On the hottest afternoon in mid-July, an EMS courier delivered the admission letter bearing the imposing main building of F University and its gilded school emblem.
“Open it, open it quickly!” Teacher Zhao handed her the envelope, his voice carrying rare excitement.
Mianmian’s fingers trembled slightly as she tore at the seal several times before finally opening it.
Inside was a hardcover crimson booklet. Opening it revealed her name, her photo, stamped with the official seal and the handwritten signature of the university president.
The limited-edition 120th-anniversary metal badge gleamed brightly under the sunlight. Its cool touch traveled through her fingertips straight to her heart, stirring a surge of scalding, almost dizzying emotion.
This was the star she had gazed upon for countless days and nights, the golden ticket to vast unknowns and infinite possibilities. She could almost hear the rush of blood in her chest pounding against her eardrums, carrying the wild joy and slight ringing that followed an all-or-nothing gamble.
She was finally about to step into the starry sea everyone spoke of.
Teacher Zhao immediately paid the tuition, saying, “These matters aren’t for children to worry about. Just focus on studying well.”
But she was no longer a child. Over four years of university, expenses for meals, books, and materials—could she really rely entirely on Teacher Zhao?
She had a rough idea of Teacher Zhao’s monthly salary. Jiang Yu’an was still pursuing his Ph.D., and she didn’t quite understand what Uncle Jiang did—something about quantitative hedging or some kind of fund… In short, the Jiang family seemed like an ordinary, moderately well-off household in the big city.
That night, unable to sleep, she got up for a drink of water. Passing by Teacher Zhao’s room, she overheard voices inside.
“How much is the average monthly allowance for undergraduates these days? With all the currency oversupply and inflation in recent years, it’s probably different from when you were in school,” Teacher Zhao’s voice said.
“Depends on how she spends it,” came Jiang Yu’an’s lazy reply. “If she only eats at the campus cafeteria, five hundred is enough to get by. But her major will require a lot of books and materials. And we should consider social needs too—going out for meals or movies with classmates, that sort of thing.”
“So, two thousand? Is that a bit tight?” Teacher Zhao asked. “I don’t want her to feel deprived on her own, but giving too much might expose her to bad influences…”
“Two thousand should be fine for now,” Jiang Yu’an said. “If she starts dating later, we can add another five hundred.”
Teacher Zhao agreed, “You’re right. Dating expenses should ideally be split—can’t always let the boy pay. ‘Beware of gifts bearing Greeks,’ as they say.”
“Exactly. Otherwise, she won’t even know how to break up with someone.”
“You rascal, a dog’s mouth can’t spit out ivory…” Teacher Zhao chuckled.
Mianmian stood outside the door, listening to their murmuring for a long while without moving.
Her heart felt warm and swollen, a lump stuck in her chest.
She quietly returned to bed.
Two thousand yuan was no small sum to her. She couldn’t burden Teacher Zhao with such an expense. For this ticket to the starry sea, she ought to contribute her share too.
Though Mianmian had little social experience, she knew how to look for part-time jobs. She downloaded a few job-hunting apps, typed in keywords for student part-time work, and a long list popped up.
Tutoring, flyer distribution, bubble tea shop staff, supermarket cashier.
She looked through them one by one, calculating in her mind. Tutoring paid seventy or eighty yuan per hour, twice a week, which would only amount to a little over a thousand yuan a month. Making milk tea paid fifteen yuan an hour, and even working herself to the bone, she’d only earn two thousand a month.
The cost-performance ratio was too low. Her main focus was studying; she couldn’t afford to spend so much energy on part-time jobs.
She continued scrolling down, and as she did, a job posting caught her eye:
Nightclub cleaner, easy work, guaranteed monthly salary of 10,000+ yuan, daily payment available. Requirements: female, aged 18–25, good appearance and temperament. Working hours: 8 p.m.–4 a.m.
Mianmian stared at it for several seconds.
Why was the pay so high?
After some thought, she figured it was probably because of the reversed day-night schedule, which most people couldn’t handle. She was young, healthy, and could endure hardship—what was there to fear about staying up late? During her three years of high school, hadn’t she gone to bed at midnight every day?
She clicked to apply, filled out the information, and received an interview notice the next day.
The interview took place in an ostentatiously decorated office with dim, suggestive lighting.
The man in charge of hiring slowly looked her up and down, his gaze sweeping over her faded cotton shirt and the legs encased in jeans, lingering for a moment on her plain yet undeniably lovely face before curling his lips into an ambiguous smile.
“Good appearance, you pass. Come at nine tonight and ask for Supervisor Li.”
Mianmian felt a bit uncomfortable, but lacking social experience, she assumed this was just how seasoned people scrutinized newcomers, so she held back and didn’t react.
“Is there any training or something?”
“Do you really need someone to teach you this? Those with ambition will naturally climb up on their own.” The man smiled meaningfully.
At eight in the evening, Mianmian found the place according to the address.
It wasn’t the office building or shopping mall she had imagined. It was a small alley hidden behind a bustling street, with a pink neon sign at the end that read “Nightfall.”
She hesitated for a moment at the entrance before pushing the door open.
Inside was dark, so dark that it took her eyes several seconds to adjust. The lighting was an ambiguous mix of purple and red, illuminating circular sofa booths, with a small stage in the center featuring a sparkling pole. The air was filled with a mix of perfume, alcohol, and an indescribably sweet, cloying scent.
