The metallic sounds of machinery filled the office with rhythmic pounding, no other noise. The interviewees held their breath, sweat beading on their foreheads, their eyes darting between the keyboard and the manuscript. Jenny, ignoring the editors' scrutinizing gazes, kept her head down and typed by muscle memory. For transcription speed and accuracy, familiarity with the keyboard was key, but the more important part was reading the manuscript. By skillfully scanning sentences based on length and content, one could memorize a large chunk at a glance, saving the trouble of constantly looking up. It also helped catch errors in the original manuscript, reducing mistakes during input. As she typed, Jenny was surprised to find that her previous life's reading ability hadn't diminished. However, since she had just awakened her memory, she needed a few minutes to adjust. Focusing on her work, her floating heart gradually steadied. Beside her, Fujena had already changed the paper on the roller and started typing the next page. Fujena glanced sideways and noticed she was faster than everyone else, especially Jenny on her left, who was typing slowly as if writing a letter. Fujena curled her lips slightly, dismissed her, and continued typing. After the editors finished a cup of tea, some interviewees had already completed the task. The first was Fujena, who organized her pages and handed them to the male clerk. The clerk flipped through her manuscript and passed it to Editor Eliot, seated in the middle. Half a minute later, two others finished, and the clerk passed their work to other editors. Jenny typed the last word, pulled out the paper, and handed it over. Looking left, she saw others still typing; she wasn't last. When everyone finished, the speed order was clear. Fujena was the fastest, the slowest was an older interviewee, and Jenny placed sixth. Assistant Editor Mr. Blair reviewed her manuscript. Several editors put on glasses, flipped through the pages, and began circling errors. Seeing Jenny's slow speed, Blair had low expectations. He flipped through her manuscript but after a long while found only one missing punctuation mark. Eliot noticed Blair's delay and cleared his throat. "Yesterday at the club, you didn't drink a single brandy, and now you're dozing off." Blair shook his head. "I wouldn't dare doze off. It's this manuscript—no input errors, and all the original mistakes were caught." Eliot put down the manuscript he had been half-circling and took Jenny's with interest. Out of the dozens interviewed before, only three had achieved zero errors. Jenny looked up at their expressions, outwardly calm but inwardly relieved—her strategy had worked. Fujena stared at her discarded manuscript, clenching her hand. "Not bad." Eliot read through it, then checked Jenny's registration info, verifying it with her. No women's school background, only part-time work at the post office and printing factory, but Frank had recommended her for the interview. Apart from the recommender, her résumé was unremarkable, inferior to any other candidate. If her basic skills weren't solid, even if recommended by God, she should have been eliminated first. Hiring a fraud would be risky, and Eliot couldn't afford that. But now, it seemed she had some ability. "What do you think is the difference between cutting text and polishing text?" Eliot put down the manuscript and crossed his arms, looking at Jenny. Jenny quickly answered. "Cutting removes redundant narration, making the text concise and clear, with a clear perspective, helping readers absorb core information and understand the plot design. Polishing refines the retained paragraphs, improving readability and fluency. The difference lies in the level of detail." She added a bit more on instinct. "I think, although there are subtle differences, both aim to more accurately convey the author's intent, allowing the reader to read through completely." Hearing her answer, Eliot only raised a hand to stroke his beard, expression unchanged—unreadable. Eliot said "Mm," and moved on. He also asked other interviewees questions. Beside her, Fujena was asked about her understanding of Century Weekly's layout structure; Polly was asked about the differences between several literary genres. They were nervous but managed to answer haltingly. One or two seemed unprepared, repeatedly paraphrasing the question without giving a real answer. Eliot listened but didn't comment on anyone's answers. Jenny endured, moving to the next round: office skills, drafting text. Each assistant and editor wrote a question on a slip, placed in a tray for interviewees to draw randomly. Jenny didn't rush; she picked up a slip last, sat down nervously, and unrolled it. 