Just as his phone vibrated, Leo was staring blankly at the dense lines of code on his computer screen.
“A transfer of 12,500.00 RMB has been completed to your account ending in 8848.”
Leo let out a long sigh, and the tension in his shoulders—which had been building all week—finally melted away. Today was Friday, and it was payday. This money meant he could finally pay off the credit card he’d maxed out last month to fix his car—and still have a few hundred yuan left over to catch his breath a little in this sweltering southern city.
He closed his laptop and stepped out of the office building; it was already completely dark outside. Passing a convenience store, he found himself drawn inside, heading straight for the chilled display case, where he picked up an Orleans-style chicken drumstick.
Usually, he ate only vegetarian boxed lunches or the cheapest rice balls. But today, he felt he deserved this “luxury.”
The cashier was a young girl who quickly scanned the item and heated it up. Leo leaned against the counter, watching the chicken drumstick spin in the microwave as the fat sizzled and the aroma filled the small space.
“That’ll be 15 yuan,” the girl said, handing him the receipt.
Leo scanned the code to pay, then walked out into the night with the steaming bag in hand. Instead of heading straight home, he turned into a narrow alley he rarely took. There was a 24-hour self-service laundromat he frequented, with the air conditioning cranked up high.
The place was empty, except for a man sitting on a bench in the corner.
Leo paused in surprise. It was his neighbor—the middle-aged man who lived downstairs and always wore a worn jacket; everyone called him Arthur. Arthur was usually quiet; rumor had it he’d been unemployed for a long time. He’d always come and go early and late, carrying a tattered briefcase, as if trying to maintain some semblance of dignity.
Arthur was looking down, clutching a crumpled piece of paper, seemingly calculating something. Hearing footsteps, he looked up. When he saw it was Leo, a flicker of panic crossed his eyes, which quickly gave way to an awkward smile.
“Off work?” Arthur asked, his voice a bit hoarse.
“Yeah, got paid, so I picked up a chicken drumstick.” Leo held up the bag in his hand, trying to lighten the mood. “Uncle Arthur, are you here to do laundry too?”
Arthur nodded, his gaze falling on the chicken drumstick in Leo’s hand. His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly, but he quickly looked away. “Yeah, washing my work clothes. I’ll have to wear them again tomorrow.”
Leo found a spot a little farther away from Arthur and sat down, tearing open the chicken drumstick’s packaging. The rich aroma of meat instantly filled the air-conditioned room. He took a big bite—it was tender, juicy, and perfectly seasoned.
“It smells so good,” Leo murmured with his mouth full.
Arthur didn’t say anything; he just looked down at the piece of paper in his hand, his fingers unconsciously tracing its edges. Through the motions of chewing, Leo caught a glimpse of the corner of the paper out of the corner of his eye—it was a supermarket promotional flyer, printed with the special price for chicken drumsticks: 9.9 yuan per jin.
Leo’s heart skipped a beat. He looked at the elegant, vacuum-sealed chicken drumstick in his hand—priced at 15 yuan—then glanced at Arthur’s crumpled promotional flyer.
Suddenly, a strange thought popped into his head.
Leo recalled running into Arthur in the stairwell last week. Arthur had been carefully carrying a bag of trash out, and it seemed to contain some kind of bones. Leo hadn’t paid it much mind at the time, but thinking back now, the shape of those bones was unmistakably that of chicken drumsticks.
And the week before that, Arthur had been smoking downstairs, holding a bottle of cheap beer, and had said with a smile, “Made a little money today—time to treat myself.”
Leo stopped chewing.
He looked at Arthur. The cuffs of Arthur’s jacket were worn white, and the soles of his leather shoes were peeling, but every day before he left the house, he combed his hair meticulously and polished his shoes until they shone.
“Uncle Arthur,” Leo couldn’t help but say, his voice a little hoarse, “have you… found a new job lately?”
Arthur looked up, his eyes holding a calmness Leo had never seen before. He smiled, folded the flyer, and tucked it into his shirt pocket, right against his chest.
“Sort of,” Arthur said softly. “It’s a very stable job. The pay isn’t great, but it’s enough to let me buy a chicken drumstick every day.”
Leo was taken aback.
“Every day?”
“Yeah,” Arthur said as he stood up and picked up the washed clothes. “You know, Leo, I used to think happiness was the numbers in my bank account or the year-end bonus. But then I realized that happiness is actually very simple: it’s when you want a chicken drumstick, you don’t have to check the price, and you don’t have to wait until payday.”
Arthur patted Leo on the shoulder and turned toward the door.
“Eat it while it’s hot—it won’t taste as good once it gets cold.”
The glass door closed, and Arthur’s figure vanished into the night.
Leo sat in the empty laundromat, still clutching the half-eaten chicken drumstick. The meat was still warm, but he felt a chill in his stomach.
He took out his phone, opened the banking app, and looked at the amount that had just been deposited: 12,500.00.
In the past, that number had made him feel secure, as if he had the power to control his life. He could use it to measure his own worth and determine whether this month’s hard work had been worth it.
But now, looking at that number, he suddenly felt it had become so light—as light as a scrap of paper.
He thought of Arthur’s promotional flyer, tucked against his chest, and of Arthur’s words: “You can buy a chicken drumstick every day.”
Leo slowly put down his phone and took another bite of the drumstick in his hand.
It still tasted great, but an inexplicable sense of panic welled up inside him.
He suddenly realized that he’d been working himself to the bone, putting in overtime, pulling all-nighters, and lying awake all night worrying about that number—all because he thought that having that money meant having a life.
Yet Arthur had nothing, and yet he seemed to possess what Leo craved most—that tangible “every day” that wasn’t held hostage by numbers.
Leo looked out at the flickering neon lights and, for the first time, felt as though he was the one who had nothing.
He swallowed the last bite of meat, carefully wrapped the bone, and tossed it into the trash can.
As he stepped out of the laundromat, the night breeze was slightly cool. Instead of rushing home as usual to turn on his computer and keep working, Leo stood under a streetlight and took a deep breath.
It felt as though, in that moment, something had changed completely.
