Click.
The notification sound from the old Dell laptop monitor echoed in the middle of the rented room, which was less than fifteen square meters. Another email. Maya did not need to open it to guess the subject line.
"We regret to inform you that your profile is not suitable for the preschool teacher position at this time..."
Forty-two. Exactly forty-two rejection letters in the past two months.
Maya rested her arm across her forehead and let out a long sigh. The sweltering midday sunlight shone through the dust-covered glass window frame, casting the heavy burden of earning a living that pressed down on her shoulders. A bachelor's degree in early childhood education with high honors, a bronze medal in the city-level teaching skills competition, a few certificates in English and art... all of it seemed to turn into waste paper when people looked at the address line where she grew up: Sunflower House Social Protection Center. An orphan, with no background and no financial backing, trying to squeeze into the education system in the middle of this prosperous city was no different from an ant struggling against a pillar.
The rent was two weeks late. The last box of instant noodles in the corner of the kitchen had been empty since last night.
Just as the stomach pain began to gnaw at her, the cheap cell phone sitting on the table abruptly vibrated continuously. The screen displayed an unfamiliar series of digits with no name in the contacts, seemingly called from a high-security switchboard.
Maya frowned and pressed the answer button. "Hello, this is Maya speaking."
"Is this Miss Maya?" The voice on the other end of the line carried a standard tone, ice-cold and professional to the point of being rigid. "I am calling from the Human Resources Department of St. Jude International Preschool. Your application has passed the preliminary screening. You are invited to be present at nine o'clock tomorrow morning to participate in an interview for the Intern Teacher position."
Maya froze, her fingers gripping the edge of the wooden table tightly. "St. Jude? Excuse me... is there some mistake? I remember I never submitted an application to St. Jude."
How could she forget that name? St. Jude was not an ordinary school. It was the "holy land" of the ultra-rich, a gathering place for privileged children of aristocratic lineages, politicians, and business dynasties. One year of tuition there was enough to buy a mid-tier apartment. Someone like her had never even dared to set foot at the school gates in her dreams.
"Your file is on the Board of Directors' desk, identification code SJ-9082. That is all I know," the person on the other end of the line cut in coldly without a shred of patience. "Remember to bring all original documents. Nine o'clock tomorrow morning. Being five minutes late means automatic cancellation."
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The call disconnected abruptly. Maya looked dazedly at the cell phone screen, which had gone dark.
A strange sensation ran like an electric current down her spine. Who would send her file there? A system error? Or was someone mocking her? But then, her empty stomach let out a painful whimpering sound. No matter who it was, no matter what the reason was, St. Jude was her only lifeline right now. Even if it was just a janitorial intern position, she had to grasp it.
The next morning.
The St. Jude building appeared before Maya's eyes like an ancient Gothic-style castle wearing a coat of luxurious modern attire. The high, artistically curved iron gates stood tall, behind which stretched a lush green lawn campus with pure white marble fountains reflecting the morning sunlight. A line of luxury cars—Bentleys, Rolls-Royces, Maybachs—pulled up to the curb one after another, and children dressed in impeccably tailored uniforms stepped down from the cars hand in hand with housekeepers or bodyguards.
Maya looked down at herself. The white dress shirt had frayed shoulders, the black skirt reaching past her knees had been bought at a thrift market, and the black high heels had a small patch of leather peeled off at the heel. The contrast was so sharp that it made her feel as though every glance from the gate security guards was like a blade slicing into her flesh.
She took a deep breath, suppressed her inferiority complex to the bottom of her heart, and stepped through the heavy gates.
The Principal's Office was located on the fifth floor of the administration building. The massive room was paved with polished mahogany, and the faint scent of expensive incense drifted in the air. Behind the colossal natural wood desk sat Principal Evans—a woman in her fifties with her hair tied in a high bun, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, her face so stern that it did not hold a single wrinkle of emotion.
Mrs. Evans did not ask Maya to sit. She slowly took a sip of Earl Grey tea, her sharp gaze sweeping over Maya from the top of her head down to her peeled-leather heels. That look contained undisguised contempt, like assessing a cheap-tagged item mistakenly placed in a luxury store.
