Like many others in the factory, Ma Qiangqiang viewed the factory director as an omnipotent figure. Any problem, no matter how big or small, had to be brought to the director.

However, the director had taken the supply and sales department on an out-of-town procurement trip and wasn’t in the factory. After running to the director’s office in vain, Ma Qiangqiang instead called upon the workers of Workshop One.

Meanwhile, those who had gotten into a fight during the tomb-sweeping trip were still detained in the union office writing self-reflections. As a result, there weren’t many people moving about freely in the courtyard. A few others were there, their faces filled with sorrow, as they wheeled out bicycles.

From the shade under the trees behind them came a woman’s voice, “Qiangqiang, where are you rushing off to?”

Ma Qiangqiang turned his head, his mouth twisting into a cry as he wailed, “Comrade Zhong, my brother… He wants to see me one last time! We have to hurry!”

Zhong Gu was startled. “I’ll come with you.”

In a flurry of panic, they rushed to the hospital. Zhong Gu, sniffling, entered the ward with a cry ready to burst from her lips, only to stop short, stunned.

The person Ma Qiangqiang had declared to be on the brink of death was currently lying on his stomach, letting a nurse clean the bloodstains off the back of his neck.

Still clutching a tissue to her nose, Zhong Gu froze.

Ma Qiangqiang craned his neck to peer from behind, his eyes wide. “Bro, you’re fine again?!”

“Watch your mouth,” Zhong Gu smacked his arm. “Xiang Ning is fine.”

Chen Ziqing, hearing the commotion, looked toward the door. Several workers had crowded in, led by a woman who was at least 1.75 meters tall. She had a long, rectangular face with bold, striking features. Thick black braids fell over her shoulders, and she wore a floral blouse under a worker’s jacket with a satchel slung across her chest. She was the standout beauty of Workshop Five, someone the original Xiang Ning had befriended through the union, and came from a well-off family.

Chen Ziqing pulled his hand from under the pillow and waved twice at her.

The grief on Zhong Gu’s face disappeared instantly. She stuffed the tissue into her pocket and briskly walked into the ward, placing her bag on the rusty iron cabinet beside the bed. She told the nurse, “Comrade, you can leave this to me.”

The nurse handed her the towel, gave a few instructions, and left.

The others came in one by one, all expressing concern.

“Team Leader, how are you feeling?”

“Little Ma scared us to death. We thought you—”

A worker grabbed Ma Qiangqiang, scolding, “You, Little Ma! Look at the mess you’ve made. How unlucky!”

Ma Qiangqiang, already disoriented, was now thoroughly ashamed. He slapped his own mouth several times before carefully looking at the person on the bed. “Bro, don’t be mad at me.”

Chen Ziqing smiled faintly. “I’m not mad.”

Ma Qiangqiang stood dumbfounded. His brother seemed… different somehow.

Chen Ziqing’s heart skipped a beat. Did I slip up? Already?

It’s fine. No need to panic. He quickly calmed himself. The marked details wouldn’t give him away so easily, and even if they did, it wasn’t the end of the world.

The others didn’t notice anything amiss and continued discussing the team leader’s condition.

Chen Ziqing turned his head from side to side. “I’m fine now. I just need some rest.”

No one believed him.

“That’s impossible. My uncle hit his head once and vomited, even had seizures. He couldn’t think straight and couldn’t be woken up. My aunt was scared out of her wits.”

“Was his brain injured? Did he recover?”

“He was fine for a while… then he passed.”

The room fell silent.

Zhong Gu frowned gravely. “Xiang Ning, can you recognize us? Do you still know which factory we’re from?”

Chen Ziqing reassured her, “I can talk to you all, can’t I? My brain’s fine.”

Zhong Gu washed the dirty towel in the yellow basin, wrung it out, and hung it on the edge. “You’ve hurt your head. You need to rest and not move around.”

Everyone chimed in agreement. “He should rest.”

“With an injury like this, he needs at least three months in bed.”

“Even after that, it’ll depend on his recovery.”

“What’s the factory’s plan? Have they arranged anything?”

