He had sent his parents money every month for 16 years—until he came home and found them eating from the pigs’ trough.

Midnight had long since passed when the sedan glided past the glowing toll booths of the provincial capital and entered the sprawling urban labyrinth. Towers of glass and steel pierced the ink-black sky, adorned with towering LED billboards that flashed vibrant colors against the smoggy haze. The streets were still alive with the hum of traffic, neon reflections dancing across the wet asphalt from a sudden, passing drizzle.

In the back seat, Arthur’s parents stirred. His mother pressed her face gently against the tinted glass, her eyes wide with a mixture of wonder and apprehension as she gazed up at the towering skyscrapers that seemed to scrape the stars. To two people who had spent their entire lives under the open, quiet sky of a mountain valley, the city felt like another planet—loud, chaotic, and overwhelmingly bright.

"Is this where you live, son?" his father asked, his voice quiet, carrying a hint of fatigue.

"Near here, Father," Arthur answered, guiding the car smoothly into the subterranean parking garage of a luxury residential high-rise. The air down here smelled of concrete, exhaust, and expensive wax. "We are going to stay in a hotel tonight. Tomorrow, I will bring you to my apartment."

Arthur parked the car in a reserved space near the elevator lobby, killing the engine. The sudden quiet was heavy. He walked around to the passenger side, opening the door and offering his hands to help them out. His father’s legs were stiff from the long drive, and Arthur had to support his weight as they walked toward the private elevator bank.

The security guard on duty, a young man in a crisp uniform, looked up and gave Arthur a polite nod. Then his eyes drifted to Arthur’s parents—their worn tunics, dusty shoes, and weary expressions standing out sharply against the opulent marble lobby. A flicker of hesitation crossed the guard’s face.

"Excuse me, sir," the guard said, stepping forward. "Are these guests—"

"They are my parents," Arthur interrupted, his voice cutting through the lobby with an authority that left no room for debate. He pulled his key fob from his pocket and held it up. "They are staying with me."

The guard immediately averted his eyes, bowing slightly. "Yes, Mr. Chen. Apologies. Please go right ahead."

Inside the private elevator, the glass walls revealed the sprawling cityscape falling away beneath them as they shot upward toward the penthouse suites. His mother clutched the handrail tightly, closing her eyes as the rapid ascent made her ears pop. Arthur stood close, placing a comforting hand on her back. He had spent years bringing wealthy clients up this very elevator to impress them with panoramic views of the city, never imagining that the first time his own parents rode it, they would be refugees from their own abandoned life.

The doors chimed softly and slid open to reveal a sprawling, minimalist suite furnished with plush grey sofas, a wall of glass overlooking the glittering harbor, and polished hardwood floors. It was a space designed by an interior architect to project success, sophistication, and emotional detachment.

"Sit down wherever you like," Arthur said gently, guiding them toward the sofa.

His parents stood awkwardly in the center of the pristine room, afraid to touch anything for fear of soiling the expensive furniture with the dust of the road. His father looked around at the recessed lighting and the abstract art hanging on the walls, shaking his head slowly.

"It’s very grand, son," his father murmured. "Like a palace for an emperor."