What does it mean to go to work?

Put simply, you trade your days for money.

For an ordinary office worker, there’s no blue sea and clear sky, no poetry or far-off places—just the bland reality of life, as tasteless as plain water.

He rode the shuttle bus to the office. Another dull day was about to begin.

At least Gao Sijin’s job wasn’t inhumane. He started at eight and finished at three in the afternoon, and the workload wasn’t heavy. Mostly, he just filled out spreadsheets and kept track of bills.

Sometimes Gao Sijin felt like everything he’d learned in college had gone to waste. A lot of jobs in society demanded impressive qualifications, yet anyone with a middle-school education could actually do them. If AI replaced humanity one day, Gao Sijin wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest.

“Hey, big-shot author, you’re blocking my view. Sit down already.”

“Sorry, Young Master Zhao.”

Gao Sijin immediately sat down at his desk so he wouldn’t block his colleague, Mr. Zhao, from checking out the pretty women.

The woman who walked into the office was Feng Xiaohe, the company’s famous beauty. Gao Sijin glanced at her swaying skirt, then quickly looked away.

Feng Xiaohe swung her arms with broad, confident movements. Her high heels tapped against the floor with a crisp, pleasant click.

Gao Sijin and Young Master Zhao were low-level employees on the company’s first floor, little more than invisible background extras. Feng Xiaohe, on the other hand, was the company’s star. The CEO was always taking her along to business dinners.

At those business negotiation dinners, the men would talk about women, while business matters were usually mentioned only in passing. She’d noticed that talking about women kept those successful men laughing. After a few drinks, Feng Xiaohe would be on intimate terms with the businesspeople from those companies, and the deals would naturally fall into place.

Men often tried to get Feng Xiaohe drunk, hoping to take advantage of her by offering to drive her home and then have their way with her.

But Feng Xiaohe knew the ins and outs of drinking-table etiquette. She handled herself with ease and never let anyone get her drunk. Usually, the men would end up under the table while she smiled as if nothing had happened.

The female employees said Feng Xiaohe dated the sons of city officials. Some said she never stayed entangled with heirs from families worth hundreds of millions for long. Others went even further, claiming she’d been with old men, passed from one successful businessman to the next like a relay baton.

But there was no way to tell whether any of it was true.

There are gossips everywhere, and the office always seems to have more than its share.

Still, the rumors had clearly affected her. She was proud, never greeted the rank-and-file employees, and couldn’t be bothered to explain herself. On the surface, she seemed to get along well with almost all the company’s managers. But she was always alone.

“Lao Liu, don’t do anything rash!”

“Have you lost your mind, Lao Liu?”

But Lao Liu, a chubby, greasy old guy with sweat stains on his head, had already summoned the courage to go all in. Clutching a bouquet of roses, he ran straight up to Feng Xiaohe and dropped to one knee.

At his size, you had to worry he’d leave a crater in the floor. Sure, making fun of someone’s weight at a time like this was a bit much, but confessing to Feng Xiaohe was practically suicide.

Feng Xiaohe took the roses, then dropped them on the floor and crushed the petals under her heel. Her gaze had been icy from start to finish. Her lipstick-coated lips parted slightly, and she enunciated each word:

“Why don’t you go back to the pigsty and mate with a **?”

A few people nearby couldn’t hold back their laughter. Some covered their mouths, some raised their brows, and some let out strange little noises that were almost—but not quite—laughter. A little person’s misfortune was most people’s entertainment. Comedy was tragedy at its core.

The crushed rose petals still gave off their fragrance, but Lao Liu was crying like a kid who weighed over two hundred pounds.

Gao Sijin didn’t laugh. He didn’t think there was anything funny about it. He stepped forward and helped Lao Liu up.

“It took so much for me to fall for someone just once… It took so much…” he choked out.

“Some women are just out of our league,” Gao Sijin said, trying to comfort him.

“The tree-lined path you imagine is already crowded with traffic. Its shadowy sides are covered in dew every night and morning. Even though countless people have left their marks there, we still long for it all the same. Even if it’s become a black hole, it’s still something we’ll never tire of exploring for the rest of our lives. When you can slip in so easily, you should understand: it’s not because you’re that good. Someone else already widened the path for you.”

Young Master Zhao, who’d suffered a social death just the other day, sympathized with Lao Liu and immediately started spouting words of wisdom.

The whole first floor of the company was filled with a cheerful mood. Once Lao Liu left, everyone burst out laughing.

There were interests at stake between coworkers. No one felt sorry for anyone else. In an age where you had to keep up with the rat race just to survive, that was only natural.

Gao Sijin recorded their expressions, saving them as material for his writing. Of course, he also made a special note of the desolate, despairing look on Lao Liu’s face when he quit.

After work on Friday, he officially left the company.

“You’ll find something better.”

“If I make it somewhere else, you guys should come work with me!” Lao Liu clasped Gao Sijin’s hand in his greasy palm. “Thanks so much for that, brother. You were the only one who didn’t take pleasure in my misery.”

He might have meant his thanks. But after they parted, they’d probably never see each other again.

The world was cruel. Gao Sijin wished people could show one another a little more kindness.

But he also knew that society progressed because of the survival of the fittest.

“I really wish I could write full-time…”

It wasn’t that he hated being a corporate drone. More than that, he hated being an adult who had to wear a mask.

When his boss slacked off and pushed work onto him, he had to smile. When his coworkers ganged up on him and put him down, he had to smile. When the company boss subjected them to a three-hour-plus session of rambling nonsense, he had to smile.

Alcohol tasted bitter, but it was strangely delicious.

On his way home from work, Gao Sijin bought a can of Budweiser.

“When someone truly falls in love with drinking, their life is already on the decline.”

His life was sealed away between home, the office, and the stretch of road between them.

The world really was vast for a small number of people. But for most, it was as small as a birdcage.

He wanted to be a poet, but he didn’t want to be a poet who starved to death.

“Write a book…”

“Write a book? What kind of book?”

After getting off the bus, Gao Sijin saw that Feng Xiaohe had gotten off at the same stop.

“It’s nothing.” Gao Sijin didn’t dare look her in the eye. “Goodbye, Ms. Feng.”

“Oh. Goodbye.”

Feng Xiaohe actually greeted him for once.

Sometimes Feng Xiaohe rode the same bus home as Gao Sijin, but this was the first time she’d ever greeted him.