"Mr. Wen, is Mr. Wen at home? Your rent for this month is due." The landlady outside the door knocked for the third time today, while I put on my headphones and slowly typed in front of the computer. I was afraid that even this faint sound would not escape the sharp ears of the landlady. After typing three lines and deleting two, there was no way I could finish today's article. As an ordinary journalist, my life experience is too shallow. I haven't seen anything earth-shattering, nor can I write articles with bold strokes. My only ambition is probably that I have not relied on my father's reputation to be a wastrel rich second generation. Since I ran away from that family where power and money clung to each other at the age of 18, I have barely maintained my living by doing various jobs. With the introduction of friends, I finally found myself a decent job as a journalist, despite being a high school dropout. Talking about decency, it's just what young people think. Compared to serving tea and water, cleaning and other physical labor, the word "journalist" can at least be printed on business cards. As for how I, the incapable runaway student, struggled in society, let's leave that aside for now. First, I need to finish this article at hand, otherwise within three days, I will have to pack up and leave. I am writing this story called "The Little Dog as Lei Feng", which has no originality in terms of topic. It's easy to guess that the content of the story is nothing more than a dog doing good deeds to save people. If I want to stand firm in the magazine, how can such small reports do? Moreover, the remuneration for such short articles is less than one-tenth of the rent.