FLASHBACK - OCTOBER 1st, 2023
The end of September had been a blur of graduation ceremonies and hollow promises. But October 1st was different. For Lee, it was the start of his "Golden Week"—the week he would prove himself to the world.
At 8:00 AM, the Shanghai sun was sharp. Lee stood in the queue of a trendy cafe, his backpack straps tightened over his crisp suit. When he reached the counter, he beamed. "Six lattes, please. High-end beans."
The barista, used to the "living dead" of the financial district, looked at his radiant face. "Handsome brother ( Shuàigē), takeaway or stay?"
"Takeaway! All of them!" Lee's smile was blinding. "It's my first day at work. I want to treat my seniors."
"Oh! A newcomer" The girl laughed, her eyes softening. "Good luck then, handsome brother. Wait one minute ."
Lee scanned his QR code with a flourish. As he walked out, balancing the six cups, he felt like a general carrying supplies to a victorious army.
The lobby of Long March International was a monument to glass and cold ambition. Lee approached the reception desk with a polite bow. "Sister (Jiějiě), morning! I'm the new hire for the 21st floor. Which way is the elevator?"
The receptionist didn't lift her gaze from her monitor. Her fingers clicked rhythmically, like a ticking clock. "Elevator B. 21. Move quickly, don't block the VIP lane," she muttered, her voice devoid of any warmth.
Lee didn't let the frost bite. He squeezed into the elevator, shielding his coffee from the silent, stone-faced suits around him. When the doors opened on the 21st floor, he took a deep breath.
This is it.
He pushed the heavy doors open and stepped into the workspace. He didn't just enter; he made a "Hero's Entrance."
"Your savior Lee has arrived!" he announced, striking a confident pose. "Today is my first day joining the family! Seniors ( Lǎoshī-men), please take care of this junior! Let's work together to create miracles!"
The silence that followed was deafening.
Lee's pose slowly faltered. This wasn't a "family." It was a factory of the soul. His colleagues looked like they hadn't seen the sun in weeks—their eyes were "drop-dead", buried behind towers of paperwork. One man looked up, blinked once with utter indifference, and went back to his keyboard.
They must be in the middle of a high-stakes project, Lee thought, trying to stay positive. I shouldn't disturb their professional rhythm.
He was about to offer a cup to a nearby woman when a sharp cry broke the silence.
"Manager Qing ( Qín jīnglǐ) is coming!"
The transformation was chilling. The "dead" suddenly sprang to life, not with energy, but with terror. In seconds, twenty employees formed two perfectly straight lines—like servants awaiting a Qing Dynasty emperor. They stood with heads bowed, eyes fixed on the floor, breath held in.
The rhythm of heavy footsteps echoed. Manager Qing entered, flanked by several stiff-faced executives. He walked with an air of absolute arrogance, his eyes never descending to meet the "ants" on either side of him.
As he passed the line, a young man's voice trembled as he whispered, "W-welcome, Manager..."
Qing stopped. He didn't look at the man, only at the clock on the wall. A cruel smirk touched his lips. "You tripped over your words. It shows a lack of mental discipline. One day's pay cut."
"Manager... please..." the man begged.
Qing's eyes snapped to him, cold as a winter morning in Harbin. The man went silent instantly. Qing turned to the room. "Does anyone have a problem with my efficiency?"
"No problem, Sir! " the room chanted in a hollow, practiced unison.
Then, Qing spotted the anomaly. Lee was standing in the corner, still holding his stack of lattes, looking at the scene with a puzzled expression.
"You," Qing said, his voice a low growl. "Kid (Xiǎozi), why aren't you following the rules?"
"I'm Lee. A new joiner. I didn't know—"
"A new joiner ?" Qing cut him off with a mocking laugh, glancing at his executives. "Fresh meat for the grinder." He looked at a man in the front of the line. "Su Jin. Take care of our 'savior'."
Without a backward glance, Qing swept into his private office.
Su Jin, the supervisor, walked toward Lee. He didn't look like a mentor; he looked like a man who had forgotten how to feel. "Welcome to Long March, Lee," Jin said, showing him to a tiny, cluttered desk.
Lee, desperate to break the ice, sat down and tried to admire the small space. "Don't worry, Mr. Jin !" I have firm resolve! I will work hard!" He offered the best cup. "Please, have a coffee. It's my small heart for my senior."
