It felt as if a high-speed blender had been shoved into my brain, churning everything until the world spun and my head rang. Every twist made my temples throb, bringing a dull, hangover-like ache and an emptiness that seemed to reach down to my bones. My stomach was in revolt. The cheap coffee still in there and the greasy takeout I'd barely had time to digest were staging a rebellion. A burning sensation climbed up my esophagus, leaving my throat dry and bitter.
My eyelids felt as heavy as two lead doors welded shut. I fought with all my strength to open them a crack and look at the bottom-right corner of that damn screen.
“00:07.”
Those blood-red digits were the sword of Damocles hanging over my head for seven days, and the last straw that broke this old camel's back. For seven days straight, I'd spun like a top under the lash, whirling and leaping around the tiny spaces of my workstation, the conference room, and the break room without a moment's rest. The director's greasy, pudgy face still swam before my eyes as he sprayed spittle at me. “Xiao Li, this request is urgent! The client needs it tomorrow! Just one more revision, just one! Young people need to have some fighting spirit!” Fighting spirit, my ass! I'd been fighting so hard I was about to drop dead!
“Just... hang on five more minutes...” I screamed at myself inside my head. My voice was like air leaking from an old bellows, dry and painful. “Once I finish... this version... I'll... sleep...”
Darkness, pure darkness without a speck of light, like thick, cold asphalt, swallowed me in an instant. There was no sense of falling, no fear, only... the deathly calm of finally being free.
Grow up quickly! Depends on making big money!