Unemployment

Xiang Kun stood in the subway, his body swaying slightly with the motion of the train, staring blankly at his reflection in the glass.

It was a middle-aged man wearing glasses and sloppy clothes, his back slightly hunched. His hair was clearly unkempt and messy, revealing a large expanse of forehead; the thinning hair showed a worrying trend toward a "monk's tonsure" hairstyle. If one were to ask a stranger on the subway, they would likely guess he was over forty.

Yet, in reality, he had just celebrated his thirtieth birthday a few days ago.

Had he really grown into such a ghastly sight?

No wonder when his boss had jokingly introduced him to a single woman from the admin department—who was the same age as him—the look on her face when she saw him had been so awkward and repulsed.

For the past few years, he had poured almost all his energy into his work. He started at nine every morning, rushed home on the last subway train after ten at night, worked overtime every Saturday, and sometimes even worked on Sundays. Even when he wasn't at the office, his mind was constantly occupied with optimizing code, fixing bugs, and perfecting products.

Since graduating and joining this company when it was just starting out, Xiang Kun had been holding his breath, determined to prove himself, establish a foothold in this city, and build a life for himself.

In seven years, his annual salary had multiplied several times over, he had become a technical backbone of the company, held a considerable amount of stock options, and had even bought an apartment—though it was on the outskirts, less than seventy square meters, and his parents had helped with part of the down payment, leaving him with a massive mortgage to pay off.

It seemed he had barely managed to stand his ground, but it was still far from the expectations and demands he held for himself. Thus, he never relaxed, keeping his nose to the grindstone, pushing hard to perfect projects and help the company go public so that his stock options would turn into a vast fortune.

But today, the boss told them the company had gone bankrupt. The money cleared from the company accounts wasn't even enough to pay their wages for the current month, let alone severance or compensation.

As an internet company, they had no physical assets to speak of—just their work laptops and office furniture—and there were still many outstanding debts to settle.

As for the stock options in their hands, they were naturally no different from waste paper.

Although with his experience and technical skills, finding another job shouldn't be difficult—even if the salary couldn't match his previous one, making a living shouldn't be a problem.

But those seven years of total devotion, of working far beyond the intensity of a 996 schedule, had now become a joke.

Xiang Kun didn't join the other colleagues in arguing with the boss over wages and compensation; he knew it was meaningless. As for those who were directly carrying office equipment away, with the company already declaring bankruptcy, the building's property management wouldn't let them take anything out anyway. The most they could take was their own work laptops.

The subway doors slowly opened and the station announcement sounded. Xiang Kun didn't want to think about work or what came next for the moment. He got off one stop early, went to a street food stall, ordered a dozen beers and a few side dishes, and drank alone to drown his sorrows.

Xiang Kun didn't actually like drinking; he could even say he hated alcoholic beverages because he disliked the state of having his brain numbed by alcohol, unable to remain clear-headed and rational.

Of course, on the other hand, it was because he worked in a technical field; he wasn't good at or fond of socializing, and because he was so busy, he rarely had time to hang out with friends.

He didn't smoke or drink, and his usual way to stay alert was by drinking coffee, tea, or Red Bull. Coffee was his constant companion.

Xiang Kun couldn't remember the last time he had a drink—perhaps back in college—but it definitely hadn't been more than one can of beer.

So, he had no idea what his tolerance was.

However, after the third can of beer, Xiang Kun's face was already flushed, his head was spinning, and his stomach was churning with the urge to vomit.

Feeling miserable, he couldn't bother with drowning his sorrows anymore. He returned the remaining beer, paid the bill, and braced himself to call a ride-hailing car home.

The distance from the stall to his place was short, only a five-minute drive.

Although the apartment he bought had been handed over, he hadn't moved in yet. He continued to live in his rented room and had rented out his new place.

One reason was that the apartment was too far from his office; if he moved there, his daily commute would more than double. The second reason was that the rent he collected was more than what he paid for his current room. Besides, he lived alone and spent most of his time working overtime at the office, so higher living costs would be a pure waste.

Xiang Kun braced his dizzy head as he returned to his simple, cramped rental. Too exhausted to wash up or take off his clothes, he collapsed onto the bed and fell into a dead sleep.

When Xiang Kun woke up, the first thing he saw was the sunlight streaming through the window, and his subconscious reaction was, "I'm going to be late for work!"

But when he bolted up from the bed and realized he had slept all night in his clothes and shoes, and that there was vomit by the bedside, he immediately remembered yesterday's events—the company was gone.

Xiang Kun rubbed his still-throbbing temples and sat on the bed. He hadn't expected the alcohol to still be affecting him after a whole night; to be this drunk after only three 330ml cans of beer—he really wasn't cut out for drinking.

He reached for the phone he'd tossed on the bed to check the time, only to find it had run out of battery and shut down. He felt a bit strange; he clearly remembered that before leaving the office yesterday, his phone had over 80% battery, and he barely used it at the food stall. Did it drain completely just from being on standby all night?

It seemed that after using this phone for over a year, the battery had degraded quite a bit.

Thinking this, Xiang Kun plugged the phone in to charge, then forced his body up to clean the dried vomit off the floor, changed the sheets and duvet cover, and went to wash up and shower.

While showering, Xiang Kun noticed that he had lost a lot more hair, his skin had become extremely rough—like the matte casing of a phone—and his teeth seemed a bit loose.

After showering, Xiang Kun stood in front of the bathroom mirror and wiped away the steam. He found his eyes bloodshot with heavy dark circles, and his cheeks seemed thinner; he looked as haggard as if he had pulled several all-nighters.

"Does getting drunk once do this to me?" Xiang Kun secretly decided that no matter what difficulties he faced in the future, he would never drink to drown his sorrows again. The sorrows hadn't been drowned, but his body had collapsed first.

After changing into fresh clothes, Xiang Kun stepped out of the bathroom and turned on his phone, which had reached 40% charge. He found over a dozen missed calls—from former colleagues, suspected telemarketers, his mother, and dozens of unread WeChat messages.

Seeing his mother's missed call was from 35 minutes ago, Xiang Kun quickly dialed back: "Mom, what's wrong? Were you looking for me?"

"Oh, nothing much. It's just that your dad sent you a message on WeChat and you didn't reply. We thought it was a bit strange, so he asked me to call and check on you."

"I was just in a meeting, so I put my phone on silent and didn't hear it. I've been too busy lately and haven't checked WeChat much. I'll take a look in a bit, tell Dad not to worry."

His mother's voice sounded concerned: "You're working overtime even on Sundays now? You really need to take care of yourself. If your health isn't good, it doesn't matter how much money you make."

Sunday?

Xiang Kun froze for a moment, his instinct telling him to say, "Isn't today Friday?" He clearly remembered that yesterday, the day he left the company, was Thursday.

After a pause, Xiang Kun returned to the home screen and checked the date. Today was indeed Sunday!

In other words, after he came home drunk, he had slept for two whole days?