Chen Ziqing stood in place until his calves ached before moving. He scanned the room with dry eyes and grabbed an enamel mug.

A minute or two later, he tiptoed to the bed, bent down, and held the mug’s handle in one hand while lifting the hanging bedsheet with the other.

Without hesitation, as soon as his fingers grasped the sheet, he yanked it up.

It was pitch black under the bed.

Chen Ziqing placed the enamel mug on the small table, tugged the desk lamp’s cord, and aimed the light under the bed.

The next moment, his scalp tingled, and he cursed under his breath, “Damn.”

Under the bed were two rows of shoes.

The outer row was entirely yellow sneakers, while the inner row was fur-lined work shoes for cold weather, all neatly arranged.

In the dim light of the desk lamp, the shoes looked eerily like pairs of feet. The sight almost scared him to death.

He was terrified of ghosts.

Chen Ziqing collapsed onto the floor, his legs weak. Thankfully, his task was to find the worker tampering with electrical wires, not to catch ghosts. Otherwise, he’d be done for.

Logically, there were no ghosts. If there were, they’d just be people in disguise. People could be scarier than ghosts, but that didn’t lessen his fear. He quickly stopped thinking along those lines and looked past the two rows of shoes.

There was a small bundle of dark blue velvet fabric, which was being used to cover some books to keep off dust.

No one was under the bed.

Chen Ziqing let the sheet fall, then lifted it again and counted the shoes.

He wasn’t sure why he was counting.

In any case, there were nine pairs of yellow sneakers and seven pairs of fur-lined work shoes.

The factory distributed two pairs of shoes to each worker every quarter. The original owner hadn’t given his worn pairs to relatives; he washed and saved the less damaged ones.

The original owner had inward-pointing feet, so his shoes were angled inward.

The pair Chen Ziqing was wearing now had the same angle. He stood up and checked the corner cabinet. He had sorted the top shelf earlier, after Zong Huaitang left, but not the bottom shelf.

Without overthinking, Chen Ziqing opened the bottom cabinet door and quickly stepped back.

There was no one inside, just a set of yellow-green bedding with the factory’s logo embroidered on it.

The dormitory had only two places where someone could hide.

Both had been checked.

Drenched in cold sweat, Chen Ziqing sat on the bed, feeling like he had missed something. He couldn’t recall what. He looked down and turned his inward-angled right foot outward, then did the same with his left foot.

Is the first night going to be this nerve-wracking?

Better to sleep. His brain wasn’t functioning anymore, and he had to read aloud at the broadcast station early the next morning.

Chen Ziqing kicked off his shoes and got under the blanket. A chill ran down his back as he glanced at the curtain separating the other section of the room.

How did I forget about that part?

Feeling groggy, Chen Ziqing quickly searched the other section without even putting on his shoes. No one was there either.

They had escaped.

They really got away.

Through where—the door or the window?

Judging by the way the electrical wire had swayed, whoever it was had left just before Chen Ziqing entered the room. The timing was close. Even if they were a neighbouring worker, leaving through the door would have made noise, but Chen Ziqing hadn’t heard a thing.

That left the window.

Both his section and the other section had two windows each: one facing the hallway, the other the forest in the back.

None of the curtains were drawn. The front was lit, while the back was pitch black.

Chen Ziqing checked the back window. It was dark as ink. He touched the windowsill, which was wide enough to stand on if someone was careful.

The dormitory was two stories high. A nimble person could grab the second-floor sill and lower themselves to the first-floor window frame.

Or they could jump straight down; the ground below was grass.

Chen Ziqing cleared his throat and let out a loud shout.

Soon, the corridor was filled with the sound of hurried footsteps and shouting as a group of people rushed in.

Another wave followed shortly after.

Those who couldn’t fit in the dormitory stood in the doorway, their questions and complaints creating a cacophony.

Frustrated and disappointed, Chen Ziqing explained the situation.

The room exploded into chaos.

“No way. We’re all from the workshop. Who would do something so low?”

“…”

“Master Xiang, are you sure? If this is true, it needs to be reported to the factory director.”