Supervisor Li ushered her into a private room and gave brief instructions:
“Stand here, take note of what the customers order, and report it to the servers outside. Pour drinks when bottles are opened, and help with the karaoke machine. After the customers leave, clean the tables and mop the floor.”
She nodded blankly, thinking this was a necessary, brief preliminary part of the cleaning job.
She carried out the instructions with an almost clumsy diligence.
Like a patch of moss that had mistakenly wandered into a tropical rainforest, she was completely out of place in this environment.
Her wooden, doll-like demeanor unexpectedly became a peculiar form of camouflage. Coupled with good luck—the few groups of customers she encountered were relatively well-behaved, at most teasing her with words but losing interest when she showed no reaction—there were no further inappropriate actions.
She secretly breathed a sigh of relief, even feeling a touch of ridiculous confidence: See, it’s not so bad after all.
She could observe, learn, and adapt, just like solving a math problem, and then claim this generous reward.
But she didn’t know that before leaving, a customer had said to Supervisor Li:
“Why is this hostess so clueless? She’s like a block of wood.”
Supervisor Li smiled apologetically. “She’s new, doesn’t know the ropes yet. We’ll train her properly; she’ll be fine in a few days.”
The word “train” was uttered with an ambiguous yet chilling tone.
Sister Li assigned her a mentor named Yingying.
Yingying appeared to be in her early twenties, strikingly beautiful with a soft voice and two dimples when she smiled. Her eyes seemed to shimmer with sweetness, and her body was as supple as if she had no joints.
She taught Mianmian how to pour drinks for customers, how to chat with them, how to read their expressions—when to be lively and when to stay quiet.
Mianmian acted clumsily, not because she couldn’t do it, but because she didn’t want to.
Yingying didn’t push her, just sighed and said, “You can’t go on like this. You won’t make any money.”
Mianmian soon noticed something unusual about Yingying.
She wore the same uniform as Mianmian—a pleated skirt that barely covered her hips.
But she had pulled the waistline up extremely high, almost to just below her chest, and cinched it tightly with a belt.
Her limbs were slender like a young girl’s, but around her waist and abdomen, beneath the tight skirt and the high-waisted belt, there was an incongruous, slightly awkward bulge.
When Yingying walked, she took small steps, occasionally pressing her fist against her lower back with a quick, subtle motion, a flicker of restrained discomfort crossing her brow.
She frequently left the private room, sometimes for over ten minutes, other times just briefly.
In the dimly lit staff break room, while hastily eating her lunch, Yingying’s hands were always hidden beneath the greasy tablecloth, gently stroking her stomach.
That night, a few difficult customers arrived in the private room—demanding, arrogant, and full of unreasonable requests.
Yingying was clearly not herself, her cheeks flushed with an unnatural redness, her breathing slightly heavy, yet she forced a smile and tried to keep up.
They insisted she kneel to pour their drinks. She bit her lower lip and slowly lowered herself to her knees.
Mianmian saw that she hadn’t been kneeling long before her body began swaying uncomfortably back and forth, fine beads of cold sweat instantly appearing on her temples.
That night, Yingying received a generous tip, but by the time her shift ended, the flush on her face had turned into a frightening pallor. She could barely stand up straight, leaning against the wall for support.
“Yingying, let me take you back.”
Yingying tried to pull away but had no strength left. She half-leaned on Mianmian’s slender shoulder, allowing herself to be half-carried, half-dragged toward the cramped dormitory.
It was a tiny partitioned room behind the nightclub—a bunk bed, a wardrobe, and a chair, so cramped there was hardly room to turn around.
Yingying collapsed onto the creaking lower bunk of the iron-framed bed, too weak to even undo the buttons of her clothes.
Mianmian hesitated for a moment, then crouched down and whispered, “Let me help you.”
Her fingers touched a hard knot around Yingying’s waist—a wide strip of white cloth wrapped tightly around her.
Layer by layer, she carefully unwound it.
A huge, round, heavy belly suddenly sprang free from the taut fabric.
Her sweat-dampened skin was covered with red marks from the tight binding, along with rashes caused by moisture and lack of air.
Compared to Yingying’s slender limbs, the belly was astonishingly large, so heavy it seemed as though it might break her at any moment.
Mianmian gave her warm water to drink, placed a pillow behind her back, and helped her adjust into a more comfortable position.
Yingying rubbed her waist and began to tell her story in fragments.
The father of the child was a customer, a construction contractor with a wife and children. The man had treated her well, coaxing her by saying that if she gave him a son, he would divorce his wife and marry her.
She believed him.
But over a month ago, his phone stopped connecting, his WeChat messages went unanswered, and he seemed to have vanished without a trace.
“That damned scoundrel has really done me in,” Yingying cursed bitterly. “He changed his number, moved his company, and I can’t find him. But my belly keeps growing day by day, and I’m too ashamed to go back home. I can only work here, taking it one day at a time, and figure things out after the baby is born.”
“When are you due?” Mianmian asked softly.
“I don’t know. I haven’t been to the hospital, but it might be soon. Dear sister, you must keep this a secret for me. Don’t let Sister Li and the others find out, or they’ll definitely stop me from working in the private rooms…”
Sitting beside her, Mianmian truly didn’t know what to say.