Chapter 45: The Anxiety Generator

Bang! The door of Apartment 1201 closed, leaving Cheng Simin alone in the hallway, disoriented.

It seemed she had been outmaneuvered.

Ten minutes later, Shi Ying emerged from the shower, dressed in loose loungewear. Just as he stepped out, he overheard Cheng Simin on her balcony cursing under the starlit sky.

Come to think of it, not only was she talented at cooking—she also had a knack for swearing, even rhyming her insults with double alliteration. With such talent, she shouldn’t waste her life idling at home. She should write modern poetry and shine in the literary world.

Humming a tune, Shi Ying listened to her profane verses for a while, feeling amused. With damp fingers, he picked up his phone, scrolled to the topmost message in WeChat, and typed a few words before hitting send.

The message was successfully delivered. To prove she truly didn’t harbor any feelings for him, Cheng Simin had indeed removed him from her blacklist.

Sparrow: “Don’t disturb the neighbors late at night. Get some rest early.”

After a pause, Spicy Snail Noodles (Extra Spicy & Stinky): “Sorry, I forgot about the poor soundproofing. You get some rest too.”

“The previous transfer you didn’t accept has expired. Let me send it again.”

Shi Ying chuckled softly as he tapped away. “All expenses incurred during courtship are voluntary gifts from me. They’re non-refundable and not contingent upon any outcome.”

“Also, let me clarify something.”

“What I said to you earlier wasn’t meant to belittle you—it came purely from concern. I’m just reminding you to at least come up with a retirement plan.”

Seeing that Cheng Simin’s life was about to face significant upheaval, he felt she should first establish a stable foundation for herself.

Having experienced the sudden collapse of his own family, he knew—if he’d known then what he knew now, he would’ve left the nest earlier and definitely wouldn’t have pursued a Ph.D. just because of employment difficulties.

Avoiding problems and burying one’s head in the sand was always the worst strategy.

“Let me know tomorrow if you want to take on the wine label design job.”

Cheng Simin typed for a while before finally sending: “Got it.”

Without even seeing her, Shi Ying could vividly imagine her slumped over in defeat next door, weighed down by the burdens of life.

Scrolling through his WeChat Moments, he carefully curated a selection of photos from his travels around the world over the past few years—artistic shots resembling cinematic masterpieces, along with gym selfies subtly showcasing his abs—and pinned them to the top of his feed.

Goodbye three-day visibility limit. Welcome to the highlights reel of Elite Gentleman Shi Ying’s life.

Setting his phone aside, he headed to the bathroom to grab the hairdryer. As the warm air hit his damp hair, he smirked inwardly.

Cheng Simin, claiming she feels nothing for me? Please, who does she think she’s fooling?

The last time she had a fever, she didn’t just recount the details of that breakup letter—she tearfully asked him if he knew that he was, in fact, her first love.

Under normal circumstances, is there really anyone in this world who feels nothing for their first love?

He didn’t believe it for a second. Comparing himself to others, he knew better.

Though he hadn’t exactly lived a virtuous life, he had managed to stay clean. The universe hadn’t wronged him by letting him meet Cheng Simin at a later, more untimely moment.

After indulging in a rare feast, drinking alcohol, and taking a hot shower, the night should have brought deep, sweet sleep. But Cheng Simin didn’t rest easy for a single moment.

In the first half of the night, she dreamed of wading in a river, bamboo basket strapped to her back, trying to catch fish.

The icy water reached her calves, biting into her skin. She swung her fishing spear repeatedly at shadows of fish darting through the water. But the fish were too nimble; every attempt ended in failure. Everyone else on the shore returned with full baskets while she sweated in frustration. Finally, she managed to spear a large one but clumsily dropped it in her haste, letting it slip away.

In the second half of the night, she dreamed of mining for gold deep underground, her helmet lamp illuminating the suffocating darkness.

Gasping for air beneath her dust mask, she wielded a metal detector, scanning every inch of the mine. Sweat dripped down her face, her arms ached, and yet hardworking Miner Cheng found nothing. No matter where she turned—360 degrees of futile searching—there wasn’t a single glimmer of gold in any crevice.

After a night of such fruitless “labor,” Cheng Simin woke up with her head buried beneath her pillow and her calves sticking out of the blanket.

No wonder she alternated between cold legs and breathlessness throughout the night.

Exhausted, she sat up just as the clock struck eight. Though the dream had ended, the anxiety about money lingered, thanks to Shi Ying’s incessant chatter about insurance and planning, which had left her unsettled.

Climbing down from her bunk bed, Cheng Simin noticed that the food she had left out for Beibei the night before remained untouched.

Puzzled, she picked up the dog bowl and sniffed it. It contained all the usual foods Beibei loved—nothing seemed off.

Had Beibei become picky after tasting Shi Ying’s salty human food yesterday?

She dumped the leftover dog food, prepared a fresh batch, and called Beibei over to eat.

Sit. Wait. Eat.