“No idea. We’ll have to ask the director when he’s back.”

“They’d better. If the director doesn’t approve, I’ll go find him.”

“Me too!”

“Count me in!”

The young workers clamoured enthusiastically, making the ward noisy.

Zhong Gu furrowed her thick brows. “Alright, enough. Xiang Ning needs peace and quiet. Everyone, out.”

Someone teased, “Oh, Comrade Zhong, eating at our team leader’s table already? Since when do you get to call the shots for him?”

“Didn’t you hear the song ‘Young Friends Meeting Today’? Do you even know what friendship is?” Zhong Gu made a dramatic gesture into the air. “Keep your thoughts pure, or believe me, I’ll slap you so hard you’ll be picking your teeth off the ground.”

“Scram.” She shooed them out of the ward. In the corridor, they decided to visit Comrade Tang on the third floor since they were already here.

Zhong Gu closed the door, returned to the bedside, and whispered, “Xiang Ning, how did you get hurt? Who did this to you?”

Chen Ziqing muttered, “I fell.”

Zhong Gu, already resolved to avenge him even at the cost of her job, asked, “Fell? How did you manage to crack your head open?”

Chen Ziqing sighed. “Bad luck. Hit a rock.”

Zhong Gu murmured nervously, “You’re lucky to be alive.”

Chen Ziqing coughed softly.

Zhong Gu rushed to check the windows and glanced at the two oxygen tanks at the foot of the bed. “They even prepared those for you.”

“They didn’t need to use them. I woke up quickly, and the doctors left once they saw I was fine,” Chen Ziqing explained.

“Even with good fortune, you can’t keep taking risks. You need to rest properly.” Zhong Gu handed the basin of dirty water to Ma Qiangqiang, telling him to empty it, then sat on the opposite bed and chatted briefly with Chen Ziqing about his condition.

When Chen Ziqing tried to sit up out of boredom, he feared Zhong Gu would stop him, so he urged her to leave. “The doctor said I’m out of danger. You and Little Ma should head back to the factory. It’s almost lunchtime.”

“I can’t think about eating right now,” Zhong Gu said. “Missing one meal won’t kill me.”

Chen Ziqing said seriously, “Comrade Zhong Gu, food is vital. Skipping meals is no small matter. You mustn’t neglect it.”

Her cheeks flushed red. “Fine, I’ll head back.” She patted her pants and stood up. “Do you need me to bring you anything?”

Before Chen Ziqing could shake his head, she added, “Your poetry book.”

His eyelid twitched. Oh no, the original wrote poetry daily during lunch breaks.

Seeing his face turn pale, Zhong Gu panicked, rushing to the bed. “Xiang Ning, what’s wrong? I’ll get the doctor!”

“No need. My head just hurts a bit,” Chen Ziqing said, grabbing her arm. “I’ll sleep it off.”

Zhong Gu tucked him in like a mother. “Sleep more. The more you sleep, the quicker you’ll recover.”

Chen Ziqing closed his eyes, his fluttering lashes betraying his inner turmoil. He only had four warnings before failure, and it was his first day in this world—using one up now would be reckless.

He calculated the time. Factory lunch breaks ran from 11:30 AM to 1:30 PM. He still had time.

He reached out to the system in desperation. “System Lu, do I have any special abilities? Or maybe a healing item to temporarily block the pain?”

System: “The host has no special abilities. Items require points to purchase.”

Chen Ziqing jumped at the suggestion. “Then I’ll buy some.”

A screen popped up showing his account. To his dismay, the large negative number before the balance stopped him cold. The realization hit like a ton of bricks: he was already 100,000 points in debt.

“How am I a newcomer with one failed login and such massive debt?”

System: “The architecture of this world closely resembles another. A glitch sent you there for 15 minutes before recalling you and transporting you here.”

Chen Ziqing frowned. “What could I do in just 15 minutes?”

System: “Time flows differently. One minute there equals one year here.”

He was stunned. “Why don’t I remember anything?”

System: “Unnecessary error data has been erased.”

Chen Ziqing was incredulous. “What about my points?”