Jin took the cup, took a sip, and immediately spat it onto the floor, splashing Lee's new shoes. "What is this cheap garbage?" He threw the cup into the bin with a violent thud.
Lee felt the blood rush to his ears. Humiliation burned in his chest. Around him, he heard the snickering of his colleagues—the cruel laughter of those who were just glad the target wasn't them.
"You've ruined my morning mood," Jin sneered, leaning into Lee's personal space. "When my mood is ruined, my work suffers. And when I suffer, everyone in this department suffers. Do you understand what you've done?"
"Because of you, we're all going to be 'vented' on by Mr. Jin!" a colleague groaned from behind a pile of files.
"I... I'm sorry," Lee whispered. "I'll make it up to you."
"Good." Jin's assistant stepped forward, dropping three massive bundles of documents onto Lee's desk. The wood creaked. "Finish these audits by tomorrow morning. Only then can you leave."
Jin patted Lee's shoulder, his eyes glinting with malice. "Good luck, 'Savior'."
As they walked away, Lee sat frozen in his chair. He looked at the mountain of paper and then at his "weak-minded" colleagues. The bright sun of 9:00 AM was gone, replaced by the fluorescent flickering of a corporate dungeon. He realized then: his university life was over, and his nightmare had just begun.
Lee took a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands. He reached for the only remaining latte with his right hand, the plastic cup cold against his palm. He took a long, bitter sip. The caffeine hit his system, a temporary shield against the exhaustion already clawing at his mind.
The battle began.
The office turned into a blurred montage of clicking keys and rustling paper. Like a fast-forwarded film, the shadows on the wall lengthened and the sunlight faded. Every hour, Lee's eyes darted to the stack on his right. Fifty pages left. Forty. Thirty-five. At 5:50 PM, the atmosphere shifted. The heavy silence was broken by the sound of bags being zipped and chairs scraping. Lee looked up, his neck cracking. He glanced at his desk—all five coffee cups were now empty, huddled together like hollow monuments to his effort. More than half the mountain of paper remained.
"Working hard, Xiao Lee?"
Jin's assistant appeared, but he wasn't there to help. With a deceptive smile, he dropped a fresh bundle of files—even thicker than the first—onto Lee's desk. He didn't say a word, only offered a mock-sympathetic wave before heading toward the elevator.
Lee's grip on his pen tightened until his knuckles turned white. Annoyance flared in his chest, followed quickly by a hollow sense of disappointment. This wasn't a job; it was an endurance test.
By 9:00 PM, the office lights dimmed as the last few "seniors" packed up. Lee watched them go, their silhouettes disappearing into the night.
"I'm still stuck..." he whispered to the empty room. "What am I even doing?"
Bang! He slammed his palm against the desk in a moment of pure frustration. But the papers didn't disappear. The silence swallowed his anger.
The night became a cycle of torture. Lee scratched his head until his hair was a chaotic mess. To fight the heavy fog of sleep, he resorted to banging his forehead against the desk—thud, thud, thud—using the pain to jumpstart his nerves. He even used his fingers to manually pry his eyelids open, his vision blurring.
At 2:00 AM, he slurped down a bowl of instant ramen , the salty steam the only warmth in the cold office. He washed it down with a sixth cup of instant coffee, his heart racing with an unhealthy, jittery rhythm.
The Next Morning: 8:45 AM
The morning sun bled through the blinds, merciless and bright. Lee was slumped in his chair, his face buried in a mess of spreadsheets. His desk was a disaster zone: empty coffee cups, crumpled food wrappers, and scattered tissues used to wipe away the sweat and grease of the night.
The office doors opened. Su Jin walked in, followed by a few early-arriving colleagues. Jin paused at Lee's desk, his eyes trailing over the discarded tissues with a look of disgust. He slowly leaned over the sleeping boy, reaching out to flip through the completed files.
Jin opened the computer, checking the timestamps on the digital logs. A faint, twisted smirk appeared on his face. "This kid... he actually did it."
BANG!Jin slammed his fist onto the desk right next to Lee's ear.
Lee jumped as if he'd been electrocuted. His heart nearly leaped out of his chest. "I—! Yes! Present!" he stammered, his voice hoarse, eyes bloodshot and confused. He looked around wildly, seeing his colleagues settling into their chairs, the office humming as if the nightmare of the night before had never happened.
