At 8:50, Zhou got to his desk. The wall across from him was a good deal shorter.
Two of Lu Heng's three monitors had been taken down and lay face up in a cardboard box. The middle one was still on, with the same line chart for a screensaver. The monitor mount sat crooked at the corner of the desk, two of its arms gone.
Lu Heng was crouched under the desk, winding cables. He looped each power cord around his elbow, cinched it with a zip tie, tossed it in the box, and went for the next one.
He didn't look up.
Song Xiaobei leaned half out from behind the next partition, his eyes darting between the box and the space under the desk.
"Bro Lu, what's all this..."
"At the meeting."
Another cable came out from under the desk.
Zhou set down his bag and put his thermos on the desk.
The department meeting started at 9:30.
At the whiteboard stood the same HR coordinator from his first day, talking as fast as ever. She read off two items in one breath.
"First, the test build of the Chengshan Golden Years redesign goes out today. The install package will be posted in the product team's work chat shortly. Second, Lu Heng's loan has ended. Starting today, he's transferring to the division's newly formed Community Channel Pilot Group, handling offline community outreach. His desk is moving to the window at the other end of the hall on this floor."
She closed her notebook the moment she finished.
Lu Heng gave a small nod.
Someone turned a page in their notebook. Someone looked down to answer a message. Nobody asked a single question.
After the meeting, Zhou carried his thermos over to Wen Yining's desk.
The launch schedule that had been updated Friday night was open on her screen: a screenful of cells, one row highlighted in yellow. She didn't turn her chair. Her eyes stayed on the spreadsheet.
"Before launch, we need a round of testing with real seniors. Thirty people. One week. Report to me by end of day next Monday."
Across the aisle, Song Xiaobei's mouth fell open and stayed that way.
Wen Yining rolled her mouse wheel down two notches.
"No budget. Going through procurement for a recruiting agency takes three weeks. We can't wait."
From the far end of the aisle, Lu Heng came along with the cardboard box in his arms, not breaking stride.
"Thirty in one week. A recruiting agency couldn't even line up that many."
He said it the way he'd report a number in a meeting.
Wen Yining didn't look up.
"So we're not using a recruiting agency."
She turned her chair around and looked at Zhou.
"You know the park."
The box went by behind Zhou, and the footsteps faded off toward the far end of the hall.
NovelPhoenix's website hosts the author's chapter, whereas this copy was taken without consent; visiting the source supports the writer.
Wen Yining went on without pausing for breath.
"The test build is in the group chat. Install it on anyone's phone. When you're done, uninstall it in front of them. It hasn't launched, so don't tell anyone whose app it is. The video shows hands and screen only. No faces. Three tasks per person: find that entry point on the home screen, adjust the text size until it's easy for them to read, and check in once. They tap it themselves. You don't tap for them. Write down what they say, word for word."
You don't tap for them. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
Something Uncle Ma had said surfaced for a second: My son put all of these on. I don't dare tap around.
Lu Heng's words were still hanging in the aisle. If Zhou were the one to say he couldn't line up that many and cut it to fifteen, she'd probably just nod.
"Okay."
He paused.
"Do weekends count as part of the week?"
Wen Yining glanced at him. The look held half a beat longer than usual, as if she were waiting for more.
There wasn't any more.
"I don't care which days you do it."
She turned her chair back, and her keyboard started up.
When Zhou got back to his desk, the install package was already in the group chat.
He tapped download, waited for the progress bar to fill, then tapped install. A new gray icon appeared on his phone. Its label said only Test Build.
He opened it. The app's home screen had no company name and no logo, just a row of buttons with big letters.
Song Xiaobei's chair rolled over on its casters, and he leaned in with it, his voice so low it was almost all breath.
"Thirty? Bro Zhou, in one week? Are they trying to get rid of you?"
Zhou unscrewed his thermos and blew across the top.
"No rush. Take it slow."
Song Xiaobei stared at him, then stared at the gray icon, and finally rolled his chair back.
At 12:25, Zhou came back from lunch, nudged his thermos to the corner, folded his arms on the desk, and buried his face in them.
[Nap timer started]
[Close your eyes and keep still. 20 minutes]
Napping at a desk was nothing like napping in bed.
Next to him, someone was tearing open a takeout bag. Farther off, a microwave dinged. Someone scraped their chair back and went to get water. If he opened his eyes, got up, or touched his phone even once, the twenty minutes started over from scratch.
He buried his face a little deeper in his arms.
About ten minutes in, footsteps stopped beside his desk.
"Zhou Yinian, have you installed the test build yet..."
"Shh!"
Song Xiaobei's chair came skidding over and stopped, blocking the aisle. He kept his voice low and pushed the words out one at a time.
"Bro Zhou. Is. Napping."
The footsteps went back the way they'd come.
Nothing sounded in his ear. The panel didn't start over, either.
Answering with his eyes closed apparently didn't count.
At 12:45, a ding sounded in his ear.
[Nap: 3/7]
[A snooze at your desk is still a snooze! You'll have plenty of pep this afternoon, Elder Zhou!]
He lifted his head. Two arm marks were pressed into his forehead.
Song Xiaobei was still parked across the aisle, one arm draped over the back of his chair, like the barrier at a checkpoint. Only when he saw Zhou was awake did he move his chair back.
"That was somebody asking about the test build. They went back."
"Mm."
At 2:58, a message popped up in the work chat.
Lu Heng: @everyone 3 PM. Break room.
The way to the break room ran along the hall. Halfway there, Zhou looked down toward the far end, thermos in hand.
By the window, two desks had been newly pushed together. One of Lu Heng's monitors was already standing, and the cardboard boxes were still stacked by the desk legs. Next to them stood a whiteboard. Written across the top were just a few words, Community Channel Pilot, and below that, nothing.
Sunlight from the window was falling on the whiteboard, throwing a little glare.
He kept walking to the break room.
Four or five people from the team were already in line. The one at the front pinched chrysanthemums into a paper cup and muttered something.
"He's moved all the way over there, and he still remembers."
The stack of paper cups was on the counter as usual, and the jar of Hangzhou white chrysanthemums had gone down a little more. When his turn came, he pinched some chrysanthemum into his thermos, and two goji berries floated up, as usual.
At 5:30, he stood up, picked up his bag, and left.
That night, back at his shared apartment, he pulled the large-print notebook out of his bag.
He'd bought it before he first went to the park to ask people questions. The cover said Large Print. The first day he'd taken it into the park, the second page had still been blank by nightfall.
Now the first several pages were full: Uncle Ma's prize with its x the size of a sesame seed, the fourteen people's exact words, the ones he'd read out at the review. Page after page, packed tight.
He flipped toward the back and started a fresh page.
On the first line, he wrote: Tests: 0/30.
On the line below: Uncle Ma.
Below that, Old Gu. He remembered Old Gu saying "Where's the fun in playing a phone?" and put a question mark after the name.
Morning exercise group: 20–30.
Plaza dance group: about 30.
On the next line down, he wrote two words.
Auntie Fang.
The tip of the pen rested on the paper and didn't move again.