Shenzhong City was one of the most populous cities in China, full of factories and teeming with people. Here, everyone relied on sharp wits and persistence to climb the social and corporate ladder. Most residents had arrived from elsewhere chasing the same dream: to become rich.
That month the heat was oppressive and the roadside leaves had turned a deep, rusty red. Strangers brushed past one another without a word. In a narrow alley someone was being beaten, yet passersby continued on as if nothing had happened.
It was not their concern. Daytime robberies were an ordinary sight. A thriving economy did not guarantee safety from criminals.
At Zhengtai Trading Company a middle-aged manager glared at the young man standing before him and shouted, "Lang Lin, your sales this month are far below target. Our company is not a place for useless people like you."
Lang Lin was a young man with tanned skin and a plain, forgettable face. He was not handsome and had no special charm. A college dropout, this job was the first one he had been able to find since the accident that crippled him.
A year earlier a traffic accident had mangled his legs into an unnatural shape, twisted so they no longer looked fully human. The driver who struck him had escaped punishment because he was the son of a powerful family. The police had no power to act before such a clan.
People treated him like a freak. He had searched for work everywhere but had only been rejected. This small company was the only one that would hire him.
The office employed very few people. A few days before, a new woman had joined them. She was beautiful and spent a great deal of time near the manager. No one needed to spell out what that meant.
"Manager, I promise I'll do better next month," Lang Lin said through a strained smile, though the manager only laughed coldly.
"There will be no next month. Pack your things and leave," the manager replied.
Beside him, Jiang Ning watched with eyes full of disdain, as if he were nothing more than trash.
"Tch! What are you staring at, fool? He's been fired, and you still stand there like an idiot." She shoved him, and he fell to the floor.
He could not fight back; simply standing was already difficult.
He knew why he was being dismissed. It was because of her — Jiang Ning, the despicable woman who used her body as currency to get ahead.
It was not that Lang Lin could not sell. Most of his clients were kindhearted women moved by pity. Their compassion drove his sales past the targets. But the moment Jiang Ning arrived, everything changed.
"Of course… she has her body to bargain with," he thought bitterly as he rose and walked away. His face showed no anger, but that did not mean he did not feel anything.
"Hah! Good riddance, you disgusting cripple," Jiang Ning sneered. Lang Lin flinched, then gathered his things and left the company.
"So this is it… my life is over. I might as well go home and raise ducks and chickens." He sighed and slung his bag over his shoulder.
He owned very little, just a few sets of clothes. Orphaned at a young age, he had lived with a man who took him in, a foster father in all but name. But fortune had not favored him: while Lang Lin lay in the hospital, his foster father fell ill and died.
Now he had nowhere to return to except a small, lonely house.
"How much to Liming City?" he asked a taxi driver.
"One hundred yuan, brother," the man replied. He had a round, meatball face and a rotund body. A sour smell clung to him like he had not bathed in weeks.
Lang Lin checked his wallet. He had three thousand yuan left, the remainder of his wages after buying painkillers. Leaving the hospital did not mean the pain in his legs had vanished. The ache was constant, and without medicine the pain felt like hell.
"All right, let's go," he said. A hundred yuan was steep for him, but he had no choice. Buses would be crowded and difficult to board with his bad legs; a taxi was the only sensible option.
The engine coughed to life and the taxi belched black smoke as it rattled down the road at sixty kilometers per hour.
Lang Lin rolled down the window to let the wind wash over his face. This city had once been the stage for many of his life's stories — lovers and friends who had abandoned him after the accident. Not a single one had come to fetch him when he left the hospital.
"People in this city are nothing but liars," he muttered, then closed the window and waited for the journey to Liming. The two cities lay about two hundred kilometers apart, and the slow drive took several hours.
"We're here, brother," the fat driver announced, rousing him.
"Thank you." Lang Lin paid and stepped out. His bag was not large, but it felt heavy with his crippled legs.
Liming had changed. Ten years ago it had been quiet and nearly deserted. Now shops and hotels lined the streets. Mountains surrounded the city and morning mist rolled over their slopes, lending a coolness to the air. Tourists from other regions and foreigners filled the streets.
"It feels like I came to the wrong city," he murmured and started walking. His uneven stride drew stares and sometimes laughter, but he had grown accustomed to it.
His home lay in Guagua Village, a small settlement by the mountains, about ten kilometers from the city. His house stood at the very end of the village.
The walk took a long time. Sweat soaked his face and no neighbor greeted him. It was not that they disliked him; it was that he had been away for a decade. People had simply forgotten him. Few remembered.
"At last," he breathed, wiping his brow with a small smile. The house looked dilapidated, yet unchanged. The old atmosphere remained the same.
He pushed open the gate. There was no lock; perhaps thieves had been there before, though there was little to steal. He was not worried.
Inside, dust and cobwebs covered everything.
"This place needs a thorough cleaning," he said, but the journey had exhausted him and he lacked the strength to begin.
He had not asked the driver to come all the way in because the road into the village was still dirt and rutted with mud. A low taxi could not have made it here.
At the back of the house the air felt fresher and the grass grew tall and thick. There stood a gravestone with the name Qi Jiantai carved on it.
He had missed Qi Jiantai's funeral because he had been in the hospital, but that did not mean he did not know where his foster father had been laid to rest.
His knees hit the ground with a dull sound.
"Foster Father, I have returned. Forgive me for being worthless. I could not even attend your funeral," Lang Lin said, bowing his head and striking it to the earth three times as tears streamed down his face. Though not his biological father, Qi Jiantai had raised him as his own, paying for his schooling and teaching him since childhood. Lang Lin had studied hard to one day repay that kindness, but fate had been cruel. Now, apart from his foster father, he had nothing.
Everything else in life felt meaningless.
He had studied hard, determined to repay his foster father one day, but fate had a cruel sense of humor. Apart from his foster father, he had nothing — everything else in life seemed meaningless.
"Will you accept the Spatial Ring?" As he sobbed, a voice like a spirit echoed in his mind.