After finishing his poetry reading, Chen Ziqing hurried back to the staff dormitory. Someone told him that Zong Huaitang had already gone to work.

“Technician Zong is dating. Master Xiang, please be understanding.”

Chen Ziqing smiled politely. “Of course.”

As soon as the person left, his smile dropped. Those twins, born just minutes apart, were now thirty-two years old. The older twin, just a few minutes senior, had a fiancée, a stable relationship, and plans to marry next year. The woman occasionally visited the factory, and the pair were admired by everyone as a perfect match.

The younger twin, despite his limp, was equally popular. Tall, good-looking, and charming, he was adored by many. Even the older workers at the factory often tried to introduce single women to him. Yet, instead of settling down, he flitted between romantic entanglements, stirring up the hearts of the young female workers. A butterfly, leaving rumours in his wake, without a single official girlfriend.

Chen Ziqing pushed the poetry book through the gap under his dormitory door without daring to glance at the lock. He knew if he did, he’d get caught in an endless loop of checking and doubting. Not spotting Ma Qiangqiang nearby, he decided to head off on his own.

At this time, the road was almost deserted. Chen Ziqing strolled leisurely.

Rows of plane trees stood vibrantly on either side of the road. Their thick, intertwining branches formed a canopy above, resembling a tunnel or a treehouse.

Walking beneath them felt like stepping into a secret forest.

“Xiang Ning!”

From a distance, Zhong Gu rode her bicycle over, stopping with one foot on the ground. She patted the seat behind her and called out, “Hop on. I’ll give you a ride.”

Chen Ziqing climbed onto the back, gripping the leather seat underneath as a handhold. They chatted intermittently as they rode.

Zhong Gu pedaled effortlessly. “Little Ma promised me last night that he’d come carry you this morning. Where is he? Why didn’t he show up?”

“Probably went to the factory first,” Chen Ziqing replied, enjoying the breeze.

“That Little Ma…” Zhong Gu huffed in frustration.

“Let him be. I feel much better today,” Chen Ziqing said, catching one of Zhong Gu’s long braids as it brushed against his face. She lived offsite, unlike her brother Zhong Ming, who stayed in the dormitory. The siblings were surprisingly uncoordinated.

As they approached the mountain, workers parked their bicycles haphazardly at the bottom of the stone steps. Many had toppled, causing others to lean precariously.

Once Chen Ziqing dismounted, Zhong Gu went to straighten and secure her bike.

Chen Ziqing glanced up the staircase, which led to the production zone’s gate. It would take several flights to reach the top. With that limp, does Zong Huaitang have to sit and rest on the way up and down every day?

From the original owner’s memory, no one at the factory ever discussed it. Zong Huaitang seemed to act no differently than anyone else.

“Xiang Ning.” Zhong Gu adjusted her sleeve covers, standing in front of him. “I’ll carry you up.”

Chen Ziqing refused. “Men and women shouldn’t be so casual.”

Zhong Gu playfully scolded him. “This isn’t the time to be particular. We’re comrades.”

No matter what she said, Chen Ziqing wouldn’t let her carry him. She relented with a sigh. “Stubborn as a mule.”

She walked behind him, ready to catch him if he stumbled.

Step by step, with frequent rests, Chen Ziqing finally reached the last flight of stairs. Ahead was the production area’s iron gate, wide open, with a slogan above: “Work Together for Glory.” He removed his work hat, fanning himself as he caught his breath and took in his surroundings.

Some workshops were single-story buildings, while others had outdoor iron staircases leading to platforms. Security personnel were stationed throughout the production area, even on the slopes, to prevent workers from sneaking off to slack or flirt. A few office buildings were covered in ivy, marking the administrative zone. Chen Ziqing averted his gaze and followed Zhong Gu to the first workshop on the left.

It wasn’t yet the end of the check-in period.

Attendance was manually recorded. A desk and chair were set up along the walkway outside the workshop, with Accountant Zhang overseeing the process.

A cloth board hung on the wall, sewn with dozens of small pockets. Each pocket held a long, white plastic card with a worker’s name exposed at the top.

Workers had to step forward, find their card, and drop it into a wooden box next to the board. Once the check-in period ended, Accountant Zhang locked the box and took it to the office. Before the end of the day, she reopened it and returned the cards to the board for workers to check out in the same manner.

This system made it easy for her to track attendance—who was on time and who left on schedule.

At this moment, only a few plastic cards remained. Chen Ziqing stepped forward to retrieve his.

“Master Xiang, you’re here!” Accountant Zhang waved her pen in greeting.

“Good morning,” Chen Ziqing replied, flipping over his plastic card. Both sides were the same, with his name, “Xiang Ning,” printed in blue. The letters could be scratched off if pressed hard enough with a fingernail.

As Zhong Gu approached, Zhong Ming appeared at the workshop entrance. “Little sister, come inside.”

Her expression soured, her face darkening. Her overly strict elder brother always assumed the worst, no matter how often she explained her relationship with Xiang Ning.

Under his silent pressure, Zhong Gu reluctantly slid her name card into the wooden box. “Xiang Ning, I’m heading in.”

