Little Duckling - Chapter 1

How much longer must I endure this miserable life?

“Do you consider yourself successful?”

“I’ve always been exceptional. My grades were good, I was attractive, and my family had the means to support my artistic pursuits. I’m optimistic and outgoing, and teachers and classmates alike adored me in school.”

“So, what have you achieved between the ages of eighteen and twenty-eight?”

“I’ve achieved… a shift in mindset from ‘all roads lead to Rome’ to ‘all roads lead to being a workhorse.'”

She had to admit that her once passionate youth and the dreams she had relentlessly pursued had, like a certain someone, long since drifted away from her.

It was late August, and the afternoon sun had heated the glass windows until they were scorching.

Inside, the air conditioning was blasting, and her colleagues were busy with their tasks. Only Jian Xin sat slumped at her desk, sweat beading on her forehead, a handheld fan pressed against her face as she stared blankly at the unfinished work on her computer.

Just minutes earlier, she had rushed back from the sweltering heat outside.

Her errand during work hours wasn’t for work at all, but to buy bread and yogurt for Director Niu, who had suddenly gotten hungry after skipping lunch.

Just another day in the life of a corporate drone, she thought. Running errands for the boss—nothing to complain about, really.

The problem was, after all that running, she hadn’t even gotten a “thank you for your trouble,” let alone a word of appreciation. Instead, she’d been scolded.

“I don’t even eat jujubes! Why did you get jujube yogurt?”

“I didn’t know. You said to just get whatever…”

“If you didn’t know, why didn’t you ask?”

Didn’t I ask what flavor you wanted in the first place?

If I didn’t ask the right question, why didn’t you just tell me?

“Out of all the options, you had to pick the one thing I can’t eat.”

Jian Xin took a deep breath.

Right, right. So many choices, and you just had to pick the one I like least.

This is truly a case of incompatible fates and destined conflict.

Having reached this point, the rest was just a litany of tired, old-fashioned criticisms and lectures.

For the next few minutes, Jian Xin felt like she was being bombarded by an endless stream of scolding.

It was just a minor incident unrelated to work, yet Director Niu’s temper flared inexplicably.

Perhaps he’d been reprimanded at the morning meeting and desperately needed an outlet for his pent-up frustration. Unfortunately, she happened to be the unlucky target, and he’d been ranting for ages without letting up.

Fortunately, this wasn’t her first time enduring such tirades, and she was quite accustomed to it.

She pressed her lips together, lowered her gaze, and meticulously maintained an expression of humble obedience. The critical words flowed in one ear and out the other as her mind wandered for what felt like an eternity before she was finally “pardoned” and allowed to return to her workstation to “redeem herself through hard work.”

“Xiao Jian, got chewed out again?”

A female colleague from the neighboring workstation leaned over to ask.

“Mm-hmm,” Jian Xin replied softly.

“Our department’s performance has been poor this quarter. Director Niu got a dressing-down this morning, so he’s in a foul mood,” the colleague whispered, lowering her voice. “He’ll probably be taking it out on us for the next few days!”

Jian Xin sighed. “Sometimes I really don’t want to do this anymore.”

Her colleague shook his head and muttered, “Jobs are hard to come by these days. You should calm down.”

Yes, calm down.

After all, it wasn’t like the criticism had any real substance.

In the end, it all boiled down to being called slow-witted, careless in her work, only reacting when prodded, unable to think critically, and with her mind seemingly wandering elsewhere.

To be honest, Jian Xin herself didn’t know where her mind had been wandering.

A few years ago, she had actually enjoyed her job.

She worked regular hours, had weekends off, and while the pay wasn’t high, her material desires were modest. As long as she didn’t pursue music, she could even save a little each month, living a fairly relaxed life.

But good times don’t last forever. After the pandemic, the economy slumped, and waves of layoffs forced Jian Xin to join the cutthroat battle to protect her job.

Looking back, ever since the department’s two senior employees were laid off last year, she had been stretched thin, essentially doing the work of two people.

Every day was a blur of work, followed by collapsing into bed after hours.

Getting home late at night had become the norm, and there were always one or two days a week when she missed the last subway train.

Countless times, after showering and lying back in bed, she tried to clear her mind. Soothing music played softly, perfect for lulling her to sleep. But the moment she closed her eyes, work notifications on WeChat would ring out like the cursed phone call from The Ring.

She couldn’t help but wonder: I’m not even making that much money. How can this work never end?

With her life reduced to this, what could she possibly be worrying about?

If anything, she probably wanted to die, but felt that someone else deserved it more.

Speaking of which, it was her birthday today, yet she didn’t even have time to grab a meal with friends.

Even if she did, she lacked the energy.

Thankfully, tomorrow was the weekend, so she could at least get a good night’s sleep when she got home.

Perhaps the lingering heat from outside hadn’t dissipated yet.

Or maybe it was the inexplicable scolding she’d received earlier that had soured her mood.

Jian Xin had been sitting in front of her computer, staring blankly while a small fan blew on her, but she still couldn’t muster the energy to work.

After some deliberation, she decided to “slack off” for a few minutes to calm down before focusing on her tasks.

But “slacking off” only made her mood worse.

If you asked her, she’d say she regretted it.

I regret my impulsive curiosity—I shouldn’t have clicked on that notification!

Jian Xin had a class group chat set to “Do Not Disturb.”

The group chat always displayed a red notification dot, but she never bothered to open it.

Just now, however, she picked up her phone, opened WeChat, and glanced at the screen. The partial message visible caught her eye:

Third High School, Class 8 Official WeChat Group

[87 messages] Wang Xiaofeng: Yan Lu is now…

Without hesitation, as if driven by instinct, Jian Xin clicked open the group chat she had ignored for years.

