The Gilded Cage

Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse apartment lay the neon-lit cityscape. Red, yellow, and blue lights intertwined, painting the night sky like a shimmering brocade, and even the blinking signal lights atop distant skyscrapers resembled scattered diamonds on the fabric. A gentle evening breeze brushed past, forming a thin veil of fog on the glass; with a light swipe of a finger, the flowing traffic below on the streets became visible—like glowing little streams. The crystal chandelier's light spilled across the cashmere rug, warm yellow hues splaying along its weave, and even the cat litter box at my feet was fashioned from gilded material. Beside the bowl lay a small dish of imported cat treats, which Sunny Shaw had specially ordered her assistant to procure from abroad yesterday; it was said that a single box cost as much as an ordinary office worker's half-month salary. A white cat was curled up on the nearby sofa, its tail lightly sweeping over a costly silk cushion, its posture languid yet content. "A new car again?" Mario Young approached, holding a glass of champagne, and pointed to the silver sports car downstairs. The champagne in the glass shimmered with tiny bubbles clinging to the sides like a string of translucent pearls. He walked slowly, the cuffs of his silk shirt casually rolled up to his forearms, revealing the watch on his wrist — a gift from Ruby Jones last week. The dial gleamed with a cold metallic sheen under the light, and with every tick of the hand, it seemed to whisper a quiet reminder. I nodded, pushing aside the freshly unboxed limited-edition sneakers. The shoe box bore a striking brand logo; the shoes displayed this year's trendiest gradient colorway, and the tongue was embroidered with a unique serial number — only fifty pairs were released worldwide. This was something Sunny Shaw saw while shopping yesterday; without asking if I liked it, she had it sent directly to the apartment. The shoe box lay open, the dust paper inside only partially removed, but I had no interest in even trying them on. "Sunny said just yesterday that next month she would take me skiing in S Country." I picked up the fruit fork from the table, speared a piece of cut mango, and put it into my mouth. The sweet juice of the mango spread across my tongue, carrying the rich aroma unique to tropical fruit, but I tasted little sweetness—only a hollow emptiness in my throat. "Do you think what we're doing now can be called steady?" Mario Young suddenly lowered his voice. He leaned against the sofa, his body slightly leaning forward. The smile in his eyes had faded, replaced by a trace of unease I had never seen before. He usually liked to pretend he didn't care, as if content with this kind of life, but now, this expression made him seem unfamiliar to me. His fingers unconsciously traced the edge of the cup, leaving faint marks on the cold glass. His gaze drifted toward the window, as if watching the flickering neon lights, yet also as if looking beyond, toward somewhere unseen. The Living Room was silent, broken only by the occasional soft hum from the cat and the distant murmur of cars on the road. I said nothing, picking up my phone to scroll through my Moments. My Moments were full of friends flaunting travel photos and gourmet dishes; some boasted about newly bought luxury bags, others checked in at trendy restaurants. My finger swiped up and down the screen, but my heart felt hollow, as if something was missing. These were the lives I once envied, now right before my eyes, yet I felt no joy at all.