Rebirth: Super Banking System Chapter 1 No One Cares_1

June 1, 2017.

Zhongzhou City.

Three o'clock in the afternoon.

The heavens stretch out in a pure azure hue.

With a black backpack marked 'Daily Loans' weighing on his shoulders, Tang Qing darts nimbly among the row of stationary cars by the curb. He deftly slips his business cards beneath the wipers of every vehicle.

Right now,

perspiration has thoroughly drenched his white shirt.

It sticks annoyingly to his body.

His tie is knotted firmly at his neck – amid this blazing temperature, onlookers view him as a complete fool.

Yet it's mandated by the company.

No matter the intense warmth, the necktie must remain secured and neat – zero looseness or messiness allowed. The reason? To uphold a sharp, professional company facade, as per their explanation.

Over this completely barbaric policy,

the on-the-ground salespeople at the firm unleash their frustration without restraint, hurling expletives toward the higher-ups. "What nonsense! The sun's scorching everything, and they're fixated on the company look? You've got to be joking!"

"You all chilling in cooled rooms, alright, you can't grasp our hardship. Our positions differ, so no grudges here."

However, imposing this absurd regulation –

it truly tempts Tang Qing to let loose a tirade.

'Daily Loans',

Exactly.

Tang Qing serves as a loan specialist in a small-scale lending firm.

Daily, he searches high and low via every possible avenue for folks desperate for quick cash. Lacking leads, distributing cards on the streets forms a key duty, alongside cold-calling.

Under this sweltering condition,

he'd intended to hole up in the office dialing numbers.

Yet the fresh set of contacts he'd acquired proved worthless.

Most were already hit by rivals or turned out bogus. Thus, the previous evening, he warned the seller about a negative feedback to score a replacement set; the seller agreed to deliver fresh ones that night.

...

This day marks Children's Day.

Observing the children clasping their parents' hands, chuckling with joy as they stroll by,

Tang Qing inevitably thinks back to his younger years.

His very own June 1st.

Usually, his folks would bring him to the amusement area.

Though the attractions then paled in number compared to today's variety, those moments stand as his fondest from boyhood. He recalls that initial thrill on the roller coaster, the debut spin in a bumper car, the premiere paddle in a rowboat...

His thoughts drift away.

"Get lost – touch my ride and you'll regret it..."

As Tang Qing prepares to tuck a card under the wiper of a dark Passat, a furious bellow shatters his reverie.

It jolts him abruptly.

He yanks his hand back swiftly.

Immersed in nostalgia, he failed to spot the occupant inside.

Lifting his gaze,

a burly fellow emerges from the window, arm raised in a fist, yelling fiercely at him.

Luckily, Tang Qing approached from the passenger side.

Had he been at the steering wheel area,

a solid hit might have landed on him.

From bitter lessons before, he avoids placing ads on the operator's flank. Doing so often results in saliva sprays or harmful blows.

"Apologies, friend! I'm out of here now."

Tang Qing responds promptly, flashing a grin.

Having toiled in sales for more than a year,

such incidents have toughened him to the core.

He's faced ridicule, contempt, and abuse beyond tally. Initially, he fired back occasionally.

Yet after constant defeats in clashes,

desensitization set in naturally.

Besides, mere harsh words inflict no bodily harm.

Retaliating brings zero gain, and stirring chaos – brawling over ego – isn't his purpose here. He's grinding for income, not chasing conflicts.

"Beat it."

Noting Tang Qing's compliance, the guy skips extra scolding, spits out one command, then speeds off.

Witnessing that,

Tang Qing offers a casual smirk.

Then proceeds to the following vehicle to keep spreading his cards.

Ultimately, his bread and butter hangs in the balance. Beyond wedging cards in cars, he hands them to walkers. Industry pros adhere to this: target males, skip females, kids, and seniors.

Now and then, he spots promising clients and invests effort in detailing his offerings, ensuring he secures their info for later outreach.

Yet the majority of folks he meets reject his card.

Given it's Children's Day,

Tang Qing deems it wrong to interrupt joyful family moments.

He chooses to bypass handing cards to adults accompanied by young ones.

At times, he spots rival reps' cards on vehicles; he skips them to dodge issues, figuring the owner lurks close. He's just hustling to survive, steering clear of needless drama. Life's hard for all.

By about four-thirty,

having traversed five or six blocks, Tang Qing's bundle of cards has vanished.

This remained the final batch he'd carried that day.

Come morning, he'd grabbed just 500 – sourced affordably in volume from the web, subpar craftsmanship. Each bundle held 100, bound flimsily with cheap elastic, totaling 10,000 for a mere 200 yuan.

Considering it, a single solid prospect from this lot

would cover his expenses.

With every card dispensed, intense thirst gripped Tang Qing.

The hefty flask of chilled water from home had run dry. Hence, he ducked into a close store for a cold bottle of red tea – opting for Uni-President, since Kang Shifu's version lacked flavor to his taste.

Ignoring the grime and grit,

Tang Qing plops onto the roadside ledge beneath a tree's shadow near the shop and gulps down eagerly.

Even with the tree's cover over the curb,

the oppressive heat barely relents. Relentless blasts of warmth batter him, mixed with foul fumes from passing autos.

Heaving a breath, Tang Qing muses,

"In these massive urban sprawls, where does pure air even exist?"

Having chugged the bulk of the red tea, a sense of relief washed over him at last; he undid his tie, tugged at his collar for breeze, eager to free the soggy shirt from his flesh.