Li Qingyun rubbed his tired eyes, the dim glow of his computer screen casting faint shadows across his cramped, one-room apartment. The clock on the wall ticked relentlessly, its hands inching past midnight. Another long day had come to an end, but exhaustion seemed to cling to his bones.
At 23, Li Qingyun was just another face in the city — an ordinary young man who had graduated from college and now worked as a salesman for Jinrui Tech, a mid-sized electronics company. His days were a cycle of early mornings, rushed commutes, and endless client meetings. His job was simple: convince small businesses and individual customers to buy Jinrui Tech's latest gadgets, which were never quite as good as the competitors'. It wasn't a career he loved, but it paid the bills, and for someone like him, that was enough.
Li Qingyun was an orphan. His parents had died in a car accident when he was just six, leaving him in the care of his grandfather. The old man was strict but kind, a retired schoolteacher who taught Qingyun the value of patience, discipline, and calmness. He remembered those quiet evenings spent with his grandfather, the smell of tea brewing, and the soft rustle of book pages. But those days were gone. His grandfather had passed away just after Qingyun turned 18, leaving him truly alone in the world.
No family. No support. Only himself.
After graduating from a mediocre university with average grades, Qingyun had quickly realized that his lack of connections and impressive achievements made finding a good job almost impossible. Jinrui Tech wasn't his first choice, but it was the first company that accepted him, and so he became a salesman — just another voice trying to persuade reluctant customers.
His phone buzzed, pulling him out of his thoughts. A text from his supervisor:
Supervisor: [Don't forget tomorrow's client visit. We need at least three confirmed sales this week. Don't disappoint.]
Qingyun sighed, locking the phone and leaning back against the worn sofa. Disappointment seemed to be a constant presence in his life, not just from his boss but also from himself. He wasn't a failure, but he wasn't successful either. Just… ordinary.
Mornings were always the same. He would wake up, quickly prepare a simple breakfast of instant noodles or bread, and dress in the same slightly wrinkled suit. His commute was a crowded subway ride, where he often found himself squeezed between strangers, staring blankly at his reflection in the train's glass door.
"Excuse me, sir. We're not interested," was a phrase he had heard more times than he could count. Some clients were polite, others were dismissive, and a few were outright rude. But Qingyun never lost his calm. He would simply smile, nod, and try again.
The days blurred together in a dull, repetitive cycle. Lunch was usually a cheap boxed meal eaten at his desk, and the evenings were spent rushing to meet clients or following up on missed calls. Some days, he would make a sale, and his supervisor would offer a brief, half-hearted "good job." Most days, he didn't.
But Li Qingyun wasn't one to complain. He had learned to endure — to adapt to the hand life had dealt him.
One rainy evening, as the city's neon lights reflected off the wet streets, Qingyun was finishing his last client visit for the day. Another rejection. The client, a small electronics store owner, had listened politely but ultimately chose a cheaper competitor's product.
"Thank you for your time," Qingyun said with his usual polite smile, though his eyes carried a faint tiredness.
He stepped out into the rain, pulling his thin coat tighter around himself. The streets were slick and crowded, and the cold rain soaked through his hair, trickling down his face. His phone buzzed again — another message from his supervisor.
Supervisor: [Still no sales? Do you even want this job?]
Qingyun slipped the phone into his pocket without replying. He knew arguing was pointless. He also knew his supervisor was just trying to push him harder, but after a day like this, it felt like a weight pressing against his chest.
Hurrying through the rain, Qingyun reached the subway station, joining the river of tired commuters. The ride home was as cramped as always, the smell of damp clothes and stale air filling the carriage. He closed his eyes, leaning against the cold metal pole, letting his mind drift.
By the time he reached his apartment, it was already past ten. His soaked clothes clung to him, and his body ached. But there was still a little work left — client follow-up emails to send, tomorrow's list of visits to prepare. He warmed up a cup of instant noodles and ate mechanically, barely tasting anything.
Finally, around midnight, he finished his work. His eyes were heavy, his body begging for rest, but his mind was too restless to sleep. As he lay on the thin mattress, staring at the ceiling, a quiet emptiness washed over him.
"What am I even doing?" he whispered to the darkness. But the darkness didn't answer.
The next morning was no better. He woke up to the shrill ring of his alarm, his body sluggish, his mind foggy. Skipping breakfast, he rushed out the door, his steps hurried as he made his way to his first client meeting.
But exhaustion was a dangerous thing.
As the day dragged on, his vision seemed to blur, his thoughts scattered. His legs felt heavier, his breathing unsteady. After another fruitless meeting, he glanced at his watch. Past eight. Rain clouds loomed overhead, darkening the sky.
"Just one more client," he whispered to himself, forcing a smile.
But the rain began to pour again, cold and relentless. Qingyun's cheap umbrella barely held up, the wind tugging at it, and his shoes were quickly soaked. He finally decided to head home, pushing through the crowded streets, his mind a foggy mess of fatigue.
Crossing the last intersection before his apartment, he barely noticed the blaring horn. Headlights flooded his vision, bright and blinding.
A deafening crash. A moment of searing pain. And then… nothing.
Darkness swallowed everything.