As a Middle-Aged Man, Riding a Bicycle Brings Good Luck

Forty-year-old Zhang Yun is an ordinary little boss in a small county around Beijing: he has an elder and a younger one. He buys a fried dough stick on the way home from get off work to cook. He makes appointments with his friend to take a bath and masturbate on weekends. His wife pinches his waist and complains about looking at pretty girls too much. His teddy dog ​​is more clingy than him. I originally thought that this life would go on steadily, but I didn't expect that life loves to give surprises to honest people: A stock that had been deleted for five years and was originally intended to be a sunk cost suddenly increased several times; I originally wanted to secretly buy my wife a gold bracelet that I had been thinking about for ten years, but in the end, I rushed to the airport with my wife and blindly selected Xiamen as the destination; on the ferry I came across a wild white dolphin that no one else had come across in years, and I won 50,000 yuan by buying three scratch-off tickets. When I returned to the company, I saw a single brother beaming at his cell phone, and a phone call turned a single date into a family team building in Chengde. There is no hidden identity worth hundreds of billions, and there is no beautiful CEO who is chasing after you. All happiness is down-to-earth: the wife's smile, the brothers' quarrels, the steaming dishes on the dinner table, and the dog wagging his tail when he comes home. Only when people reach middle age do they understand that the best days are never about being rich and powerful. It is when you are walking on the road and life gives you a candy every once in a while. The candy is not big, but it is very sweet.