The factory floor was a sprawling, metallic beast, roaring with the relentless grind of machinery and the hum of fluorescent lights. It stretched endlessly, a labyrinth of clanging machines and roaring furnaces.
My station sat in a forest of churning looms and clattering conveyor belts, where bundles of fabric were fed into machines with the precision of soldiers marching into battle. Silks and cottons of every conceivable hue – gold as sunlight, crimson as fresh blood, and blue as the sea – streamed past me in endless precision. If I hadn't worked here, perhaps I may have considered them to be beautiful. But now, the mere sight of them threw me into resentment and regret. I could feel the lint settling into my skin, seeping into my pores, my lungs.
My hands moved automatically, sorting and folding, the motions I had memorized over years of repetition. But my mind had drifted much too far from this room. I could've sworn I heard Bella's voice. I wasn't sure if I had gone crazy. The curve of her lips as she laughed, the light in her eyes – it was all there.
Yet even the dense, oppressive atmosphere couldn't crush my thoughts from drifting towards Bella. I chastised myself for it, of course.
A sharp snap of fabric pierced the clamor in the factory, jarring me back to the present. My hand had lingered a bit too long on a piece of silk, the motion of the sorting line snagging it against the jagged edge of a conveyor table.
Workers on either side turned to glare at me. I hurriedly tried to smooth the torn edges, but the damage was already done – the delicate cloth was unsalvageable.
"Station 3!"
The shout came from across the room, snapping through the air. My supervisor, a stout man with a perpetually furrowed brow, barreled toward me, his heavy boots clanging. Workers spread like water, glancing at me with a mixture of pity and annoyance.
"What the hell is going on with you today?" He demanded, voice raw with irritation, his arms folded tightly around his chest. "This is the second time you've messed up this shift."
"I'm sorry," I stammered, bowing my head so low that it almost brushed the conveyor table. "I wasn't paying attention. It won't happen again."
"It better not." He leaned in, and I resisted the urge to wrinkle my nose at his breath, hot and stale. "We're already short staffed, and I don't have time to babysit."
"Yes, sir."
"Do you need to go home?" His voice was laced in mock concern.
To anyone else, this statement might've sounded like an offer. But I knew it was a threat. I felt my chest tighten in panic. A day's worth of wages lost, being seen as unreliable. And in this place, dispensability was the beginning of the end.
"No, sir," I said quickly. "I'm fine."
"Then act like it." He eyed me for a long moment, then straightened and waved me off, glancing at the ruined silk with disdain. "Clean this up."
I nodded, bending over to pick up the fallen fabric, hands shaking.
The shift dragged on, each minute stretching into hours. By the time it was five-o-clock, my fingers were raw and blistered from handling coarse burlap and wool. But as did the calluses on my fingers, so did my resolve.
I approached my supervisor, my stomach twisting with anxiety as I prepared to lie.
"Sir," I began, keeping my tone respectful so as not to upset him further. "I need to leave a little early today. Family emergency, you see."
I had reached my limit.
He didn't argue. "Go ahead. But don't make it a habit of this."
He handed me my wages – a few coins for my daily payment, their dull metallic sheen mocking the hours of labor I'd poured into the day.
I looked down at the measly coins in the palm of my hand, my stomach sinking.
"I thought it was 50 yuan per shift," I said cautiously
Before I could finish, he raised his hand, cutting me off with a well-rehearsed sigh. "Budget cuts. This is all I can do." He shook his head almost apologetically, as if he was delivering bad news that somehow hurt him as well.
My grip tightened around the coins. "But I worked over 9 hours today," I protested, my voice trembling with frustration and fear. "This is less than a quarter of what–"
His face contorted. "We're all struggling, Ru Han. You should be thankful you have a job."
He pronounced my name wrong. I suppose he always did, never caring enough to remember the names of his workers. They were all dispensable, after all.
My gaze flicked downward, taking in the polished shine of his leather shoes, his tailored suit, and the glint of a watch peeking from beneath his cuff. It screamed comfort, excess, while the rest of us drowned.
A familiar bitterness washed over me, clawing at my chest and spreading through my veins like a slow, unyielding poison. We mattered so little to them, compared to the quotas, the machines, and a few extra dollars in their pockets.
"Thank you," I said stiffly, bowing again. I slipped the coins into my pocket before grabbing my coat and stepped outside, the cool evening air a welcome relief after the stifling heat of the factory.
The bar wasn't far, but I didn't head straight there. My feet carried me aimlessly through the streets, past shops closing early to avoid thiefs, and street vendors selling their last wares. Vendors called out from their stalls, their voices mingling with those of pedestrians and the occasional roar of a passing motorcycle. The mouthwatering scent of grilled skewers and fruit wafted from a corner stall, tantalizing and maddening.