“It’s probably not true. You can’t base this on just the wire moving. You’d need to catch someone in the act.”

“…”

“Team Leader, could it have been the wind?”

“The window was closed. Wind couldn’t get in. That wire wouldn’t have swayed so much unless someone touched it,” Chen Ziqing said with a pained expression. “The factory holds weekly lectures on ethics. I didn’t expect such a despicable person to be among us.”

That should set the mood. No need to say more.

Everyone exchanged glances. They didn’t believe in ghosts, nor did they suspect their roommates. They figured Chen Ziqing might have some sort of brain injury causing hallucinations.

It was genuinely worrying.

Chen Ziqing sat under the desk lamp, wrapped in his blue work jacket, his brows furrowed deeply. “I can’t even be sure if they snuck in while I was in the restroom or if they were here from the beginning.”

“…”

The more he spoke, the less it sounded like something a sane person would say.

Chen Ziqing carefully observed everyone’s reactions. Either they thought he was crazy, or the culprit wasn’t among them.

If the latter, the person was either absent or very good at hiding their nerves.

Chen Ziqing sighed weakly. “Forget it. Looks like it’s someone without the guts to admit it.” He stood, bowed slightly, and said, “Thank you all for coming. Sorry to disturb your rest.”

“Don’t apologize, Master Xiang. You were startled. No one blames you.”

“That’s right. Let’s all head back to our rooms so Master Xiang can calm down.”

“…”

“Team Leader, do you want someone to stay with you? Any of us would be happy to.”

Chen Ziqing waved them off.

Gradually, the crowd dispersed. In the corridor, Tang Xiaoguang rubbed his eyes and asked the man beside him, “Brother Huaitang, why aren’t you leaving?”

Zong Huaitang rested his clasped hands on the waist-high cement railing, gazing out. Instead of answering, he asked, “Master Zhong, why aren’t you leaving?”

Zhong Ming silently removed a shoe and knocked it against the wall. Some dirt fell out.

Zong Huaitang glanced at him briefly before continuing to enjoy the night breeze.

“What do you think?” Tang Xiaoguang mused to himself. “I think it’s true. Someone really snuck in.”

Given Xiang Ning’s style, he probably wouldn’t report this to the factory director. Others might or might not. Tang Xiaoguang, however, had made up his mind—he would.

If Qiming Manufacturing Factory couldn’t ensure his safety and internship environment, he’d apply to another factory.

No way he’d stay in a place with sneaky thieves.

Peeking into the dormitory, Tang Xiaoguang whispered, “Master Xiang’s lips were so pale they looked blue. He might not make it to dawn.”

Behind him came a yawn from Zong Huaitang. Turning around, Zong Huaitang leaned against the railing and rubbed his sore neck. “He’ll be fine. Before he got injured, he was all serious and proper. After the injury, he acts like he’s in a play—his face says one thing, his eyes say another. Every glance holds a new scheme.” He chuckled, finding it amusing.

Tang Xiaoguang didn’t quite grasp his meaning before Zong Huaitang walked into the dormitory.

“Why so panicked, comrade sitting on the chair? Lost any gold bars?”

Chen Ziqing, holding his bandaged head, replied, “Nothing’s missing.”

From outside, Tang Xiaoguang interjected, “If nothing’s missing, then it was just to scare you.”

Chen Ziqing froze. Scare me? No, scare the original owner.

“Why would someone do that? I haven’t wronged anyone.” He tried to suppress his emotions, keeping his expression one of innocent confusion.

Tang Xiaoguang, struggling to hold back laughter, thought: This guy might read poetry, but he’s not smart. Even something this simple needs to be spelled out?

At first, Tang Xiaoguang didn’t want to explain, just like Zong Huaitang and Zhong Ming. But when he met Xiang Ning’s pleading eyes, he felt a pang of pity.

“People aren’t perfect. If you’re not flawless, there will always be someone who resents you,” Tang Xiaoguang said. “Or maybe they’re jealous that you win the ‘Outstanding Worker’ award every year.”

Chen Ziqing quickly recalled the details about the workshop’s outstanding worker awards. “This year’s awards haven’t been decided yet.”

