In the summer of 2000, as graduation approached, my fellow students and I were waiting in our dormitories for news regarding our upcoming employment. One of my classmates said, "Come with me to meet someone from the internet; he’s an alumnus from our polytechnic university that I met in a NetEase chatroom."
We were all excited during the meeting, but shortly afterward, my ID and all my belongings—a mere 300 yuan—vanished like steam.
I was left wondering how I would survive for the next month and a half. Without my ID, I couldn't prove my identity to employers, and my diploma wouldn't be issued until July. Even if I found temporary work, many jobs required an upfront deposit. Driven by a fierce sense of pride, I refused to borrow money from classmates, desperate to maintain what I considered my noble dignity. To others, this might have seemed trivial, but to me, it felt as suffocating as Sun Wukong being trapped under the Five Finger Mountain.
At that time, I had only two packets of instant noodles in a box under my bed. For the next two days, I divided each packet into four portions. I would eat two small portions for breakfast and dinner, adding plenty of water and using only a third of the seasoning packet. I would drink the remaining broth for lunch. Whenever my roommates ate, I would avoid them. After three days, still without news of a job, I was so exhausted from hunger that the mere thought of instant noodles made me feel nauseated.
