Small Shop

Late at night, in an utterly unremarkable little shop.

The shop was not in a remote location, but it was hardly a good one either—worse than an ordinary Shaxian Hotel, even.

Yet it had a tremendous flow of customers and countless loyal diners. Could you imagine it? An inconspicuous little shop where people had to queue morning, noon, and night, its popularity no less than that of a well-reviewed specialty restaurant in the CBD District.

But tonight, after closing for the day, the young owner had given the film crew an extra two hours and agreed to play a silent extra.

The camera slowly panned from neon-lit skyscrapers glowing with wine and revelry to this street, to this little shop.

After work, twenty-eight-year-old Qin Hao asked a friend out for a depressing drink. They ordered two bowls of Clear Broth Noodles and a pot of liquor.

Slightly drunk, his friend let out a loud burp and said, "Hao Zi, how did the interview go today?"

Qin Hao took a swig of liquor and shook his head. "Didn't go."

His entire outfit cost no more than five hundred yuan: a cheap suit, cheap leather shoes, a knockoff Vacheron Constantin watch, and a fake LV men's bag.

He was a loser barely scraping by in a big city. The only good thing about him was the inherited fifty-square-meter apartment.

His friend clicked his tongue, sounding disappointed. "It's not like I'm trying to lecture you, but I begged for that job for ages. You had connections; the interview was just a formality. You were guaranteed to get in. Social insurance, housing fund, six thousand yuan a month—where else would you find a job that good? You didn't go? Then why did you dress like this?"

"If you'd gotten a respectable job sooner, would