My stomach clenched with hunger, but I didn't stop to eat. I never had, never could afford to.
I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes and pretending I was one of the customers walking in and out of the stores. I used to crave more, so much more. I craved piping hot soup dumplings, crispy roast duck, fluffy steamed buns – foods I hadn't touched since I was a mere child. Now, I've nearly completely forgotten how they once tasted.
Alcohol was the only indulgence I allowed myself, the one luxury I could justify. It dulled the edges of my despair, if only for a while.
And yet, I found myself stopping again – this time in front of a small florist. The sight of vibrant bouquets, their colors vivid and almost luxurious against the evening gloom, pulled at something within me. I reached for a small bundle of Hydrangeas, their white petals tinged with pink.
I slipped my hand into my coat, clenching my hands tightly around the coins jingling in my pocket. Enough to pay for a few bowls of rice for my family, but just barely.
And perhaps, a flower or two, I thought.
"For someone special?" The vendor asked, smiling knowingly.
Qianqian would love these.
Bella's face flashed before my eyes.
"No," I said, abruptly, pulling my hand back. "Not today."
The vendor shrugged, returning to her work as I walked away.
The bar was livelier than usual, its warm, smoky interior buzzing with familiar laughter and chanting. As I stepped inside, I saw a group of familiar faces – Yuan Yun, Ha Zhu, Wei Feng, Ami Na, and several others were in deep conversation, their voices overlapping.
I hesitated at the door, unsure if I should approach. They hadn't mentioned any gathering, and hadn't bothered to invite me. The realization stung.
"Taihan!" Ami Na called out, spotting me. She was an ambitious young fellow – a textile sorter, just like me, yet she was always chasing some way to gain an edge. It was admirable, in a sense, but she often took things too far. I was frequently annoyed at her constant attempts at flirting with her bosses and cheating others to try to give herself an unfair advantage
Ha Zhu grinned. "What are you doing here? We thought you'd be stuck at work!"
I forced a smile.
"I didn't know you were all meeting up!" I said, trying to keep my tone light.
"It was last minute," Yuan Yun said with a shrug. "Didn't think you'd be able to make it."
"Come, take a seat!" Ha Zhu waved me over.
I glanced over at Wei Feng, his arm slung possessively over a tall, blonde woman. I recognized her immediately as Ariana, his German senior. She was every bit as stunning as he had described, her features sharp and elegant. A pang of jealousy twisted in my chest when I remembered my own wife – plain and sallow.
I stopped in surprise when I saw the two quiet, Eastern European foreign workers who migrated here a few months ago. We worked in different companies, of course – they were one of the few individuals that didn't need to worry about being laid off. Our pays were similar, but they had an upper hand: coding and programming skills that rivaled the best of our locals. Rumor was it that they were spies sent from Russia to hack company secrets. Nobody really believed it was true, of course. But it was always fun to gossip.
My chest tightened. Two foreigners, speaking in disjointed Chinese, were somehow invited instead of me.
"How's Qianqian?" Ha Rou asked.
"She's fine," I said simply.
"Still the dutiful wife, huh?" he said, his tone teasing. "You're lucky. Not everyone can settle down so early and still be happy."
The words burned – not because they were true, but because they weren't.
"Yeah," I laughed awkwardly, "Hows you and Ah Ke?"
He waved me off with a dismissive shrug. "Not sure. Haven't talked in a while." He leaned in, whispering as if we were sharing a secret between close friends. "Planning on switching targets soon."
I slid into an empty chair at the end of the group, feeling as if I were an intruder.
"So, Taihan," Ami Na slid next to me, her tone a mixture of fake friendliness. "How's work going? Working hard?"
I could feel a familiar knot forming as I tried to keep my composure. I had worked hard, I thought. I had worked as hard I could, with what little time I had. But the hours blurred into each other, the painfully repetitive motion of sorting textiles until my mind felt as if it had withered away.
"Yeah," I said, plainly. "I suppose so."
Ami Na, always the opportunist, lept at my discomfort. "But still, don't you think it's time to look beyond work? I mean, you've been doing the same thing for years. What about college?"
I felt the air grow around me heavier. The question was not new. It was the same question I'd heard a thousand times, and the same question I had avoided a thousand times.
Until Bella, my mind whispered. I shook it away.
College. The very word made my chest tighten. I remembered countless sleepless nights spent cramming for exams, pouring over textbooks I could barely afford.
"No, I'm much too old for that now," I said. Each word felt like a struggle to admit.
I stared at Ami Na, unsure if she had purposefully brought up a sore point. She looked as clueless as ever, her vacant brown eyes betraying nothing. She was a tricky one – I could never be sure if she was just socially clueless or if she intended to cause everyone discomfort.
