The pale yellow light of the streetlamp flickered as Fang Bowen walked down the narrow Shanghai alley toward his apartment. It had been a long day, but his spirits were high. Clutched in his hand was an envelope—a simple object that carried immense significance.
His first royalty check.
He stepped inside his modest apartment, the familiar scent of old books and faint mildew greeting him. The walls were as cracked and worn as ever, but tonight, they seemed to hold a quiet warmth. He sat at his small desk, cleared away the clutter of papers, and gently opened the envelope.
The numbers on the check weren't staggering by any means, but they were more than just money. They were proof. Proof that his dream was no longer just a fleeting thought but a reality taking shape.
Bowen leaned back in his chair, staring at the check, emotions swirling within him. Memories of the orphanage came flooding back—days of cold, hunger, and an aching void that no one could fill. The years of ridicule, the dead-end jobs, the countless nights he spent wondering if he'd ever amount to anything. And now, this small piece of paper represented the first brick in the foundation of something bigger.
Tears welled in his eyes. He wiped them away quickly, feeling both pride and vulnerability.
He couldn't wait to tell Liang. That night, when he slipped into his dreams, Liang's commanding figure emerged from the mist.
"I received it," Bowen said, his voice trembling with excitement. "My first royalty check."
Liang nodded approvingly, though his expression remained composed. "It's a small victory, but significant. Remember this moment. It will remind you of where you started when you face greater challenges."
"I will," Bowen promised. "Thank you for guiding me."
The next morning, Bowen's buoyant mood followed him to the office. But it didn't take long for Manager Chen to try and shatter it.
Chen strode into the office with his usual air of superiority, his eyes narrowing as he spotted Bowen humming softly at his desk.
"Fang Bowen," Chen called out, his voice sharp and condescending.
Bowen turned, suppressing a sigh. "Yes, Manager Chen?"
"I hear you've been dabbling in writing." Chen smirked, holding up a copy of Chasing the Dream. "This is yours, isn't it?"
Bowen straightened. "Yes, it is."
Chen flipped through the pages with exaggerated disdain, his voice dripping with mockery. "I can see why you're such a poor performer here. If this is the quality of your writing, it explains everything."
Bowen's hands curled into fists under the desk, but he kept his voice steady. "With all due respect, my performance here and my writing are two separate matters."
Chen laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Don't kid yourself, Fang Bowen. You've always been mediocre—both here and, clearly, in your little hobby. Do you think you can make it big with this nonsense? You're dreaming."
Bowen's jaw tightened, but instead of anger, a sense of clarity washed over him. For years, he had tolerated Chen's demeaning attitude, internalizing the belief that he was destined to remain in the shadows. But now, holding onto his first tangible achievement, he realized he no longer needed to endure it.
"I don't think," Bowen said, his voice firm. "I know."
Chen raised an eyebrow, taken aback by Bowen's defiance.
"I know I have what it takes to succeed, and I don't need to stay here to prove it," Bowen continued, standing up. "I've tolerated your insults for too long, but not anymore. I quit."
The office fell silent, the other employees watching in stunned disbelief.
Chen sputtered, "You're making a mistake, Fang Bowen! Without this job, you'll be nothing!"
Bowen turned and smiled, a quiet confidence radiating from him. "We'll see about that."
He gathered his belongings, his coworkers parting to let him pass. As he walked out of the building for the last time, a sense of liberation filled him.
Outside, the crisp autumn air greeted him, carrying with it the scent of promise. Bowen looked up at the skyscrapers around him, their towering forms no longer intimidating but inspiring.
That night, as he sat at his desk, the jade amulet resting beside him, Bowen poured his thoughts into his journal. He wrote about the moment he quit, the way it felt to stand up for himself, and the determination that now burned brighter than ever.
When he drifted into sleep, Liang appeared once again in the dreamscape.
"You've taken an important step," Liang said, his tone approving. "You've freed yourself from the shackles of mediocrity. Now, your time is your own. Use it wisely."
"I will," Bowen replied, his voice resolute. "This is only the beginning."
As the mist swirled around him, Bowen felt the weight of his old life lifting, replaced by the thrilling anticipation of what lay ahead.