He checked his phone. 8:45 AM. He had survived.
Lee looked up at Jin, his voice trembling with a mix of hope and exhaustion. "Mr. Jin... I have completed everything. Can I... can I leave now?"
Jin gave a curt, careless nod.
Lee didn't wait for a second invitation. He stood up, his legs wobbling like jelly. He performed a deep, traditional bow—the polite Chinese way to bid farewell to a superior—and gathered his bag. He didn't look back. He stumbled toward the exit, a "savior" who had been thoroughly broken by his first twenty-four hours in the real world.
The sunlight in the 2 pm afternoon felt like an intruder, piercing through the gaps in the heavy curtains. Lee lay in the bed of his dark room, his breath ragged and heavy. The phone on the bedside table shrieked—once, twice. He silenced it with a numb hand. On the third attempt, the vibration felt like it was drilling into his skull.
"Hello?" Lee's voice was a ghost of its former self.
"Lee! You useless piece of shit ( Fèiwù)!" Jin's voice exploded through the speaker.
Lee bolted upright, his heart hammering. "Mr. Jin? What... what happened?"
"What happened? Several pages are missing, and the data is full of holes! Do I have to explain every single detail to you like a child? Recheck everything and send it to me by 6 pm, or don't bother coming in tomorrow!" Click.
Lee stared at the dead screen. The silence of the room was worse than the shouting. He threw the phone against the mattress, tore open the curtains, and flicked on the light. The room was a graveyard of instant noodle cups and laundry. He sat at his laptop, scratching his scalp until it bled, his eyes scanning rows of numbers that no longer made sense.
By 6:30 pm, Lee's eyes were bloodshot. He moved to the kitchen and brought back a steaming bowl of ramen and a can of juice, placing them on the desk beside his laptop. He didn't eat yet. He hit 'Send' on the email to Jin and immediately picked up the phone.
He dialed. Ringing... then voicemail. He dialed again. Nothing. With a surge of frustration, Lee stood up and paced to his window, the phone pressed to his ear. For half an hour, he stared at the city lights, redialing over and over, begging for a confirmation that would never come.
Defeated, he slumped back into his chair. He reached for the ramen, but the steam was gone. He took a bite; the noodles were cold and gummy. With a flash of silent annoyance, he forced the bowl back onto the desk. He cracked open the juice—it was lukewarm—and drained every drop in a desperate attempt to wash away the bitterness. Without another word, he crawled back into his bed and fell into a heavy, dark sleep.
The next morning, the office felt like a pressurized chamber. Lee sat at his desk, slowly unpacking his bag, his movements sluggish. Suddenly, Jin's assistant walked over, tapping on a few desks including Lee's. "Manager Jin is calling a meeting in the small conference room. Now."
Lee stood up, his mind clouded with anxiety. What could it be? Is it the errors? Or something worse? He walked down the hall with four other colleagues. As they stepped inside the small, enclosed space, a thick, cloyingly sweet perfume hit Lee like a physical blow. He began to cough uncontrollably, the scent stinging his throat. He looked at his colleagues; they stood like statues with "dead fish eyes", seemingly immune to the suffocating fragrance.
Jin stood in the center, preening like a peacock, his assistant at his side like a loyal shadow.
"How do I smell today?" Jin asked, his voice dripping with self-importance. "My wife brought this back from Italy. A limited edition."
"It's incredible, Manager!" the assistant chirped. "Truly the scent of a leader." The four colleagues joined in with hollow, rhythmic praise. "Very sophisticated!" "Fits you perfectly!"
Lee remained silent, still trying to catch his breath. Jin's eyes shifted to him. "Lee, your opinion?"
Lee rubbed the back of his head with one hand, a weak, awkward smile on his face. "I... I don't really know much about perfume, Mr. Jin."
Jin's face soured, his disappointment visible. Sensing the chill, Lee tried to change the subject. "Mr. Jin, about last night, I called you several times—"
"Forget that," Jin cut him off, his voice cold. He gestured to a stack of files on the conference table. "This is a new six-month project. You five will work together as a core team."
He handed out the folders. Lee and the others flipped through the pages, the weight of the new workload settling in the room. "Okay, that's enough. Get back to work," Jin commanded before turning his back on them.