"No, it's not!" She laughed. "I got my degree just a few years ago when I was in my mid 20s. Surely you don't just want to be a textile sorter for the rest of your life."
I felt a surge of annoyance, though I couldn't say whether it was directed at her or at myself.
I forced a polite smile and glanced at Wang, hoping he would come to my rescue. He often did, harboring the same hatred for Ami Na as I did. To my disappointment, he was too preoccupied with sniffing Ariana's hair to notice. I wrinkled my nose, turning back to my lap.
"You had a college education and we're working the same job," I said, letting my annoyance show.
"Oh, Taihan," she laughed, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "You're right. But it's temporary for me."
I glowered at her. "And how do you know that?"
Ami Na blinked, and for a second, I thought she might apologize or change the subject. But instead, she smiled, bright, fake, and infuriating.
"Well," she said with a playful shrug, "Even if it is, some of us know how to make the best of it. You could, too, if you weren't so–"
"So what?" I snapped, my voice rising enough to make Yi Shaan and Ha Rou glance over.
"Bitter," Ami Na finished, unbothered by my tone. "You're always so serious, Taihan. Lighten up! Life isn't just work and complaints."
The knot in my stomach tightened, twisting into something sharp and angry. "Easy for you to say. You didn't lose your family, your life – to a war that wasn't yours."
The table grew silent. Even Wang turned his attention from Ariana to stare at me.
Ami Na brushed me off with a wave of her hand. "We all have our struggles, Taihan. No need to make it a competition. I think you're letting it define you."
I clenched my fists underneath the table, nails digging into my palms. How could she? How could she dismiss the years I had spent studying, dreaming of a future that was ripped away when the war came. The nights spent hiding in poorly-made shelters, days scavenging for food in garbage cans instead of attending classes. And when it was finally over, I found the world had moved on without me.
"You don't get it," I said, my voice trembling like a child.
"Don't I?" Ami Na's smile didn't waver, but her tone turned icy. "You think you're the only one who missed out on something? You think I wanted to spend my teenage years scavenging for scraps, sewing ration bags, and praying every day my family wouldn't get dragged into the war? No, Taihan, I didn't want that. But it happened. And guess what? I'm still here, doing what I have to do. Just like everyone else."
"You're doing more than 'just what you have to do,'" I said bitterly, "You're always scheming, falsely reporting people, trying to make yourself look better–"
"Because that's how you survive," She snapped suddenly, cutting me off. "You think sitting here sulking about the past is going to fix anything? I stopped waiting for life to hand me something better a long time ago. Maybe you should, too."
"You don't get it," I repeated. I was close to tears, and I held my hand up to my chin to hide my shaking.
How pathetic, I thought.
I didn't respond, glancing at Ami Na instead to gauge her reaction. She didn't look triumphant or smug, like she usually did when she thought she'd won an argument. This time, her expression was flat, almost weary.
"Hey, hey," Yuan Yun interjected, raising a hand. "Let's not ruin the night. We're all here to relax, not argue."
"Is this why you didn't invite me?" I asked, childishly. "You thought I'd ruin the night?"
Yuan Yun hesitated, and glanced at the others for help. They ignored him, suddenly very interested in their drinks.
Ha Zhu chuckled awkwardly and turned to me, cheeks flushed. "Nah, it's not you," he laughed, "It's Qianqian. Figured you'd invite her. Always the doting husband, huh?"
I felt the blood rush to my face. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," Ha Zhu giggled drunkenly, "She's a huge buzzkill. Always so serious."
The others shook their heads at him, urging him to stop. Oblivious to my growing anger, and their disapproving frowns, he continued. "She's always dragging the mood down. I don't know how you ended up with her –"
I slammed my hand on the table, rattling the glasses and drawing startled looks from the others. "Don't you dare talk about her like that," I growled, my voice shaking in fury.
One of the Europeans grabbed my arm, shaking his head at me. "Don't." He warned. It was the first time I'd heard him speak in weeks. I pried him off of me, never breaking eye contact from Ha Zhu, that drunken fool, completely unaware.
"You think it's a joke to belittle someone who's done nothing but support me?" I barked, my voice echoing in the now-silent bar. "Who's sacrificed more than any of you could understand?"
"Sir," a firm hand clasped my shoulder. I turned to see the bartender's cold, grey eyes glaring at me. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"Fine," I said, my voice cold. I grabbed the empty glass from Ha Zhu's hand and hurled it towards the wall, the sharp sound of shattering glass punctuating my rage.
"Hey!" He shouted, but I was already on my way out, chest heaving. I pushed my way through the throngs of people, ignoring their judgemental stares and whispers, and stepped into the cold night air.