【See you tonight?】
Over eight hours had passed since Qin Yue sent that message, and there was still no reply.
It was half past three in the afternoon, and Qin Yue had just finished her early shift.
Unlike the coworkers hurrying around her, rushing home to their kids or debating where to unwind later, she leaned against a locker in the changing room with her legs bent, head tilted slightly to one side. Her left hand kneaded the stiff muscles of her neck while her right thumb switched WeChat away from the chat with the contact saved as “…” and scrolled through her subscription feeds.
The changing room buzzed with noise. A veteran worker she was on good terms with passed by and called out cheerfully, “Little Qin, you’ve been at it all day. Still not off work?”
Qin Yue locked her phone and looked up. “Leaving now.”
“Hey, you don’t look right. Feeling under the weather?”
“No. Just a busy afternoon.”
“Alright, alright. Take care of yourself. I’m off. See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.”
The veteran worker hurried away.
Qin Yue listened to the brisk footsteps fade, then turned her head the other way.
Barely three minutes after the shift ended, the cramped changing room was already deserted.
Electronics factory workers. Almost nobody was sentimental about this job, let alone fond of it.
But that was only human nature.
Working rotating shifts, repeating the same mechanical motions on the production line hour after hour without end, only to earn a pittance that barely covered the basics, hardly anyone could muster genuine passion for it.
Especially young people whose lives still held infinite color and who still harbored endless fantasies about the world.
The workshop saw a constant stream of workers come and go. Very few young people were willing to waste away in a place where they could already see the end of the road.
And she, Qin Yue, was not yet twenty-five, yet had already worked here for nearly six years.
That number was still climbing, slowly and steadily.
Qin Yue pulled her gaze back. She wet her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, then reached up and removed the pale blue anti-static cap from her head. As she turned to open her locker, she loosened the low bun holding her hair in place.
Seaweed-like tresses cascaded down with the motion, the natural curls at the ends bouncing twice in the dusty air before settling obediently past her waist.
“Yue, does all your nutrition go straight into your hair?” Guan Xiangchen sauntered over with an ice pop in her mouth, her tone exaggerated. “Look at that volume! Look at that texture! Look at that perfect wave! Ahhh! Jealousy has blinded me. I want to rip it all out! There goes my good karma!”
Guan Xiangchen reached out to touch it, but one sharp look from Qin Yue froze her hand midair. She immediately plastered on an innocent expression and leaned against the locker next to Qin Yue, watching her unbutton her suit. “How come anti-static gear looks hideous on the rest of us, but on you it’s like a completely different design? Not only is it not tacky, it’s actually kind of… hmm…”
Guan Xiangchen pondered for a moment, then burst out laughing at her own thought. “Yue’er, you look like a researcher in that outfit. High-class.”
Qin Yue ignored the remark. She pressed her shoulders back, letting the anti-static suit slide down her arms to hang from her sharp-boned wrists. “You’re on the night shift today. What are you doing here at this hour?”
Guan Xiangchen sucked on her ice pop and heaved a long sigh. “You remember Little Bai from production line two? Her boyfriend came all the way to Jiangping for her birthday. Young couple, reunited after being apart, of course they’re going to a hotel for the night. So poor me covered her mid-shift and still has my own night shift. Absolute sucker. Boohoo. Yue’er, comfort me right now. A crippled but determined single like me will die without some tenderness.”
Qin Yue ruthlessly shoved away the head Guan Xiangchen was nuzzling against her shoulder, grabbed her phone, and headed for the door. “Can’t. I’ve got plans today.”
Guan Xiangchen gritted her teeth. “What’s more important than your best friend’s feelings?”
Qin Yue let her arms hang at her sides, the cheap cotton tee outlining her straight, angular shoulders. “Today is Friday.”
“Holy shit!” Guan Xiangchen was stunned. “I actually forgot that Friday is your weekly lovey-dovey day with her. My bad, my bad!”
“Come to think of it,” Guan Xiangchen stared at Qin Yue, suddenly turning serious, “it’s been almost three years for you two, right? Still not over?”
Qin Yue pushed shut a locker door left ajar. “No.”
Guan Xiangchen clicked her tongue repeatedly. “Tsk, tsk. One screws bolts in a factory, the other does research at a top university. How on earth did she look across that enormous gap and pick you? Your face? Your body?”
Guan Xiangchen bit her lip and studied Qin Yue carefully.
Qin Yue had textbook bone-structure beauty: the classic four-high, three-low proportions, with a sharply defined profile. Her features were sculpted and well-proportioned, though not the bold, heavy kind of striking beauty. Her eyes were like still wells. If you didn’t provoke her, she stayed perfectly composed. If you did, she’d give you a level glance and leave you to figure out the rest.
