… is this human poop?" I pinched my nose, frowning, muttering to myself.
At that moment, the man's angry voice rang out from behind again: "What are you hesitating for? Hurry up!"
"O-okay, okay, I'll start now." I immediately lowered my head, my hands trembling slightly, my heart filled with an unprecedented panic and unease.
Facing the filthy pile before me, a wave of nausea and helplessness washed over me. "It stinks so bad… I can't stand it." The pungent odor made me nearly want to recoil, yet I had no choice but to grit my teeth and force myself to stay calm. "This… what is happening?! Why is this person shouting at me?! Why am I cleaning this?!"
The gloves were cold and damp, and touching that viscous mess churned my stomach. I wanted to ask why, but hesitation would only anger the man behind me further. Taking a deep breath, I carefully began shoveling, telling myself, "Forget it, forget it… deal with this first, then ask questions."
All the while, the scolding from behind remained harsh and piercing, but my movements gradually grew more practiced.
Before long, the filth was gradually cleared bit by bit. Just as I thought I was finally free, the man's yelling rang out from behind again: "Hurry up and get the hose!"
"What?! I have to rinse it too?!" I immediately panicked, lowering my head to check the floor, but still couldn't see the hose. Suddenly, his angry voice cut through again: "Behind you!! Right behind you!! Are you blind or what?!"
I didn't respond. Without hesitation, I turned and aimed the hose at the mess with my heel. The shouting came again: "How are you going to wash it without turning on the switch?! Huh!!"
At that moment, I felt like a soulless puppet, turning and rushing toward the faucet, twisting the switch—and unsurprisingly, the next second.
Bang—!!
The strong water pressure sent the filth flying in all directions, drenching the middle-aged man as well.
"It's over!! It's over!! I'm dead!!" I stared at the scene, pale as ice, my legs trembling uncontrollably.
What happened next was utterly unexpected and unforgettable—he didn't say a word, quickly pushed me aside, turned off the faucet, and stormed out the door.
"..." I stood there, dumbfounded, as if the air around me had instantly frozen.
Bang—!!
Not long after, he returned carrying a long rag and a bottle of spray, heading straight for the mess, while I, like a child who had done something wrong, silently stood behind him, watching as he handled it.
He quickly turned on the faucet, rinsed the walls, shoveled away the standing water, sprayed the disinfectant, wiped repeatedly—moving with such speed, all in one seamless motion, leaving almost no time to react.
And then, after who knows how long, a faint knocking suddenly echoed in my consciousness.
Bang bang bang—!! Bang bang bang—!! Bang bang bang—!!
The sound grew louder and louder, more and more insistent, until finally, the wooden door slowly creaked open. I was immediately pulled back to reality by the noise: "Here."
"Excuse me, are you Ms. Irene Field?" The tall, handsome male server standing before me wore a smile, his tone calm and even.
I asked in confusion, "Me?"
"Isn't that the name engraved on the badge on your chest?" His voice remained calm, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
I slowly lowered my head, and a silver badge came into view. Then, my mind went completely blank.
"What… what is happening? Wasn't I asleep? …How am I here?"
"Our boss is waiting for you at the front desk. Could you come with me?" The male server's voice sounded again, calm and even.
"What… what exactly happened? This… this…"
"Our boss is waiting for you at the front desk. Could you come with me?" The male server's voice sounded again, but this time it seemed to have lost its patience.
"Oh, okay, sorry." I said hurriedly, embarrassed, then flusteredly closed the door and followed his figure down the corridor.
The mottled oil paintings on the walls looked like the curtains of an ancient epic, but I had no time to look. Before long, panic struck me: "It's him!! It's him!! That uncle from before!! Could this uncle really be the manager the young man mentioned?!"
The lobby gradually came into view, and I struggled to suppress the unease swelling in my chest. Finally, I stood in front of him, whispering to myself, "It's fine, it's fine, everything will be fine."
"This is our manager." The male server suddenly turned toward me and extended his hand to introduce him.
At that moment, my heart rate spiked, pounding so hard I felt it might leap out of my chest: "What?! I guessed it right!! It's over… it's over…"
I had originally thought I would be punished, but what happened next completely surprised me.
"Here… this is your pay for today." The man in front of me, expressionless, coldly spat out these few simple words.
And yet, just these few simple words… at this moment, the scene froze in my mind like a single frame from a movie.
At that instant, I began to feel as if I could reach out and grasp the hem of time itself.