The first ray of morning sun stabbed through a fist-sized hole in the roof and landed squarely on my face.
My eyelids twitched a few times before I finally dragged them open. I have no idea what time I fell asleep last night, or how many hours I actually got, but the biological clock forged from years of grinding never fails. It wakes me at the same damn minute every day.
My brain was a foggy mess. I brushed my teeth and washed my face on pure muscle memory.
Only when the ice-cold water from the rag slapped my skin did I finally snap awake.
The dream from last night was still looping in my head. That strange moment of "enlightenment," Chen Yuxin's face growing even blurrier… I couldn't figure it out.
Years later, a friend would explain it to me over drinks:
"That feeling you had for her? It wasn't real love. It was just something lonely guys in the big city cling to for comfort. Like family, but not quite. Sure, maybe you liked her once—even loved her. But six years, man. Six whole years can wear anything down, including feelings. If she really loved you the same way, why'd she marry someone else? And why can't you even remember her face clearly anymore?"
His words would finally make me see the light. But right now? I was still in the dark. My subconscious had already stamped the verdict across my heart: You just got dumped, bro.
Of course my mood was trash. But I forced myself in front of the cracked mirror and gave my reflection a pep talk:
"Today's gonna be lucky! They always say when love fails, the casino smiles. Since I don't gamble, the trash gods will bless me instead!"
Classic local saying: If you're not dead yet, get your ass back to work.
Exactly. So what if I lost in love? Life goes on. Dad and little sis are still waiting for my money.
I slapped my cheeks, pushed open the creaky door, greeted the rising sun, and started another glorious day of picking trash.
Filled a big plastic bottle with cold boiled water, locked the shack, hopped on the tricycle, and headed to my daily first stop: the breakfast stall.
At this hour the place was packed, mostly with fellow scrap collectors like me who couldn't afford anything fancier. We swarming the stall not because the food was gourmet, but because it was dirt cheap.
One yuan got you two fist-sized steamed buns, each nearly half a jin. Not exactly delicious, but stuff those two monsters down with some water and you're good until 1 p.m. without feeling hungry.
I tossed down a coin, grabbed my two buns, and pedaled off while eating. First I hit my regular small restaurants for beer bottles and scrap iron (cost me a few cigarettes in "relationship maintenance"). By 10 a.m. I reached the place every scrap collector in B City dreams of:
Xinhua District, the seaside luxury villa zone.
Eighty percent of B City's truly rich lived here. Owning a mansion here was the ultimate status symbol. Every single house cost eight figures at least. Luxury cars worth millions rolling in and out? Normal. A beat-up cargo tricycle? Now that's weird.
So when I pedaled up to the gates, anyone nearby shot me the classic "what the hell is this beggar doing here" look. Some probably suspected I was casing the place. Can't blame them; plenty of thieves use "scrap collector" as a disguise these days.
I parked beside the guardhouse and yelled, "Grandma Liu! Grandma Liuuu!"
"Coming, coming~" A white-haired old lady in her sixties shuffled out with a big smile.
"Xiao Liu, right on time as always! Sorry to trouble you again today~"
Grandma Liu was the official cleaner for the entire district. The "trouble" was dumping the trash, something her rheumatoid arthritis made impossible on bad weather days. Lucky for her, I exist.
Three years ago, curious about the legendary "rich people's paradise," I pedaled half an hour to see it for myself. At the gate I saw Grandma Liu struggling with a huge trash bag. Hot-blooded youth that I was, I rushed over to help. After that, out of professional habit, I started digging through the bag.
She stared, stunned, then burst out laughing. My face turned redder than a monkey's butt.
Then she said, "Kid, there's a lot more where that came from~"
Ever since, I come every day to "help." Eventually I straight-up took over her trash route. She never paid me a cent, but who needs cash when the garbage of the ultra-rich is basically a treasure mine?
These people waste money like it's on fire. I've pulled barely-worn designer clothes worth tens of thousands, limited-edition sneakers, half-eaten imported steaks still in the box… On Valentine's Day some rich kid once got rejected after sending 999 roses. The entire mountain of flowers ended up in the trash. I hauled a whole tricycle-load to a florist. The owner grinned so wide I thought his face would split, begging me to bring more if I could. Roses were going for 10 yuan each that day; I sold them for 0.5. Easy money.
There's an old saying: "Within books there are houses of gold." I say: Within trash there are houses of gold.
Once I even found a platinum diamond ring, probably tossed by some heartbroken playboy. The pawn shop treated it as stolen goods and only gave me 8,000, but that was still almost a full year's income.
Two-thirds of my annual earnings came from Xinhua District. That's why I could finally save a little for myself after sending money home.
"Alright, Grandma Liu, you rest. I got this." I took the red cleaner's vest from her hands.
Security here is insane: over a hundred guards plus hidden cameras everywhere. Anyone looking remotely suspicious gets dog-piled instantly. The vest was my VIP pass.
Vest on, I started collecting the big black trash bags like a proper employee.
Why morning instead of night? Simple. Rich people's schedule. At 10 a.m., the hardworking CEOs are already in their offices. The trust-fund princes and princesses are still snoring in bed. The district is dead quiet, perfect for work.
Usually the haul is insane, but sometimes the trash gods abandon you.
Today was one of those days.
Twenty bags in, absolutely nothing worthwhile.
Then, in front of a three-story pink villa, I accidentally made eye contact with a sharply dressed young man.
Next thing I knew, two gorilla-sized bodyguards slammed me face-first into the ground.
"W-wait—brothers, what'd I do—" I squeaked in terror.
No answer. One knee dug into my back, one hand mashed my cheek into the pavement, the other patted me down like I was a terrorist. Goosebumps everywhere.
"Young Master, he's clean. No weapons."
The young master walked over. From my worm's-eye view I saw only spotless white leather shoes and grey slacks.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he snarled.
"I-I'm just a cleaner…" My voice shook harder than my legs.
"Cleaner?" he repeated, suspicious.
"Young Master, the kid really does smell like garbage. Stinks to high heaven," one bodyguard sneered.
My blood boiled. I'm used to dirty looks, but having my face rubbed in the dirt while being called trash? That was new.
Still, their arms were thicker than my thighs. I swallowed the rage and stayed silent.
"Hang on. The usual cleaner is an old lady. Why's it him today?"
The pressure on my back increased.
"Grandma Liu's sick! She asked me to cover for her just today! She's still at the guardhouse if you don't believe me!"
One bodyguard jogged off to check. Came back panting:
"Young Master, the old lady really did ask him to sub."
"Tch. Just a garbage rat after all. Let him go, he reeks."
They finally released me. The young master walked off without a second glance.
I stood up, fists clenched so hard my nails cut into my palms, but I didn't say a word. Couldn't win that fight even if I tried.
Still, I made a vow right there on the spot:
From today on, no one, ever again, will press my face into the ground. Even if it kills me.
After that humiliation, I had zero motivation left. I mechanically flipped through bags like a zombie.
Then, in one bag, I spotted an exquisitely carved wooden box.
My brain instantly went full fantasy mode: Gold bars? Jewels? Ancient martial arts manual? Elixir of immortality?
A five-clawed golden dragon was carved on the lid, vivid as if it could fly off any second. The box looked ancient, yet brand-new. Obviously modern craftsmanship, but damn pretty.
I shook it, heard something clunk inside, and my heart started racing.
Not empty. Jackpot vibes.
I whispered the gambler's prayer: "Gold… gold… please be gold…"
I flipped the lid open.
A flash of golden light burst out.
My soul almost left my body with joy.
It really WAS gold!!!