Nie's City Railway Station teemed with people as a young man stepped off the train.
His name was Qiao Josefu.
Ever since America had fallen from its seat as world hegemon, its former high-tech, high-value-added core industries had swiftly been taken away. The loss of high-value-added industries was not merely a few simple words—it had truly affected every facet of life.
Making money became harder, labor became more exhausting, and Americans began experiencing the way people in Third World countries had once lived.
Going into the city to find work.
This term was utterly unfamiliar to most Americans. For three generations, their ancestors had never known the feeling of struggling onward with bundles on their backs and luggage in their hands. So although a tide of migrant workers had emerged, the workers themselves were still rather lost.
Qiao Josefu was one of them.
He stepped off the crowded train, stood on the platform, and followed the bustling stream of people out of the station. Alone in an unfamiliar place, he gazed at Nie's City's towering buildings, with absolutely no idea where to go or what to do.
In his eyes, Nie's City was a murky lead-gray expanse.
Perhaps this is the tone of a big city, Qiao Josefu thought, and settled himself down.
Qiao Josefu did not care about colors. He only knew that he had to do something; otherwise, even food after three meals would become a serious problem.
The station entrance was lively, with people hanging up signs to recruit workers. Those bosses were surrounded by attendants, dressed smartly, lofty and difficult to approach. At a casual call from them, countless people surged toward the hiring spots.
Qiao Josefu tried several times, but he was passed over every time.
Small and frail-looking, he found it hard to compete