When Lin Chen squeezed onto the subway, he felt like a dried-out salted fish.
In the rush-hour carriage, the smells of sweat, perfume, and chive buns mingled, making his eyes sting. One hand clutched a hanging strap while the other guarded his backpack. Inside was half a packet of instant noodles left over from last night, his lunch for today.
His phone buzzed.
Lin Chen took it out. On the screen was a post Li Mengyao had shared three minutes earlier: a diamond-studded LV bag, with the caption, “Some people will never be able to afford this in their whole lives.”
He stared at the bag for five seconds, swiped across the screen, and liked it.
“Have some self-respect,” he scolded himself, but his fingers were faster than his brain. He had already commented, “Looks great. It suits you.”
Li Mengyao didn’t reply. Of course she didn’t. She was probably with Zhao Tianyu, the rich kid who drove a Porsche, the man she called “just a friend.”
Lin Chen slipped his phone back into his pocket and looked up at the advertisements on the subway ceiling. One was for a cultivation mobile game, showing a sword-wielding woman in white soaring through the air. Beneath it, large characters proclaimed: “Become an immortal with a single thought, and command the heavens.”
He gave a crooked smile.
Become an immortal? He could barely afford his rent. His rental in this urban village was ten square meters, windowless, and cost eight hundred yuan a month. The deposit and three months’ rent had drained him dry. Last month, when Li Mengyao came by, she stood outside and said, “The place you live in isn’t even as nice as my dog’s kennel.”
He’d smiled and said, “Once I strike it rich, I’ll move into a bigger place.”
