The crimson vest slithered through Guanyu’s fingers, delicate embroidery snagging against the callouses on his palms. Embroidered by his mother before her death, it was everything he’d set aside to keep his job.
Which was gone now.
So off job hunting he went, dressed in his favorite sarong and shirt, topped with the crimson vest.
Mother said it would bring him luck someday.
Let today be that day.
