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Audio intro: My name is Chen Mo. I’m twenty-seven years old and work as a copywriter and planner at a mid-sized ad agency. Every month I make 12,000 before tax. After tax, it’s 9,800. After social insurance and housing fund deductions, I take home about 7,600. I live in an old residential complex on the west side of the city. Rent is 2,200 a month. Food costs another 1,500. The rest goes to paying off Huabei, while I hang on by my fingertips. That’s the outline of my life. Flat, uneventful, so plain it barely qualifies as story material. At best, I’m a background extra, there to make other people’s lives look brighter. But I have to tell you, I’m not just an ordinary unlucky bastard. Ordinary unlucky people only have bad luck. I’m the kind of person who makes people dislike me for no reason. When I walk into an elevator, the coworkers who were just chatting will all go silent. The air freezes at once, as if I’m carrying some invisible plague. When I go downstairs to buy something at the convenience store, the cashier girl will barely give me the time of day, then beam at the customer behind me with a voice so sweet it could drip honey. And when I pitch an idea at work, even if the proposal itself is fine, my team lead Zhao Tao can still pick out three or four imaginary flaws and then tell me to rewrite it with an openly disgusted look.
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