He quickly typed in the keyword and hit search.
When the page finished loading, the familiar name "dark nights sound" jumped out at him.
After clicking through to the details, Yang Fan suddenly found the milk-tea with pearls in his mouth turning sour.
After high school, strapped for cash, he'd left home without hesitation and come to the bustling metropolis to make his mark.
There he tasted every flavor life could offer, juggling every odd job imaginable.
Yet fate loves its twists.
A few years back the milk-tea boom erupted like spring bamboo, and Yang Fan—always on the lookout—finally saw a glimmer of hope.
He applied at a shop the same day and was hired as an ordinary clerk.
Back then the starting wage for a regular clerk was room, board, and four to five thousand yuan.
Most employees never stayed long; only he stuck it out, determined to remain.
After several years he was promoted to reserve manager, his pay bumped up by a thousand.
Two more years and he finally became store manager, earning about seven thousand.
Recalling that hard road now, a wave of indescribable feeling rose in his chest.
The job had given him not just food and shelter but a chance to prove his worth.
Though he slogged like a dog every day, scrimping let him stash away around fifty thousand a year.
For an ordinary guy without sparkling credentials, that was already more than enough.
Good times never last; competition turned brutal as new milk-tea shops sprouted everywhere.
Brands kept reinventing themselves, upgrading again and again.
In the end his own shop couldn't escape the axe of closure.
The doors shut and he was out of a job.
Luckily, after months of hunting, he landed at Simple Tea as store manager.
He'd thought saving five or six hundred thousand without a degree was already amazing.
He never imagined his new boss was eighteen and already driving a world-limited super-car.
Comparisons really can kill.
Seeing Yang Fan had finished the part-time recruitment poster, Jiang Cheng picked it up.
It opened onto a chat window with Ye Wan.
Jiang Cheng glanced at her avatar: a mountain landscape.
Most people would assume the user was middle-aged.
Girls her age usually pick cute cartoons or photos of their idols.
Very few choose something so unadorned.
Setting the phone down, Jiang Cheng lifted his gaze to the dishes on the table.
Ye Wan had already quietly cleaned every plate.
She was now cradling the soup bowl, sipping the last drops.
Clearly full, she still refused to waste a spoonful.
Jiang Cheng said nothing, simply watched until the bowl was empty.
When the final drop slid down her throat she set the bowl aside and met his eyes, signaling she was done.
Jiang Cheng stood. 'Been ages since I was back—walk with me?'
Ye Wan's heart lurched; instinct urged her to refuse. Yet she'd just devoured his generous meal, and he'd once mentioned he didn't know the campus well.
The thought made her hesitate.
After a brief inner tug-of-war she rose and nodded.
As Jiang Cheng headed for the gate, curiosity bubbled inside her; she longed to ask where they were going, but her throat felt sewn shut.
He didn't lead her to the rolls-royce; they would walk.
Driving would feel too deliberate.
The food street sat just across the road—no distance at all.
Besides, she was visibly stuffed.
He could hear her tiny hiccups behind her hand.
A stroll was definitely in order.
Luckily he'd chosen the canteen nearest the gate; picking the Host's side would've meant a half-hour trek just to exit.
Students were streaming back from off-campus lunches.
Jiang Cheng had always been striking.
A campus legend, rarely seen, he was now strolling against the tide with Ye Wan in tow—an instant spectacle.
He showed no reaction to the stares, but Ye Wan beside him grew tense under the collective gaze.
Whispers floated past.
'That guy looks familiar—so handsome.'
'Is the girl behind his girlfriend? Lucky her.'
'Are you kidding? That's Jiang Cheng, the one who donated to the school—remember?'
'Oh! The guy who gave everyone five-hundred-yuan electricity credit?'
'Exactly. Should we thank him? Because of him we won't pay for three years—so grateful!'