Regret of the Workaholic

Yang Luo lay on the hospital bed, staring blankly at the pristine white ceiling.

Dressed in a hospital gown, the strong smell of disinfectant flooded his nostrils, plunging his mood even deeper into coldness.

This was a patient room in "Qingxia City's Sixth People's Hospital." A little over ten days ago, after fainting at Shengyi, he was brought here by his company's personnel.

... Although they had paid for his hospitalization, there wasn't a shred of gratitude for the company in Yang Luo's heart.

Quite the opposite – only intense hatred.

Moreover, in some corner of his heart, disbelief lingered – an inability to comprehend his current reality.

"... How did it come to this?

Why have I ended up in such a state?"

His gaze shifted to the Clivia miniata on the windowsill next to his bed. Yang Luo's mind felt foggy.

Having taken painkillers and Pazopanib a few hours ago, the pain in his chest wasn't as sharp.

Yet, with each passing day, he felt more acutely that his health was deteriorating rapidly.

If he didn't undergo surgery soon, he might be at death's door.

Even if he did have the surgery... he wouldn't have many years left to live.

Yang Luo gave a bitter smile, turning his gaze to his phone on the pillow beside him. It displayed a message sent by his team leader a few days ago.

A voice message. He had already listened to it –

"Our offer still stands. Five."

Cryptic.

Yet Yang Luo knew full well that this was the sender's way of avoiding leaving written evidence.

Both he and the sender knew what was being discussed.

After all these days, Yang Luo had come to a realization.

All along, the company saw him merely as a workhorse, a disposable asset.

This was true for his team leader, and for HR Huang Cheng. Their actions merely reflected the company's intent. Perhaps only such people could thrive in a place like Shengyi.

As for him... he was just a delusional fool.

During these ten or so days, as he reminisced about the scene in the conference room, he finally grasped the underlying meaning behind Huang Cheng's gesture. At that moment, Huang Cheng was subtly asking the team leader if he had secretly brought a voice recorder. His astute team leader, with a shake of his head, indicated that he hadn't.

"Heh, heh... heh heh heh..."

Yang Luo smirked mockingly, ridiculing himself for his own foolishness and naivety.

Having been discarded like baggage by the company, Yang Luo had finally realized that the notions of "home" and "family" were just his own wishful thinking.

In this world, apart from his ancestral home thousands of kilometers away, where else would he find a place that would never see him as a burden?

Scoffing at his own naivety, Yang Luo's eyes darkened with despair.

However, just then, his phone screen lit up. A familiar call came through.

— It was from his mother.

Yang Luo grabbed his phone, staring at the name of the caller for a long moment. Adjusting his face to a somewhat cheerful expression, he finally answered.

"Hello, Mom...

No, I was just working... Yes...

I'll take care of myself. You and Dad must also stay healthy...

I'm fine, really. Nothing's wrong... I promise you and Dad will have good days ahead. Mm... I won't chat with Dad today. No need, work's just too busy."

The call ended.

The brightness in Yang Luo's eyes dimmed again.

He still didn't dare tell his parents about his current situation, not wanting to shatter their years of hope... Moreover, he didn't wish to burden them in their old age with his troubles.

He knew if he told the truth, his parents would sell the house they'd just bought in the county town, using their lifetime of savings to pay for his treatment. Yet even if the surgery succeeded, he might only live an extra year or two.

How would his parents cope after his death, with no savings left?

"... I can't cure this disease, but at the very least, I must leave some money behind for my parents, ensuring their comfort in their twilight years."

Clutching his phone tightly, Yang Luo made up his mind.

He couldn't afford to be this dispirited now!

...

In the following days, Yang Luo began taking action.

Though bedridden, the vast reach of the internet made it possible to connect across vast distances. So, he hoped to leverage online public opinion to counter the company, pressuring them to offer a larger compensation.

First, he tried to post on the company's internal forum, hoping to resonate with other colleagues. However, his company WeChat account had been completely blocked, and he no longer had access privileges to the internal forum. It seemed Shengyi had anticipated his move, preparing in advance.

Undeterred, Yang Luo reached out via social media to a few colleagues he had interacted with outside of work, hoping they could voice support for him on the internal forum.

Most of them responded with lukewarm sympathy, but none acted on his request. Annoyed, Yang Luo confronted them, only to find himself quickly blocked by most. Only one slightly kinder colleague provided an explanation:

"Yang Luo, when you were at the company, you were almost the 'King of Hustle,' working late into the night, often until 3 or 4 AM. Management used you as the benchmark to press others for performance. So now that you're critically ill, many on the project feel that you 'reaped what you sowed.'

"Moreover, the company monitors our online activities. Everyone knows who owns which account. Posting for you on the internal forum offers no benefits and might even lead to dismissal. Why take the risk?"

Yang Luo had a moment of realization.

Reflecting on his past, he no longer felt resentment towards that colleague. He thanked him for the candid words, and their communication came to a complete halt.

As he pondered his eight years of work experience, Yang Luo couldn't help but sigh.

Indeed, 'Workaholic'... 'Overachiever'... When he read such descriptions online in the past, he felt indignant. After all, wasn't he just striving for a better life? Why would he be mocked for that?

But now, as he faced a terminal illness, Yang Luo finally understood – it was no wonder people saw him that way. Constantly overworking only deteriorated the working environment.

Past memories resurfaced. He remembered, soon after he joined the project's server team, an older colleague was let go.

That colleague, in his mid-thirties, had decent skills but couldn't work overtime. His efficiency was only about 80% of the team's average.

And after Yang Luo's arrival, the team's efficiency surged.

Then, one day, he saw that older colleague exit a meeting room with HR, quietly packing up his things to leave.

He remembered the look in that older colleague's eyes.

Before leaving, that man had glanced at him.

His eyes were filled with hatred and anger.

But at the time, he said nothing, just turned away and left the company.

Yang Luo had noticed that look, but back then, he didn't care, feeling no guilt.

In fact, he was somewhat upset –

You couldn't keep up with the workload, and you got fired. Why glare at me?

– It's your own lack of effort!

Thinking scornfully, Yang Luo then immersed himself back in his work.

He thought he'd forgotten that trivial event from the past.

But now, lying on a sickbed, that look haunted him again.

In retrospect, it felt chilling.

Yang Luo sat in silence on his bed, overwhelmed by regret.

If he could go back in time, back to when he first joined the team, or even when he first entered Shengyi, he surely would...

Yang Luo shook his head with a wry smile, – There's no use crying over spilled milk.

Now, all he could do was look forward and try to leave behind some wealth to ensure his parents' comfort in their old age.

Thus, casting aside his feelings of regret, Yang Luo embarked on a new course of action.