Honestly, it was quite intimidating. Add a mature-woman makeup look and she’d be every sapphic’s dream girl, hahaha.
Guan Xiangchen’s mind went wild, then her eyes drooped, her lips twisted, and she shoved Qin Yue hard in the back.
Qin Yue wasn’t expecting it. She stumbled and slammed into the locker.
“What the hell?” Qin Yue shot her a baffled look.
“You’re what the hell!” Guan Xiangchen ground her teeth. “Why do you never wear makeup?!”
Or dress up at all! Right now she was wearing a white tee the two of them had picked up from a street stall during a buy-one-get-one sale, plain as a head of cabbage. You couldn’t fry a golden crisp out of it with a whole pot of oil!
What a waste of raw materials! Honestly!
The more Guan Xiangchen thought about it, the angrier she got. She hugged her arms and glared.
Qin Yue didn’t bother responding. She turned her head to the side, covered her mouth with her wrist, and coughed quietly.
She coughed with restraint, her shoulders trembling, her skin a pale, cold white. But her eyes flushed red from the strain, making her look as fragile as winter blossoms in the wind. Heartbreakingly delicate.
“Oh my god,” Guan Xiangchen yelped, rushing over to pat Qin Yue’s back while grumbling, “Those old hands in the maintenance department pile every remotely difficult job on you, then when it’s time for pay, every single one of them fights for credit. And you, mute as a clam, never make a peep, just take whatever comes. Tell me, did you sit frozen at your station for eight hours again today?”
Qin Yue denied it. “I rested for half an hour at lunch.”
“What the hell is half an hour!” Guan Xiangchen fumed, but when she met Qin Yue’s face and saw the bloodless pallor, her anger deflated. “You’re not seeing her until tonight, right? Go home and get some sleep.”
Qin Yue murmured an “mm,” her gaze sliding quietly toward her phone.
No contact by now. Whether tonight would actually happen was anyone’s guess.
The two of them walked out of the changing room just as Qin Yue’s apprentice, Gu Tao, came rushing over. “Master, the dean’s looking for you!”
Qin Yue had just coughed again, her chest still tight. She waited a few seconds before asking, “What is it?”
Gu Tao said, “A customer had us do a small batch of prototypes. The boards don’t work, their refund request was rejected, so they came to make a scene. The dean wants you to take a look at the boards.”
“So what if they’re making a scene? Why drag A-Yue into it?” Guan Xiangchen complained. “She’s just a soldering worker, paid for flipping cabbage leaves but worrying like she’s dealing with narcotics. Every time something goes wrong, they call her. Isn’t it exhausting? If it’s that bad, why doesn’t the dean just give up his seat to…”
“Xiangchen.” Qin Yue cut off the rest of her treasonous rant and turned to Gu Tao. “Where are they?”
Gu Tao looked sheepish. “Production line three.”
“I’ll go take a look. You,” Qin Yue turned to Guan Xiangchen, “go to work.”
Guan Xiangchen’s hot-blooded speech met with cold indifference. She went numb. “We’re through! Absolutely through! Hey, you’re just going to walk away? At least beg me to stay!”
Qin Yue walked away without a backward glance.
Guan Xiangchen couldn’t believe it. She spun around and went to poach her apprentice instead. “Taotao, how about you switch to me? I’ve got solid skills too, and I’ve been here longer than your master.”
“Haha.” Gu Tao laughed awkwardly. “Betraying the master gets you struck by lightning.”
“You don’t betray her and she’ll strike you herself eventually.” Guan Xiangchen spread alarm. “Back in March, Little Bai messed up and your master cleaned up after her with a completely blank face. The girl was so scared she almost hanged herself. You forgot?”
Gu Tao held up a hand. “I only started at the factory in May.”
“Oh, then I definitely need to tell you about it.” Guan Xiangchen hooked an arm around Gu Tao’s shoulder and launched into full gear. “Don’t let your master fool you with that mild, unbothered act. Even after an all-night shift, sleeping less than two hours, getting yanked out of bed by a phone call without a trace of morning grumpiness, the truth is, she can be ruthless…”
On production line three, the moment Qin Yue appeared, dean Wei Xincheng pulled her aside and ordered in a low voice, “Even if it’s our fault, we say it isn’t!”
Qin Yue made no comment. She walked to the table, picked up a board already populated with components, and inspected it by eye.
The customer who’d come to make trouble saw her casual attitude and turned even more hostile. “Who are you! Don’t think you can pull one over on us by shuffling in some random person. Our company has R&D too. This board…”
“Redo it,” Qin Yue said.