“Alright,” Chen Ziqing replied, glancing at the remaining unpunched cards. In the corner, he spotted Ma Qiangqiang’s card.

That silly little sphere is late?

Unbelievable.

The original owner had high standards, and Ma Qiangqiang had always followed his example, earning gratitude from the Ma family’s elders. Just a while ago, they had even brought chicken soup to the factory to thank him.

Without overthinking, Chen Ziqing entered the workshop. Workers at their stations were busy and focused, the atmosphere alive with activity.

It was all new to him. Even though he’d inherited the original owner’s skills and knowledge of mechanical manufacturing, it felt fresh to experience firsthand.

An older worker climbed down from a ladder. “Master Xiang, Little Ma isn’t here yet. Don’t blame him. He must have a reason.”

“I’m not blaming him,” Chen Ziqing replied.

“Little Ma’s a hardworking kid. In February and March, his production numbers were the highest in the group. When he gets here, you should hear him out. He wouldn’t be late without a good reason.”

“I really won’t blame him,” Chen Ziqing reassured, exasperated.

The worker didn’t seem convinced.

Chen Ziqing decided to let it go. The original owner’s fearsome reputation was evidently quite strong.

Around 9 a.m., Ma Qiangqiang came rushing into the workshop, running straight to Chen Ziqing. “Brother, my hours—I’ll catch up this afternoon, I swear!”

Chen Ziqing understood the factory’s system: once workers met their base hours, their wages depended on how much they produced. The more they worked, the more they earned.

But missing even the base hours would draw criticism for being unmotivated or lacking ambition.

“There are still over 20 days left in the month. You’ll catch up,” Chen Ziqing said, offering a comforting smile. His tone was kind, unlike the original owner’s strictness. “And if you don’t, it’s fine. Machines break down for maintenance; people need rest too.”

Ma Qiangqiang didn’t catch all the words over the workshop’s noise.

Chen Ziqing leaned closer and repeated himself. Ma Qiangqiang blinked in surprise before his wide eyes filled with understanding. He stood there, dumbfounded.

It seemed he got the message.

Chen Ziqing picked a leaf out of Ma Qiangqiang’s hair. “Now, tell me why you were late today.”

“I overslept,” Ma Qiangqiang admitted, hanging his head in shame. “I woke up before dawn but thought I’d nap a bit longer. Then… I just slept too long.”

“Spring makes people sleepy—it’s normal. This weather is perfect for sleeping,” Chen Ziqing replied with a knowing nod. “Alright, adjust your mindset and get to work.”

As he left for the office, Ma Qiangqiang picked up the fallen leaf.

Zhong Gu came over from her section and asked, “What happened? Did Xiang Ning scold you?”

Ma Qiangqiang shook his head.

“Then why the long face?” Zhong Gu patted his back.

“I’m not used to him not scolding me,” Ma Qiangqiang muttered, lips quivering.

Zhong Gu sighed. “You know what that makes you?”

“I do. A glutton for punishment.”

Zhong Gu gasped. “Where did you hear such awful language?”

“On TV.”

“Well, don’t use it. It’s vulgar,” Zhong Gu scolded, placing a hand on his shoulder.

 “You’re lacking self-discipline and need to work on self-management,” Zhong Gu said, patting Ma Qiangqiang’s shoulder.

Ma Qiangqiang wilted. “I really need my bro to… what’s the word… oh, right, push me forward. But ever since my brother hurt his head, he’s stopped pushing me.”

“Xiang Ning has changed a bit. He’s loosened up and isn’t as strict,” Zhong Gu said thoughtfully. “But his brain hasn’t fully recovered yet. Once he’s better, he’ll probably go back to his old ways.”

Ma Qiangqiang perked up. “Yeah, that’s true.”

Meanwhile, in the office, Zong Huaitang was repairing some parts, his fingers smeared with machine oil.

Another technician opened the door for Chen Ziqing but didn’t call out to Zong Huaitang. Instead, the technician returned to his work, leaving Chen Ziqing to find a seat by himself.

The air smelled faintly of ink and oil. Chen Ziqing scanned the room and noticed a maintenance plan on Zong Huaitang’s desk. It outlined equipment care protocols and repair systems but had been discarded. The cover bore messy pen marks from Zong Huaitang’s idle doodling.

The handwriting was identical to his brother’s.

Behind Zong Huaitang sat an old mechanical typewriter with a sheet of white paper clamped into place, ready to copy something.

The original owner didn’t know how to use it, and neither did Chen Ziqing.

Curiosity piqued, Chen Ziqing leaned closer. It reminded him of those telegraph machines in old TV dramas. He studied its exposed internal structure: a long lever on the left, rows of iron bars arranged in layers like flower petals, each tipped with a circular letter key.

Afraid of breaking it, he didn’t press the keys, just lightly touched one.

Then he felt a gaze on him.

Turning his head, Chen Ziqing said, “Technician Zong, busy?”

Zong Huaitang crossed one leg over the other. “What else would I be doing? Sitting here waiting for you to talk to me?”

Chen Ziqing chuckled awkwardly. He had used the excuse of walking together as a pretense and didn’t actually have anything to say.

