Chapter 21

“Good morning, Mr. Li. I hope you enjoy your meal,” Xian Xiaoya greeted him with a gentle smile.

“Thank you,” Mr. Li replied, returning her smile.

“You’re welcome.” With that, she turned and walked away.

Mr. Li was a retired professor who usually had breakfast in the restaurant. He was a kind and friendly gentleman, always treating Xiaoya with respect, never looking down on her just because she was a humble server. For this reason, Xiaoya often cast him as Chairman Li in her dreams—a figure who recognized her talents and offered her many opportunities for advancement.

Her gaze drifted from the busy restaurant to the world outside: a vibrant morning scene in the heart of the city’s financial district. The streets teemed with office workers hurrying to their jobs. Among them strode a sharply dressed man in a suit, exuding confidence as he made his way toward the tallest commercial tower. Head to toe in designer labels, he looked every inch the model professional—this was Jason.

A few colleagues caught up with him, and together they walked into the building, talking animatedly. Their energy and camaraderie were contagious; watching them, one could not help but feel envious.

Xiaoya watched this unfold from the restaurant doorway, yearning for a life like theirs. Yet the reality pressed on her: she was just a low-paid server without a degree. The stark contrast between her dreams and her reality filled her with self-doubt.

She watched them disappear into the building before turning back to her work. The restaurant grew busier, the boss urged her to move faster, and she barely had a moment to catch her breath.

By around six in the evening, when most people were leaving work, a group entered the restaurant, led by Jason. He was in high spirits, a medal in hand, and his colleagues gathered around a large table, ordering a lavish meal to celebrate his achievement. Glasses clinked in his honor—Jason had just been named the top performer of the year at his company, the most outstanding fund manager in the firm. Xiaoya served them food and wine, quietly observing the celebration and learning Jason’s name as it was called out repeatedly. The image of this moment etched itself deep in her memory.

In truth, Xiaoya didn’t know Jason, nor did Jason know her. Mr. Li was not the boss of either of them. These people were simply regular customers at the restaurant where she worked—Plentiful Chinese Restaurant, a bustling eatery in the financial center that served meals all day long. In her dreams, Xiaoya transformed the restaurant into a fund management company, and herself into the fund manager she so admired—her longing for Jason’s success finding an outlet in her imagination. She dreamed of his honors as if they were her own, yet deep down, she feared being exposed, afraid Jason would discover these accolades did not belong to her. Thus, her dreams became fraught with strange occurrences.

In her dreams, the server was sometimes not herself but her own younger brother. She despised the job and wished to escape it, so she replaced herself with her brother, sending him to work in her stead. In reality, she looked down on her brother—he relied on her care and could not support himself.

That evening, after night had fallen, Xiaoya returned home to Apartment 302 in Jintan Garden. But in her dreams, she lived in 303, and when she looked at apartments with Miss Lin, they toured 301—there was never a 302. This was her subconscious rejecting her real home; she disliked where she truly lived.

Upon arriving home, she opened the door to find a boy waiting for her—her brother, the same one who served in her dream.

“Sis, Dad’s condition suddenly got worse. You should check on him,” her brother said.

Alarmed, Xiaoya rushed into the bedroom, where her father lay on the bed, barely clinging to life. This old man, confined to a wheelchair in her dreams, was Zhong Shiqiang. Without hesitation, Xiaoya called for an ambulance.

The scene shifted quickly to the hospital. It was late at night, and the doctor emerged from the ward as Xiaoya hurried after him. He shook his head.

“It’s too late. You should have brought him in sooner,” the doctor said, then walked away helplessly.

Xiaoya stood rooted to the spot, utterly lost.

Time shifted to the morning of September 27, 2020.

Back in Apartment 302, Xiaoya was clearing the breakfast table. A photograph of her deceased father stood behind her. After tidying up, she hurried out for work, leaving her brother at home. He seemed different from other boys—indeed, in reality, her brother had a congenital intellectual disability and could not live independently.

Stepping out of the building, Xiaoya spotted Mrs. Lin and her daughter leaving nearby. This little girl was the same child whose photo stood in the living room in Xiaoya’s dream, and Mrs. Lin was the dream’s Miss Lin.

Xiaoya tried to avoid Mrs. Lin, but she was spotted.

“Off to work so early, Miss Xian?” Mrs. Lin asked, walking over with her daughter, as if she’d been waiting for this opportunity.

“Good morning, Mrs. Lin. You’re up early too,” Xiaoya replied.

“I always take my daughter to kindergarten at this hour,” Mrs. Lin said, smiling as if there was something more she wanted to say.

“Yes, I’m headed to work too—I have to catch the bus…”

“Um, Miss Xian… About this month’s rent—could you settle it soon? The deposit we agreed on doesn’t cover the full rent anymore.”

“Oh, right… I’m sorry, I’d forgotten. I’ll transfer it to you at the end of the month.”

“No worries, as long as you remember. Well, I won’t keep you. We have to get to kindergarten. Goodbye!”

With that, Mrs. Lin hurried away with her daughter, leaving Xiaoya’s briefly feigned ease to dissipate.

In reality, Mrs. Lin was her landlord, but in her dreams she became Miss Lin, leading Xiaoya to Jintan Garden in search of an apartment. Returning to the old place was her subconscious forcing her to confront what she wished to avoid. She longed for a daughter as sweet as Mrs. Lin’s, so she cast the girl as her own in her dreams. Miss Lin’s lingering presence in her subconscious, and her words—“Your daughter is nothing like you”—were a form of inner accusation.

The scene shifted once more: Xiaoya was back at the restaurant.

Lunchtime brought a flood of customers, especially white-collar workers from the nearby financial center. Xiaoya scurried back and forth, balancing multiple dishes at a time. As she approached one table, a woman’s luxury handbag caught her eye, distracting her just long enough to tip a dish over—spilling it onto a man’s expensive watch.

“What’s going on? You’re so careless!” the woman exclaimed, fussing over the watch more than the man himself. “What kind of service is this? Can’t you pay more attention?”

Xiaoya apologized profusely. “I’m so sorry, I really am.”

As the man raised his head, Xiaoya realized it was Jason.

“It’s fine,” he said calmly. “It’s waterproof, nothing serious.”

“I’m truly sorry. I’ll get you another dish right away.” Xiaoya hurried off, only to be intercepted by the boss. In her dreams, he was the son of Zhong Shiqiang, because the real boss’s surname was Zhong, and so “Xian Shiqiang” became “Zhong Shiqiang.”

“What happened, Xiaoya? You’ve been so clumsy lately! When it’s not busy, come see me—I need a word with you,” the boss said.

Xiaoya nodded helplessly.

After the rush, she approached him, head bowed in apprehension.

“You’ve been breaking things every day,” he scolded. “Any more damages and they’ll come out of your wages. If this keeps up, you can forget about working here.”

In reality, her boss was harsh and treated her poorly, so in her dreams she cast him as a wastrel. Yet it was she herself who had squandered her father’s lifelong savings, losing everything to reckless investments and leaving nothing for his medical care when he fell ill. In her dreams, she shifted her guilt onto Boss Zhong. The true object of guilt was herself, not anyone else.

She recalled her encounter with Mrs. Lin that morning, and though she had meant to request an advance on her salary to pay the rent, she couldn’t bring herself to ask.