"Hello, is this Mr. Gao, the illustration manager for the newspaper? I'm Qi Yan, the artist who draws illustrations for your paper. Do you remember me?" Qi Yan asked very respectfully.

"Oh, right! The art academy student! Your ink-wash style illustrations have gotten rave reviews. Would you be interested in continuing to work with us?"

"Well... I've drawn twelve illustrations for you in total, but you've only paid for two. Could you settle the rest of the fees? I'm a bit tight on cash lately."

As soon as money came up, the warm tone on the other end turned slippery.

"Oh dear, you know the print newspaper industry has been really struggling these past few years. Even us editors haven't gotten paid for nearly two months. Other writers and artists are in the same boat. Finance is applying for a bank loan—we'll transfer your payment immediately once it comes through. Same account as before, right?"

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Gao."

"Haha, it's my job! We're all victims here. Would you still consider collaborating? We love artists with such a strong style."

"I'm sorry, my studies are quite heavy right now. I can't take on new commissions until I have free time."

"What a shame. Students should prioritize school. I'll wait for your good news then."

*Huff...* Qi Yan exhaled deeply. Another failed attempt to collect his dues. This newspaper was introduced by his senior. The first two payments came quickly—even with a bonus for quality work.

Short on cash, Qi Yan had eagerly taken more jobs. Now, they just wanted something for nothing, forcing him to work for free.

Of course, his excuse about busy studies was a lie—he'd already dropped out. But he couldn't shut the door completely; it was a blocked escape route.

Back in school, he never felt this helplessness. Every conversation required a mask, words carefully veiled.

Hiding truths, lying—they were shields. Sometimes you had to back down, swallow your pride, or you'd only get hurt.

If only he'd understood society sooner. He wouldn't have made that foolish, impulsive mistake.

Qi Yan slapped his cheeks. Time to chase more debts—a youth magazine and a studio still owed him.

Hope was slim, but he had to try. Otherwise, they might forget him entirely. All these gigs came through his senior. Maybe it was time for that middleman to step in.

But Qi Yan couldn't reach his senior now. Even if he could, it might not help. Unpaid fees were routine in this industry. Unknown artists like him, or rookie writers, had to bow their heads and endure before big publishers.

If Qi Yan had agreed to keep working, they might've paid for one or two illustrations—but never all. They'd use the debt to chain him down.

In the end, the debtor became the boss.

It was Qi Yan's eighth day back in DongSui Town. Life with his sister had stabilized, slowly filling gaps. Daily groceries added up. His savings dwindled.

He'd mailed his comic for a newcomer award, but winning was near impossible. He'd tried private commissions too, but his style wasn't cute enough—everyone wanted "moe" art. No pay, just harsh criticism. Clients were so hard to please these days.

Two or three years ago, Qi Yan drew standard Japanese-style art: big-eyed, cute girls. Not trendy now, but not terrible. After two years of training with his grandfather, his style turned fluid and ethereal, thick with Chinese ink-wash flair.

Trends shifted. Graphics tablets and displays entered artists' lives. Many switched from hand-drawing to digital painting—or started digitally from scratch.

Digital art skipped messy color mixing. Edits were easy. Details deepened. No stained fingers or clothes.

Qi Yan still used outdated hand-drawing. Colors were his weakness—not his skill, but his cheap, low-grade paints. Mixed too much, they turned muddy and gray. Base colors lacked punch; layers blurred.

Anyway, sitting idle wasn't an option. Savings would vanish. Plus, hospital debts loomed. He had to repay them—or face a lifetime stain on his credit blacklist.

"Wonder if there are any short-term jobs here that don't require a diploma..."

Qi Yan had planned to work from home, caring for his sister. Failed debt collection forced a change.

Caring for her didn't mean 24/7 babysitting. Just meals, bathroom help, baths, rehab sessions. He only needed to be home by mealtime to cook and carry her to the toilet.

But did such flexible work exist? No one would hire an employee like that!

Staying home meant sinking deeper into mud, step by painful step, until he vanished.

"Xiao Ran, I'm heading out. I'll be back before dinner. Text Aunt Chunxiang if anything comes up," Qi Yan said to his sister.

She sat on the bed studying. A palm-sized fan wheezed out weak gusts, barely stirring her hair to cool her.

Qi Yan always left his phone behind when he went out—it eased his mind. But his sister having no phone was inconvenient. Their rental had no internet—a torture equal to no water or power these days.

Aunt Chunxiang brought fresh-picked vegetables every evening, checking on them. Qi Yan was deeply grateful. Once he had spare cash, he'd buy gifts to visit her.

Though uneasy inside, Qi Ran pretended to be fine so Qi Yan wouldn't worry. She wrote in her notebook: [*I'll guard the house well.*]

"Then I'll leave it to you."

Qi Yan rushed out. Qi Ran stared at the cramped room, feeling endless emptiness and loneliness. She was terrified of being alone, wanting to cling to her brother's sleeve, never letting go.

But she couldn't burden him anymore. Couldn't make him stop. Couldn't be dead weight.

She had to be a capable sister.