"Miss Maya." Mrs. Evans set the porcelain teacup down on the saucer with a slender but jarring clink. "The shirt you are wearing... bought at a thrift market, correct? At St. Jude, we do not just teach children knowledge; we teach them class. Your demeanor makes me highly doubtful about your aesthetic taste."
The bridge of Maya's nose stung slightly, but she kept her back straight, her gaze calm as she replied, "Madam, I believe that cleanliness, neatness, and professional competence are what matter most for a preschool teacher. Though my shirt is old, it has been washed clean and ironed flat."
Mrs. Evans curled her lips into a half-smile full of irony. She held up Maya's file, holding it between two fingers as if afraid of dirtying her hands.
"A degree from a second-tier university. No work experience at international schools. No advanced qualifications in elite child behavioral psychology." Mrs. Evans spoke while flipping through each page, the rustling sound of paper like splashing cold water into Maya's face. "To tell you the truth, if not for... a few special reasons, a file like this would not even pass the automated system's trash sweep."
Maya clenched both hands hidden behind her back. Anger flared up in her chest, but she tried to suppress it. "If the school feels I am not qualified, then why did you call me here?"
Mrs. Evans paused and raised her eyes to look at her. Her gaze was deep and hollow, flashing with a strange light that Maya could not read.
"Because we are short on an intern teacher who can handle pressure. Or more accurately, someone who knows how to obey and does not make demands." Mrs. Evans took off her glasses and slowly wiped them with a silk cloth. "The probation salary is $1,500 a month. The lowest in the history of this school. No benefits, no insurance for the first six months. If you nod, you can start work as early as next Monday. If not, the door is right behind you."
One thousand five hundred dollars. That amount of money was only one-third of the average salary of teachers here, but for Maya right now, it was survival money. It was enough to pay rent, buy food, and survive.
Maya bit her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. She looked directly into the eyes of the powerful woman in front of her, her voice strangely calm. "I accept the job."
Mrs. Evans smiled—a smile as cold as ice. "A wise choice. But remember my words: here, you are merely a dividing number. The smallest mistake can kick you out onto the street."
The first week of work at St. Jude was no different from a pre-programmed nightmare for Maya.
On the very first day, her human dignity was publicly degraded. The main building had four elevators, two of which were gold-plated and reserved exclusively for parents and students. When Maya accidentally stepped into the parents' elevator because she was about to be late for roll call, the floor manager grabbed her and pulled her outside in front of dozens of people.
"Do you not have eyes?" The manager yelled loudly, his tone undisguised with contempt. "This elevator is for people who pay hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. Intern teachers use the stairs or the freight elevator in the back. Do not let me see you dirtying the space of distinguished guests ever again!"
Maya stood frozen in the middle of the main hall, as dozens of eyes from aristocratic parents and colleagues looked at her as if looking at an inferior person who had accidentally wandered into a castle. She did not talk back; she only bowed her head quietly and walked toward the narrow, dark stairwell in the corner of the hallway.
But that was only the beginning.
At St. Jude, parents were the real "queens and kings," while intern teachers like Maya were no different from servants.
On Wednesday morning, a parent drove a white Porsche up to the gate. The woman stepped down in an expensive Chanel outfit, holding two heavy backpacks belonging to two children in her hands. Seeing Maya standing on duty at the gate, she did not hesitate to wave her hand as if waving at a dog.
"Hey! Intern girl over there, come here!"
Maya walked over quickly. "Good morning, madam. How may I help—"
Before she could finish her sentence, the woman threw the two expensive backpacks directly into Maya's chest, causing her to stagger and almost fall against the side of the car.
"Where are your eyes looking? Can you not see I am carrying heavy things?" The woman snapped, wiping her fingers with a wet tissue as if she had just touched something dirty. "Carry them inside to the classroom for my children. And remember to wipe off the dust marks on the bag straps. If there is a single scratch, you will not be able to pay for it in your whole life!"
Maya gripped the bag straps tightly, her face burning hot with embarrassment. The full-time teachers standing nearby only looked away coldly, acting as if nothing had happened. No one spoke up to protect her. In this place, the dignity of an intern had a value of zero.