The next six months were a slow death.
By April, Lee was a shadow. Every day began before dawn and ended at 10 pm. When he reached his flat, he would collapse onto the floor, too exhausted to even reach the bed, sleeping in his wrinkled work clothes. His face was gaunt, the "carrybags" under his eyes dark and heavy.
He tried to cooperate with his team, but he was met with a wall of silence. "Cold shoulders" became his daily reality. When he asked for clarity, they looked through him. He soon realized the game: his teammates, who had "good relationships" with Jin, were frequently absent. Their work didn't disappear—it simply landed on Lee's desk.
He spent days without real food, surviving on caffeine and the fear of Jin's voice. His phone became a graveyard of missed connections. His mother, his father, his younger sister—they called constantly, but the hectic work rhythm meant he couldn't answer. He missed his sister's birthday. He missed the Mid-Autumn Festival. He missed New Year and Christmas.
One night, stumbling back at 10 pm, he tried to call them all back, one by one. No one answered. The silence of his family was the loudest thing he had ever heard.
Sitting in his office chair, he opened social media. He saw photos of his friends and family celebrating—smiling over hot pots and fireworks. He felt a soul-crushing guilt. Then, a post appeared on his feed. His girlfriend, posing with another man. The caption read: "Starting a new chapter."
The heartbreak was a dull ache. He stood in the corridor, redialing her number until his thumb was sore. Finally, a message popped up:
"Sorry, Lee. In these 4 months, I tried everything from my side to reach you and understand. But I didn't receive a tiny bit of response. I know I should have come in person to break up, but I know you're 'busy.' So move on."
Lee stood frozen. He looked like a dead man walking.
"Lee! What are you doing? Go back to your desk!" Jin shouted from behind him.
Lee sat down. He didn't cry. He didn't scream. He worked like a robot, eyes fixed on the screen, devoid of emotion. at 10:30 pm in his dark flat, that he crawled under his blankets and finally let the tears come—silent, racking sobs that shook his thin frame.
For several days this continued. In the office, the environment grew even more suffocating. Lee observed as Manager Qing enforced his "aesthetic rules" with ruthless precision. Colleagues were fined for slight fluctuations in weight or missing height requirements by a centimeter. Some were fired on the spot, discarded like trash.
He watched as Qing and Jin took blatant advantage of the survivors, using them as stepping stones for their own glory. The few who remained were simply enduring, their spirits crushed into the carpet. After experiencing all this, Lee realized he had no strength left to fight. He stopped looking for a way out. He stopped remembering the "Savior" he once claimed to be. He simply bowed his head and accepted his fate.
When life is swallowed by the corporate machine, time ceases to be linear. Days, months, and years pass in an instant, blurring into a gray haze of spreadsheets and artificial light.
Another six months passed. Lee's life hadn't changed by a single degree. He was a ghost in a suit, a cog that didn't know how to stop spinning. One afternoon, Lee stood up from his desk to submit a report to Jin. As he walked toward the manager's office, the world suddenly tilted. A wave of dizziness crashed over him. His vision tunneled, the fluorescent lights turning into white streaks, and the floor rose up to meet him. He fell unconscious before he even hit the ground.
When he finally forced his eyes open, the world was still spinning. A distant murmuring drifted into his ears. "Doctor... the patient... he's conscious."
Lee struggled to focus. The harsh office lights were gone, replaced by the soft, sanitized white of a hospital ward. A doctor and a nurse stood beside him. He felt a cold prickle in his right hand—a saline drip was attached, the clear fluid slowly snaking into his vein.
"How are you feeling, Lee?" the doctor asked, checking his pulse.
"What... happened?" Lee's voice was like sandpaper. "Why am I here?"
The nurse glanced at the IV bag. "Doctor, the saline is almost finished."
"Get him another one," the doctor commanded before picking up a clipboard. He looked at Lee with a mix of professional concern and weary pity. "You collapsed in your office. A female colleague brought you in and stayed with you. You've been asleep for a full twenty-four hours. She left about an hour ago."
Lee's mind raced, tripping over the words. Unconscious... fell in the office... slept for a whole day? And most puzzling of all: A woman stayed with me? Who? In that cold office, he didn't think anyone even knew his name.
