Her fingertips finally managed to push the pack of sanitary pads past the edge of the drawer.
The corner of the package scraped against the wood grain inside the drawer, making a faint rasp.
She instinctively glanced around the office, making sure no one was looking this way.
She was just about to let go when a shadow suddenly fell behind her shoulder.
Lin Xiaoyu was already standing behind her, holding a hand-shaken drink in each hand, both straws already inserted.
“The break room. Now.”
Lin Xiaoyu said it without her usual drawn-out lilt, crisp enough that she barely sounded like herself.
Zhou Yuwei’s hand was still stuck inside the drawer, and the pack of pads was only halfway in.
She looked up at Lin Xiaoyu, but the other woman had already turned and started walking toward the break room, her footsteps steady.
She shoved the drawer casually. It didn’t close all the way. Then she stood and followed.
The fluorescent lights in the hallway swept over her head one after another, and her heartbeat grew heavier with every step.
When she passed the copy room, the machine was spitting out a stack of paper, its steady clacking covering the sound of her footsteps.
By the time she entered the break room, Lin Xiaoyu was already inside. She casually shoved one of the drinks into Zhou Yuwei’s hand.
Zhou Yuwei glanced down at the cup. The label read “light sugar, no ice,” written in the same style as the one on the drink that had been left on her desk last time. It was from the same shop.
Her heart stirred, but she had no time to think about it. Lin Xiaoyu had already turned around and pulled the door shut.
The break room’s motion-sensor light flickered once before settling into a steady glow, stretching their shadows long across the floor.
The hum of the refrigerator sounded unusually clear in the cramped space, vibrating against her eardrums with every cycle.
Lin Xiaoyu leaned against the counter, arms folded, staring straight at her without saying a word.
Zhou Yuwei’s mind had already started working during those few seconds, rapidly rehearsing possible explanations.
In the first version, she planned to tell a story about a friend, saying that someone she knew had recently run into some identity trouble and wanted to hear the other person’s opinion.
She rehearsed the speech once in her head. Halfway through, she already felt guilty. Even she could hear the cracks in her own delivery.
She immediately rejected that version. Lin Xiaoyu had known her for nearly a year. She wasn’t stupid enough to miss who was hiding behind the words “a friend.”
She had even imagined what expression Lin Xiaoyu would wear after hearing that opening. Probably the kind of look that couldn’t be fooled for even a second.
In the second version, she wanted to package the whole thing as a social experiment, claiming she was testing the workplace’s acceptance of identity and planned to write an observational report about it later.
She got stuck halfway through that one too. She had no idea how to make taking her brother’s place at work sound like academic research.
She imagined Lin Xiaoyu’s expression after hearing it. Probably the look people gave when someone kept forcing an argument even though they didn’t believe it themselves.
When she crossed that version off herself, even she had to wonder how she’d managed to come up with such an absurd idea.
The third version was the most direct: no detours, just lay out the truth and explain everything clearly.
She moved that version to the top of the list. She had dragged this out long enough. It was time to give Lin Xiaoyu an explanation.
In the fourth version, she had considered simply admitting that she had a twin brother and that the two of them took turns going to work. She would even emphasize that everything was legal—they were just dealing with some family difficulties.
She couldn’t keep a straight face halfway through imagining that one. Even the word “legal” sounded suspicious in her own ears. She couldn’t explain a single thing about labor and health insurance or their ID cards.
She had even thought of Lin Xiaoyu asking where her twin brother was now. It was a question she couldn’t answer even in her head.
In the fifth version, she would turn the question around and ask Lin Xiaoyu what answer she was trying to coax out of her, pushing the pressure back onto her.
She crossed that version off the fastest. Lin Xiaoyu would only tilt her head and throw the exact same question right back. Zhou Yuwei couldn’t win that kind of standoff.
She hadn’t even finished imagining the confrontation before she had already raised a white flag in her head.
The sixth version was the one she least wanted to admit she had considered: simply drop to her knees on the spot and beg Lin Xiaoyu not to say anything.