Qi Xia: [Shared image]

Qi Xia: Oh my god! Is that Yan Lu?!

Qi Xia: She really became a famous author!

Zhang Danya: Right?! I saw this on Weibo too. It looks like her, but I wouldn’t have recognized her if you hadn’t said anything!

Li: Huh?

Li: What Weibo post?

Qi Xia: [Weibo link]

Eat Well, Drink Well, Stay Healthy: [Staring blankly] Tender bullfrog?

Yang Tian: [Surprised]

Yang Tian: Isn’t that the drama I’ve been watching lately?

Yang Tian: Yan Lu wrote the novel it’s based on?

Wang Xiaofeng: Yan Lu is so beautiful now? She’s changed a lot from what I remember.

The message thread ended there.

This high school group chat had only been created many years after graduation.

When they first graduated, WeChat wasn’t yet popular. By the time it became widespread, many classmates had already lost contact with each other.

Out of nearly seventy students in their class, the class monitor had pieced together the group chat, but even with the homeroom teacher included, they only managed to gather fifty-nine members.

Yan Lu, the subject of their current discussion, wasn’t among those fifty-nine.

After so many years since graduation, their relationships had long faded. The group chat was usually silent.

Even these few messages had trickled in since the night before last, with someone chiming in every half-day or so, turning the chat into a sort of message board. The resulting conversation barely filled three screenshots.

Jian Xin glanced at the chat history, opened the top photo, studied it for a long moment, then silently backed out and clicked on the Weibo link below.

The Weibo post was from Lin Xiyu, a wildly popular young actress.

The Weibo post consisted of a single sentence:

Lin Xiyu: Ta-da! Treating my favorite author to an indulgent meal!

Recently, a drama starring Lin Xiyu had become immensely popular, and the original novel was equally renowned.

Jian Xin had seen numerous clips of the show across various platforms and found it intriguing, but she hadn’t had time to watch it.

The photo her classmate had shared in the class group chat was the accompanying image from this Weibo post.

It was a selfie of Lin Xiyu with another person: Yan Lu Er Qi, the author of the blockbuster drama.

Lin Xiyu beamed at the camera, making a heart gesture with one hand.

Beside her was a table laden with exquisitely plated dishes, while the civilian author sat at the white table behind her.

In the frozen frame, the author held a marker, its tip poised above a book. With a slightly raised brow and a sideways glance at the camera, his expression conveyed mild surprise, clearly captured mid-signature.

They say there’s an unbridgeable gap between celebrities and ordinary people, but this author didn’t seem overshadowed in the slightest by the presence of such a stunningly beautiful actress.

The author was strikingly beautiful, radiating an air of scholarly refinement. Her presence was ethereal, reminiscent of the serene, untouchable “white moonlight” figures from novels—a perfect embodiment of Jian Xin’s aesthetic ideals.

Under normal circumstances, Jian Xin would have immediately saved a photo of such a captivating, elegant beauty who so perfectly aligned with her tastes. She would have then searched for more pictures to refresh her eyes, weary from staring at her work.

But with this woman, Jian Xin glanced once and switched off her phone screen.

The old classmates in the group hadn’t been mistaken: the acclaimed author in the photo with the actress was indeed Yan Lu.

By sheer coincidence, this was her ex-girlfriend who had vanished without a trace seven years ago.

Since their breakup, there had been no word from her.

Even the pen name she now used, which had brought her such fame, was different from the one Jian Xin had known.

That heartless woman has truly erased our past completely.

Jian Xin unconsciously took a deep breath.

Hmm…

It was a familiar scent: the lingering aroma of secondhand smoke.

The heat from her earlier exertion still lingered, and her colleague behind her carelessly lit up his cheap cigarette, oblivious to everyone else’s discomfort.

Her phone suddenly chimed.

When she glanced down again, a new work message had appeared in WeChat:

Director Niu: Xiao Jian, you seem to have plenty of time on your hands, just sitting there daydreaming all day.

Director Niu: This is urgent. Since you’re free, you can handle it. It needs to be ready by Monday morning.

Director Niu: [Attachment]

Jian Xin instinctively glanced back at Director Niu’s office.

Through the window, she saw the director standing by the water dispenser, a cup of freshly poured hot water in one hand and her phone in the other, her expression utterly nonchalant.

If phones could feel pain, this one would be screaming right now.

Jian Xin felt a lump of air lodge in her throat, choking her for a long moment.

Fine, fine, fine!

Was the scolding she’d just received not enough? Now she has to deliver this assignment with such passive-aggressive flair!

Perhaps it was the increasingly acrid smell of cigarette smoke stinging her nostrils.

Jian Xin stared at the message, sinking into a long, brooding silence.

How much longer do I have to endure this miserable existence?

To be honest, she didn’t consider her life particularly hard.

Or perhaps most people in the world had their own unique struggles. At least she could afford food and drink without worry and had a stable income, unlike her recently laid-off colleagues who were still frantically searching for jobs.

Truth be told, this kind of life wasn’t unbearable. But emotions were a delicate thing.

They reminded her that, in some distant memory, she had never been one to follow the rules.

So, for a fleeting moment, Jian Xin suddenly didn’t want to continue living like this.

The moment she made up her mind, her brow furrowed. She slammed her hand on the desk, stood up abruptly, grabbed a stack of documents, and dramatically fanned the cigarette smoke behind her.

Her smoking colleague shot her a look as if she’d seen a ghost. “What’s wrong with you? Having a breakdown?”

Jian Xin didn’t reply. She simply slammed the documents onto the desk with a thud, as if she’d swallowed a few pounds of dynamite, and plopped back into her chair.

The chair creaked under her weight. She opened a new document and typed four bold characters:

Resignation Notice!