Neon City - a metropolis cocooned in neon arteries and steel colossuses, where daylight transforms financial districts into warzones for power-suited gladiators, while moonlight unveils hunting grounds for pleasure-seekers draped in silk and ambition. The air perpetually hums with metallic tang of coins clashing and intoxicating perfumes that lure souls into euphoric oblivion.
Yet to Chu Tianyi, this dazzling urban tapestry might as well be a satirical mural painted on distant constellations - breathtakingly irrelevant to his existence.
9:30 AM, Soaring Group, Sales Division A.
Chu arrived ten minutes early as usual, slinking to his cubicle's Siberia - a purgatory sandwiched between the HVAC's mold-spewing vents. Summer turned his desk into a steam bath, winter an ice coffin. His "Voyager" computer wheezed like asthmatic machinery beside dog-eared brochures (eternal virgins in sales conversions) and a chipped ceramic mug bearing the company's ghostly logo.
As he hung his starch-stiffened jacket, a scent sliced through the office musk - morning dew on lily-of-the-valley, paired with stiletto percussion.
His peripheral vision betrayed him.
Lin Qiqi.
The department's freshly bloomed warflower. While juniors drowned in corporate trenches, she'd conquered through biological warfare - an ingenue's face that activated male protective instincts, paired with a bombshell silhouette that turned pencil skirts into weapons of mass distraction.
Today's armor: ecru blazer hugging wasp-waist contours, V-neck silk blouse revealing snowfield décolletage, knee-length skirt sculpting peach-perfect curves. Her 7cm stilettos didn't walk - they struck matchheads across male neural kindling.
Chestnut waves cascaded over shoulders, strands dancing before alabaster forehead. Her makeup? Either nonexistent or masterfully invisible, revealing dewy skin that mocked cosmetic science. Bambi-eyes radiating virginal innocence clashed deliciously with her hourglass frame - cognitive dissonance made flesh.
Chu's glance lasted nanoseconds before retreating, rabbit-quick. His traitorous heart drummed combat rhythms. Stars like her belonged to galaxies beyond ant-like wage slaves.
As Lin vanished into the pantry, a voice like sludge through drainpipes erupted:
"Hey there Sugar Qiqii~ Dressing to kill today, huh?"
Wang Hai. Sales A's overlord.
His bloodshot eyes conducted full-body patdowns on Lin's silhouette, tongue practically licking air. The beer-bellied middle manager thrust his pelvis forward, comb-over flapping like dying seagull wings.
Lin's porcelain brow micro-twitched. "Morning, Team Leader Wang." She fled, hips swaying emergency-exit rhythms.
Wang's Adam's apple bobbed obscenely before swiveling to Chu. The metamorphosis was instant - from lecherous toad to venomous cobra.
"CHU TIANYI!" Wang slammed files, making the mug shudder. "Your Hongyuan Heavy Industries report! Three days! Still no deal? Think we pay you to daydream and eye-fuck colleagues?"
Chu's neck burned. "Manager Liu requires more..."
"EXCUSES?" Nicotine-stained finger jabbed his nose. "Results! Sign Hongyuan by month-end or pack your rags! We purge deadweight...and perverts!"
Snickers popcorned through cubicles.
Chu's nails carved crescent moons into palms. Wang's message was clear - ants don't gaze at goddesses.
Lunch hour. Colleagues debated between sushi served by cosplay waitresses or sidewalk cafes stocking black-stockinged scenery. Chu retrieved his ¥3 veggie bun (plastic-wrapped, stone-cold) and disinfectant-tinged water, wolfing them down in stairwell shadows.
Lin's phantom fragrance haunted him. So did Wang's sneer. Twin vipers - desire and self-loathing - coiled around his heart.
He craved tailored suits, sports cars, Lin's arm candy radiance. Yearned to shove resignation letters down Wang's greasy throat.
Reality?
¥3,500 monthly salary. Next month's ¥700 rent? Mythical. His existence? Human stress ball for Wang's amusement.
Post-lunch, Wang materialized like vengeful poltergeist.
"Xiao Chu~" His hand landed like frozen pork slab. "The 'Voyager Initiative' brochures. 300 copies. Premium gloss. Perfect bindings. On my desk by EOD."
Chu's stomach dropped. Two hours. Colored printing requiring director approval. Mission impossible.
Wang's smirk widened.
All protests died in Chu's throat, suffocated by keyboard clatter and indifferent stares.
The metropolitan ant prepared for final crushing.
Yet deep within lowered eyelids, primordial fire flickered - first spark of supernova defiance.