"Yeah, I was thinking the same! Little Brian is about to graduate too, what will he do if he can't find a girlfriend?"

Old Uncle took a swig of liquor and a bite of dried tofu, actually starting to worry.

William Clark looked at him. Old Uncle had been working out of town for a few years and was doing fine, his salary had gone up, but then he got fired for fighting. Now he just keeps an eye on things himself.

……

Train rides are mostly boring.

William Clark dozed off and woke up, woke up and dozed off again, occasionally getting up to walk around. By evening, he finally arrived in the capital, stopping at Beijing Station.

Following the surging crowd out of the station, a wave of gray, mixed with accents from all over the country, the smell of sweat, and the struggle for survival, instantly wrapped around him, just like the air of Beijing in this era.

William Clark stood still, feeling this mixture—chaotic, shabby, dirty, full of the scent of daily life.

By the way, people always say the air in Beijing was good twenty years ago. Good, my ass!

In 1999, the front-page headline of a certain issue of "Beijing Evening News" was: "Absolutely No Polluted Air Allowed into the New Century!"

He just had a shoulder bag, traveling light, while Old Uncle carried a heavy bedding roll, looking around. Suddenly, he dashed forward and kicked someone.

That person dodged as if expecting it, laughing heartily.

After a brief exchange, William Clark walked over, and Old Uncle introduced, "This is my comrade-in-arms, called Uncle Harris!"

"Uncle Harris!"

"This is my nephew, studying at university in Beijing, quite impressive!"

"Oh, that's really great!"

Like many others, Uncle Harris always felt a bit envious of students, especially college students. He seemed slicker than Old Uncle, having been around for years. He chatted enthusiastically for a bit and then suggested getting something to eat.

William Clark politely declined, but after thinking for a moment, said, "Do you have a business card? Could you give me one?"

"Oh, yes, yes!"

Uncle Harris handed over a business card. William Clark took a look: Feiyue Cultural Performance Agency, with a private phone number, and the address listed as Tongzhou.

"The company is in Tongzhou?"

"No, our stage setup team is over there, but we usually run around everywhere. It's just a place to crash."

"Alright, let me write down my number for you. This is my number, let's keep in touch if anything comes up."

"Good, good, see you next time."

Uncle Harris was a bit surprised—how come this kid acts like an elder?

After saying goodbye to the two, William Clark took the subway, then a bus, and after a long journey finally returned to school.

This university would be pretty impressive in the Northeast, but in Beijing it's just decent. He majored in Chinese, and in his senior year there were basically no classes left. The school had partnerships with newspapers, magazines, publishing houses, TV stations, and so on, offering internship spots every year.

If possible, he really didn't want to waste time going through it all again, but he was afraid it would affect his graduation.

In his previous life, he interned at "Beijing Youth Daily" for almost half a year, then stayed on for a while after graduation, all for one big goal: a permanent position.

He was highly competent and worked diligently, but back then he was young and impulsive, didn't understand the ways of the world, and didn't have strong connections, so in the end he couldn't stay. After leaving, he went to a small newspaper in Beijing, then returned to Shencheng, and eventually bought a house in the south, working for twenty years.

William Clark checked in at school, communicated with the teacher in charge of arranging internships, and was now packing his big shoulder bag.

Paper and pen, water bottle, snacks, small scissors, fruit knife, band-aids, condoms... and most importantly, a camera he brought from home.

After packing, he lay on his dorm bed. None of his roommates were around—everyone was busy with their own senior year stuff. Their relationships were just so-so, neither good nor bad.

"Beijing Youth Daily..."

William Clark muttered the name, like an emotionless wool-shearing machine, just thinking about how to get some benefits out of it.

Chapter 7: Slacking Off

Chaoyang used to be an agricultural area, Beijing's vegetable basket.

After the founding of the country, many factories were built, and it became an industrial area, then called the Eastern Suburbs, known as the Eastern Suburbs Industrial Zone.

After the reform and opening up, the capital's city boundaries expanded, and with new planning, some showcase buildings started to appear in Chaoyang, like the China World Trade Center and Yansha.

After continuous development, Chaoyang finally became an urban-rural fringe area in 2001, with high-rises, factories, rural houses, and the Central Business District just breaking ground—a real mix of everything.

On the East Third Ring Road in Chaoyang, there's a place called Baijiazhuang, and in Baijiazhuang there's a road called Yaojiayuan Road.

That's right, Yaojiayuan.

Heading south from Yaojiayuan Road, you enter an area mixed with office buildings and residential buildings. Twenty years later, the average price of the residential buildings there would be 78,000 per square meter.

At exactly eight in the morning, William Clark stood beneath the 29-story building of "Beijing Youth Daily."

He stood there for quite a while before stepping through the door. The first thing he saw was a bright red wall, a bright red reception desk, and white characters on the wall: Beijing Youth Daily!

On both sides were racks filled with past issues of newspapers and magazines.

Compared to small cities in the Northeast, the atmosphere here was instantly more intense. People bustled back and forth, many holding today's newspaper, discussing news and photos, complaining that their articles were rated too low.

Reporters had a basic salary, then got paid per article, with different rates for different ratings—the higher the rating, the more money.