Tang Xiaoguang shrugged. “If this scare drives you insane, you’ll be off the list for the ‘Outstanding Worker’ award.”

Chen Ziqing was dumbfounded. “Who would go insane over something like that?”

“Pfft.”

Zong Huaitang, who had been studying a poster on the wall, burst out laughing. “Not you, of course. You only screamed bloody murder in the middle of the night and woke the entire dormitory.”

Chen Ziqing glared at Zong Huaitang.

Zong Huaitang raised an eyebrow, confused. What? I’m not even allowed to joke about it? Just as he was about to retort, Chen Ziqing cut him off with a clear dismissal. “You guys should head back to your dorms. I’m going to bed.”

Without further ado, he grabbed Tang Xiaoguang and Zong Huaitang by their arms and pushed them toward the door. As they reached it, he cast a glance at Zhong Ming, who was still standing awkwardly outside.

“Master Zhong, Comrade Tang, Technician Zong, I won’t see you out. Good night.”

With that, he shut the door, not bothering to see their varied reactions to his half-hearted “good night.”

Inside the dormitory, Chen Ziqing paced, trying to piece things together. If I follow Tang Xiaoguang’s theory, this is all absurd.

Would someone really fake a ghost to scare me just to win ‘Outstanding Worker’? That’s ridiculous.

Moreover, sneaking in to nudge a wire in hopes of making him think it was a supernatural event seemed far less effective than simply dressing in white and floating past his window.

He leaned toward the theory that someone had been monitoring the original owner, searching for something—probably in the cabinet. They’d been so focused on searching that they hadn’t noticed the wire moving.

The person who scared the original owner in the mountains, the mission target, and whoever entered tonight were likely the same individual.

Feeling like he was on the right track, Chen Ziqing rummaged through the cabinet from top to bottom, checking every item, even the layers of his lunchbox lids. He found nothing.

If only there were a clue.

Chen Ziqing remembered the “Fly Box” mentioned in his account. “System Lu, what is a Fly Box?”

A cold mechanical voice responded, “A storage for assets.”

Chen Ziqing was caught off guard. “Then why not call it a locker? Fly Box is such a strange name. Who came up with it?”

“Named by the Main System.”

Chen Ziqing was stunned. The Main System was the boss of this oversight system, wasn’t it? He quickly backtracked. “Actually, flies are pretty cute.”

The system made no reply.

Chen Ziqing closed the curtains. “What about ‘Dead Fish Eyes’?”

The system replied, “A double-points feature valid for one month.”

Chen Ziqing sighed. That’s more useful than the Fly Box—if only I had points. He mourned the 1.1 million points he’d lost. If I still had them, imagine how many tools I could buy.

Oh well, it’s all been erased. No point dwelling on it.

For now, Chen Ziqing concluded that Zong Huaitang was his only lead. He’d pull at that thread until another presented itself.

He barely fell asleep before being jolted awake by the bustling sounds outside. People here were early risers with healthy routines. He wasn’t used to it.

Groggily, he dressed in his work clothes, slipped on his yellow sneakers, and shuffled to the washstand. He pressed his face into a towel to wake himself up, gathered his toiletries into a basin, and headed downstairs to wash up.

At the northwest corner of the water tower, a line of faucets was crowded with workers.

Chen Ziqing spotted a group from the first workshop and made his way over. They shifted to make space for him, greeting him warmly and asking how he slept, whether his head still hurt, or if he felt dizzy. He answered each question.

The spring morning was cool and refreshing.

Chen Ziqing brushed his teeth, spitting out foam as his gums tingled slightly. The metallic taste of blood lingered in his mouth. He filled his porcelain mug with water, swished, and spat a few times before stepping aside to let others use the faucet.

Workers bustled in and out of the dormitory buildings, brushing past each other. As the sun rose in the east, Chen Ziqing paused on the staircase to glance back.

The morning was filled with vigour. The workers exuded enthusiasm, with no trace of defeat or pessimism, despite their uniformly dark, muted clothing.

The colours of this mission world were much brighter and more vivid than those of the real world.