System: “Our company held a meeting regarding the error. As compensation, the main system granted you one million points and approved a 100,000-point loan, all of which has already been spent.”

His head spun. Had he saved a world in those 15 minutes?

Whatever happened was lost to him now.

Chen Ziqing refocused on the pressing issue. “Can I get another loan?”

System: “No.”

Dejected, Chen Ziqing opened his eyes to see Ma Qiangqiang tidying the foot of the bed. Zhong Gu was gone.

“Little Ma, where’s Zhong Gu?”

“She went back to the factory to grab your poetry book and some clothes. I offered to go, but she wouldn’t let me.”

Chen Ziqing calculated something in his head. “Let her. Come by during lunch with my poetry collection and pen from the second drawer.”

“Okay,” Ma Qiangqiang replied.

Later, the one delivering items to Chen Ziqing wasn’t Zhong Gu, but a brawny man in a white tank top stretched taut over his bulging chest.

Through the original owner’s memories, Chen Ziqing identified the man as Zhong Ming, the eldest disciple of Director Liu and the team leader of another group in Workshop One. He was also Zhong Gu’s brother. Zhong Ming shared a dormitory with the original Xiang Ning, though their relationship had recently soured.

It all started when Xiang Ning joined the union and began interacting with Zhong Gu. Young men and women walking together were bound to spark rumours, which inevitably reached Zhong Ming. He asked Xiang Ning to avoid his sister and abandon any thoughts of becoming her husband.

Xiang Ning had sworn on his integrity that there was no romantic entanglement, just a collegial friendship. But he hadn’t deliberately kept his distance either.

Zhong Gu, everything was as usual.

Zhong Ming felt like he’d been played and, in his frustration, spoke bluntly.

The harshest thing he said was, “You’re not even taller than my sister. What kind of daydreaming is that?”

The original Xiang Ning smiled and clarified, “Master Zhong, you might not know this, but men don’t display their height the same way women do.”

“I’m still a few centimeters taller than Comrade Zhong. If Master Zhong doesn’t believe me, I don’t mind standing next to her to compare.”

The conversation ended on a sour note.

The original Xiang Ning believed that someone as crude as Zhong Ming didn’t deserve a high school–educated sister or parents who were schoolteachers.

Zhong Ming, on the other hand, thought his sister should marry someone straightforward and dependable. He was absolutely against Xiang Ning joining their family and wouldn’t even entertain the idea.

Although both were lower-level leaders, they treated each other as mere colleagues in public and didn’t speak privately.

Chen Ziqing’s thoughts were interrupted by a sharp pain. Two sets of clothes and a poetry book were placed by his pillow, with the thick book partly covering his eyes. He reached out to push it aside, raising his eyelids to glance at Zhong Ming. His eyes were red, quickly welling with tears.

Zhong Ming paused, guilt flashing in his expression as he avoided Chen Ziqing’s gaze. His face, however, showed no hint of apology. “My sister asked me to bring these for you.”

“And lunch.”

He pulled a towel-wrapped bundle from a cloth bag and quickly unfolded it to reveal an aluminium lunchbox.

Chen Ziqing didn’t bother wondering how Zhong Gu had managed to convince Zhong Ming to run errands for her. His mind was preoccupied with the poem he needed to write during lunch break. His gaze fell blankly on Zhong Ming’s busy hands.

Zhong Ming removed the thin aluminium lid and tossed it onto the cabinet. Inside the box were white congee mixed with wilted vegetable leaves, three fried eggs, and a small heap of beef.

“See that? My sister asked Master Li to prepare this special meal for you.”

The tone was laced with gritted teeth.

Chen Ziqing had no appetite. “I’ll eat later.”

“You’ll eat now.” Zhong Ming stuffed the towel into the bag, saying, “I need to get back for my nap. Hurry and finish.”

Chen Ziqing replied, “Go ahead.”

Zhong Ming roughly propped Chen Ziqing upright, shoved the pillow behind his back, and pressed the hot lunchbox into his hands. “My sister told me to make sure you ate it all.”

