Chapter One: Life in the Martial World

To live in the world is easy; to survive is also easy. But to truly live—that is not so simple.

If life were really just a series of vessels, then all the props that make up a person’s existence would be: the milk bottle of childhood, the cola bottle of youth, the wine bottle after entering the workforce, the teacup at the height of one’s career, and finally, the IV bottle of old age.

Zhang He had just started working, but before he’d even had a proper encounter with the wine bottle, his time in the workforce seemed about to end.

His name, Zhang He, was just passable—not brash or imposing, but at least it carried a sense of vitality. "Zhang" was the third most common surname in the country, and "He" suggested renown. Yet Zhang He was by no means a prominent figure; in fact, he was just as obscure as many fresh graduates, stepping out of the university gates only to find himself utterly lost in the face of society and the future. All these feelings of confusion merged into the chaotic tide of job-seekers, like herding ducks onto a perch. Zhang He drifted along, ending up in this bustling city in the west, landing a job at a health product company and half-heartedly beginning a career in sales.

It was called a health product company, but everyone knew what that really meant these days. Turn on the TV, and any small channel could spend half an hour of advertising turning straw into gold:

“Kidney Silver Velvet Antler Syrup—restore your delicate complexion in thirty days, lose ten kilos in fifty, feel ten years younger in ninety… Dreams no longer out of reach!”

Every time Zhang He saw the company’s advertising slogans, he felt the overall strategy was misguided. They should be targeting overseas markets—why not aim directly at the U.S. Congress? The slogans could be expanded: “In 250 days, liberate all humanity and unify the global village…”

His ideas might have been bold and logical, but life is not something you can hypothesize about. The reality was that Zhang He now sat at his desk, staring blankly at a form.

It was the monthly sales performance sheet. Every sales rep’s results were clearly listed, and at the very end was Zhang He’s name, his sales for the month marked in glaring numerals: a big, fat zero.

Today was his eighty-ninth day at the company. According to policy, after a three-month probation, new hires could become permanent employees. During probation, the base salary was 800 yuan a month, and to pass, you needed to hit at least 1,000 yuan in sales per month; otherwise, you were out.

In fact, Zhang He had already set a company record—three consecutive months of zero sales, making him a prime candidate for the next round of layoffs. Being fired was a certainty; it seemed he could put aside the “work wine bottle” for a while.

But that wasn’t the most pressing issue. Tomorrow was rent day again. If he paid on time, the landlady’s face would blossom like peach flowers; if he was late, she’d be as stern as a judge. Zhang He was already two months behind. The “Lady Blackface” came by daily to collect, threatening eviction and forfeiture of his deposit if he didn’t pay up within three days—a total of 1,000 yuan.

For now, he simply couldn’t afford to lose this job.

Lost in thought, the shrill ring of a neighboring phone jolted Zhang He back to reality. A wide-eyed beauty picked up the receiver in annoyance. “Zhang He, phone call!”

Zhang He rose slowly, first tidying his messy desk, then sipping water at a leisurely pace, finally ambling over to take the call as if he were the boss, not the rookie.

Jiang Yao had always been amazed by this. Zhang He seemed not to care about anything, taking everything at his own pace—a most unusual trait for a salesperson.

And yet, Jiang Yao was never annoyed by Zhang He. He was so different from the rest. He spoke little, spent his downtime staring vacantly at his desk, rarely mingled with colleagues, and never made personal calls. There was an air of innate solitude about him—a loneliness that seemed to be part of his nature.

Just as now, answering the call, Zhang He’s face betrayed no emotion. “Hello, who is this? Oh, Manager Li. All right, I’ll be right there.”

Hanging up, he meandered toward the deputy manager’s office, still unhurried. Jiang Yao felt a strange emotion surge within her. She sensed that when Zhang He came out again, he would likely be leaving the company for good.

This bustling metropolis, these oppressive towers, this relentless pace—human warmth was in short supply these days. Even the faintest thread of workplace camaraderie, when lost, could leave people feeling empty.

Closing the office door, Zhang He sat properly across from Manager Li, his expression unchanged.

