In a city of billionaires,
Lin Feng was a financial disaster.
"Sir, your total is 98 yuan."
Lin Feng stared at the last crumpled bill in his wallet. His expression was calm, but deep inside, he was screaming.
"...Can I put back the instant noodles and just take the water?"
The cashier, a tired-looking woman in her forties, gave him the sa look one gives a stray dog begging for scraps. Without a word, she reached under the counter and scanned a discount coupon.
"76 yuan."
Lin Feng blinked. Was this what charity felt like?
"Uh... thanks." He grabbed the bottle and shuffled out of the store, resisting the urge to cry over his dignity.
Debt: 67,200 yuan. Bank balance: 320 yuan. Dignity: Deceased.
Life had been a downward spiral ever since he entered university. His part-ti jobs barely covered rent, his grades were tanking, and his side hustles? A complete disaster.
Dropshipping? Scam.
Crypto? Bought high, sold low.
Business ideas? Who knew "luxury socks with built-in fans" wouldn’t sell?
As if that wasn’t enough, his love life was nonexistent.
Girls weren’t exactly lining up for a guy whose biggest flex was surviving on discount ran.
Dragging himself back to his apartnt—a single room that slled like instant coffee, despair, and expired takeout—his phone buzzed.
[Rent Due: 3 Days Left]
Lin Feng groaned and collapsed onto his mattress (which also doubled as a couch, table, and sotis, a punching bag for his frustrations).
"At this point, I’d sell my soul for a way out of this ss."
Outside, the streetlights flickered. His phone screen glitched for a split second before the rent notification reappeared.
Lin Feng didn’t notice.
But sothing had changed.
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