'Write a greeting letter from Mr. A to writer Mr. B, inquiring about the progress of his novel manuscript.' This required drafting a handwritten letter. The stationery was at hand. Jenny dipped her pen and began writing in strict reply format. Such letters needed to be polite yet convey the publisher's urgency while maintaining decorum. The task seemed simple, but the letter writer was caught in the middle. If too pushy, the author's mood might suffer, affecting quality—undesirable. If too smooth, the effect might be insufficient, displeasing the department partners. If the finished work missed an important book fair, what was the point? Jenny racked her brains, weighing every word, and finally finished the letter with difficulty. She looked up and handed it over, realizing in a daze that she was the first to complete it. Five minutes later, the clerk collected all the papers. "Please step outside for two minutes. The editors need to discuss who to keep." Jenny stood up and walked out first, the others following. Once the partition door closed, the noise inside became muffled, just audible enough to make hearts race. Jenny stood in the corridor. She was in the last batch; few spots likely remained. If chosen, the worst-case scenario was the proofreading room. Jenny comforted herself, staring at her shoes. But this time, the discussion inside seemed longer than before. She glanced at Fujena and Polly beside her; they too were clenching their fingers, faces tense as if aged several years. After five minutes, the door opened from inside, and everyone looked eagerly. The clerk announced, "Jenny Jones, Fujena Andrew, Polly Larney, Sevenk Schubert—you four stay. The rest may leave." Instantly, someone in the corridor staggered back as if unable to accept it. Those chosen were overjoyed and quickly returned to the room. "Congratulations on passing the interview. You are now officially part of our editorial team," Frank said, and Secretary Wood beside him nodded. "Jenny, Polly—you two will work under Assistant Editor Blair." Frank said to Fujena, "You come with me." The other, Sevenk, was taken by Secretary Wood, going to a fixed column section. Jenny had no objection to this arrangement; it was exactly what she wanted. Her future superior, Mr. Blair, was Editor Eliot's assistant editor. Mr. Eliot was one of two full editors for the serial section, and the most senior. His main job was to sign serialized works—closely matching her previous life's main work experience. If assigned other tasks, Jenny would be less confident. But in terms of closeness, Fujena and Sevenk, taken by Secretary Frank and Secretary Wood, had won the day. In the future, they would see the section head daily, and even the chief editor every now and then—promising prospects. Fujena, whose mood had been fluctuating, was now very happy. Though she didn't understand why Frank, who recommended Jenny, didn't take her instead, the opportunity was too great to dwell on. Frank stood up and said calmly, "You start work tomorrow. First, go to the general affairs department on the first floor. They'll issue you passes and nameplates and arrange dormitories." After the interview, the male clerk who conducted it led them downstairs. Now, facing future colleagues, he was much warmer. As they walked, he introduced himself as Cowens, a clerk under Frank, transferred from the wire service department. "Jenny, watch out—there's a wall ahead," Cowens warned as Jenny nearly bumped into it. Jenny had been dazed, still processing that she had actually become a Dawling clerk. She followed the group mindlessly, then snapped back. Smiling sheepishly, she followed them into the hydraulic elevator. She had a strong feeling that in just this short time, her future life had completely changed. In the elevator, the atmosphere shifted from competitive tension to friendliness. Polly even suggested that since the three of them passed together, they should share dormitory rooms. "Mrs. Brown isn't easy to deal with. Dormitory arrangements are up to her, not you," Cowens reminded them as the floor arrived. Jenny realized Mrs. Brown was the often-mentioned female dormitory supervisor. She just wanted to save on rent; other things were out of her control. They crossed the corridor and entered the general affairs department next to the lobby. Jenny registered her identity, signed a contract for a weekly salary of twelve dollars, and pressed her fingerprint. After waiting a while, she received a thick kraft paper envelope containing a pass with her name, allowing access to authorized floors and areas. The engraved nameplate would take seven days. After handling these formalities, she left the Dawling Building feeling light, heading with Polly and the others to the dormitory building on nearby Dover Street.
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Author's note:
Taking a leave on April 5th, going back to hometown for Qingming Festival. Normal updates on April 6th.