The novel tells the story of a young man from a small town who experiences half his life after moving to the city. The story is divided into two parts. The first part recounts the protagonist's experiences in the city, narrated in the first person, but interspersed with flashbacks. These two narrative threads showcase the protagonist's past. Xiao Long, a young man from a small town, comes to the big city to make a living after graduating from vocational school. Due to his low education level, he initially faces hardship, being scammed while job hunting, experiencing various setbacks, and failing in his business ventures. Later, he becomes involved with a high-ranking executive of a state-owned enterprise, starts an advertising company, and makes a fortune, indulging in a life of luxury in the city. However, several years later, the high-ranking executive is arrested, implicating Xiao Long, and a series of events lead to his bankruptcy. The second part is entirely narrated in the first person, telling the story of Xiao Long's journey after his bankruptcy. Starting from the city, he travels across half of China, encountering many people and stories along the way, making it a road novel. The protagonist meets a couple in a small town in western Hunan, where the man suffers from mental illness; encounters two women working as ear-cleaning massage therapists in Guizhou; has a romantic encounter in Lijiang; joins a group tour in Tibet; visits a hermit in the Zhongnan Mountains; and finally, the protagonist returns to his hometown and becomes a self-media personality. All of these elements combine to form an author's view of China.

Deepseek's description: A realistic and brutally honest account, depicting how an ordinary person tears open cracks in the torrent of time and regains the weight of life. He is a young man from a small town, stepping into the city with aspirations for the future. The ups and downs of the business world, the entanglements of love, the hammer of fate send him plummeting from the clouds to the abyss. When the glamour fades, he embarks on a journey across half of China, from the mysterious forests of western Hunan to the tranquil meditation of Zhongnan Mountain, from a romantic encounter in Lijiang to a solitary farewell at Jin Gang Mountain. Each journey is a mirror, reflecting the cracks and desires within his heart. This is not only a man's tumultuous life, but also a profound exploration of the meaning of life. If you have been battered and bruised by reality, yet still yearn to find a glimmer of light in the desolation, then you should read this book.

I hope it can be translated by a professional literary translator and distributed globally. I can co-author the work with the translator, and the revenue will be split 50/50, subject to the cooperation agreement.

Excerpt from the main text (beginning section):
1
Old Wang never imagined that he would have a son in his middle age. So, when you cried your first cry into this world, Old Wang wept with joy. Old Wang is your father; he married your mother when he was forty-two and had you—Wang Xiaolong—when he was forty-three.
Old Wang's joy was heartfelt. He stood there holding you, tears streaming down his face, as if his eyes held a reservoir of tears. At that moment, your mother was fast asleep in the mine workers' hospital. You, newly born, seemed to feel sorry for your father, not wanting to see him lose too much water, and so you began to cry loudly. Old Wang blinked, stopping his tears, and gently rocked you. You felt comfortable in Old Wang's rhythm, stopped crying, and drifted off to sleep sweetly.
Years later, when you were three and even dogs disliked you, and five and cats feared you, Old Wang would often tease you. His way of teasing you was by imitating your cries as an infant, a perfectly lifelike imitation. He'd smile, making those baby-like "uh-huh" sounds. Every time you heard it, you'd laugh, and you and your father would reach a kind of agreement in this joyful laughter. For example, if you were stubbornly insisting on buying a certain toy, you'd just laugh it off. You, so young, had a gifted understanding of giving up, and Old Wang secretly gloated over his well-executed planned economy.
Five days after your birth, Old Wang took your mother and you home from the hospital. He was successful; he entered with one person and left with two. One was his life partner, and the other was the one who continued his life. He hired a cart driver to take you and your mother home in a handcart. The cart passed through the market and streets, passing the gazes and greetings of the neighbors. Because of your birth, this dilapidated and desolate little mine became bright in Old Wang's eyes. The cart rolled over the muddy streets, the wheels occasionally squeezing out some dirty water from beneath the mud with a creaking sound. Old Wang was happy; he happily greeted everyone he knew. Some acquaintances came over to see the baby, lifting the swaddling clothes to reveal your chubby little face in the sunlight. You felt the golden world, and the faces of strangers.