Two light words, and everyone present froze.
Before anyone could react, Qin Yue set the board down, tapped the 5G module with her index finger, and said, “It won’t connect, right?”
The problem laid bare in one stroke. The customer instinctively admitted, “Right. The AT commands were tested and working fine. It can’t be a software issue.”
“Mm. It’s the board. The antenna feed is routed too far. Have them adjust the layout and respin the board. Don’t send it to inexperienced hands.” Qin Yue set down the board, then turned to the smug Wei Xincheng. “If there’s nothing else, I’m off work.”
“You take the bus home?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect! Drop by the next building and deliver a few sample boards on your way.”
Qin Yue leaned against the table and blinked slowly.
The “next building” was actually the university town built a few years ago. Their factory did business with several universities there, most frequently with Jiangping University, and most recently with the second college: the College of Electronic Engineering.
Shen Jianqing was a teacher at the second college, the one who had a date with Qin Yue tonight, the one who still hadn’t replied to her message. The contact saved as “…”.
“Dean, I’ll go deliver them. Master’s been fixing boards all day. She must be exhausted.” Gu Tao, having just escaped Guan Xiangchen’s clutches, hurried over eagerly.
Wei Xincheng was about to hand the box to her.
Qin Yue intercepted it first. “Who’s it for?”
“The second college. Teacher Chen Wei.” Wei Xincheng pointed at the box. “Her office number is on it.”
Qin Yue said, “Got it.”
“Next door” was generous. There was actually quite a distance. And since land in the suburbs went for practically nothing, several schools had scrambled to stake out territory, so it took Qin Yue over half an hour on foot to finally find the second college.
August afternoon. Cicadas rasped. Trees drooped. The high sun seemed determined to melt every last thing on the ground before relenting.
But Qin Yue seemed oblivious to the heat. She stood quietly in a patch of shade in front of the building, calling Chen Wei.
Her gaze stayed properly lowered, lifting only slightly when someone entered or left through the door.
It looked completely casual.
“Hello? Who is this?” Chen Wei’s irritated voice came through the receiver.
Qin Yue suppressed a cough and spoke with clipped brevity. “Lead Science Electronics. Here to deliver the sample boards.”
Chen Wei’s tone shifted instantly. “Oh, hello! Could you bring them up? It’s summer break, not many students around. I can’t get away.”
Qin Yue asked, “Where to?”
Chen Wei said, “312. The Radar Signal Processing Laboratory.”
312 was at the end of the hallway.
Qin Yue savored the cool relief of the building’s air conditioning and walked at a leisurely pace.
Halfway down the corridor, the sound of a door opening came from behind, followed by the crisp, brisk click of high heels.
Qin Yue rarely had occasion to wear heels and couldn’t say how much the sound varied from pair to pair, but the rhythm striking the floor behind her felt familiar.
She turned to look.
Her eyes hadn’t fully adjusted after being out in the sun. Shapes were blurry. She could only make out a woman’s slender figure and commanding aura.
Beyond Shen Jianqing, there probably wasn’t a second female teacher at the second college who walked like she owned the wind.
Sure enough, Shen Jianqing spotted Qin Yue and faltered for an instant before quickening her pace. “What are you doing here?”
Shen Jianqing’s voice wasn’t pitched low. It came fast, echoing down the cool, quiet corridor, sounding almost like an accusation.
Qin Yue knew it wasn’t. Shen Jianqing simply operated at full speed by habit. Time was always short for her.
Qin Yue tapped the cardboard box against her leg, ready to explain.
Before the words left her mouth, realization dawned on Shen Jianqing. “Today is Friday?! I’ve been so swamped I completely forgot to check my phone. Did you message me?” Shen Jianqing pulled out her phone and scrolled. “You did.”
Shen Jianqing looked up with a smile just as a bead of sweat rolled down the side of Qin Yue’s neck and disappeared into her collar.
Her collar was wide and loose. The walk over had shifted it with each sway of her shoulders, and it had slipped enough to no longer fully conceal the soft curves beneath.
Through the faint light in the corridor, Shen Jianqing saw clearly how that bead of sweat vanished into the valley below, leaving a visible trail of moisture across the swell above.
Shen Jianqing’s gaze lingered for a few seconds before she looked away and swallowed. “It’s just a delayed WeChat reply and you show up at my door? Master Qin…”
Shen Jianqing reached up and brushed a fingertip across Qin Yue’s neck, pushing aside the hair clinging to damp skin. She chuckled softly. “It’s been almost three years. How are you still so eager to get me into bed?”
