At the age of 24, he carried a box of books into the pastoral village without electricity in Tibet.
With no office and no colleagues, I used my bed as my desk to write materials with the emergency light on. I only had snowy mountains, howling wolves and bone-corroding loneliness day and night. I endured this for six years.
At the age of 30, he resigned and returned to Chengdu, starting from scratch as a hired secretary.
I moved through 7 units, changed 12 workstations, and sat in the most unpopular seat behind the door every time.
He was scolded by the strict leader to the point of doubting his life, was ostracized by the local circle, and was hit hard by the obstacles in the workplace.
He was more familiar with the county party committee compound at three o'clock in the morning than the security guard; he had made hundreds of boxes of instant noodles for the most embarrassing ten years of his life.
At the age of 40, he is sitting in a floor-to-ceiling office near the lake, firmly occupying a middle-level position in a state-owned enterprise.
Those who stepped on him and laughed at him back then now have to submit applications in advance to even enter his office door.
No one knows that this man who climbed up from the mud used a pen to forcibly cut his way to the sky.
This is not a story about Shuangwen's counterattack, this is the most realistic half-life of an ordinary working man.
There is no cheating, no noble people coming from the sky, only steadfastness step by step, and persistence to never give up.
The trend in the office is constantly changing, but what remains unchanged is the always serious and always hot heart.