"Yes, I understand, madam." Maya buried all her anger deep in her heart, bowed her head, and walked away.
When recess arrived, the pressure pressed down once more. Maya was responsible for supervising the outdoor playground area of the Purple Sprout class. A young boy accidentally spilled a glass of orange juice onto another young girl's designer dress. The little girl burst into bitter tears, and Maya hurried over using a clean towel to wipe it down.
Right at that moment, the head teacher of the class—Teacher Beatrice, a woman who always wore a snobbish expression—stepped forward. Instead of comforting the children, Beatrice snatched the towel from Maya's hand and pushed her back hard.
"What on earth are you doing, Maya?" Beatrice growled in a low but threatening voice. "Do you know how much that dress is worth? Equal to a whole month of your miserable salary! Did I not tell you to keep your eyes wide open and stare at them every single second?"
"I am sorry, Teacher Beatrice, the boy accidentally bumped into—"
"I do not need to hear explanations!" Beatrice cut her off, her finger pointing straight at Maya's face, so close that it touched the tip of her nose. "Remember your place at this school. You are merely an intern. For your kind, St. Jude only needs to pick up the phone to replace you within five minutes! Do not let your clumsiness affect my class's performance evaluation!"
Replaced within five minutes.
Those words were like a fiery slap struck directly at Maya's self-esteem. She stood under the sweltering midday sun, her hands trembling from restraint. She wanted to scream, wanted to throw this name tag into their faces and turn around to walk away. She was a human being, not an object for them to trample on!
But then, the image of the unpaid rent envelope and the image of her own hungry face in the mirror appeared again, extinguishing every sudden outburst of anger.
She had no right to be impulsive. She had no one behind her to back her up.
On Friday afternoon, the first work week finally came to an end.
All teachers and students had left for home. The St. Jude building sank into a quiet space that was chilling to the bone. The sunset light, red as blood, cast through the Gothic arched glass windows, lengthening eerie shadows across the polished stone hallway.
Maya sat alone in the teacher's lounge where the lights had been turned off. In her hand was the official employment contract handed to her by the HR Manager that afternoon.
The weak light from the desk lamp shone on each heavy black line of text against the white paper:
ARTICLE 12: UNILATERAL BREACH AND DISMISSAL The School (Party A) holds the full right to terminate the labor contract with the Intern Teacher (Party B) at any point in time, without prior notice and without needing to provide specific reasons. Party B has no right to appeal or demand any compensation...
A true slave contract. They bought her labor and endurance at a dirt-cheap price while hanging a neck-shackling blade that could drop at any moment.
Maya stared fixedly at those lines of text. Every insult from Principal Evans, the contemptuous attitude of the parents, the threats from Teacher Beatrice... all of it was like surging waves crashing against her mind.
Her chest heaved, her breathing becoming rapid. A tear of resentment rolled down her cheek, falling onto the paper and smudging the word "Dismissal."
"Why...?" Maya whispered in the dark, her voice trembling with bitterness. "What did I do wrong? Why do I always have to be the one to endure?"
She raised her hand to wipe the tear and took a deep breath. The cold air of the room flooded into her lungs, helping her regain a last bit of clarity. Maya grasped her remaining hand, feeling the loneliness down to the marrow of her bones.
No one was going to save her. If she gave up now, she would collapse completely.
Maya picked up the ink pen. The tip of the pen pressed hard against the paper, leaving a deep black ink dot.
"Grin and bear it," she said to herself, her voice having lost its tremor, replaced instead by a terrifying stubbornness. "Just get through six months. Just get the internship certificate from St. Jude, and I will find another place. I have to live."
The pen glided quickly across the paper. Maya's sharp signature appeared at the bottom of the contract.
She folded the contract and carefully slipped it into her bag. As Maya stood up and walked out of the room, the darkness outside the hallway had enveloped everything. She had no idea that on the highest floor of the administration building, behind a privacy-tinted glass door, an eye as cold as a hawk's was silently observing her every lonely step across the schoolyard.
The game at St. Jude had only just begun. And Maya, by signing that contract, had officially stepped into a giant trap that she could never have anticipated.
