People are cruel when they think no one important is watching.
That was the first lesson he relearned that morning.
The street smelled like burnt oil and steamed dough. One of those in-between hours—too late for breakfast, too early for lunch—when vendors leaned against their carts pretending not to care if anyone bought anything. The sun hadn’t fully committed yet. Neither had the city.
He crouched near the curb, shoulders slumped, coat frayed in exactly the right places. Not theatrical. Not dramatic. Just… tired-looking enough to be invisible.
“Boss,” he said softly, voice rasped thin on purpose. “Could you spare something to eat?”
A shoe stopped in front of him. Expensive leather. Polished. The kind that never touched puddles.
“Get lost,” the man snapped without even slowing down.
No eye contact. Not a flicker of hesitation.
He smiled faintly.
Next.
Another passerby. Then another. A woman wrinkled her nose as if poverty were contagious. A delivery driver muttered something under his breath. Someone laughed.
He kept his head down.
This wasn’t new. It never was. Still, every time, it surprised him a little—how quickly decency evaporated when money entered the room, even if only by its absence.
Then footsteps slowed.
Different cadence. Lighter. Uncertain.
He looked up.
She stood there holding a small paper bag, hair tied back messily, eyes clear in a way that didn’t come from privilege. More like stubborn optimism. The kind that survives despite evidence to the contrary.
She hesitated. Just a beat.
Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled bill.
“Here,” she said, crouching slightly so she was closer to his level. “Twenty yuan. Go get something warm.”
Twenty yuan.
He stared at it, then at her face.
Too kind. Too fast.
Interesting.
He took it slowly, like it meant something. Because to her, it did.
“Thank you,” he said. “You’re… very kind.”
She smiled awkwardly, already preparing to leave.
He could’ve stopped there.
Most people would.
But curiosity is a dangerous thing, and he’d always had too much of it.
“Miss,” he added, tilting his head. “Twenty isn’t enough these days. Not really. Even steamed buns cost more now.”
Her brows pulled together.
“…So?”
He shrugged. “You seem generous. Maybe two hundred?”
She blinked.
“Two hundred?” Her voice jumped an octave. “Why would I—?”
“I haven’t eaten in days,” he said quietly.
That wasn’t entirely true.
But neither was it entirely false.
She looked at him longer this time. Really looked. As if searching for some telltale sign—deceit, laziness, danger.
He let the silence stretch.
Finally, she sighed. “You’re unbelievable.”
But she reached back into her wallet anyway.
He watched her fingers tremble just a little.
That mattered.
When she handed him the extra cash, he didn’t grab it.
Instead, he stood.
Straightened his back.
Met her eyes fully.
“For that,” he said, “I owe you.”
She laughed. “You don’t owe me anything. Just don’t starve.”
“I don’t accept favors for nothing,” he replied.
Then, from inside the battered coat—the one with the torn lining and suspicious stains—he pulled out a check.
Clean. Crisp. Utterly out of place.
“Three million,” he said calmly. “You can cash it today.”
She stared.
Then laughed harder. “Okay, that’s funny.”
“It’s real.”
“Brother,” she said, shaking her head, “my cousin works in finance at Dami Technology. Only the chairman can sign checks like that.”
He smiled.
“Then maybe,” he said gently, “you should thank your luck.”
She pushed the check back at him as if it burned.
“I’m not taking this. You’re either joking or insane.”
“Suit yourself.”
He tucked it away again, as if it were pocket change. Which, to him, it was.
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