Please provide the text you would like me to translate.

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

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

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

Mr. Li, a retired professor who dined at the restaurant every morning, was a kindly gentleman. He was always courteous to Xiaoya, never looking down on her because she was just a humble waitress. Because of this, in her dreams, Xiaoya would cast him as Chairman Li, a benevolent figure who recognized her abilities and offered her many opportunities for promotion.

Now the scene slipped from the restaurant’s interior to the world outside—a vibrant glimpse of the bustling financial district at dawn.

The streets and avenues teemed with hurried commuters. Among them strode a sharply dressed man, confident and energetic, heading straight for the tallest office tower. Every detail of his attire spoke of success; he was the image of an elite professional. This was Jason.

A few colleagues caught up to him from behind. They chatted animatedly, their spirits bright, walking together into the building. The energy between them was infectious—anyone watching would feel a pang of envy.

Xiaoya stood in the restaurant doorway, watching this scene unfold. She yearned for a life like theirs. But reality set in—she was only a waitress, with no degree and a meager salary. The contrast stirred up a deep sense of inadequacy.

She continued her work, eyes lingering on their retreating figures. As the restaurant filled with customers and the owner urged her on, the day grew busier and busier.

By six in the evening, it was the end of the workday. A group entered the restaurant, led by Jason, who carried a medal and radiated happiness. They took a large table, ordered a feast, and toasted Jason’s accomplishment—he had been honored by the company. Xiaoya, carrying dishes and drinks, overheard them calling his name and understood the celebration was for Jason, the company’s top-performing fund manager. This image etched itself into her memory.

In truth, Xiaoya had never met Jason, nor had he ever noticed her. Mr. Li was not their boss. All these people were simply regular patrons at the restaurant, called Abundance Chinese Restaurant, located within the financial district. Business was always brisk, and they served meals all day. In her dreams, Xiaoya transformed the restaurant into a fund management firm, and herself into the career she longed for—a fund manager—her envy of Jason giving shape to her fantasy. She imagined his achievements as her own, yet deep down, she feared being exposed, afraid Jason would discover the accolades were not hers. Thus the strange happenings in her dreams.

In her dreams, the role of the waitress was played not by herself but by her younger brother. She detested this job, wanted nothing to do with it, so she substituted her brother in her place. In reality, she looked down on him, as he depended on her and could not fend for himself.

That night, Xiaoya returned home to Apartment 302 in Jintan Garden. Why was it 303 in her dream? Why was the apartment she viewed with Miss Lin 301, but 302 was curiously missing? Xiaoya realized she was subconsciously avoiding her real home—she did not like her true living situation.

As she opened the door, her younger brother, the same one who played the waiter in her dreams, was waiting for her.

“Jie, Dad’s illness suddenly got much worse. You need to see him right away,” he said.

Xiaoya rushed into the bedroom, where her father lay on the bed, barely clinging to life. In her dreams, he was the man in the wheelchair—Zhong Shiqiang. Xiaoya quickly called for an ambulance.

The scene shifted to the hospital. Night had fallen. A doctor emerged from the ward, Xiaoya following anxiously. He shook his head.

“It’s too late. You should have brought him in sooner,” the doctor said, then walked away, leaving Xiaoya standing there, helpless.

Time skipped forward. The date was September 27, 2020, morning.

Back in Apartment 302, Xiaoya was clearing the breakfast table, her late father’s photo framed behind her. She hurried out to work, leaving her younger brother at home. He seemed different from other boys. In real life, her brother, Xian Xiaohao, was intellectually disabled and unable to live independently.

As Xiaoya descended the stairs, she spotted Mrs. Lin with her daughter in the neighborhood. The little girl was the one whose photo stood in Xiaoya’s living room in her dreams. Mrs. Lin was the Miss Lin of her dreams.

Xiaoya tried to avoid her, but Mrs. Lin noticed and called out.

“Off to work so early, Miss Xian?”

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

“I’m taking my daughter to kindergarten; this is our usual time.” She smiled, hesitating.

“Yes, I’m off to work, have to catch the bus…”

“Uh, well… Miss Xian, could you settle this month’s rent soon? The deposit we agreed on isn’t enough to cover the rent anymore.”

“Oh, I see… I’m so sorry, I completely forgot. I’ll transfer it to you at the end of the month.”

“No problem, as long as you remember. Well, I won’t hold you up. I have to get to the kindergarten too. Goodbye!”

Mrs. Lin hurried off with her daughter, and Xiaoya’s forced composure crumbled.

In reality, Mrs. Lin was her landlord, but in dreams became Miss Lin, showing Xiaoya around Jintan Garden as she searched for a place to live. Returning to this old place was a subconscious prompt: no matter how she tried to escape, her mind forced her to confront what she didn’t want to face. Deep down, she longed for a daughter as sweet as Mrs. Lin’s, so she cast the girl as her own in her dreams. When Miss Lin’s ghostly voice in her dream said, “Your daughter doesn’t resemble you,” it was a question, a reproach.

The scene shifted again—Xiaoya was back in the restaurant.

Lunch hour was especially busy, the place packed with white-collar workers from the financial district. Xiaoya weaved between tables, balancing plates. As she reached one table, a woman’s designer handbag caught her eye. Distracted, she lost her grip—a dish toppled, spilling onto the expensive watch of a man at the table.

“What’s going on? How careless!” the woman exclaimed, more concerned about the watch than its owner as she dabbed at it. “What kind of service is this? Why can’t you pay more attention?”

“I’m so sorry, truly sorry,” Xiaoya apologized anxiously.

The man finally looked up. It was Jason.

“It’s fine. It’s waterproof. No harm done,” Jason said.

“I’m really sorry. I’ll bring you another dish,” Xiaoya replied, hastily retreating. The boss, witnessing the scene, strode over. In her dreams, he was Zhong Shiqiang’s son—since his surname was Zhong, her mind had transformed Xian into Zhong.

“What happened, Xiaoya? What’s wrong with you lately? When it’s less busy, come see me—I need a word with you,” the boss said.

Xiaoya nodded helplessly.

After her shift, she approached the boss, head lowered, nervous.

“You keep knocking things over these days. Do you still want this job? The damages will be deducted from your wages this month. If it happens again, you’re out.”

In reality, the boss was harsh and treated Xiaoya poorly, so in her dreams she unconsciously cast him as a wastrel. In truth, however, Xiaoya had squandered her father’s savings on speculative futures after listening to rumors, only to lose everything. When her father fell gravely ill, she had no money for his treatment. In her dreams, she shifted the blame onto her boss. The real guilt, though, belonged to her.

Remembering her encounter with Mrs. Lin that morning, Xiaoya wanted to ask for an advance to pay the rent, but in the end, she couldn’t bring herself to speak.