At 5:20 on the Tuesday of review week, Wen Yining stood up at her desk.
"Everyone stays tonight. We're going through the review drafts. Dinner's on me."
Then she sat back down and went on typing.
Over by the wall of monitors, it was quiet for two seconds. Then the phones lit up, one after another.
"What are we getting?"
"That clay pot stew place from last time takes an hour to deliver."
"Order it. We're not going anywhere tonight anyway."
The review was set for this Friday. Since yesterday, nobody on the team but him had left before nine.
Zhou glanced at the pothos beside his monitor.
Last week he'd watered it every day. The sticky notes had added up to five. On Friday, the moment he went through the turnstile at 5:30, the System handed him Gardening (Beginner) and, while it was at it, assigned this week's task: listen to one complete opera.
He hadn't listened to a single line of opera yet.
At 5:29, Song Xiaobei's chair slid half a foot his way, the delivery app still open on his phone.
"Bro Zhou, clay pot or rice bowl?"
At 5:30, Zhou screwed the lid onto his thermos and stood up.
Song Xiaobei held his phone up. The rest of the question didn't come out.
"You'll have my draft before nine tomorrow morning."
Wen Yining's eyes didn't leave her screen.
"Nine. One minute late, don't bother."
Behind the wall, a few heads turned around, then turned back.
Song Xiaobei looked at him, then at Wen Yining. He shifted in his seat, but he didn't get up.
Zhou slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the elevators.
At 9:30 that night, he lay down.
The phone by his pillow kept lighting up. It was the work chat, new messages pushing up the screen.
[It's 9:30, Elder Zhou! Put the phone down. You've got morning exercise tomorrow!]
He flipped the phone face down by his bed, and the little bit of light was pressed flat against the nightstand.
When he opened his eyes again, the room was still dark.
He lay there waiting for the alarm. After a while, it still hadn't gone off. He felt for his phone and checked: 5:21. The alarm was set for 5:30.
Nine-thirty to five-twenty. Almost eight hours.
His head felt clear. Before he'd left yesterday, the draft still had two gaps. Lying there, he'd already lined up which two they were and which old person's words went in each.
A copied page is still an unapproved copy: the author's chapter was taken without consent from where it is published, and reading there supports them.
[Ding! Morning, Elder Zhou!]
[Constitution: "Early to Bed" (in effect)]
[Full of energy]
[Just look at that glow! You're doing better than all those youngsters at work!]
Those youngsters at work probably hadn't slept at all last night. Not one of them.
He got up, filled his thermos, and headed downstairs for the park. At two minutes to six, he took his place in the morning exercise group, back row, far end. The music hadn't started yet.
He took out his phone and opened the work chat.
He scrolled up through screen after screen before he reached a long one.
Wen Yining: Wednesday plan. 9:30 sync to go over the review agenda. 1. Redesign background and goals; 2. Senior user research; 3. Home screen entry points and text size plan. Dev needs the final version by 14:00 Thursday, or Friday's demo build won't be ready; 4. Tracking events and launch schedule. Everyone send me your final version this morning.
It had been sent at 3:07.
Under it, a string of people had replied Noted. Lu Heng's came first, at 3:08, followed by 3:09, 3:11, 3:15, all the way down to 3:20. Song Xiaobei's had a fist emoji tacked on the end.
Three-oh-seven. By then, he'd been asleep for five and a half hours.
He typed a line and hit send.
Zhou Yinian: Noted. Get to bed early.
6:02.
The opening music started. He slid his phone back into his pocket and raised his arms.
At 8:50, the elevator doors opened on the seventeenth floor.
Foil takeout containers from the clay pot place were stacked along the partitions. Two of the lids weren't quite closed, and the soup inside had set under a layer of white grease. Someone was slumped over the desk by the window, a jacket pulled over their head, one slipper under the chair.
Lu Heng was in the same white shirt as yesterday, sleeves rolled to the elbows, collar wrinkled. His eyes were bloodshot. All three screens were on, and his keyboard never stopped. When a coworker beside him asked what last week's response rate had been, he gave a number without looking up, down to two decimal places.
Zhou sat down at his own desk. Beside his monitor, the pothos held up every one of its leaves.
He filled in the two gaps in the draft, read it through once from the top, dragged it into his chat with Wen Yining, and hit send.
8:56.
Diagonally ahead, Wen Yining's desk was empty. Her jacket hung over the back of the chair, and her screen was still on.
Song Xiaobei shuffled over with dark circles under both eyes.
"Bro Zhou, you replied to Ms. Wen at six and told her to 'get to bed early'? The whole team saw it."
"She sent it at three."
Song Xiaobei stared at him for a good while. Then he nodded, slowly.
He took out his phone, opened his notes app, and typed a line.
Noted. Get to bed early. (She messages at three, he answers at six and tells Ms. Wen to get to bed early. He's setting Ms. Wen's sleep schedule.)
At 9:30, the sync started in the small conference room at the end of the hall.
Wen Yining sat beneath the projector screen. Next to her laptop lay an unopened stick of instant coffee, and under it, a blister pack of stomach pills with several of its pockets already empty.
She went fast. Item one was done in three minutes. For item two, she only read the heading, said the two research reports would each get their own turn on Friday, and moved on.
The third slide came up. Just one line, in big letters: 3. Home Screen Entry Points and Text Size Plan.
"Item three."
She stopped, the tip of her pen resting on the screen just under the line.
"Item three…"
The rest didn't come out.
Everyone in the room was staring at that line.
Lu Heng looked down and started searching through his laptop. Under the edge of the table, Song Xiaobei was swiping through his phone at top speed, scrolling farther and farther up. The guy from Dev, diagonally across the table, had his mouth open mid-yawn. He swallowed the rest of it.
Nobody said a word.
In meetings, Zhou usually just took notes. As long as someone else picked things up, it never came to him.
This time, nobody was picking it up.
"The final version of the home screen entry points and text sizes," he said. "Dev needs it by two on Thursday afternoon, or Friday's demo build won't be ready."
Wen Yining turned her head and looked at him.
One second longer than usual.
"Right." She took her pen off the screen. "By two. I'll stay on it. Item four."
A coworker in front of him quietly turned around and glanced at him.
Under the table, Song Xiaobei gave him a thumbs-up and held it there for several seconds before putting it away.
At three that afternoon, the yawns went around the room one after another. As usual, he took his thermos to the break room for a refill, and when he got back, he gave the pothos a little as well.
At 5:30, he closed his laptop and stood up.
A little after 9:20 that night, the phone by his bed lit up.
It was a direct message from Wen Yining.
Wen Yining: Read your draft. Ten tomorrow morning, small conference room. Bring your notebook.
He replied with one word.
Zhou Yinian: Okay.
At 9:30, he put the phone face down by his bed and turned off the light.