Monday marked the official start of Lin Yuhui's work at Shanghai Wenshi Environmental Technology Co., Ltd. His primary professional relationships involved collaborating with other specialized engineers, such as Li Yong from the mechanical department and Han Feng from the ventilation department.
As expected during late autumn and early winter, coughing and sneezing were everywhere. Lin Yuhui was prepared, wearing an N95 mask at all times—a practice that didn't seem out of place. Yesterday's live race broadcast featured scrolling subtitles promoting COVID-19 prevention measures, including mask-wearing, so he wasn't the only one in the office doing so.
He was aware, of course, that N95 filtration wasn't sufficient to block viruses. Online sources suggested hydroxychloroquine sulfate could bind to the COVID-19 spike protein, preventing it from entering human cells. But this was a medication for rheumatism or lupus, and he was strongly opposed to indiscriminate drug use. He also knew that the side effects of Viagra taken by mountaineers could prevent pulmonary edema. Thus, survival compelled him to return to work. His poor cardiac blood supply left him more vulnerable to viral effects than others, necessitating extra precautions—including preemptive medication to maintain effective concentrations in his system.
After several days on the job, Lin Yuhui realized why his presence was needed here. Everyone seemed perpetually busy, lacking either the willingness or capacity to communicate with collaborative professionals, let alone manage the intricate details of professional integration. He had become that indispensable link. During these days, Lin Yuhui also uncovered issues within this private enterprise. The much-touted flexible work hours turned out to mean post-work video conferences. Management, unaware of employees' actual tasks, demanded daily work reports—no wonder no one wanted to get involved.
The workload was actually quite demanding, and the week flew by. While the tasks themselves held little challenge for Lin Yuhui, the real value lay in confirming hydroxychloroquine sulfate's efficacy against influenza viruses. Remarkably, despite working in such an environment, he hadn't caught a cold. Since influenza viruses are also coronaviruses, the drug appeared to be effective. Based on his experience, one type of cold virus severely affects myocardial cells, yet his own immune system couldn't clear it. Due to a foolish decision by his parents, his tonsils had been removed, leaving him unable to mount a fever response against viruses for a long time. But life must go on. He had no choice but to patch up the damage and keep moving forward.
This weekend, he planned to open a Pudong Bank account for his salary. Over the years, Lin Yuhui had accumulated cards from numerous banks. His workplace was so remote that only a branch bus line served it. He even had to check the direction on the bus stop sign rather than the actual traffic flow, as the route was circuitous.
In such a remote location, buses came only about every half hour. Of course, the isolation had its perks: fewer people meant seats were available, and the bus drove fast, allowing him to catch the breeze and enjoy the scenery.
As the bus left the industrial zone, the roadsides remained emerald green even in late November. Lin Yuhui watched the scenery whizzing by in the fierce north wind, and it felt like his own wandering life journey flashing past before his eyes.
Now past forty, beyond confusion, alone and unburdened, he felt no need to flatter the powerful or bow to the wealthy. As the harshest separations faded with time, his heart grew still, barely stirring. Yet, deep within that unchanged core, a silent hope lingered—the hope of encountering, of finding, the missing half of his soul.
This route normally required transferring buses, but he refused. Weary of rigid routines, he chose to walk his own path. He boarded the first bus and then walked to the nearest stop.
The roads nearing the city center widened into six lanes, flanked by dedicated express bus lanes. Yet the trapezoidal concrete barriers separating motor vehicles from sidewalks seemed to cleave the world into two distinct realms: one pulsing with the city's tension and the rhythm of wealth, the other marked by the passage of life and the distance of longing gazes. He passed transfer bus stops, subway entrances, pedestrian overpasses, and winding sidewalks lush with greenery. Ahead lay a forest of steel and concrete, where money ruled as its jungle law. After layers of exploitation, little remained for the working class at the bottom.
The staff at Shanghai Pudong Development Bank were diligent and helpful. Fortunately, Lin Yuhui's Android 6.0 Philips smartphone still managed to meet the bank's operational requirements. Opening the bank account and linking the app took little time, but by the time he returned to his lodgings, dusk was approaching.
Though exhausted from running errands all afternoon, he still needed to satisfy his basic bodily need: hunger. This area was too remote, leaving only roadside stalls along the main thoroughfare as options. While there was an automated delivery machine on the first floor of his dorm, biscuits and instant noodles were even less healthy choices.
Lin Yuhui first walked along the roadside on his side, but found no proper food—just boiled skewers, grilled skewers, potato slices, baby bok choy, fish balls, and chicken bones on bamboo sticks. None of it seemed like real food to him.
He had eaten skewers before—as a child, his grandmother bought him lamb skewers for fifty cents each. Each skewer held seven or eight thumbnail-sized slices of meat, generously coated in sesame seeds. They tasted wonderful, but relying on them to fill his stomach was impossible. Back then, fifty cents could buy many things: cheap popsicles cost two or three cents, later better ones went for five cents, and large ice cream bars were ten cents.
Regardless of taste or nutrition, the stalls still drew crowds—night shift workers from nearby factories gathering in groups of three or five men to drink and shoot the breeze, or pairs of men and women flirting and bantering. Whatever the group, they seemed content with their lives.
Through observation, Lin Yuhui solidified his judgment: the women here weren't for him. Even in this environment, he wouldn't pursue them, and they wouldn't commit to one man either. They craved the flattery of many suitors, even finding a sense of accomplishment in the flirtatious banter and uninvited groping that came with it. Lin Yuhui knew such women weren't stable, and they didn't seem to want stability either.
Life offered two paths: indulge wildly until death, or steadily achieve one's goals. Those without long-term plans inevitably chose the former in youth—clearly unprepared to face the inevitable end that followed their fleeting pleasures.
Having walked the length of the night market and bought only oranges, Lin Yuhui turned back to the intersection. Crossing the street, he headed to his usual spot to purchase his regular fare.
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