The thought alone made her shudder. Even rehearsing it in her head made her whole body feel wrong, let alone actually doing it.
The break room’s floor tiles looked clean enough, yet even imagining herself kneeling made her knees ache faintly.
The six versions ran through her mind once. Not one of them sounded like it could really hold up.
She rearranged the six versions one final time in her head, brushed her fingertip over the side of the cup, and settled on the most direct one—the third.
She took a deep breath and deliberately relaxed her shoulders so her voice wouldn’t start trembling when she spoke.
She lifted her head to look at Lin Xiaoyu, set the cup on the counter, and freed both hands.
“Xiaoyu, there’s something I have to—”
Lin Xiaoyu cut her off before she could finish.
“I know.”
She took a sip of her drink, her tone as casual as if she were commenting on the nice weather.
“I knew last week.”
Zhou Yuwei froze in place. All six versions shattered in her head at once, leaving her unable to add even a single word.
“I was just waiting to see when you’d tell me.”
Lin Xiaoyu added it without a hint of someone enjoying the show. She simply looked at Zhou Yuwei as normally as ever.
Zhou Yuwei’s mouth was still frozen in the shape it had taken before she spoke, but no sound came out.
It took her several seconds to find her voice again.
“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
At that, Lin Xiaoyu lowered her head and took a sip. The straw scraped faintly against the bottom of the cup.
“Because Assistant Manager Ke is awful.”
She didn’t add anything after that, as if the sentence itself were a complete answer and needed no further explanation.
Zhou Yuwei was stunned for a moment, waiting for the reason that should have followed.
But Lin Xiaoyu had already turned around, pulled out the chair beside the counter, and sat down. She showed no intention of continuing.
Only then did Zhou Yuwei realize that Lin Xiaoyu really was finished. That was the entire reason. One sentence.
She had prepared herself mentally for all kinds of reactions to the truth coming out, and none of them had been necessary.
Her nose suddenly stung, and her throat tightened, yet the corners of her mouth rose despite herself.
She lowered her head and wiped the condensation from the cup, using the motion to compose her expression before looking up again.
Once Lin Xiaoyu was seated, she pulled her phone from her pocket. As soon as the screen lit up, she tapped the calendar icon.
“Now that everything’s out in the open, I have a few things to give you.”
Her tone suddenly turned serious, completely different from her flippant remark just moments ago.
Zhou Yuwei sat down across from her. She still hadn’t taken a single sip of the drink in her hand.
“I handle administration, so I deal with everything involving company policies and procedures.”
Lin Xiaoyu turned the phone screen toward her. A whole row of color-coded dates filled it.
“The five things that’ll cause you the most trouble are these.”
First: the employee physical, scheduled for next month.
When Lin Xiaoyu read those four words aloud, she slowed down a little, as if she knew this one was the most lethal.
Zhou Yuwei’s breathing hitched. Condensation slid down the side of the cup and dripped onto the back of her hand, but she didn’t wipe it away.
Second: uniform fitting, scheduled for the end of the year.
“They take everyone’s measurements again every year. They say it’s because they’re changing to seasonal designs.”
Lin Xiaoyu added that while glancing at her, offering no further explanation.
Zhou Yuwei silently imagined how she would avoid the fitting when the day came. The more she thought about it, the more she felt that none of her options would work.
Third: the drinking games at the year-end banquet, scheduled for January.
“You should remember last year’s banquet. Whoever lost had to perform onstage.”
Zhou Yuwei’s complexion paled another shade. She did remember—and remembered it so vividly that she never wanted to think about it again.
The coworker who had performed onstage last year still got mentioned from time to time. She had no desire to become this year’s example.
Fourth: the company sports day, scheduled for March.
“For the fun competitions, they usually split everyone into men’s and women’s groups.”
Lin Xiaoyu paused there, leaving the rest unsaid.
Zhou Yuwei understood exactly what the unfinished sentence meant, and her stomach clenched.
