Chapter 1: Desperation Picks the Unfortunate
1. Desperation Picks the Unfortunate
The day we decided to move in together, I was riding a shared bicycle with her sitting on the back rack. I remember it had just rained, and a sedan accelerated past us, splashing us head to toe with muddy water.
I cursed in anger, feeling embarrassed, and declared that someday I'd buy a car too—a Mercedes or a BMW.
Her hair was dotted with water droplets, and she was shivering from the cold, but she gently wrapped her arms around me and said that bicycles were wonderful because she could press close against me, and that warmed her.
A year after we moved in together, on her birthday, she made a wish to be with me forever. Just as we were about to blow out the candles, the landlord called and told us to get out—his place was sold. I argued that breaking a lease was illegal, that the law protected tenants. He said he'd refund two months' rent and we could sue him if we wanted, who did renters think they were, making so many demands.
That night, we stuffed our bamboo mat into a bucket, hauling bags of belongings as we stumbled away from our home. I, a grown man, couldn't hold back my tears because I'd given her the worst birthday ever. I collapsed like a child, dropping all our luggage, but she leaped onto my back and said to throw it all away—everything was replaceable. She was the one burden I could never lose, so whatever I did, I must never lose her.
That night, I knew with certainty: she was the person I wanted to cherish for the rest of my life.
I went back to my hometown and told my parents I had fallen deeply in love with a girl, and I wanted to marry her with dignity.
My parents sold our family home so I could make a down payment on an apartment in the city. I walked tall to her house holding the purchase contract, and she threw herself into my arms, called me a fool, and said she'd marry no one but me.
The girl I loved most put on her wedding dress. Everything should have been perfect—until the development stalled.
For three whole years, construction never started, but the mortgage payments never stopped for a single month.
Her smile faded a little more each day. Every day she worked alongside me to pay the mortgage and rent. Every time we passed that unfinished building, she'd stand there with me, asking softly if it still counted as our home. She'd pout, fighting back tears, asking why we had a home but still had to live in someone else's.
We'd weathered so many storms together and never parted, but in the end, everything unraveled over a cup of bubble tea.
It was an ordinary day, no special occasion. I picked her up from work, and she said there was a new flavor at the artisanal tea shop she really wanted to try.
I hesitated and asked if the budget tea place would be okay instead. The price difference was four times.
She paused for a moment, then nodded. She kept her head low as we walked.
Then, without any warning, she crouched down on the street and burst into tears—she who had always been so strong.
People walking past stared at us like we were performers in some tragic circus.
She sobbed, asking why her life had turned out this way, why even buying a cup of tea felt like a burden, why life was harder than she'd ever imagined. She said she'd been prepared to suffer alongside me, but it was so bitter—so bitter she couldn't bear it anymore.
My heart hurt so much I could barely breathe. I wanted to reach out and hold her, but I didn't. Because it was these very hands of mine that had dragged her down to this.
We divorced. The best girl I'd ever known walked out of my life. On the day of our divorce, she held me for a long time. She said we hadn't done a single thing wrong in our lives, but life doesn't care about right and wrong—it doesn't even care about reason.
From that day on, she cut all contact and left the city.
And I stopped paying the mortgage. I gave up on my entire life.
I had my wages paid in cash and sent money to my parents through others. I refused to let them lose even their retirement savings.
Debt collectors called constantly, demanding I pay up, threatening me if I didn't.
I told them to go to hell. Come at me, I said—one life for another.
They never came. Just endless threatening texts. I was already a ruined man anyway, so every day I'd reply to those texts and trade insults with the collectors, almost hoping they'd show up and finish me off. That would've been a relief. The only thing I still did was go to the developer's house and demand a refund.
The developer was local, named Victor Li. Though his company was drowning in debt, he himself lived luxuriously and had just bought a mansion. Every time we homeowners went to demand our money back, he'd tell us to go study the law. He said the company's debts had nothing to do with him personally, and if we harassed him, he'd call the police. He said we lived in a society governed by law and everything had to follow proper procedure.
