“Impossible, your package is perfectly intact,” the courier explained.

The homebody looked carefully, still uneasy, and asked, “Then how did you know I ordered an inflatable doll?”

“Huh?” Now it was the courier’s turn to be dumbfounded. He took a closer look—the little homebody had puffy eyes and a scruffy beard, pretty much the type who watches porn and jerks off, fantasizing about girls but never getting any. The two stared at each other, and then the courier suddenly burst out laughing: “Haha… I was just making stuff up, but I actually guessed right this time. You really did order an inflatable doll… Hey, bro, let me tell you, that thing’s no good. The smell is terrible, and it’s easy to get the skin torn… Seriously, and some people even find it uncomfortable and come to us with weird requests for returns…”

As he spoke, he couldn’t stop himself. Someone from the building came out and overheard. A chubby auntie carrying a vegetable basket curiously chimed in, “Zachary, what’s an inflatable doll?”

“Aiyo, my reputation, it’s all ruined…” The homebody raised the package box, ready to smash it. Seeing things were going south, the courier jumped onto his electric scooter and sped off, not forgetting to shout back, “Zachary bro, there’s still a patch on your underwear showing.”

“Ah!” Homebody Zachary hurriedly let go, pulled up his big underwear, and looked down—nothing there. But the thrown package box hit the steps, and the contents peeked out. The auntie with the vegetable basket took one look and, oh dear… she got so flustered she covered her eyes and ran off.

Zachary Harris was left utterly speechless, hugging his plastic girlfriend, not even bothering to chase after the courier, and hurriedly dashed upstairs.

Outside the community, the courier’s phone kept ringing. It was an event organized by the East District Plaza’s outdoor sportswear store, urgently calling him to do a parkour performance. He answered that he’d be right there, sped up, and as he put his phone away, he remembered a text message. He checked it and saw a message like this:

Dear Mr. David Clark: We are honored to inform you that your resume has been selected by Harman Business Investigation Company. To further our understanding, we invite you to our company for a recruitment interview… Interview date: July 25th.

“Isn’t this just another scam for a registration fee!?”

The courier thought to himself, the name was right—he was indeed David Clark. The resume source was also correct; he’d submitted one at Hufangqiao a long time ago. But he had no idea what Harman Business Investigation Company was. Based on his experiences in recent years—being scammed out of rental deposits, job application fees, training fees, and so on—his instincts told him: it was almost certainly fake.

People in the capital don’t like outsiders, and even those outsiders who’ve made it in the capital look down on those still struggling at the bottom.

By that logic, good things never happen to hard-working outsiders like him.

He ignored it, put away his phone, and sped toward the plaza.

Before long, the now-changed David Clark appeared at the promotional event for Jungle Wolf Outdoor Gear. Dressed in a grass-green short jacket, with a headband, windproof goggles, and single-blade roller skates, his well-proportioned and athletic build, plus his tanned skin, made the fair-skinned city men and women stare at him with stars in their eyes. His job was simple: to display health, athleticism, and fitness, embodying the brand’s meaning.

The brand’s meaning could be set aside—after all, these models hired at eighty yuan an hour couldn’t afford the products anyway. He was seen running at high speed in the circle of onlookers, gliding as if flying, occasionally doing a front flip, back flip, or a split under a low bar, always drawing a mix of gasps and applause.

Amid the crowd’s cheers, there seemed to be a sense of excitement. In the thrilling yet smooth parkour, he seemed to find a sense of existence, even though he was panting and drenched in sweat.

Three hours later, he got two thin bills. The event was over, the store got busy, and the boss—a pot-bellied man who didn’t know much about sports—handed David Clark the money and hurried back to greet customers. David Clark called out, “Hey, Boss Turner, should I come again tomorrow?”

“No need, sales were great. I’ll contact you for the next season’s promotion. The ladies all bought because of you, strong guy.” The boss left, grinning.

“Oh.”

David Clark felt a bit disappointed. These day-rate jobs were really hard to find. The contrast between the wild joy of finding one and the gloom when it ended was so stark that even after changing out of his outfit and leaving, he was still a bit dazed. After years in Beijing, handing out flyers, doing promotions, selling insurance, delivering packages—he couldn’t even remember how many jobs he’d done. He was always dissatisfied with his situation, but could only barely maintain it.

The reality was, all those dreams of not settling for the status quo eventually faded away, leaving only dreams.

David Clark slowly walked out of the tastefully decorated boutique. Even with his athletic build and good looks, he felt no pride. Those men and women idly shopping, with plenty of leisure time, either pointing and whispering, being lovey-dovey, or swiping their cards with flair, always made David Clark, clutching his sweat-dampened cash, feel a bit embarrassed.

He rushed out the door—most places in the capital where you spend money aren’t for guys like him. When he reached the parking spot, an even harsher reality awaited him.

“Where’s my bike?”