Chapter 1

2017, Autumn, Jinling City

Standing at the entrance of a newly opened supermarket in Xinjiekou, Han Yi endured the lingering heat of the "autumn tiger" for four hours, earning 80 yuan.

"Xiao Han, do you have 20 yuan in change?"

Han Yi took out 20 yuan from his pocket and handed it over, exchanging it for a 100-yuan note from the foreman. After checking its authenticity, he smiled and said, "Brother Xu, I'll be off then!"

"Alright. Keep your phone handy these next few days. I'll call you when there's work," Brother Xu, with his dark skin, said, making a phone gesture.

Han Yi nodded, turned around, and walked across the street.

...

Han Yi used to scoff at the saying "poverty breeds short-sightedness," just as he disagreed with the notion that poverty is caused by laziness.

However, after entering university, Han Yi gained a thorough understanding of the saying "poverty breeds short-sightedness."

Someone once did a statistical analysis of a college student's monthly expenses.

Food is the main expense. Breakfast: a cup of milk or soy milk (2-3 yuan) plus three buns or steamed buns (2.5 yuan), totaling about 4-5 yuan. Lunch and dinner: a decent meal costs at least 12 yuan, a preferred meal around 10 yuan, and a basic meal 7 yuan, with an additional 5 yuan for a late-night snack.

So, the daily food expenses add up to 5 + 7 * 2 + 5 = 24 yuan, totaling 720 yuan per month.

Living expenses: for guys, face wash and shower gel can be managed with a 5-yuan Safeguard. The rest, including shampoo and laundry powder, add up to 20-50 yuan per month.

For girls, it's different. Various face washes, hair conditioners, face masks, soaps, perfumes, and sanitary napkins can cost 150-300 yuan per month.

There are also expenses for study materials, internet fees, water and electricity bills, and snacks, which can range from 100 to 300 yuan.

All in all, a college student's monthly living expenses are: 1500 yuan for the rich, 1200 yuan for the well-off, 1000 yuan for a basic living, and 800 yuan to barely get by.

As for Han Yi, his monthly living expenses were only 300 yuan.

800 yuan is barely enough to get by, and 300 yuan is not even enough to fill one's stomach in college, let alone have any aspirations or "small goals."

However, due to his family's financial constraints, 300 yuan was the maximum that the two elderly farmers could provide. Asking for more would be a sin.

To make ends meet, starting from the second half of his first year, Han Yi gave up all his rest and entertainment time, focusing solely on making money.

In summer, he sold cooling mats, ice pops, and sandals; in winter, he sold hand warmers, electric water heaters, and hot water bottles. He also sold cigarettes, beer, bread, instant noodles, spicy sticks, sunflower seeds, condoms, and sanitary napkins, offering a wide variety of products.

To reduce the burden on the elderly couple, from the second half of his first year until his fourth year, Han Yi never asked his family for a single cent. However, the consequence was that he failed six courses and was unlikely to graduate with a degree, probably just a certificate of completion.

Because of this, he started preparing for his future early.

His dormitory convenience store was managed by a few close friends, while he spent his time doing odd jobs.

Distributing flyers, posting small ads, tutoring basic English, and queuing up at the hospital entrance at midnight for expert appointments—any job that paid, he took without hesitation.

Of course, on the condition that it was legal.

Han Yi had long figured out the purpose of attending university: to find a good job. And what is the purpose of finding a good job? Obviously, it's for money.

Besides money, education broadens one's horizons, increases knowledge, and allows one to exclaim after a satisfying meal: "Ah, the sea, it's all water..."

The latter had nothing to do with Han Yi. His goal was clear: to learn how to make money and avoid a life of toil like his parents.

...

Walking down the long street, crossing the underground passage, and climbing the overpass, the autumn sun cast its rays on the stainless steel railing, reflecting a glow that made Han Yi, who was sweating, squint his eyes.

Pairs of fashionable young men and women passed by, some looking down at their phones, others whispering to their partners. Occasionally, their gazes would flicker over the "Grand Opening" T-shirt on Han Yi's chest, accompanied by a mysterious smile.

Han Yi paid no attention, his eyes sweeping over the endless stream of cars below and the towering skyscrapers in the distance, his heart swelling with determination.

What's there to fear about distributing flyers? What's there to be ashamed of if people mock you? Didn't Ma Yun and Ma Huateng also beg for investments with a smile 20 years ago?

Today, you wear a "Grand Opening" T-shirt, but one day you will stand atop a skyscraper and point down at the masses, saying, "That was once me!"

With a spirit of self-comfort, he marched forward with his head held high.

Just as he descended the overpass, a rhythmic rap came from the shaded area under the railing.

Han Yi looked over and saw a gray, unkempt head bobbing to the tune.

"Poor and penniless today, every moment feels like a year; once I had fine clothes and a grand carriage, commanding thousands of people to move mountains..."

Han Yi heard clearly now; it was the beggar's song "Lianhua Luo."

Having lived in Jinling, the ancient capital of six dynasties, for three years, he had seen many ways of begging, such as bowing, kowtowing, pretending to be crazy, acting foolish, and crying. But this was the first time he had heard "Lianhua Luo."

Han Yi's deceased grandfather had told him that the original "Lianhua Luo" was too vulgar and was revised after the founding of the People's Republic of China. Few people knew how to sing it now.

Curious, he stopped to listen.

"Today, with all my gold spent, who will pity me? Friends have left, and even the hunting dogs are cooked... A life split in two, who can bear it? I blame neither my parents nor the heavens..."

Han Yi walked closer.

The singer was an old man, probably in his sixties or seventies, wearing a patched-up old Zhongshan suit. Unlike typical beggars, he was very clean.

The old man looked up, and his dim eyes seemed to brighten for a moment upon seeing Han Yi, but then he lowered his eyelids and continued singing.

Han Yi stood there, listening, while the old man sang contentedly, seemingly oblivious to the "audience" in front of him.

"Does the old beggar sing well?" the old man suddenly asked, lifting his eyelids.

Han Yi smiled and said, "The singing is fine, but your diction and pronunciation are off, and it lacks the right flavor. It sounds like a bootleg copy."

The old man became interested. "So, you can sing?"

"No, but I've heard someone sing it, and they were much better." Han Yi was referring to his grandfather, who had sung it to him since he was a child.

The old man didn't believe him, smiling and sizing him up, then fell silent.

Han Yi understood the "rules." He felt in his pocket and found a 100-yuan note, but no other money.

He put the 100-yuan note back and coughed, saying, "Sorry, I don't have much on me today. Maybe another time."

The old man seemed to see through him, reached under his cushion, and pulled out a cardboard sign, saying cheerfully, "You can scan the QR code."

"..." Han Yi almost laughed. He had heard of scanning QR codes for gifts, but never for begging.

"I don't have any money." He said and started to walk away.

The old man's voice echoed, "In this world, everything revolves around profit. What can be done, what can be done..."

Han Yi, who had already walked two meters, sighed, took out his phone, opened his WeChat wallet, and saw he had 214.5 yuan left. He turned back to the old man, scanned the QR code, entered 4.5 yuan, input the password, and completed the payment.

He nodded to the old man and walked into the crowd.