The textile factory groaned with life.
Machines clattered and whirred, filling the air with their mechanical rhythm. The smell of dust, oil, and old cotton hung thick in the heat. Bare bulbs flickered overhead, casting pale light on rows of men bent over their workstations, their faces glistening with sweat, their shirts sticking to their backs. The hum of labor never ceased — a dull, endless symphony of toil.
Then the factory's main door slammed open.
Hu Dawei marched in, his voice echoing before his footsteps even landed.
"Where's Chen Wei?"
His tone was sharp, his face already clouded with impatience. His workers froze mid-motion, startled. A few glanced at each other hesitantly, none wanting to answer first. Finally, one spoke, rubbing his palms on his dusty trousers.
"Supervisor Hu, he… hasn't come today."
Hu Dawei's eyes narrowed. "Didn't come?" He scoffed, looking around as though Chen Wei might be hiding behind a pile of fabric. "That fool thinks he's some big man now?"
The others stayed quiet. Everyone knew Hu Dawei's temper and the kind of petty jealousy that festered beneath his authority.
He kicked at a wooden crate, muttering darkly. "Just because some big car came for him last week, he thinks he's above us now, huh? Maybe I was too lenient on him all these years."
At that, a murmur rippled through the workers.
"That car last week… the one from the Imperial Hotel," one whispered. "It looked like something out of a movie."
"Yeah," another added. "A luxury one. Black and shiny — like something a CEO would own."
"Chen Wei, taken to a place like Imperial Skies International Hotel…? You think he's got rich relatives or something?"
Hu Dawei's face twitched. He'd been hearing that rumor all week. And each time someone mentioned it, the same feeling of irritation tightened in his gut.
Chen Wei was always quiet, obedient, barely noticeable — suddenly being picked up by a car that looked worth more than the entire factory? It gnawed at him.
He folded his arms and sneered. "Rich relatives, my foot. Probably a one-time charity stunt. If he shows up today, I'll make sure to remind him where he belongs."
The men exchanged glances, some smirking, others cautious. But deep down, they were curious too — waiting to see what kind of man Chen Wei had become since that mysterious day.
The clock ticked. The noise of machines returned, but the atmosphere was tense with expectation.
Then, faintly, came the low rumble of an engine.
At first, no one paid attention. But soon the sound grew louder, smoother — not the rattle of an old truck or the buzz of a delivery van. It was a deep, confident hum that seemed to glide rather than grind. Heads turned.
Outside, sunlight caught on sleek metal as a jet-black BMW pulled up to the front of the factory. The car's surface gleamed like obsidian, reflecting every flicker of movement around it. Its design was sculpted and predatory, sharp lines meeting fluid curves, the kind of luxury that didn't need to announce itself because it demanded attention on its own.
"Whoa…" one of the workers muttered.
Hu Dawei's heart skipped a beat.
The car door opened, and a man in a black suit stepped out — the driver. With mechanical precision, he walked around and opened the passenger door. Then he bowed slightly.
And from the backseat, Chen Wei stepped out.
The world seemed to pause for a moment.
Gone was the man with worn shoes and calloused hands. Standing before them was someone entirely different — dressed in a fine dark-gray suit that fit him perfectly, the cut tailored to his frame.
His leather shoes glistened; his wristwatch caught the sunlight and scattered it in quiet brilliance. His hair was neatly styled, brushed back with confidence. He looked… refined. Dignified.
A few workers exchanged stunned glances. "Is that really Chen Wei?"
"Impossible…"
"He looks younger."
Even Hu Dawei, who had stormed out ready to scold, found himself momentarily speechless. The arrogance in his posture faltered. Chen Wei's presence alone carried weight — calm, self-assured, and strangely commanding.
Chen Wei smiled politely. "Supervisor Hu."
The sound of his voice was gentle, but it carried an undertone that made it impossible to dismiss. "Good morning."
Hu Dawei forced out an awkward laugh, trying to regain his authority. "Chen Wei! Finally decided to show up, huh? What's this? Playing dress-up? You think you're too good for your shift now?"
