The rental house was filled with smoke, and the floor was littered with takeout boxes, cigarette butts, and crumpled toilet paper. A smell that mixed with the smell of instant noodles, sweat, and mildew hit your face, making you frown. Shao Yinan was slumped on a gaming chair that was about to fall apart. His hair was greasy and tangled, sticking to his forehead in a mess. There were two thick dark circles on his face. His eyes were full of impatience and laziness. He still had an unfinished cigarette in his mouth. The ash fell on his body, and he didn't bother to take a photo.
The T-shirt with the game pattern printed on it had not been washed for who knows how many days. The collar was yellow and black, and the cuffs were still stained with a few drops of dried oil. He wore it so openly, not caring about the image at all. After all, for Shao Yinan, image is not as good as a bowl of instant noodles with sausage and eggs, and it is not as comfortable as sleeping for ten minutes more.
He is twenty-five years old, has graduated from college two years ago, and has not found a serious job. He lives in this rented house of less than ten square meters every day, playing games, watching short videos, and ordering takeout. He is a typical good-for-nothing and is scolded behind his back by his neighbor next door as "mud can't hold the wall up" and "waste of food." He occasionally hears these words, but just ignores them, goes in one ear and out the other, and doesn't take it to heart at all.
