9 The Previous Author Was Fired
I'm sorry for all the readers who actually enjoyed the utter braincrap the previous author wrote.
This novel was supposed to be about how a man, having a bad former life, reincarnates into the body of a descendant of cultivators. It was supposed to be a heartwarming story of a depressed man having a chance at a new life.
It was not supposed to be the godawful shit that it is now.
Again, I apologize to all the readers who enjoyed the "Invisible Dragon"-like chapters that were previously being posted.
Now, it's time for a new start.
Ching Chong sighed.
He worked in a horrible, slave-driving company called Wuxiashijie, which you should all boycott.
He was entirely overworked. Endless hours of overtime with no recompensation.
More time was spent in his office than at home.
He felt as if he was living in hell.
And to him, it really was.
His mom died of breast cancer when he was fifteen.
His father, raising a rebellious child alone, took on more and more jobs to feed the both of them.
Ching, still affected by the death of his mother, didn't know it. No, he knew it.
Yet, he refused to acknowledge it.
He hated the world.
"Why? Why? Why did you take my mother from me!?"
He began to turn to drugs.
His father kept warning him, kept telling him, kept begging him to not ruin his future like that.
Yet, that only created a gap between them.
Ching was sixteen. Still immature.
He began to hate his father.
...It was only a year later that his father became ill. A sickness from his father's overwork.
And the incoming death of his father, his last family member, brought him back to reality.
He tried his hardest to leave the temptation of another cigarette.
He tried his hardest to take part time jobs to support the expensive treatment of his father.
He tried his hardest to study hard to get into a good university so he could get a good job and save his father.
He tried his hardest.
And when he finally, completely, left his addiction behind, he received the notice of the death of his father.
He ran to the hospital. It was the fastest he'd ever ran before.
His father was there, sleeping peacefully.
The heart monitor showed a flat line.
He hoped that it wasn't true. He hoped that the god he prayed to every day wouldn't let him down like this.
He hoped that it wasn't the end.
He took his father's hand in his. It was warm.
Yet, all the warmth came from his own tears.
His father was cold, devoid of all the fatherly warmth that used to inhabit him, that used to give Ching hope, that used to give Ching happiness.
He was dead.
That night, Ching cried himself to sleep.
He questioned everything once again.
He thought of suicide.
Both of his parents were dead.
He had nothing left to live for.
But then, then, he thought. He thought to live for the parents he knew.
He'd live on. And his parents would live with him, in his heart.
He studied hard and went to a good university.
He got a job at Wuxiashijie, thinking that it was a good company.
Yet, it seemed that he'd die to the same illness that his father did to.
"Wouldn't that be poetic," he thought.
He lied down in his sleeping bag at the office.
That was his last thought.
A gas explosion at the office building killed him.