Chen Wei didn't answer. He reached into his coat and took out a crisp white envelope. "I came to deliver this."
He extended it with both hands, respectful but firm.
Hu Dawei frowned. "What's that supposed to be?"
"My resignation letter," Chen Wei said calmly.
For a moment, all the noise in the factory vanished — even the machines seemed to fall silent.
Hu Dawei's eyes widened. "You're quitting?"
Chen Wei nodded. "Yes. Thank you for the years of work. But I've decided to move on."
His words were simple, but the grace with which he said them struck a chord of disbelief and humiliation in Hu Dawei's chest.
"Move on?" Hu Dawei repeated, his voice rising slightly. "To where? You think you'll find better work than here? Don't be foolish, jobs like this aren't easy to get!"
Chen Wei's lips curved faintly, the ghost of a polite smile. "I appreciate your concern. But I'll manage."
The driver, wordless, moved to open the car door again.
Hu Dawei's face turned red. "You— you think just because you wore a fancy suit and came in a car, you're better than the rest of us?"
Chen Wei looked at him quietly. "No, Supervisor Hu," he said evenly. "But I also won't let anyone decide my worth for me anymore."
Hu Dawei froze. The words cut sharper than a shout could have.
Without another word, Chen Wei turned and walked back to the BMW. The driver bowed again as he opened the door. Chen Wei stepped in, his movements fluid and unhurried.
The car engine purred back to life. The tires rolled over the dusty ground, leaving behind the echo of luxury that did not belong in that place.
The workers watched in stunned silence, until the car disappeared down the road. Then, as always, the whispers began.
"Did you see that car? I heard just one of those costs more than an hundred million."
"His watch alone looked worth more than my whole year's salary."
"Think he's got connections now?"
"Or maybe he's working for one of those rich families."
But beneath the curiosity, bitterness brewed.
"Used to eat lunch with us," one muttered. "Now look at him."
Hu Dawei stood there, the resignation letter still in his hand. He opened it, eyes scanning the neat, confident handwriting. His jaw clenched. He crushed the paper into a ball and threw it aside.
"Let him go," he muttered coldly. "People like him always come back begging when the money runs out."
But even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. Chen Wei wasn't coming back.
On the other side of the city, morning sunlight streamed softly through the curtains of a modest home.
Liu Ting stood by the window, phone still in her hand. The call had ended, but her heart hadn't quite steadied. She had just resigned.
Her boss's voice still echoed in her mind —confused, almost pleading.
"Liu Ting, what's wrong? You've been here for years. Why now?"
She had smiled faintly. "It's nothing serious," she'd said. "I just think it's time."
Now she exhaled slowly and stepped outside.
Parked before her gate was the Ferrari Roma, its scarlet body gleaming like molten silk under the light.
The car was a vision of sculpted perfection, long hood, arched shoulders, every inch whispering quiet power and elegance. Its beauty was not the loud, boastful kind. It was the kind that drew eyes and silenced voices.
For a moment, she simply stood there, looking at it the reflection of the sky rippling across its polished surface. Then, with a small, incredulous smile, she opened the door.
The handle fit perfectly in her hand, the scent of leather and new machinery greeting her as she slid into the seat.
The cabin was refined and minimal, its black interior stitched with subtle red thread. Her fingers brushed the steering wheel, soft leather, cool metal.
For a heartbeat, she sat still.
She remembered how she used to clean offices, wash toilets, scrape dirty floors until it was sparkling clean, her finger nails would break, her joints would ache, sometimes, denying her sleep at night.
And now…
She smiled faintly at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her eyes looked clearer, her skin softer, her expression composed.
"Who would've thought," she murmured quietly, her lips curving with happiness.
She started the engine. The car purred to life, a deep, smooth sound that vibrated through her bones. She eased out of the driveway, hands steady, movements confident. Her years-ago driving lessons from university suddenly didn't feel so far away.
The Ferrari moved like liquid light down the quiet street as wind flowed through the open window, brushing her cheeks.