I kept going for a long time with no results. Everyone knew my credit was ruined, that I was drowning in debt. Nobody wanted to be friends with me anymore, and my life spiraled further down.
Everyone had given up on me. The only people who never did were my parents.
Even though I kept sending money home, they couldn't bear to spend it. They secretly saved it all. Though they were already at retirement age, they went back to their old workplace and brought home a used stamping press, working day and night doing parts fabrication.
On my father's sixtieth birthday, I couldn't afford a gift. Instead, he sent me a text: "A customer gave me a twenty-yuan red envelope today because it's my birthday. I splurged on some ribbonfish—it was delicious, but it triggered my gout something awful! I'm old and useless now, I can only have your mother help with the work. I'm such a burden to you!"
Reading his message, I felt like I couldn't breathe. I hadn't done a single thing wrong in my entire life, yet I was making my parents suffer like this at their age.
Fate really does save its worst for those already suffering. Life isn't a series of ups and downs—it's ups followed by an endless parade of downs.
The very next day, my father called and told me to come home immediately.
It turned out my mother had been helping with the stamping press. The old press wasn't responsive, and she didn't really know how to operate it—she was just filling in for my father. She misstepped, and the press came crashing down!
My poor mother's right hand was crushed into pulp!
My father wailed at the hospital, blaming himself for craving fish on his birthday. I stood beside my mother, my mind completely blank, unable even to shed a tear. I felt like I'd lost my mind, numbly going to the front desk to pay the medical bills.
But the payment wouldn't go through.
I had money in my account, but I couldn't use it. I called the bank, and they told me my accounts had been frozen by the court. The bank had sued me, and as part of the process, all my accounts were frozen.
In the end, it was my ex-wife who heard the news and rushed to sell our wedding gold jewelry, transferring the money to my father's account.
I felt my entire life was completely destroyed in that moment. Nobody on earth had fallen as low as I had.
I stumbled out of the hospital in a daze, grabbed a knife, and headed for Victor Li's house.
Don't lecture me about the rule of law. Don't tell me that acting on impulse is the devil's work.
I'd thought it through clearly. My life was already ruined. If he wouldn't refund my money, I'd chop him up and feed him to the dogs!
But when I arrived at Victor Li's place, I discovered I wasn't the only one looking for trouble. There was already a crowd gathered outside. It made sense—our stalled development had more than one homeowner who'd stopped paying, and the bank wasn't suing just one person at a time.
I hid the knife in my pant leg and kept my distance from the door, afraid someone would spot it. I positioned myself in the corridor near the balcony. His place was a luxury apartment, two units per floor. The balcony door was open, and I could see a woman arguing with him inside.
I recognized her. She was another homeowner from the stalled project, named Nora Zhao. She was an active neighbor, always organizing protests. She was also the first to stop paying her mortgage in protest. When we'd first started demonstrating, the security guards wouldn't let us into the fancy neighborhood. It was Nora who grabbed a kitchen knife and asked the guards whether they wanted their wages or their lives.
After that, the guards never dared stop us again. Any resident looking for Victor Li was invisible to them.
I watched the argument escalate inside. Nora was holding two figurines—they were gold and gleaming. She was shouting furiously.
After listening for a bit, I understood. Nora had also been sued today. She'd stormed over to confront him, only to discover that Victor Li—while claiming he had no money to finish the building—had bought an entire collection of pure gold zodiac figurines as an investment.
The set of gold zodiac figurines was sitting on his coffee table. Nora was demanding to take several as compensation—she'd forfeit the apartment.
Victor Li refused, of course. They got into a shoving match, and during the struggle, one of the figurines dropped onto the floor with a loud clunk.
Nora went silent. Victor Li picked up the figurine, inspected it, and saw that its ear had been chipped. Furious, he slapped Nora across the face, saying the ear was damaged now.