Shen Yan lived in this city for twenty-seven years.
I have lived in a cubicle, eaten the cheapest takeout, been blamed by my colleagues, and been scolded by my boss until I hid in the bathroom. She was used to keeping her presence to a minimum, used to not bothering anyone, and used to carry it all by herself.
In the conference room that day, she was standing in the corner holding a pile of materials and saw Su Qingyuan walking in.
Wearing a black suit, his hair was meticulously styled, and his gaze swept across the room, like a knife without temperature.
Shen Yan thought that such a person would probably never notice her in his lifetime.
Later, she discovered that every time she was about to be unable to hold on any longer, there would always be a pair of hands that would quietly block something for her.
She didn't know who it was.
All she knew was that the man was standing just out of her reach, glowing.
Purpose: To write about the survival and self-rescue of ordinary people in the workplace in big cities, and to write about the most restrained emotions of adults under the class divide. Two sober people climbed up separately, watching each other, not binding or dragging them down, and slowly getting closer over the long years.