Chen Ziqing rolled his eyes. For someone as technically skilled as Zhong Ming—enough to gain Director Liu’s favour—he was ridiculously stubborn and straightforward. Provoking him would only lead to reckless actions.

The earlier fight in the mountains had been sparked when a worker from Workshop Five said something derogatory about Zhong Gu, enraging Zhong Ming and leading to impulsive actions. What began as a personal conflict escalated into a brawl between two workshops.

Chen Ziqing reluctantly picked up the aluminium spoon. Under Zhong Ming’s supervision, he forced down every last bite of congee. Once he was finished, Zhong Ming promptly cleaned up, grabbed his things, and left without a backward glance.

Chen Ziqing had expected to vomit after eating so much, but to his surprise, he didn’t feel nauseous. Perhaps it was the beginner’s shield lessening his symptoms.

As soon as Ma Qiangqiang arrived, Chen Ziqing asked him to carry him back to the factory.

“Don’t shout, and don’t tell anyone,” Chen Ziqing said quickly. “Just carry me to the west workshop. I’ll write a poem there and return to the hospital.”

Ma Qiangqiang’s mouth hung open in confusion. “Go out? But the doctor said—”

Chen Ziqing replied with mysterious conviction, “I need inspiration.”

Easily persuaded, Ma Qiangqiang dusted off his work hat and placed it on Chen Ziqing’s head. “Here, wear this to block the wind.”

The two snuck out of the hospital.

Though Ma Qiangqiang looked round and small, he was surprisingly strong. He carried Chen Ziqing the entire way without stopping.

Chen Ziqing, preoccupied with his task, ignored the scenery. Upon arriving, he immediately began contemplating his poem.

Nearby, Ma Qiangqiang crouched, playing with ants.

The spring sunlight was gentle, the breeze warm. Chen Ziqing chewed on his pen for ages without a single idea. The original Xiang Ning’s love for poetry hadn’t transferred to him; he had no clue how to write one.

As time ticked by, Chen Ziqing broke into a sweat from anxiety. In desperation, he decided to copy a poem he knew by heart—Li Bai’s Quiet Night Thoughts.

No one said it had to be original.

He compiled the poems into a collection, clipped the pen cap onto the cover, and hadn’t even taken a moment to relax when he was caught. Someone informed the factory’s security department.

Factory Director’s Office

Chen Ziqing sat on the black leather sofa, observing the surroundings. From the old-fashioned switches and furniture to the lamp, telephone, globe, and walls adorned with awards for “Outstanding Collective” and “Active Group,” every detail reflected the Qiming Manufacturing Factory’s history. Beneath the desk glass were newspaper clippings, and on top of the desk was a black-and-white group photo from a middle school.

Standing by the desk, flipping through documents, was Zong Linyu, the current factory director. He was tall, dressed in a light gray shirt tucked into black trousers, a belt cinched tightly around his waist. The shirt cuffs were buttoned at the wrists. His lips were pressed into a firm line, and his expression was austere.

His deep black eyes, long lashes, and sharp features gave him a distinct presence.

Chen Ziqing glanced at the lunchbox on the desk. “Director, you haven’t eaten?”

“Hmm.” The man, who had seemingly been working nonstop since returning from the procurement trip, replied without looking up. “Xiao Xiang, I heard from Section Chief Li about your heroic act. The factory will hold a meeting to present you with a bonus. Now, tell me—”

He set the documents aside. “Why weren’t you at the hospital?”

Chen Ziqing swallowed nervously, startled by a sudden outburst.

“My brother went out to write poetry!” Ma Qiangqiang’s voice boomed.

Chen Ziqing facepalmed silently. Stop talking!

The man looked over. “Poetry?”

Chen Ziqing dropped his hand and sat up straight. “Yes, Director.”

The director pulled out a chair and removed his wristwatch, sitting down. “You didn’t need to come back to the factory for that.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Chen Ziqing saw Ma Qiangqiang stand upright, puffing out his chest. “Director, poetry requires inspiration! The west workshop is my brother’s creative stage.”

“He carries a heart full of rain and flowers. He’s a poet!”