Once Cheng Simin turned her back, satisfied that Beibei was eating, the dog immediately stopped, abandoned the bowl, and flopped back onto his little cushion. He proceeded to lick his tail enthusiastically.

Standing in the kitchen, Cheng Simin ate two reheated leek dumplings and drank a carton of room-temperature milk. After filling her stomach, she quickly washed the dishes and placed them on the drying rack. Then, she splashed cold water on her face at the sink.

Without sparing a glance elsewhere, she returned to the living room, tied her hair back with a rubber band, and crawled over to the small tea table. Flipping open her accounting notebook, she began searching her phone for high-interest savings accounts and bank wealth management products.

Little did she know, the search would leave her shocked.

After selling her commercial apartment at a loss earlier this year, Cheng Simin had vowed never to deal with banks again. Watching the numbers she’d painstakingly paid off vanish into thin air had solidified her resolve.

Among the many mistakes she’d made in her diligent but misguided life, the most glaring was undoubtedly buying property in Jicheng at its peak price, borrowing from the “evil” bank, and being drained dry by premature consumption.

Assets chased real estate prices, and years of hard work went down the drain.

Unaware of developments during her self-imposed exile from banking, she didn’t realize that the Big Four banks had repeatedly lowered interest rates to stimulate consumption.

Now, not only had mortgage interest rates dropped to 4%, nearly matching the 3.1% rate for housing provident funds, but most R1-level wealth management products had fallen below 2%.

Her 100,000 yuan, deposited in the bank, would grow incrementally, only to be invested by financial experts and return a measly annual interest of barely over 1,000 yuan.

As Shi Ying had said, she’d soon have to ration even a single steamed bun.

Online financial gurus offered advice: they recommended becoming a “deposit commando,” opening accounts at small local banks in other provinces to find certificates of deposit with interest rates above 3%. But none of this applied to Cheng Simin’s situation.

First, travel expenses would eat into her savings. Moreover, after carefully reading the terms and calling multiple banks, she discovered that even the lowest threshold for such deposits required 200,000 yuan—a sum she couldn’t afford.

Hanging up the phone and crossing off the last line of numbers on her list with a neutral pen, Cheng Simin buried her head in her hands, feeling like Sun Wukong trapped by the golden circlet.

What was bound to happen had arrived. Since she began posting updates about her retirement journey on social media, alongside genuine encouragement and admiration, skeptical voices occasionally popped up in the comments.

These critics, though varying in age and life circumstances, shared a unified message:

“No job, no income—aren’t you anxious? Thinking you can retire on 150,000 yuan is pure fantasy.”

To be honest, until yesterday, Cheng Simin hadn’t been anxious at all.

She was fed up with the 996 grind and sacrificing her life to repay loans. She dismissed these opposing views with indifference, believing herself to be a natural-born retiree who had attained enlightenment after an anesthesia-induced breast surgery.

But now, echoes of Shi Ying’s words from yesterday reverberated in her mind as she stared at rows of equations and numbers. She felt the tension creeping into her nerves and realized: it wasn’t that she didn’t feel anxious about having no income—it was just that her reaction was delayed.

Her anxiety, a sluggish old creature clinging to life, had crawled a thousand kilometers like a snail, finally catching up with her in her subsidized housing unit in Banshan.

Once she realized her money wouldn’t sustain her “slum version” retirement lifestyle indefinitely, Cheng Simin immediately sought help from her 6,712 followers on social media.

From previous discussions about applying for subsidized housing and home renovation tips, she remembered stories shared by fellow netizens who had either quit voluntarily or been laid off, all temporarily without stable income.

Her experiences had inspired strangers walking the same path.

Some online friends had less savings than her but maintained self-sufficiency by “voluntarily reducing their salaries.”

Her post quickly garnered enthusiastic replies. Many women over 35 worked community jobs for insurance, while others delivered food to supplement their income.

Most of them faced parenting pressures—not unwilling to work, but struggling to find employment. They needed to maximize wages within limited options.

With no family to support, Cheng Simin liked and thanked each response, eventually jotting down a few day-labor options in her notebook.

Promotional roles at supermarkets and sorting packages at courier stations suited her well. Working two days a week and resting five, with flexible hours and manageable effort, she could use her earnings entirely for pension contributions—an acceptable form of planning.

Thinking this way eased her anxiety somewhat. She sprawled out on the sofa, feet dangling lazily, and began browsing part-time job listings in Banshan on her phone.

She had just bookmarked two postings when Shi Ying’s call came through.

Last night, in a fit of anger, she had renamed both his WeChat nickname and phone contact to “Anxiety Generator.”

The name fit him perfectly. At 9:30 AM, on National Day, didn’t he ever sleep in?

What a live-in dad.

“Hello? What is it?” Cheng Simin reluctantly sat up to answer the Anxiety Generator’s call.

There was wind noise on his end, his voice distant and businesslike. Without pleasantries, he got straight to the point. “Have you decided about designing the wine labels? Yes or no? Give me a clear answer.”