Quick Transmigration: Let Me Tell You, I'm a Social Anxiety Person

The girl who had just been complaining changed into her companion's denim jacket, stood on tiptoe and looked into the distance. The rain was pouring down, and the tall buildings and traffic were all hidden in the misty fog.

Route 155 has yet to appear.

"Let's take a taxi and have the driver take us right to the entrance," the girl said. "You'll need to wear this jacket when you go on stage, so you don't get soaked again."

Just then, a taxi passed by the bus stop, and the girl reached out and flagged it down.

Neither of her companions said anything more. The long-haired girl zipped up her open backpack, picked up the black guitar bag that was standing next to her, and slung it over her other shoulder.

The guitar case was large, and the weight was unevenly distributed on both sides of her shoulders, causing her to sway and look like she was about to fall.

Liang Muqi subconsciously reached out and placed his hand on the top of the backpack, giving it a slight stabilizing touch.

"Thank you." She turned her head away, leaving behind this hurried sentence. Before their eyes could meet, she turned back again and followed another boy who was also carrying a black instrument bag into the back seat of the taxi.

The train started moving, and Liang Muqi became quiet, leaving him alone on the platform.

After quite a while, bus number 155 finally arrived, swaying and splashing through the water, about five minutes late.

Real-time traffic data is not accurate enough, and the rain is unlikely to stop.

Just as he touched the edge of the backpack, the soft barbs under his fingertips popped out again. Liang Muqi let his hand fall to his side and rubbed it hard against the seam of his pants again, the pain becoming even more pronounced.

His thoughts drifted away from the dense array of numbers and amounts, and he stepped onto the bus steps.

Something flashed by in his line of sight. He looked down and saw a dark blue guitar pick lying quietly at the bottom of the steps.

-

Liang Muxi was late because of the bus.

Rainwater streamed down the supermarket eaves, forming a curtain. He stepped inside, where the owner was already standing.

Upon seeing him, the other person held the half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, turned around, counted out a stack of cash from the counter, and placed it on the glass counter.

"Xiao Liang, you don't need to come anymore."

Before he could catch his breath after running, sweat mixed with rainwater slid down his face. Liang Muqi was stunned for a moment and forgot to reach out and wipe it away.

He explained in a low voice, "I won't be late next time; today was an accident."

The boss said, "It has nothing to do with being late. I hired you a while ago because my wife was pregnant with our second child and I had to be with her during the delivery. Now that she has recovered, there is someone to take care of her at the shop, so we don't need any extra staff."

The boss pointed to the money on the table, cigarette smoke curling up between his fingers: "This is your salary for the past two weeks. Count it and see if it's too little."

Liang Muxi didn't count it, but a quick glance was enough to tell that the amount of money was more than expected.

He wanted to plead a few more times, saying he didn't mind a lower salary, as long as he didn't lose his job at this critical juncture, since he really needed an opportunity to earn money.

But the boss had already turned his back to answer the phone. His voice drifted into his ears, complaining about how expensive baby formula and diapers are these days, how high the cost of raising a child is, and how his daughter, who is about to enter junior high school, will have to pay a lot of money for school selection fees...

As the boss spoke, he began to sigh loudly with worry, realizing that people in this world all have similar or different worries and pains.

Pain, however, cannot be compared.

There's no such thing as one being worse off than the other; the boss has already done more than enough for him.

Liang Muqi raised his hand, gathered the money on the counter into his palm, and then took out the two extra bills and put them back.

Then, I walked to the shelf where the umbrellas were placed and picked out a black long-handled umbrella.

He stepped back into the rain.

-

After leaving the supermarket, Liang Muxi was unsure where to go.

Liang Muqi worked three jobs this summer. From 10 a.m. to 5 p.m., he worked as a cashier at a supermarket. Starting at 6:30 a.m., he would go to a nearby residential area to tutor a junior high school student who was about to take the high school entrance exam. After tutoring at 9 p.m., he would walk to a barbecue restaurant near the residential area to help out.

Usually, after 1 a.m., the barbecue restaurant is almost empty, and then he will walk back to the hospital along the same route to take care of his mother.

Right now, I can't do my first job anymore, and the daytime hours have suddenly become very empty, so empty that it makes me feel uneasy.

Liang Muqi felt that physical exhaustion and life's gains were positively correlated. If the burden on his shoulders became lighter, it didn't mean his life would get better; rather, it meant that someone was going to take something away from him.

Although he had little left, sorrow and death never discriminate based on amount or bottom line.

Therefore, Liang Muxi needs to find a job as soon as possible to fill the long days.

But as he wandered around, he noticed that none of the shops along the way seemed to be planning to hire new staff.

Today was a terrible day.

As Liang Muqi calmly thought this, he raised his eyes and realized that he was now the only one left on the street, foolishly holding an umbrella.

The sky shimmered with light, and the golden sun was reflected in the clear water. The restless sounds of musical instruments, seemingly coming from nowhere, gradually faded away as human voices became clearer.

do you remember

How did night fall back then?

Say nothing

Like a touch from the sky, as light as a fingertip.

Did you get it?

The life I long for, the sound of the ocean tide in my dreams

How did they get from

It slipped through my fingers like the wind blowing across a wilderness.

Liang Muqi stood still, his fingers twitching slightly. The money in his right pocket was burning hot from his body heat, and another sharp object pressed against his skin through the fabric.

There lay a guitar pick that didn't belong to him; he recognized it.

The singer is the one on the platform who smiles and says that the sky will soon clear up.