Just imagining being divided into groups made her scalp prickle. Actually competing in front of a crowd would be even worse.
Fifth: the occasional blood drive. Lin Xiaoyu looked at the screen, a trace of helplessness in her voice.
“This one doesn’t have a set date. General Affairs holds it whenever they feel like it. You can’t defend against it.”
After hearing that, Zhou Yuwei suddenly felt even more helpless than she had about the first four combined, because she couldn’t even schedule when to hide.
Lin Xiaoyu turned the phone screen back toward herself and slipped the phone into her pocket after reading through all five items.
“Five in total.”
There was no attempt to comfort her in Lin Xiaoyu’s voice, only an honest statement of fact.
Zhou Yuwei looked at the untouched drink in her hand and suddenly felt as if it weighed a ton.
“So how long can I last at most?”
Even she could hear the tremor in her voice when she asked.
Lin Xiaoyu looked at her without hesitation or evasion.
“Next month.”
The two words fell, and suddenly the air conditioner sounded painfully clear in the break room.
Zhou Yuwei didn’t ask anything else. She knew there wouldn’t be a better answer.
Lin Xiaoyu stood up and patted her on the shoulder. The touch wasn’t hard, but it helped bring Zhou Yuwei back to herself a little.
“Don’t make that face. I never said I wanted to watch you die.”
After saying that, Lin Xiaoyu turned around, pushed open the door, and walked out first. Her footsteps sounded no different from usual.
Zhou Yuwei was left alone in the break room, still holding a cup that was more than half full.
She lowered her head and took a sip. The lightly sweet flavor, still rich because it hadn’t been diluted by ice, was exactly the same as the drink she remembered finding on her desk.
She stared at the words “light sugar, no ice” on the cup for several seconds, then set the thought aside. She already had more than enough to worry about today.
She turned the cup halfway around in her hand, then slowly walked out of the break room and returned to her desk.
The screen was still on the page she had left before walking away, the cursor blinking as it waited for her.
She had barely sat down when the sound of paper coming from the copier at the neighboring workstation began—one sheet after another, gradually overlapping with the rhythm of her breathing.
She lowered her head and silently ranked those five land mines once more. The more she arranged them, the more she felt backed into a corner.
By afternoon, the drink was long gone, and her schedule was as packed as usual.
She was carrying several documents back from the copy room when her steps slowed as she passed the bulletin board in the lobby.
A new notice had been posted on the board. Its corners hadn’t been completely flattened yet, and the paper reflected the fluorescent light.
Her eyes fell first on the title. Four large, black words stood out: Employee Physical.
The date was printed beneath it in red. The color was harsh and glaring, especially beside the other notices printed in black.
Her feet stopped in front of the bulletin board, and she tightened her hold on the documents.
Her gaze moved down the list, scanning each line at an unhurried pace.
First line. Second line. When her eyes reached the third, they stopped.
“Zhou Yuen, male, twenty-five years old.”
That was how it was printed on the list, the type perfectly neat and utterly devoid of warmth.
Her gaze continued moving to the right, where the examination items were listed one after another.
Height and weight, blood pressure, blood draw, X-ray, urinalysis, full panel.
She stared at the words “full panel” for a long time—long enough for a coworker passing behind her to casually ask what she was looking at.
She came back to herself and said it was nothing, that she was just checking the physical-exam date, tightening her grip on the documents as she spoke.
Her knuckles pressed a white mark into the edge of the papers. She didn’t even realize how hard she was gripping them.
Everyone else in the office continued with their own work. No one knew she was standing in front of a notice capable of exposing her.
She turned to leave, but after taking only one step, she stopped and looked back at the paper.
The red date was posted on the wall, shining brightly under the hallway’s fluorescent lights, perfectly still.
Her gaze lingered on the word “male” for two seconds. It looked darker than the other printed words.
At last, she turned around and hurried back to her desk, walking considerably faster than usual.
The computer screen at her workstation was still lit. She sat down but didn’t move the mouse right away, only stared blankly at the desktop for a while.