Xia Lin climbed the narrow staircase to the fourth floor with slow, heavy steps, his worn sneakers scraping faintly against the concrete edges of each stair as though even his feet were reluctant to move forward.
The stairwell smelled faintly of damp walls, stale cigarette smoke, and cheap cooking oil from the ground-floor tenants, and the flickering bulb above his head buzzed weakly, throwing uneven shadows across the peeling paint.
The nylon bag in his hand rustled softly containing five packets of instant noodles, beef flavor, the cheapest brand he could find at the corner store — all he could afford after paying rent and utilities this month.
When he reached Room 403, he paused for a moment before unlocking the door, his fingers tightening around the key as his thoughts inevitably drifted back to the afternoon he had just lived through. The memory still burned too raw, too humiliating, too bitter to swallow easily.
He pushed the door open, and the familiar sight of his cramped rented room greeted him, as bleak and unwelcoming as ever.
The room was small enough that three long steps could take him from the door to the narrow bed pushed against the far wall.
A single wooden desk sat beside the bed, its surface scratched and stained with ink marks, instant noodle soup rings, and scattered notebooks filled with half-written research formulas and rejected project proposals.
His laptop, an old second-hand model with a cracked corner on the lid, sat closed but not powered down, its faint blue light blinking like a tired heartbeat.
A cheap electric fan leaned crookedly in the corner, its stand held together by duct tape, while a small portable gas stove rested on a wobbly stool near the window.
The window itself was narrow and grimy, the glass slightly fogged from moisture that never fully dried out, and through it, only a sliver of Capital's skyline could be seen, blurred by dust and distance.
The curtains were thin, sun-bleached, and permanently wrinkled, doing little to block out the harsh glare during the day or the neon glow at night.
Xia Lin closed the door behind him with a soft click and stood there for a few seconds, his shoulders sagging as if all the strength had drained out of him at once.
He dropped the nylon bag onto the desk, the instant noodles thudding dully against the wood, and then sank onto the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced tightly together.
A hollow laugh escaped his lips, low and bitter, the sound echoing faintly in the cramped room as he thought back to his recent break up with his girlfriend.
Wei Lan's voice replayed in his mind, sharp and contemptuous, every word cutting deeper than the last.
"You're almost thirty, Xia Lin. What do you even have to show for it? A broken laptop? A rented room? Instant noodles for dinner?"
"My parents were right about you. You're useless. You'll never make it."
"Do you know how embarrassing it is when my friends talk about their boyfriends buying them bags and cars, and all I have is you?"
"Don't contact me again. I'm tired of pretending."
His jaw clenched as his hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms.
He had ignored the way her parents barely hid their disdain whenever he visited, always making pointed comments about stability, income, and "knowing one's place," while still smiling politely as they accepted his money and expensive gifts he brought over during festivals.
He had ignored how Wei Lan constantly compared him to her friends' boyfriends, always sighing loudly and saying things like, "If only you were more ambitious," or "If only you had better connections."
He had ignored how she never once asked how he struggled to foot her family's bill, never once asked if he was tired, never once showed genuine interest in his research, his ideas, or his dreams.
And yet, he had stayed because he had loved her.
Because he had believed that if he just worked harder, tried more, endured longer, she would eventually see his worth.
Just a week ago, he had nearly drained his savings to buy her that simple ice jade necklace worth seventy-four thousand yuan, choosing it carefully after spending hours comparing designs and authenticity certificates.
He had imagined her eyes lighting up, imagined her hugging him, imagined that maybe — just maybe — this would finally be the moment she stopped nagging, stopped comparing, stopped belittling him.
She had been happy, for just one day.
The next day, she had thrown a sulk because her friend's boyfriend bought her a Chanel bag worth three hundred and thirty-four thousand yuan.
"Do you know how humiliating it is to wear this when everyone else is carrying luxury?" she had complained. "It's not even branded. People will think you're stingy."
Xia Lin leaned back against the wall now, staring up at the cracked ceiling, his lips trembling slightly as another laugh slipped out.
"I really was blind," he whispered. "Completely blind."
A strange mix of pain and relief swirled in his chest.
Pain, because two years of effort, sacrifice, and hope had been trampled into nothing.
Relief, because a part of him — a deeply buried, exhausted part was finally free.
Free from constant comparisons, endless financial pressure and pretending that he wasn't slowly being crushed.
He exhaled deeply and rubbed his face with both hands, trying to steady his emotions.
"Forget it," he muttered. "She made her choice."
He stood up, turned toward the small gas stove, and pulled one packet of instant noodles from the nylon bag.
His movements were slow, mechanical, as he filled a dented metal kettle with water and placed it on the stove. The blue flame flickered to life with a soft hiss, casting a faint glow across his tired face.
Just as the kettle began to warm, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
He frowned slightly and pulled it out.
Xia Ling.
The tight knot in his chest loosened instantly.
He swiped to answer, his voice softening the moment he heard her bright tone on the other end.
"Brother!" Xia Ling's cheerful voice rang out. "Did I catch you at a bad time?"
Xia Lin smiled faintly, leaning against the desk.
