A Hundred Million? I’m Going Home to Lie Flat

Chen Yang, a 32-year-old Shanghai drifter ground down by mortgage payments and the 996 work grind, bought a lottery ticket on a whim and won a jackpot worth hundreds of millions. After taxes, he had 80 million yuan in hand. He quit his job on the spot, escaped the concrete jungle, and headed straight back to his hometown of Xinghua Village.

He had planned to sit on his fortune, drink tea and tend flowers in his old family home, and lie flat in peace. But news of his win spread like wildfire, disturbing the quiet of the little village. Relatives swarmed in to borrow money and curry favor, while neighbors' flattery mingled with suspicion. His well-intentioned road repairs earned him complaints, and the money he lent out of kindness nearly went down the drain.

Amid the turmoil brought on by wealth, Chen Yang gradually saw people for who they were and slowly rediscovered what mattered in life. He refused to be exploited without limit, built a library for the village's left-behind children, and, amid the unhurried rhythm of working from sunrise to sunset, met a gentle village schoolteacher.

When the commotion finally died down, he understood at last that no fortune could buy true peace. Breaking free of the shackles of desire and cherishing his little courtyard, his family, and his love: that was the ultimate meaning of lying flat.