Rebirth: Super Banking System Chapter 2 - 1: No One Cares _2

From his backpack, he retrieved a fan and started fanning himself.

This plastic fan came from a young woman selling properties; it featured details about a real estate listing. As someone frequently out on the roads, he had gathered several such fans back home, at least twelve in total.

They proved incredibly sturdy.

Not a single one had been damaged yet.

With more than a dozen stored away, he believed they could endure for his entire life, perhaps even becoming 'family treasures' handed down through the years.

Naturally.

That depends on whether he ends up with any offspring.

Gazing at the lively chaos of what people called a thriving metropolis and the hurried passersby, a deep feeling of disconnection washed over him.

Most newcomers to this fast-growing urban hub experienced this very isolation. Over a year into his time here, Tang Qing's early hopes and ambitions had been thoroughly shattered by harsh realities.

Tang Qing had graduated from a leading university in his home province.

--- Specializing in Business Management.

The job outlook for such a broad field right after graduation was easy to predict.

Yet fate showed some kindness.

Two months post-graduation,

Tang Qing, still jobless, followed his aunt's counsel and began prepping for grad school. Admission came without much hassle, allowing him to stay at the same institution and field, blending into the scholarly crowd.

Upon completing his master's,

Tang Qing joined a provincial foreign trade firm, focusing on agricultural goods.

The business sat in a somewhat outlying city within the province.

It operated as a classic family enterprise, full of favoritism and disarray. After three years there, rising to manage a department, his monthly pay hovered just above four thousand.

That salary scarcely covered basics.

No real chance for advancement.

Constantly pestered by those entitled 'insiders'.

Frustrated and demotivated, he at last chose to resign.

Though not a top-tier metropolis, Zhongzhou City ranked high among second-tier ones.

Since his college buddy Wang Qiang resided there, Tang Qing headed over. Initially crashing at Wang Qiang's, he soon shared the place as a flatmate.

Post-graduation, Wang Qiang had settled in the city as his folks labored at a local construction site.

He dabbled in numerous gigs.

From vending at roadside stands, to real estate sales, factory shifts, even desk jobs, he rarely stuck around long and thus pocketed little cash. Three years back, a pal's referral got him into a pawnshop firm.

Now, in the current day.

Wang Qiang had tied the knot over two years prior.

But his home wasn't in the city; it was in his native provincial capital. His spouse handled accounting at a local private firm. With both families not short on funds, they pooled resources to buy the place outright.

The spot wasn't too distant.

He returned weekly. The bullet train ride lasted just ninety minutes, making it quite handy. Wang Qiang owned a vehicle too, which his wife drove to work.

When Tang Qing first arrived in Zhongzhou City, he lacked a clear plan.

He aimed to test his fortune.

He figured a major urban area offered greater prospects.

But in these times, when undergrads flood the market and master's holders abound like weeds.

Prior managerial role in a modest family outfit gave him no edge. He shunned office drudgery and sought to hone sales expertise. Thus, Wang Qiang proposed Tang Qing take up a position as a microloan agent.

After all, it tied into his line of work.

It promised ample know-how and support.

Tang Qing pondered the idea and accepted.

Thus began his present role.

In summary, the position brought heavy pressure.

Each month carried a quota—not outrageous, yet substantial—at about two hundred thousand.

Occasionally, a single transaction hit the mark. Commissions scaled by level: two percent on fifty to two hundred thousand, two-point-five on two to three hundred thousand, three percent beyond that.

Still, the firm didn't pay out monthly earnings right away, delaying by an extra month.

So early on, he survived mostly on base pay. Without Wang Qiang's initial referral—a decor loan exceeding two hundred thousand—he could've been let go by month three.

Though he'd been at it for over a year now.

His results stayed average.

He typically scraped by the minimum goal. Being new to the field, and with looser regulations from authorities, microloan outfits popped up everywhere like spring blooms.

Rivalry intensified.

Where need exists, markets follow.

Borrowers approaching them always bore specific troubles and requirements.

At the start, he didn't grasp all the nuances.

Lacking guidance.

He approached customers with enthusiasm, believing deals would close.

But after laboring over paperwork, submissions got swiftly denied.

Or certain applicants submitted bogus details, fake papers, and so on. Confronting a range of issues, he slowly accumulated wisdom, growing sharper and cutting down on wasted efforts.

Six months in.

He could roughly tell which applications his company might greenlight and which could succeed elsewhere if rejected here.

Tang Qing was born in '87.

Perched on the curb, the now-thirty-year-old Tang Qing sensed he'd achieved zilch in life. To sum up his exasperation with this wretched existence, words failed him.

After brooding curbside in the scorching sun for thirty minutes, Tang Qing wrapped up for the day. For outdoor promoters like him, notifying the office sufficed; no need to return for afternoon punch-out.

A subway trip, followed by two bus rides.

Sixty minutes passed.

Tang Qing reached his residence.

He'd picked up some food items en route.

He dwelled in a spacious modern complex at the city's east fringe, where urban met rural. Sharing a two-bed unit with living area, kitchen, and bath with Wang Qiang, they paid two thousand monthly in rent.