Chen Ziqing’s hands twitched as they gripped his trousers. The surge of secondhand embarrassment was overwhelming.

The telephone rang. The director leaned back in his chair, speaking briefly with a leader on the other end about the procurement trip. When he hung up, he noticed Chen Ziqing still eyeing the phone as if seeing one for the first time.

Knocking on the desk, the director said, “Loving to learn is good. Writing poetry cultivates character and is commendable. But,” his tone shifted to sternness, “you must prioritize appropriately.”

Chen Ziqing nodded, contrite. “The director is right.”

The director asked, “Did you consult medical staff before leaving the hospital?”

Chen Ziqing shook his head.

The director frowned. “You don’t look well. I won’t lecture you further. Workers from your workshop have already come to me, saying you’ll need at least three months in the hospital.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m already up and about,” Chen Ziqing said quickly.

The director pulled a leave form from the stack, wrote “Special Approval” in clean strokes, added some notes, and stamped it with a red seal. “Here. No need for someone to deliver this. Take it yourself.”

“Thank you, Director.” Chen Ziqing accepted the form, admiring the neat handwriting. “I’ll have Comrade Ma take me back to the hospital now.”

“Good.” The director escorted them out.

Chen Ziqing walked behind, and Ma Qiangqiang tugged on his sleeve, leaning in to whisper, “Bro, that’s not the factory director.”

Chen Ziqing didn’t need Ma Qiangqiang’s reminder to recall that the director, Zong Linyu, had a twin brother, Zong Huaitang. Zong Huaitang worked as a technician in the factory and looked exactly like his brother.

The difference? Zong Huaitang had a slight limp in his left leg.

No one knew how it had happened; he had it when he joined the factory, and no one had ever managed to get an explanation.

Zong Huaitang, whether out of boredom or mischief, liked to impersonate his brother and play tricks on people.

Chen Ziqing’s eyes locked onto the man’s left foot as it moved with a barely noticeable irregularity—something you wouldn’t catch unless you were paying close attention. Circling around to face him, Chen Ziqing changed his address with a resigned tone.

“Technician Zong.”

The man’s furrowed brows smoothed out, and his previously tight lips curved into a dazzling smile—like a whale breaching the ocean’s surface to catch the sunlight or a cheetah breaking free of its chains to chase the wind in the forest. The sheer radiance was stunning.

“What’s this? Our usually sharp and insightful Team Leader Xiang needs someone to point it out to him?” Zong Huaitang feigned shock. “Did you really hit your head so hard that it messed up your brain? And yet you’re still planning to write poetry? Can you even hold a pen?”

Chen Ziqing twitched his mouth, holding up the leave form. “You issued this. It’s useless.”

“Isn’t the handwriting the same either way? When my brother comes back, I’ll have him write you a new one.” Zong Huaitang casually tore up the form and stepped aside to let them pass.

Ma Qiangqiang moved to carry Chen Ziqing on his back, but Chen Ziqing quietly told him, “Do it when we’re outside.”

The office of Zong Huaitang’s brother was a suite, with the desk inside and a meeting room in the outer area. As they walked through the meeting room, Ma Qiangqiang was muttering nonsense under his breath, scratching his back with his hand stretched awkwardly behind him. He wasn’t paying attention and accidentally bumped into Chen Ziqing.

Chen Ziqing stumbled sideways. Zong Huaitang instinctively reached out a hand, aiming for his lower back.

It was a scenario straight out of a clichéd romance drama—so corny it would make even a dog cringe.

There was no slow-motion effect. With his face pale as death and eyes tightly shut, Chen Ziqing couldn’t react in time to do anything else.

Zong Huaitang, acting on reflex, caught him in an embrace.

In that moment, Zong Huaitang noticed how stiff Chen Ziqing’s entire body was. From head to toe, he radiated resistance. Zong Huaitang’s hand immediately loosened.

But then he remembered the injury on the back of Chen Ziqing’s head and, in an unusual display of kindness, tightened his hold again.

Chen Ziqing: “…”

What is this guy doing? Why is he doubling down on this ridiculous gesture?