Click. Click. Click.
The monotonous sound of typing echoed endlessly across the open office of FutureVision Design. It was the kind of rhythm that could lull anyone into a half-awake daze.
Ethan Carter stared at his computer screen, his eyes dry and burning.
A bright red logo filled the monitor, zoomed in so far that every pixel seemed to mock him. The client's request was simple—yet completely absurd:
"Make it feel more powerful. Like it's rising. Like it's… soaring."
Soaring?
Ethan's lips twitched.
It was a frozen dumpling brand. No matter how "powerful" the logo looked, the dumplings weren't going to fly into anyone's mouth.
He rubbed his temples, forcing the sarcasm back down where it belonged.
You need this job. Stay quiet.
He was just another low-level designer. No voice, no authority. Questioning the client—or worse, his boss—was not an option.
"Ethan, about that 'Fortune Dumplings' logo... the client has some new ideas."
The voice behind him was greasy, smooth in all the wrong ways.
Ethan's back stiffened instantly. But when he turned around, his face had already shifted into a perfect, lifeless professional smile.
"Sure, Robert. What do they need this time?"
Robert Wilson—his direct supervisor—stood there with his usual look: thinning hair, a rounded belly, and eyes that nearly disappeared when he smiled.
"Well…" Robert dragged the word out, clearly enjoying the moment. "They think the red isn't quite… right."
Ethan felt a small drop in his stomach.
"They want something more… imperial. You know? A red that feels… royal. Grand."
Imperial red? Seriously?
He had already adjusted that color at least fifteen times—under Robert's "guidance." From "passionate red" to "subtle red," and now… imperial red?
This wasn't design anymore. It was guesswork disguised as taste.
"Got it," Ethan said calmly. "I'll refine it and try to match what they're looking for."
Inside, he was already cursing every ancestor of that client.
But he couldn't say no.
Rent was due next month. Food wasn't free. And his credit card balance wasn't going to magically disappear.
This job—$8,000 a month before taxes—was the only thing keeping him afloat in this concrete jungle.
"Good," Robert said, patting him on the shoulder. Not too hard, not too soft—just enough to remind him who was in charge. "Do a good job. If this project goes well, I'll put in a good word for you with the boss."
Ethan forced a smile.
Yeah. Sure you will.
Last time, after three sleepless nights, Robert had presented Ethan's work as "my team" and "my effort." Ethan's name hadn't even been mentioned.
Same old trick. Same empty promise.
After Robert walked away, Ethan's smile vanished instantly.
He turned back to the screen, staring at the red logo with growing irritation.
He opened the color panel again.
If "imperial red" was what they wanted, then he'd give them ten versions of it and let them "choose."
Like some ancient emperor picking favorites from a lineup.
Time dragged on.
By noon, the office suddenly came alive, like someone flipped a switch.
"Lunch?" a voice came from the side.
Jason Miller leaned over from the neighboring cubicle. Fresh out of college, still carrying a bit of youthful energy—one of the few people Ethan could actually talk to.
"Yeah. Let's go."
Ethan stood up, his lower back protesting immediately.
He was only twenty-six, but his body already felt ten years older.
The elevator was packed. They squeezed into a corner as people pressed in from all sides.
"Robert giving you trouble again?" Jason asked quietly.
"Same thing. Logo revisions."
Jason sighed. "That dumpling client, right? Sounds like a nightmare combo—crazy client, worse boss."
Ethan gave a faint smile but said nothing.
Who wasn't struggling in this city?
The fast-food place downstairs was, as always, packed. They finally found a small table by the window.
$15 duck rice. Their usual.
Ethan ate in silence, barely tasting anything. The greasy meat, dry rice—it was just fuel. Nothing more.
He glanced out the window.
Skyscrapers. Traffic. Endless crowds moving in every direction.
Everyone looked busy. Tired. Numb.
He felt like an ant trapped in a glass jar—able to see the world outside, but never able to reach it.
"Zoning out again?" Jason asked.
"Just… feels pointless sometimes," Ethan said.
Jason nodded. "I get that. Sometimes I want to quit and go back home. But then I think about my parents…"
"Yeah," Ethan muttered.
At least this looks respectable.
Respectable.
The word lingered in his mind.
Being ordered around. Working late. Eating cheap meals. Living in a tiny apartment.
If this was "respectable," then what wasn't?
The afternoon dragged on just like the morning.
Robert came by three times, rejecting every version of "imperial red."
Then, finally, he pointed at one of the earliest versions.
"This one works. Has that feeling."
Ethan didn't argue.
He didn't have the energy anymore.
By 7 PM, most people had left. Ethan finally sent the finished file.
Outside, neon lights flickered to life, painting the city in dull colors.
The subway station was packed. He squeezed into the train, finding a small corner to stand.
Headphones on.
Noise off.
He leaned against the cold wall, watching blurred lights rush past the window.
Empty.
Half an hour later, he stepped into his old apartment building.
The moment he opened the door, silence greeted him.
A small studio. Barely furnished.
Bed. Desk. Closet.
That was it.
He didn't turn on the lights. Just dropped onto the bed.
Exhaustion swallowed him whole.
After a while, hunger forced him up.
Leftover fried rice. Microwave. Ding.
He sat in front of his computer, scrolling through short videos while eating mechanically.
Travel. Luxury cars. Happy families.
None of it had anything to do with him.
His life was just work—and bills.
Then, a video caught his attention.
A hiking vlog.
Lush green mountains. Clear streams. Mist-covered peaks.
The creator stood at the summit, arms wide open, smiling freely in the wind.
Something hit Ethan's chest.
Hard.
When was the last time he saw a smile like that?
When was the last time he felt anything like that?
He couldn't remember.
His eyes locked onto the location tag:
Qingfeng Mountain.
He immediately opened his map.
Two hours away.
A thought began to grow.
Go there.
Leave the city. Just for a day.
Breathe.
Feel something different.
The idea took root instantly.
He needed this.
A break. An escape.
Something—anything—to disturb the still water of his life.
He opened a shopping app.
Hiking poles. Quick-dry clothes. Boots.
No hesitation.
"This weekend," he muttered.
For the first time in a long while, there was light in his eyes.
A faint spark of something he almost forgot.
Anticipation.