“Go ahead,” Zong Huaitang said, watching him.

Chen Ziqing hesitated before inspiration struck. “I wanted to ask if the workshop’s monthly machine maintenance could be increased to twice a month, especially in the first workshop. The equipment there is getting old. I was planning to propose replacing some of it to the factory director soon. If he approves, would you have time to oversee procurement?”

Zong Huaitang ignored him.

It was obvious he’d made it up on the spot. What a smooth talker—better than before.

Feeling he’d been exposed, Chen Ziqing scratched his nose and added casually, “Technician Zong, you’ve got oil on your face.”

Still, no response.

Chen Ziqing returned to his seat, embarrassed. After sitting for a bit, he decided to do a round in the workshop and complete his inspection duties.

The neighbouring team was far more relaxed than the original owner’s group. Workers were chatting even while screwing bolts. The two groups mocked and bantered with each other.

In another corner, Director Liu’s three apprentices were huddled in discussion. The eldest, Zhong Ming, was stoic and upright. The second, Sun Chengzhi, was mischievous and hyperactive. The third, Bai Rong, was soft-featured and delicate-looking.

Bai Rong greeted Chen Ziqing warmly, while Sun Chengzhi completely ignored him, staying glued to Zhong Ming like a shadow.

After wandering around, Chen Ziqing returned to the office and fell asleep in his chair.

Suddenly, a warning flashed in his mind: The host has deviated from the first marked behaviour. One warning issued.

Chen Ziqing shot up from his chair so quickly it tipped over, crashing into another desk.

The technician nearby, who was playing with a pet turtle in a glass jar, was startled by the noise and accidentally knocked the jar over. The turtle tumbled onto the floor, surrounded by broken glass, its shell flipped upward.

At the same time, Zong Huaitang, who was fastening a nut, flinched from the commotion. The nut fell, rolling across the floor. He slammed the rod he was working on onto the table, producing a sharp clink against his teacup. His voice roared, “What the hell is going on?!”

“I was startled by Master Xiang!” the technician stammered, quickly scooping up the turtle. “Brother, here’s your turtle.”

Zong Huaitang retrieved the turtle and placed it on a sheet of paper covered in notes. His colleague turned to Chen Ziqing, concern etched on his face. “Master Xiang, are you okay?”

Zong Huaitang also glanced over, noting that Chen Ziqing didn’t look right.

Chen Ziqing’s pupils were unfocused. The first marked behaviour had been a shock: the original owner often sneaked into Section Chief Li’s office to report minor issues. “Often” meant roughly every two or three days. He’d even gone there two days before his death. By that pattern, today was the day to go again.

Why the morning? Didn’t the original owner work during the day?

Desperate, Chen Ziqing thought, System, the notes didn’t specify a time frame. Can this warning be waived?

“Not possible,” came the cold reply.

Unforgiving. Chen Ziqing closed his eyes, feeling breathless and heartbroken.

A sharp pain jolted him. He opened his eyes to find Zong Huaitang’s stern face inches from his own. His thick lashes were strikingly prominent at this distance.

Zong Huaitang wasn’t wearing standard work attire. His white shirt and gray-blue trousers were paired with a loosely fastened belt. The shirt’s collar was slightly open, revealing a small mole on his Adam’s apple.

“Technician Zong, why did you pinch me?” Chen Ziqing croaked.

“To make sure you didn’t drop dead in the office,” Zong Huaitang retorted gruffly.

Even though it hurt, Chen Ziqing forced a polite thank you.

Zong Huaitang snorted at the crescent-shaped indentations his pinch had left on Chen Ziqing’s face.

Chen Ziqing’s gaze shifted to the turtle on the paper. “Is this your pet? Its name is Ma Hua, right? What’s the story behind the name?”

Zong Huaitang picked up the turtle and placed it in a porcelain cup on the windowsill. “I like eating twisted bread.”

“Oh…” Chen Ziqing replied dryly, failing to distract himself from the anxiety of having only three warnings left.

How was he supposed to find the person tampering with the wires? It seemed like a basic in-game task, yet he had no leads. Even Zong Huaitang, his only “thread,” had yielded nothing.

Lost in thought, Chen Ziqing didn’t notice Zong Huaitang slipping on a puddle of water. The man fell heavily, his left knee slamming into a desk leg.

For a moment, Zong Huaitang froze, his face pale and contorted with pain. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he slumped to the ground.

His usual suave demeanour was gone, replaced by utter misery.

Chen Ziqing, distracted from his own troubles, couldn’t help but let out a chuckle before quickly stifling it, ashamed. How could I laugh at someone else’s pain? I’m terrible.

Zong Huaitang was crouched on the floor, one arm draped over his right knee, the other clutching his injured leg. His back heaved with laboured breaths, the muscles under his shirt taut.

Seizing the chance to show kindness, Chen Ziqing asked, “Technician Zong, does your leg hurt badly? Want me to massage it for you?”

Zong Huaitang turned his head, his red-rimmed eyes wide with disbelief. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, and the veins on his neck bulged. He stared at Chen Ziqing as if he’d just heard the most bizarre offer in the world.

“A man offering to massage another man’s leg? Is that even a thing?”