"As expected... such a perfect job doesn’t exist." Qi Yan exhaled sharply, his voice thick with disappointment.

Over the past half-day, Qi Yan had wandered DongSui Town. Jobs existed—KTV server, dishwasher, luxury boutique salesperson, even construction labor. But wages were pitifully low. Construction paid best; the boutique offered the lowest base salary but higher commissions. In a small town like this, he couldn’t afford to be picky. The cost of living and pay scales here were worlds apart from provincial capitals.

Daily, weekly, or monthly pay—all options existed. Yet when Qi Yan asked if he could slip home during mealtimes, recruiters stared at him like he was an idiot. Some nearly spat "Get lost."

Standing beside the town hall’s bulletin board plastered with job flyers, Qi Yan stubbornly scanned for anything suitable.

"Hey! If it isn’t little Yan!" A gruff voice boomed behind him. A heavy slap landed on his shoulder. Startled, Qi Yan staggered slightly, almost yelping.

"Uncle Lin?" He turned.

"Job hunting?" Uncle Lin’s eyes swept the bulletin board.

Qi Yan scratched his cheek, embarrassed. "Yeah. Can’t just laze at home forever. We’ll starve. But finding the right work... it’s impossible."

"Good jobs are scarce out here," Uncle Lin grunted. "Backbreaking labor for pennies. That’s why the youth flee—north to Beijing, south to Guangzhou. Chase dreams in big cities. The countryside’s only fit for retiring."

"I don’t mind dirty or tough work. It’s my sister... she needs me home at mealtimes. I have to cook for her."

"Huh. I see..." Uncle Lin stroked his chin. "You truly don’t mind filthy, exhausting labor?"

"Not at all!" Qi Yan insisted.

"Old Zheng’s auto repair shop needs an apprentice. Come on—I’ll take you."

"Thank you."

The "auto repair shop" handled everything: bicycles, scooters, motorcycles, trucks. Services ranged from patching tires to fixing engines and replacing truck parts.

As Qi Yan approached, a pungent wave of motor oil assaulted his nose. Nausea churned in his skull.

"Zheng! You in there?" Uncle Lin bellowed.

"Lin? Here to fix another flat tire on that rusty bike of yours?" A wiry man slid out from under a truck. His face was all hard angles—sharp nose, tight lips, narrow eyes. Sweat soaked his grimy camouflage overalls, black oil streaking his skin. A wrench glinted in his hand.

"Heard you needed an apprentice. Brought you a good kid."

"This soft-handed boy? He’ll quit by noon."

"Don’t let his build fool you. He’s strong as an ox."

"Hmph." Old Zheng’s skeptical gaze raked over Qi Yan. "Listen. This is filthy, backbreaking work. Try to run after two days, and you won’t see a single yuan from me."

"Actually... I need to leave briefly at lunchtime. To cook for my sister. I’ll be back within an hour."

"For your sister?" A trace of softness flickered in Old Zheng’s sharp eyes. "Mealtimes? Fine. My customers aren’t in a hurry anyway. I eat then too."

"Zheng, I’m leaving the boy with you. My shop’s unattended." Uncle Lin winked at Qi Yan. "Don’t be fooled by his scary face—he’s got a heart of gold. You should see his pink underwear! Proof he’s got a maiden’s soul."

"YOU OLD RASCAL!" Old Zheng roared, wrench raised, body trembling with rage.

"Hah! Gotta run!" Uncle Lin bolted, his belly jiggling with each step.

"Don’t believe a word that snake says," Old Zheng growled, lowering the wrench. "When I lose my temper, toddlers stop crying in their sleep. Understood?"

"Y-yes."

"Here’s the deal," Old Zheng said briskly. "You’ll patch bicycle tires. Hand me tools while I work—I waste time crawling under vehicles. Most importantly: wash cars and refill water tanks." He pointed to a hose by the entrance. "DongSui’s grown fast. Rich folks buy cars, build summer villas here. No 4S shops, no fancy services. But these muddy roads? Rain turns them to sludge. City-slickers hate dirty cars. I saw an opportunity."

Qi Yan marveled at the man’s shrewdness. Humble beginnings, yes—but potential simmered beneath the grime.

"My useless son used to wash cars. Lasted two days. Now he’s chasing rich kids’ sports cars, loitering downtown. I need reliable help."

"Base pay’s 800 yuan. Car washes cost fifty yuan each. Some toss me a hundred—keep the extra. We split wash fees 40-60. Tips? Yours to keep. Any questions?"

"No! This is... really good for DongSui."

"Not glamorous. But it’ll keep you fed." Old Zheng crossed his arms. "Contract first—even with Lin’s recommendation. Go home. Change into rags. That crisp white shirt? One oil stain, and it’s ruined."

Qi Yan had worn his best shirt for interviews. Ruining it would’ve made his heart ache.

"Yes, sir. I’ll be right back."

A contract meant security. No unpaid labor. After past betrayals, that mattered more than he’d admit.