After the original owner had been screwed over by his agency, he hadn't dared tell his family. He had even taken out loans to pay the contract penalties, never letting his parents find out.
"It's okay, Mom. I can earn money now, too. I did some part-time work today and made a thousand." He kept his tone light.
"A thousand?" The voice on the other end brightened, then sank again, tinged with heartache. "That much? Was it really hard work? Don't wear yourself out. Make sure you eat properly, and tell your dad and me if you're having trouble."
"Don't worry!"
After hanging up, Song Shi'an sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at his dark phone screen.
If they knew the real Song Shi'an was already gone, how heartbroken would they be?
The college student they had scrimped and saved to support had actually been replaced long ago.
His phone chimed again.
It was a WeChat transfer notification. His father had sent five thousand yuan, with just four words attached: Make sure you eat.
Song Shi'an stared at those four words, and his eyes suddenly burned.
Five thousand yuan. He didn't know how much a day's work on a construction site paid, but how much sweat, how many bricks carried, had it taken to save that money?
Their own lives were so tight, yet when they heard their son had earned some money, their first reaction wasn't happiness, but worry that he was working too hard.
He opened the transfer page, his finger hovering over "Confirm receipt" for a long time.
Then he tapped to return it.
He didn't accept the money. As far as he was concerned, he was only a passerby who had stumbled into this by accident. They needed that money more.
As for him, he had working hands and feet. Surely he wouldn't starve.
Song Shi'an tucked his phone back into his pocket and got up to go buy steamed buns.
At the door, he doubled back and took another five yuan from the drawer. He would splurge today.
The moment Song Shi'an stepped onto the street, he noticed far more heads turning than usual.
People passing by would give him an extra glance, their gazes lingering on his face for a second or two before shifting away as though nothing had happened.
He quickened his pace, the tips of his ears beginning to burn.
It felt so strange. In the past, no one had ever given him a second glance on the street. Now he had become a walking focal point, as though someone had stripped off his underwear and paraded him through the streets.
He ducked into a roadside general store, found the cheapest black mask on the shelf, and finally felt much better after putting it on.
The owner gave him a couple of extra looks while handing him his change, but at least he wasn't staring as openly as the people outside.
When he reached the shop where he had bought buns that morning, he bought two plain steamed buns.
Halfway through one, he stood by the roadside, nearly in tears.
The more he chewed, the more fragrant the bun became, carrying the flour's own sweetness. The problem was that it was too dry, so dry it stuck in his throat. He had to gulp down several mouthfuls of bottled water before he could swallow it.
Of all the transmigrators in the world, there probably wasn't one more miserable than him. When other people transmigrated into peerlessly handsome men, either their system started them off with a hundred million in pocket money, or their golden finger was maxed out from the start.
But him? He had been given a system, sure, but it only handled acting as cannon fodder and wouldn't subsidize his daily living expenses by a single cent. Having a golden finger was pretty much the same as not having one.
He walked along chewing his bun, scanning the hiring notices posted outside shops.
Summer vacation was such an awkward time. Bubble tea shops, fast-food places, convenience stores-any halfway decent part-time position had already been taken by college students working summer jobs.
Every "Part-time help wanted" notice on a glass door had a line of small print beneath it: All positions filled.
Passing a coffee shop, he looked through the glass and saw it packed with people working on laptops.
A delivery rider jogged out of the shop, stuffed the packaged coffee into his delivery box, hopped onto his electric scooter, and zipped away.
Song Shi'an stopped.
An electric scooter! The original owner's electric scooter.
He turned and headed back at a brisk pace. The original owner's little electric scooter was parked downstairs and had barely been used. This was the capital, the city with the most office workers. He could deliver food from morning to night and never run out of orders.
Once home, he first wheeled the electric scooter over to the charging station downstairs and plugged it in.
While it charged, he went upstairs and looked up how to register as a delivery rider. The process was simpler than he had imagined, and the original owner's phone already had all the scanned documents.
He filled in the information in no time. The moment he submitted it for review, the platform sent a notification: New rider registration successful. Automatic order acceptance has been enabled.
Before Song Shi'an even had time to watch the training video, a notification popped up on his phone.
"You have a new order. Pickup address: No. XX, XX Road. Delivery distance: 2.3 kilometers. Estimated earnings: 6.8 yuan."
Song Shi'an was dumbfounded.
He hadn't even figured out how to pick up food or complete a delivery, and the system had already slapped an order in his face.
He wanted to cancel, but after searching for ages, he still couldn't find the cancel button. Sweat broke out on his forehead in his panic.
The timer ticked down second by second. He gritted his teeth, grabbed the helmet on the table, and rushed downstairs.
Helmet on, mask pulled up-the rearview mirror reflected a head with only its eyes showing. Even he couldn't recognize himself.
All right, perfect! Just like this. Hit the road!
He had overestimated his ability to find his way around. He had been in this city for less than a week and hadn't memorized a single street name.
The navigation voice buzzed inside his helmet as he rode his little electric scooter, turning left and right through the streets. He almost turned into a one-way street, only realizing it when a driver honked at him.
After finally finding the pickup shop and waiting five minutes to collect the packaged food, the navigation directed him onto a shortcut through a narrow alley.
The alley was only wide enough for one electric scooter. His palms sweated as he rode, terrified he would hit a wall.
When he reached his destination, he looked up. Sixth floor. No elevator.
There were two minutes left on his phone's countdown.
Song Shi'an broke into a sprint up the stairs. Across this life and his last combined, he had never run so fast.
He bounded up the steps one after another. By the sixth floor, his lungs felt ready to burst. With trembling fingers, he tapped "Confirm delivery," then rang the doorbell.
Bracing himself against the doorframe, he gasped for breath, his heart pounding as though it would leap out of his throat.
The door opened.
"Finally! I've waited so long the daylilies have-"
The person who opened the door was a young woman with her hair in a bun and black-framed glasses. Her words caught halfway up her throat.
A delivery rider stood in the doorway, a black helmet sitting low over his eyebrows and a black mask covering the lower half of his face, leaving only a pair of slightly upturned eyes exposed.
He braced one hand against the doorframe, still struggling to catch his breath. His mask rose and fell gently with his panting, and a thin sheen of sweat beaded at his temples.
Those eyes glistened slightly from his frantic sprint, astonishingly bright.
The girl's hand froze in midair where she had opened the door.
Holy shit! What a face to bring disaster.
Song Shi'an held out the delivery, still breathless. "I'm really sorry. This is my first delivery. I shouldn't be late."
His voice came through the mask, low and husky with his panting, its final note rising slightly.
The girl mechanically took the bag, the tips of her ears slowly turning red. "It's fine, it's fine. Thanks for your hard work. Thank you."