"Doctor," Lee croaked, trying to sit up. "What's wrong with me? Can I go? I have to... the report..."
The doctor pressed a firm hand on Lee's shoulder, forcing him back down. "You haven't had proper food or sleep in months. Your body has reached its absolute limit. You are suffering from extreme sleep deprivation, chronic physical weakness, and severe anemia."
The doctor sighed, looking at the report. "You corporate people... you never learn. You're so busy chasing KPIs that you forget your health, your family, and yourself. You need at least a month of absolute rest. There will be no discharge today."
"But my job—"
"Take rest," the doctor cut him off sharply, placing the report on the bedside table and walking away.
Lee slowly pushed himself up, leaning against the cold metal headboard. He looked around the ward. In the bed to his right, an old woman was being tenderly fed by her husband. Across the room, a young man slept while his wife sat beside him, quietly peeling an apple, their young daughter playing with a toy at the foot of the bed. The room was filled with the quiet sounds of care—the murmur of loved ones, the scent of fresh fruit, the warmth of human connection.
Lee looked to his left.
The chair was empty. His bedside table held nothing but the clinical medical report. There were no flowers, no fruit baskets, and no one waiting for him to wake up. In a room full of people, Lee had never felt more invisible.
He didn't cry. Instead, he smiled. It was the tired, hollow smile of a man who had lost everything and realized that smiling was the only thing he had left to do.
As he leaned back, the white ceiling of the hospital began to dissolve. Memories, vivid and warm, began to wash over him like a dream he had long forgotten.
In his mind's eye, it was a golden afternoon. Lee was on his old bicycle, the wind catching his shirt. His girlfriend was sitting on the back rack, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, her laughter ringing in his ears. They were riding along the bank of a shimmering lake. Families were strolling nearby, and a group of children were blowing bubbles that caught the sunlight like tiny, floating jewels. The world was soft, bright, and full of oxygen.
The scene shifted. He was in the living room of his family home, decorated with colorful banners and streamers. His younger sister was sitting on the sofa, wearing a plastic birthday crown and looking like a princess. Lee and his girlfriend were carrying the cake toward her, their faces illuminated by the warm glow of the candles. His parents stood by, their eyes crinkling with pride and joy.
Lee was busy capturing every second on his phone—the excitement on his sister's face, the way his girlfriend held a paper blaster ready to fire. Blow out the candles! his sister did, and Bang!—the paper blaster exploded in a shower of colorful confetti. His sister giggled as she fed the first piece of cake to their parents.
Lee's phone buzzed in his pocket. He picked it up, and his girlfriend gestured with her hands, "What happened?" He signaled back with a grin, "Five minutes. I'll be back."
Outside the front door, his two best friends were waiting. They greeted each other with their unique, secret handshake—a chaotic series of snaps and claps. One of them handed him a small, velvet box. Lee opened it, and the diamond ring inside sparkled with the promise of a lifetime. His friends began to tease him, pinching and poking him playfully, and Lee laughed, fighting back with a joy that felt infinite.
Lee's Monologue:
"These moments... this was supposed to be my future. Before I stepped into that building, I had planned everything. I knew exactly where I was going. But everything is ruined now, and it's too late to fix it. This one year has finished in an instant. There is not a single moment I remember, not a single one to cherish."
"When you are struck in the corporate lifestyle, your life moves too fast. It feels like someone hit the fast-forward button. You can't spend time with your family, your loved ones, or even yourself. And when you finally realize this, the pain hits you. You think these hellish days are moving slowly, but in reality, when the days finish between your work and your sleep, the pain only increases with each passing hour."
"Each day we are unable to make or cherish those beautiful memories—the moments that are supposed to guide us through our hard days—we lose a piece of ourselves. In my case, I missed a year of memories. I lost my family, my loved ones, my career, and my health. Being stuck at work doesn't mean we are too focused on our careers; it's just that we can't come out of it. We are trapped in a cycle we never asked for."
"Please... don't abandon us alone."
As the voice-over faded, the image of Lee on the bicycle began to shimmer. One by one, the people in his memories—his sister, his parents, his friends, and finally his girlfriend—began to fade into white mist. Lee reached out to grab them, but his hands passed through empty air. He was disappearing from his own life.
The dream collapsed.
Lee opened his eyes back in the hospital ward. The silence was absolute. He was still alone.