“"Oh my, a big, chubby boy, just like you, Old Wang!" It was a familiar face who always said auspicious things. Old Wang was even happier to hear this. He nodded with a grin, saying, "Yes, yes!" and added, "He weighed seven and a half pounds at birth, haha." The whole street was filled with Old Wang's smile, and even strangers cast friendly glances from afar. Your birth not only brought joy to your parents but also brought some celebration and friendliness to this small mine.
Back home, neighbors, having heard the news, rushed over to offer their condolences. They came in twos and threes, instantly filling the house with a lively atmosphere; the small living room, barely a dozen square meters, was filled with footprints. Aunt Tang, a female worker from the coal mine, said she wanted to hold you. Old Wang carefully placed you in her arms. In Aunt Tang's soft embrace, you looked at her with innocent, newly awakened eyes. She, in turn, murmured with admiration, marveling at the hardships of motherhood and the greatness of the proletariat. Hongyan, the rightist's youngest daughter, stood before you, her eyes sparkling, reaching out to touch your little face. You felt her fingers make your cheeks tremble; it wasn't exactly comfortable. Aunt Tang, seeing this, scolded, "Hongyan, be gentle! The baby's face is delicate!" Hongyan withdrew her hand, only smiling sweetly. Director Jin from the machinery factory leaned over, his large, round face appearing before him, and spontaneously recited, "The Wang family's son has come into this world; a family that accumulates good deeds will be blessed with complete happiness." After saying this, he looked around. Electrician Tuoyazi, standing in the crowd, immediately chimed in, "What a fine couplet! What a fine poem!" He then extended his right thumb, seemingly pointing it upwards through everyone's minds. Tuoyazi was a shrewd fellow; with his elementary school education, he couldn't determine whether Director Jin's poem was a couplet or a poem, so he simply included it. Director Jin, receiving the praise, beamed with a kind smile, appearing benevolent among the crowd. Aunt Zhao also came in, looking at you as if you were her own son. Brother Yu, Chairman Zhou, Grandma Chen, and others also offered their blessings. Today is a good day; joy fills your home, and your row of houses fills Old Wang's universe. This is your first day in your own home.
2
Years later, as you approach the edge of the rooftop and gaze down, those scenes from your infancy flash through your mind like lightning. You can't actually determine if they were real. You're convinced they truly existed, in the very beginning of your life. Those faces are now unfamiliar, yet in that moment they all appear before you. This miraculous phenomenon astonishes you, causing you to shed all your previous thoughts. In that instant, you want to end your physical life, to let your weary soul find complete peace.
You retreated, inching your way further and further from the edge of the rooftop. You gazed into the distance. A thick fog blanketed the area, air currents swirled, and the city buildings seemed to drift within it. Suddenly, you felt a door to your heart flung open, a powerful surge of air rushing into your chest, making you clear-headed and chilled.
If you had jumped just now, how could you have faced Old Wang like that!
Old Wang has been gone for many years. You've rarely thought of him these past years. Perhaps you were too young when he left, or perhaps he didn't want you to worry. He's hardly appeared in your dreams, and you rarely remember him. When you were a teenager, you thought of your father one night, a long, intoxicating longing. You sat in a chair, enveloped in memories. That night, you felt a sense of growth. But after that, your youth seemed to unfold even more fully; you stepped out lightly to enjoy your life, to experience the hormones of your youth. You had a truly radiant youth. That period shaped you, as if it began after that long night of longing.
Youth is wonderful! But inevitably, we all grow up to be middle-aged. In your middle age, you once stood on the edge of a rooftop. Twenty-eight stories high; jumping would surely take your life. But in that moment, it was as if Old Wang saw you. In that moment, you saw yourself, a baby in swaddling clothes, making soft, whimpering sounds. That was the life Old Wang and your mother gave you; they brought you into this world, not so you could leap from that rooftop.
Tears streamed down your face, yet no sound came from your mouth. The tears were like a baptism, cleansing your weary soul.
3
You came to this city because of your destiny, like the destiny of many others. The city is a convergence point of destinies. At that time, you had nothing, but it seemed you still had one asset – youth. The city is like a casino, where young people gamble their youth on their future. Your childhood friend, Mao Hou, had arrived at this casino even earlier than you. You kept dialing his pager from the train station phone booth, but he didn't answer. Time passed slowly; two hours had gone by. You couldn't help but feel a surge of anger and a touch of fear. You only had two thousand four hundred yuan in your bag; it wouldn't last long if you stayed in a hotel.