Amid cheerful greetings, Chen Ziqing returned to his dormitory. He put on the original owner’s watch, huffing onto the scratched faceplate and rubbing it with his thumb.

6:15.

Time to head to the broadcast station.

He tucked the book of poetry under his arm, locked the door, and walked toward the stairwell, lost in thought.

Did I lock the door? I think I did.

Wait, did I really lock it?

Chen Ziqing wasn’t sure if this was obsessive-compulsive disorder, anxiety, or early-onset dementia. He’d always been like this—worried about whether the door was locked or the gas stove turned off. It wasn’t just when leaving; even at night, he’d fret about whether everything was secure, double- and triple-checking compulsively.

At the stairwell, he couldn’t help but turn back. He tugged hard on the lock twice. It didn’t budge.

Locked.

He walked a few steps before turning back again. It’s locked, right? He tugged again. Yeah, it’s locked.

He walked a few more steps, then turned back once more.

Tsk.

Deciding to ask someone to confirm it for him, he spotted a familiar figure—Zong Huaitang. Raising his hand, Chen Ziqing waved enthusiastically. “Good morning, Technician Zong!”

Zong Huaitang was strolling on the second floor. The harder it was for him to climb stairs, the more he insisted on doing it—refusing to indulge his injured left leg. It was his daily ritual.

“You’ve got so much energy before breakfast,” Zong Huaitang said, walking toward the overly enthusiastic patient. He figured Chen Ziqing must have an agenda.

Before he could say anything, Chen Ziqing reached out and wiggled the lock in front of him. “Does it look locked to you?”

Zong Huaitang: “…”

What does this mean? Is he setting me up again? He refused to engage.

Chen Ziqing looked at him expectantly.

Zong Huaitang turned his head in disdain. “It’s locked.”

Chen Ziqing exhaled in relief and walked off, leaving Zong Huaitang standing there.

Did he just leave me hanging like that?

Scowling, Zong Huaitang inspected the lock. He needed me to confirm this? Does he not trust his own eyes? He shook his head and continued his morning stroll, now thoroughly uninterested.

Moments later, a shout came from downstairs. “Technician Zong!”

He stopped, turned around, and leaned against the railing to look down.

Chen Ziqing stood under a large tree, his pants bulging on both sides from eggs stuffed in his pockets. Crumbs of steamed buns clung to his lips, and he held half a bun in his hand.

“Wait for me to finish reading at the broadcast station. We’ll head to the workshop together—I’ve got something to discuss with you.”

Zong Huaitang smirked. Whatever it is, it’s bound to lose its importance by the time we reach the workshop. Why all the fuss here? He finished his stroll and crossed the road.

The female worker from yesterday was waiting nearby with her bicycle, a shy smile on her face. She wore a rose-patterned scarf tied around her slender neck.

Zong Huaitang smiled back, his demeanour suave.

A passing worker riding a bicycle called out, “Technician Zong, leaving already? Master Xiang said to wait and head to work with him!”

“He’s not my wife. Just because he says wait doesn’t mean I will.”

Zong Huaitang let out a dismissive snort as the workers around him laughed, heading toward the young woman.

From the bushes, a loudspeaker crackled with static before a lively and clear voice emerged.

“Dear comrades, good morning. This is Master Xiang from Workshop One. The factory broadcast begins now. To start, I’ll recite a poem by Ai Qing: To the Sun.”

“In the morning, I wake from sleep, rejoicing at your brilliance…”

“Your fresh, tender, and pure light shines through my long-closed window…”

Workers flooded the road, their bicycle bells ringing. Those who lived offsite rode in like a tide, joining their factory-residing colleagues on the road to the production area.

Men rode with songs on their lips and family members on the backseat, while women cycled in groups, chatting and laughing.

“Sun, eternal philosopher, you bring joy to the world…”

“You cast days into countless golden wheels, spinning across ancient deserts…”

As the heartfelt poetry echoed, acquaintances exchanged greetings. Especially when meeting senior workers or leaders, everyone was exceptionally polite, their chatter and laughter filling the morning air.

A new day had begun.