More than 80% of the year consists of workdays, not counting overtime, fieldwork, business trips...
Qi Sui crawled out of her empty bed, racing against time to finish her morning prep, until she sat down at her desk right on time. Squinting at herself in the desktop mirror, she realized the headband she used to hold her hair while washing her face was still perched on her forehead.
Work made her scalp tingle, as if an iron had smoothed out every wrinkle on her cerebral cortex, leaving her with an empty head.
She hadn't been at her desk for five minutes when the landline rang like a death knell.
"Hello, 7459, is Qi Sui there?"
"Yes, I'm here." Qi Sui asked, "Any arrangements?"
The man on the other end grunted and said, "Find some free time to come to my office. I'll discuss the business trip with you. Preferably in the morning; I'll be out of the company in the afternoon."
Qi Sui thought for a moment, "Can I come up now?"
"Sure," he replied succinctly.
Hanging up, Qi Sui sighed with relief. She took off the headband, and her naturally coarse hair, now like unruly instant noodles, split in all directions, as if struck by lightning.
The face in the mirror, normally gentle and serene, paired with this bizarre, funny hairstyle, showed a hint of liveliness.
But she absolutely couldn't see anyone like this.
She pressed her warm palms against the rebellious strands on top of her head, trying to calm them down using the same principle as a curling iron.
But as soon as she let go, the instant noodles were still instant noodles, determined to uphold their noodle spirit.
She rushed to the restroom, dampened her hair strand by strand to smooth it down, until it finally looked somewhat presentable.
With damp strands clinging to her forehead, the person in the mirror seemed listless, and with the instant-noodle hair, it looked doubly comical.
Qi Sui sighed at the woman in the mirror.
She might as well have not bothered. Now she looked even more soggy, like the tragic heroine of a melodrama who had run a kilometer in the rain.
Forget it.
Carrying her laptop, she knocked on the door of Room 1901.
That's how office life was—like a notebook: you didn't have to write in it, but you couldn't be without one.
The man inside called out, "Come in."
Qi Sui entered. LEO was bent over his desk, surrounded by stacks of documents as tall as the monitor. He wore a pair of glasses, frowning as he scrutinized the files.
LEO looked up and was startled by Qi Sui's appearance.
He hesitated before asking, "Your hairstyle...?"
Qi Sui lowered her head, nervously running her fingers through the dry, unruly strands on her forehead. Being stared at so intently made her very uneasy.
LEO's glasses had anti-blue-light lenses, which under the refraction of light created a faint, transparent rainbow halo. His gaze clearly passed through the lenses and landed on Qi Sui's face, but the small halo masked his emotions completely.
Was it ugly?
Or funny?
Or did he think she looked too slovenly?
Qi Sui was always like that.
She couldn't help but care about others' opinions.
So she kept her head down, hiding her face with her frizzy hair, and explained softly, "I forgot to take off my headband when I washed my face this morning."
LEO pushed his office chair back and stood up. The click-clack of his leather shoes was particularly loud on the wooden floor.
He didn't head toward Qi Sui or to mock her, but stopped at the storage cabinet, opened both drawers, and rummaged inside for something.
Qi Sui heard him exhale in relief.
"Found it."
Qi Sui looked up, her expression complex.
In LEO's hand was a common hairspray, the kind often used in barbershops to set hairstyles. But his looked more refined and compact, clearly targeted at women.
Seeing her strange look, LEO quickly explained, "Sister S left it here last time."
"During a departmental meeting earlier, she sprayed half the bottle."
There was a hint of amusement in his tone. "Sister S's hair is similar to yours—coarse texture. She often wakes up with her hair sticking out like a lion. But in college, she was different from you—she had long hair back then, so she rarely needed this..."
LEO stopped abruptly, a flicker of panic in his eyes.
Qi Sui processed his casual words.
The key point was: what did he mean by "she was different from you in college"?
It seemed to imply that LEO knew her from college.
Qi Sui quickly dismissed the thought.
She thought she might have simply misunderstood.
Casual remarks were often misleading, especially in the workplace.
She reached out and took the hairspray from his hand. Carefully, she pressed down the rebellious strands on her forehead with her palm, shook the bottle twice, and sprayed it evenly upward.