A Fallen Middle-Aged Man

Beijing.

Beyond the Fifth Ring Road, at a bustling marketplace.

Cold winds howled, mingling with the cries of pigs. The marketplace was as lively as ever.

Chen Pingsheng took a drag from a cheap 4.5-yuan pack of Lao Baisha cigarettes, exhaling a puff of white smoke. In no time, a few fashionable middle-aged women gathered around his tricycle.

They haggled over the price of durians—originally bought at 15 yuan per jin, he was selling them for 16.8 yuan, yet they still complained it was too expensive, bargaining down by 0.9 yuan.

Fine… A sale is a sale.

"City enforcers are here! Run!"

"Damn it, didn't they just come yesterday? Why are they here again today?"

Just as he was about to scan a QR code for payment, he jumped onto his tricycle and took off.

If he got caught, half a month's earnings would be gone.

At some point in his life, this man—once a local big shot in his hometown, a school legend—had found himself living a life of endless struggles.

At least he got married early, and his wife was five years younger than him. They didn't have a house or a car, but they had a small, warm home.

That made his life as a migrant worker in Beijing feel a little less lonely.

After parking his tricycle, he unlocked the door with a creak.

A little girl had been hiding behind it. As soon as he stepped inside, she ran toward him and clung to him like a tiny koala.

Chen Pingsheng scooped her up, pinched her tiny nose, and smiled. No matter how exhausting the day had been, seeing his daughter made everything feel worth it.

This was his five-year-old daughter, Chen An'an.

"Chen Pingsheng, you're back just in time."

Inside their small living room, a stylish woman with wavy hair sat on the couch, arms crossed and legs elegantly crossed.

Her expression made it clear—she wasn't here for a friendly chat.

"Oh, my dear sister-in-law, what brings you here?"

"Hmph." Song Wu snorted, ignoring his pleasantries. Instead, she went straight to the point:

"I'm here to ask you to let my sister go."

Chen Pingsheng's face darkened. "What do you mean by that?"

"Don't play dumb with me." Song Wu didn't hold back. "My sister has been with you for six years. Look at her now—does she still have the youthful glow she once had? Since she married you, has she ever had a single good day?"

"She was washing dishes to earn money even while pregnant. Just a month after giving birth, she was already working two jobs."

"Six years, Chen Pingsheng."

Her anger grew with every word. "Six years, and my sister is still stuck in this tiny, dark rental. If she had chosen literally anyone else, would she be living like this?"

Chen Pingsheng's breath hitched, his emotions shifting rapidly.

For once, he couldn't argue back.

People might assume he was lazy, but the truth was the opposite.

He worked tirelessly, leaving before dawn and returning late at night.

When he first came to Beijing, he had no degree and no special skills.

He spent a year under the scorching sun, carrying cement and bricks at construction sites. Then, someone told him truck drivers made good money, so he hit the road, traveling across the country to earn a living.

Now, he was selling durians from a tricycle, a job with no dignity but at least a stable income of 10,000 to 20,000 yuan per month.

But what was the use?

As Song Wu pointed out, even if he saved every penny for ten years, it still wouldn't be enough for a down payment on a home in Beijing's Third Ring.

How long could they go on like this?

Their daughter needed to go to school. Their aging parents needed support. Every night, when the world quieted down, he thought about the promises he once made.

He had vowed to give his wife a carefree life by the time he turned thirty.

But he lacked the ability.

He wanted to make his parents proud.

But he hadn't achieved anything worth their pride.

Life was relentless. It didn't just crush his back—it crushed his dreams too.

Song Wu hurled all kinds of harsh words at him, but never once did she call him lazy.

She didn't hate him.

She only hated that her sister had chosen him.

If only her sister had married someone from the city. Even if that man didn't earn as much as Chen Pingsheng, at least their life would be stable.

In the face of Beijing's outrageous real estate prices, a single apartment was enough to suffocate the dreams of an ordinary man.

Chen Pingsheng fell silent, and Song Wu stormed out, still fuming.

That night, when his wife returned home, she brought a bouquet of flowers.

Once upon a time, she had been the dream girl of many—beautiful, elegant, kind, and gentle.

Even now, he still felt like marrying her was the luckiest thing that had ever happened to him.

Song Yanxi was only twenty-five. Even after having a child, her figure remained flawless—slim waist, curvy hips, and long legs, with delicate facial features.

But ever since their marriage, she had never bought a decent set of cosmetics or a branded coat.

The once dazzling young woman now tied her hair in a simple low ponytail, with a few loose strands framing her tired face.

"Bang."

She shut the door and changed into her five-year-old white cotton slippers.

"Mommy, Auntie was here earlier," An'an said as she ran into her arms.

Song Yanxi smiled softly and lifted her up.

Chen Pingsheng had already prepared dinner—one meat dish, one vegetable dish. They lived frugally, saving every penny in hopes of one day buying a home.

She placed a plastic bag on the table and opened it.

Inside was half a roasted duck and some spicy chicken feet.

"Wow! A feast tonight!"

An'an clapped her little hands in excitement.

Song Yanxi ruffled her daughter's hair, pulled up a small stool, and sat her down.

"Pingsheng, today is our sixth wedding anniversary."

No wonder she had splurged a little.

If it had been any other time, he might have felt happy.

But now, he found it hard to smile.

Six years.

Not a single promise fulfilled.

Not even a shred of the happiness he wanted to give her.

"Why aren't you saying anything? Did my sister say something harsh again?"

Song Yanxi frowned, putting down her chopsticks and reaching for his hand.

Chen Pingsheng didn't want to dwell on the topic, so he made up an excuse:

"No, I was just checking the weather forecast. It says it'll rain tomorrow. You know how my tricycle can't go out in the rain."

"Then don't go."

Song Yanxi's voice was full of concern. "You've barely taken a break all year. Take An'an out to play. Don't go helping people move houses in the rain."

She was as gentle as ever.

The kinder she was, the more ashamed he felt.

But this was all he could do.

Manual labor. Selling durians.

Unlike those young entrepreneurs chasing dreams, the most he could do was fantasize about success before falling asleep.

Life didn't give him a choice.

Middle age loomed ahead, filling him with anxiety.

"How can I rest when we don't even have a home yet?" He shook his head.

Song Yanxi pursed her lips, wanting to say something but holding back.

Earlier today, she had checked again—the tiny apartment they wanted had gone up in price.

The down payment they had painstakingly saved was no longer enough.

There was nothing to complain about.

He was already exhausted.

That night, after tucking An'an into bed, Song Yanxi lay down beside him.

Chen Pingsheng held her close, swallowing back his tears.

He had thought about going back to their hometown, building a big house in the countryside, and living a quiet life.

Maybe that was enough.

But deep down, a voice told him—

As a man, he had to give his wife and child the life they deserved.

How long could he keep running away?

Ding—

Half-asleep, he heard a sound in his mind.

What was that?

He'd check tomorrow.