But the monkey finally arrived.
As if he had stepped out of thin air, he seemed to be avoiding people and the world. But because of your childhood friendship, he still came to you.
“"I'm sorry, Xiaolong." His apology was heartfelt, and he reached out to take your luggage. The slight annoyance in your heart vanished, replaced by a sense of relief. "It's alright." Although you were practically inseparable as children, you still replied politely. And so you began your journey, walking through the city. Night had fallen, and the city lights shone brightly. You felt a surge of excitement, the excitement of starting a new life, but that lingering apprehension remained. You had come to this city from a city a thousand kilometers away, hoping to make a better life for yourself.
But that night was anything but kind to you. You and Mao Hou were crammed into a narrow single bed, one of twelve beds in an electronics factory dormitory. And Mao Hou didn't actually have the right to use this bed. He'd worked at the factory before, but had already left. The only reason he could sleep in it was because of the friendship of his coworker, Xiao Ma. Xiao Ma worked the night shift and slept during the day. Mao Hou would sleep there at night, using this bed to make your first night in the city comfortable.
“"Brother, I'm sorry, I haven't worked in a long time. I haven't made any money either." Mao Hou looked at you apologetically again. You understood Mao Hou's guilt; you had been together since childhood, and he was absolutely honest with you.
“What are you doing here?”
“"Trafficking in goods, selling permits," Mao Hou replied.
“"Selling certificates?"”
“"It's just selling fake ID cards and diplomas." He said this with a hint of embarrassment, his eyes glancing helplessly elsewhere.
You fell silent for a moment. You knew there was such a profession, with its ubiquitous flyers advertising "document forgery" everywhere. Of course, these documents weren't issued by official government agencies, yet they looked identical to those from official institutions. You didn't say much, but smiled, a smile containing understanding. As a young man from a small town, barely able to graduate from junior high, what good job could you expect him to have?
That night, you and Mao Hou squeezed onto that single bed, a sour, rancid smell assaulting your nostrils. Years later, you told a woman about that night. You told her because she was your true love.
4
I sat in my office on the 51st floor of the Shimao Building, gazing at the vast horizon. A sudden image flashed into my mind: In ancient times, a colossal mammoth roamed the wilderness, the sky low and the clouds wide, the scenery magnificent. But it was lonely, walking alone. It raised its head and let out a long howl, its voice echoing throughout the heavens and earth.
Humans are born alone, and this has been true throughout history. Yet the universe is so magnificent, and its magnificence reveals the meaning of our existence in this world.
As I was lost in my daydreams, Jinbo knocked on the door and entered my office, handing me a document. "Success, boss." It was a winning bid contract; I knew its contents without even opening it. I'd been working tirelessly for this contract for months, submitting bids through three different companies. Day and night, I'd meticulously planned, even indulging in drinking and gambling, and finally secured it. This 120 million yuan annual media placement contract would yield a 20 million yuan profit. While not all of it would be mine, it would still allow me to live comfortably for the rest of the year. But this revenue didn't bring me immense joy or a sense of accomplishment. Well, there was some joy, but it was more of the feeling of a job being completed. I let Jinbo leave. Sitting in my executive chair in the office, I felt an inexplicable weariness. Every time I secured a big contract, it felt like a heavy burden had been lifted, leaving a sense of emptiness. Fortunately, this feeling only appeared after the deal was closed. The company was like a ship in a turbulent current; if you didn't move forward, you'd drift backward. Only with good results, propelled by the inertia of profit, could I rest, allowing the mammoth to appear in the wasteland of my mind. I've always been a dreamy child. The comic books my father bought me, and the children's magazines and juvenile literature I subscribed to all sparked my imagination. Children are full of imagination; their minds hold a world completely different from adults'. A child who loves to dream is more likely to live in a different world when they grow up, so even in my office, I can conjure up an ancient giant elephant. Some schools of subjective idealism believe that the world is created by imagination, and I guess I've been creating worlds all along. It's just that God is ultimately unlikely to descend, just as the worlds I create only exist in my mind.
But life is reality; it can hurt you and make all your fantasies vanish.

The full text can be found at the following link: https://weread.qq.com/book-detail?type=1&senderVid=312598&v=ebb325d0813ab879eg012221&wtheme=white&wfrom=app&wvid=312598&scene=bottomSheetShare