"No, no," he replied gently. "I just got home. How are your classes today?"
"They were okay," she said, her tone light but energetic. "We had acting theory in the morning and vocal training in the afternoon. My throat hurts, but it's worth it. What about you? Did your investor meeting go well?"
His smile brightened, remembering his meeting with Su Ning, the recent signed contract. He had wanted to tell Xia Ling but decided to surprise her when everything was settled.
"…It went fine," he said, choosing his words carefully. "I'll tell you about it later."
She paused, sensing the shift in his voice.
"Brother," she said slowly. "You sound weird. What happened?"
Xia Lin hesitated, staring at the steam beginning to rise from the kettle.
"…Wei Lan and I broke up," he admitted quietly.
There was a stunned silence on the other end, followed by an explosion of fury.
"What?!" Xia Ling snapped. "That woman actually dumped you?! After everything you did for her?!"
Xia Lin winced slightly and moved the phone a little away from his ear.
"Ling'er, calm down," he said softly. "It's fine. Really."
"Fine?!" she shouted. "Brother, are you insane?! You worked yourself to death for her! You bought her gifts you couldn't afford! You put up with her parents treating you like dirt! And she dares to break up?!"
Xia Lin closed his eyes, his grip tightening around the phone.
"She insulted you again, didn't she?" Xia Ling continued angrily. "That cheap gold digger! She only cares about money! She was never worthy of you in the first place!"
"Ling'er…" he said gently.
"She's disgusting!" Xia Ling ranted. "Two years, brother! Two years of your life! And she throws you away the moment she finds someone richer? What kind of person does that?!"
Her voice cracked with emotion.
"I swear, if I ever see her in person, I'll slap her to death."
Xia Lin felt a strange warmth spread through his chest despite the pain.
"Hey," he said softly. "Don't cry. I'm okay. Really."
She sniffed. "How can you be okay? You loved her."
He let out a slow breath.
"I did," he admitted. "But… maybe I loved the idea of her more than the real person."
There was a long pause.
Then Xia Ling's tone softened.
"…I'm actually glad," she said quietly. "Not because you're hurting. But because you won't be taken advantage of anymore."
He smiled faintly.
"Yeah," he murmured. "Me too."
They talked for a few more minutes about her classes, her dorm mates, and her upcoming performance evaluation, and by the time the call ended, the heaviness in his chest had eased just a little.
He hung up, turned back to the stove, and poured the boiling water into the cup of noodles. As he stirred the seasoning in, his phone vibrated again.
Unknown Number.
He frowned, hesitated for a second, then answered.
"Hello?"
A calm, professional male voice came through the speaker.
"Good evening. May I speak with Mr. Xia Lin?"
"This is him," Xia Lin replied cautiously.
"My name is Luke Jianhong," the man said smoothly. "I am the chief international liaison interpreter for Vogue Pharmaceutical Company, as well as the personal interpreter assigned to Mr. David Mark, the Director of Vogue."
Xia Lin's hand froze mid-stir.
"…Vogue Pharmaceutical?" he repeated, his heart beginning to pound.
"Yes," Luke replied politely. "I'm calling to formally welcome you to Vogue Pharmaceutical as the lead research consultant for the regenerative skincare project, effective immediately."
Xia Lin's breath hitched.
He really wasn't dreaming, he had truly met and signed a contract with the owner of Vogue Pharmaceutical Company, who also owned one of the biggest Medical facilities in the country.
"You have officially been approved by the board," Luke continued calmly. "Your contract has been fully processed. Your relocation package, laboratory access credentials, and corporate identification will be delivered to you tomorrow morning. Your starting monthly compensation is eight hundred thousand yuan, excluding bonuses, research and contract incentives."
Xia Lin staggered back, bumping into the edge of the bed as his knees nearly gave out.
"…Eight hundred… thousand?" he whispered.
"Yes," Luke confirmed. "Additionally, Chairwoman Su has personally authorized a twenty-million-yuan initial research grant under your name. You are expected to attend your first executive research briefing at Vogue Tower this Saturday at ten a.m."
Xia Lin's vision blurred.
"R—really…" he murmured.
"Chairwoman Su has high expectations of your work, Mr. Xia. Please do not disappoint her."
"I— I won't," Xia Lin said quickly, his voice trembling with barely contained excitement. "I promise I won't."
"Excellent," Luke replied. "We look forward to your contributions. Welcome to Vogue Pharmaceutical."
The call ended.
Xia Lin stood there in complete silence.
Soon, his phone beeped. He checked it.
[Your account XXXXXXX has been credited with 800,000 yuan.]
He kept staring for few minutes, then suddenly, he burst out laughing.
Not bitter.
Not hollow.
But wild, breathless, and full of disbelief.
He ran both hands through his hair, pacing the small room like a man possessed.
"It's real! I really got into Vogue."
He picked up his phone, fingers hovering over Xia Ling's contact, then paused.
A slow smile spread across his face.
"No," he muttered. "I'll surprise her later."
He looked around his shabby little room one last time, his chest swelling with hope. Finally, his future was starting to look bright.