Manager Li was just past thirty, only a few years Zhang He’s senior, but already prematurely corpulent, with a bulging belly, fat cheeks, and thinning hair. Thankfully, he was decked out in designer labels, maintaining a facade of a successful professional. Anyone with discernment, though, would peg him as a generic insurance manager.

“It’s been three months, Zhang,” Manager Li began heavily, sounding like an earnest teacher. “When you joined, I had high hopes. You’re a fine young man. I’ve noticed your effort—your diligence, your persistence. But company policy…”

Zhang He’s impassive face didn’t mean he was slow. He knew these were just preliminaries, building up to the real climax.

“…I’m sorry, Zhang. You’re welcome to visit us anytime.” Manager Li sighed, standing to shake hands. The climax was just one sentence.

But Zhang He didn’t move, nor did he offer his hand, which surprised Manager Li—because the true climax was only beginning.

“Manager Li, Yao Wenfang joined the company the same time I did. She had 200 yuan in sales her first month, but the next two were zeros. By company policy, she should be out too. Why am I the only one?”

Manager Li had anticipated this, but before he could reply, Zhang He pressed on:

“I remember when I started, you and Yao Wenfang went to Fuye Group for a deal.”

Manager Li froze. The impact of that statement was immense, for Zhang He was absolutely right. He and Yao Wenfang had gone together, closed the deal, and dined with the clients.

Yao Wenfang was the flower of the branch—tall, stylish, alluring, with a sweet voice that could melt a crowd. Many in the office admired her, and Manager Li was no exception.

As the saying goes, women don’t get drunk, men don’t get lucky. That night, Yao Wenfang was thoroughly intoxicated, and Manager Li seized the opportunity, following the familiar routine: “You’re drunk, I’ll take you home, but I don’t know your address. Never mind, I’ll get you a hotel room. You’re too far gone, I’ll stay and look after you…”

Manager Li now looked up, his gaze losing all warmth, turning icy. The office seemed to grow frigid.

But his fierce stare fell flat, for Zhang He’s eyes were fathomless, deep enough to swallow anything, his face still blank. Manager Li felt a strange twinge of fear.

Zhang He spoke calmly, “Manager Li, by my count, you and Yao Wenfang have been together almost three months now.”

At this, Manager Li relaxed, regaining his composure. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

Zhang He ignored him, dropping another bombshell: “You and Yao Wenfang got a room at Jubaolou on Huifeng Road, twelfth floor, room 1208, at 10:13 p.m. on March 11th.”

Manager Li’s face changed at last. The details were too precise. Indeed, if you don’t want people to know, don’t do it.

Zhang He pressed on, indifferent: “Manager Li, if you could give her another chance, why not me? If you fire me now, and I accidentally let your wife know what you and Yao Wenfang have been up to these past three months, it’ll be a scorched-earth outcome with nothing to gain for either of us. I also know you and your wife have had a loving marriage for six years—and a wonderful daughter…”

Sweat beaded on Manager Li’s forehead as his face turned deathly pale. He wiped his brow and exhaled. “What do you want?”

Zhang He replied evenly, “I told you already. Just give me another chance.”

Manager Li stared at him for half a minute before speaking. “That’s all?”

Zhang He nodded. “That’s all.”

Manager Li exhaled, regaining his composure, and settled back down, adopting a sincere tone: “Zhang, I knew I was right about you. Your hard work will pay off. The manager’s seat in Sales Department Eight is vacant—would you be interested?”

Zhang He lazily got up. “Not interested. I’ll get back to work now.”

Returning to the main office, Zhang He’s face was as impassive as ever. Jiang Yao, unsure whether to console him, hesitated. Under a roomful of mocking and sympathetic stares, Zhang He swaggered back to his desk, sat down, and made no move to pack his things or say goodbye.

Jiang Yao approached tentatively. “Zhang He, what did Manager Li want?”

It was an obvious question, but it had to be asked.

Zhang He took a long, slow sip of water, then turned and answered with deadpan seriousness, “Manager Li praised my outstanding performance these past three months and encouraged me to keep working hard. I was very moved.”

At that, the sound of shattered illusions echoed through the office.