Chapter Forty Ordinary Life

At 6:30 a.m., the alarm clock rang precisely on the eleventh floor of an ordinary apartment building in Xiangzhou District, Yingzhou.

It's just an ordinary electronic alarm clock, with a monotonous buzzing sound, not soft music.

Cheng Yin opened her eyes, her gaze devoid of the drowsiness of early awakening, replaced by a calm and clear awareness. She reached out and precisely turned off the alarm, instantly silencing the room except for the soft hum of the air conditioner, maintaining a comfortable 25 degrees Celsius.

She sat up and stepped barefoot onto the light-colored wooden floor.

This small one-bedroom apartment has been meticulously filled with traces of her life.

On the desk, several thick finance textbooks and tax law compilations were neatly stacked, next to a simple desk lamp. Several supermarket discount coupons and a utility bill were pasted on the refrigerator door. On the small balcony, two potted green ivy plants she had bought from the flower market, having soaked up the humid air of Parrot Island, were lush and verdant, their leaves glossy.

Stepping into the bathroom, a face is reflected in the mirror.

She looked a little fuller than she had a year ago in Macau, no longer with that alarming pallor, her cheeks now showing a faint rosy hue. The lines of her perpetually taut lips had softened; although she still didn't smile often, at least she no longer seemed to be constantly biting something. Those heavy, brand-like dark circles under her eyes had finally faded to almost invisible.

Hot water poured from the showerhead, washing away the last trace of sleepiness. She dried herself with a towel and took out a perfectly pressed white shirt and a pair of black straight-leg trousers from the closet.

Inside the wardrobe, five almost identical business suits are neatly hung, worn in rotation, hand-washed and ironed on weekends, day after day.

At 7:20, she locked the apartment door. With a soft click, the lock clicked shut securely.

As the elevator descended, I bumped into the elderly teacher next door who was out early to walk his bird. He smiled and nodded, "Good morning, Accountant Cheng."

"Good morning," Cheng Yin replied, her voice soft and carrying the lightness of early morning.

The breakfast stall at the entrance of the residential area was bustling with activity, its aroma filling the air. She ordered a cup of warm soy milk and a vegetable bun, paying with her phone via QR code. The stall owner, an elderly woman, already recognized this always quiet and punctual young woman, and asked in a thick accent, "Not having rice noodle rolls again today?"

Cheng Yin's lips curved into a very faint smile as she softly replied, "Tomorrow."

The morning air at Parrot Island carries the slightly salty and moist scent of the sea breeze, refreshingly penetrating the lungs, a stark contrast to the dense air of Haojiang, a place imbued with luxurious perfumes, tobacco, and the desire for money.

I walked for ten minutes to reach the company building. As I swiped my card to enter, the electronic screen showed: 7:50. The office was still empty, except for the cleaning lady who was mopping the shiny floor, leaving long streaks of water.

"Director Cheng, so early?" the aunt greeted in Cantonese.

"Be quieter when doing things in the morning." Cheng Yin put down her commuter bag and turned on her computer.

Her workstation was by the window in the finance director's office, facing south. The sunlight gradually grew stronger, cutting stripes of light and dark across the floor through the blinds. Her desk was exceptionally clean: a desktop computer, a laptop, a calculator that had been used for many years, and a small, extremely drought-tolerant succulent.

There were no picture frames, no dolls, and no superfluous decorations; just like her, she exuded an almost absolute simplicity and restraint.

At 8:30, colleagues began to arrive one after another, and the office gradually filled with the sounds of keyboards, phone calls, and footsteps. Financial assistant Xiaolin poked her head in carrying a stack of documents: "Sister Yin, I've put the morning meeting materials on your desk."

Cheng Yin kept her eyes on the screen, only nodding slightly: "Thank you."

At the morning meeting, CFO Liu summarized the work of the previous quarter, and specifically mentioned: "...the cross-border tax work was particularly outstanding. Thanks to Cheng Yin, she saved us a considerable amount of costs." His colleagues applauded.

Under everyone's gaze, Cheng Yin nodded slightly, her face showing neither joy nor embarrassment, but rather a calm acceptance, as if it were merely her duty and had nothing to do with her.

After the meeting, several young female colleagues chattered and invited her to go to a newly opened tea restaurant for lunch. She shook her head, her tone gentle but distant: "I still have a report to finish, you guys go ahead."

During lunchtime, she went to the company cafeteria alone. While carrying her tray and looking for a seat, she overheard two female colleagues from another department whispering behind her:

"Is that Director Cheng, the new head of the finance department? She's so aloof. I've never seen her participate in team building activities before."

"I heard he used to work for a big corporation in Macau. He's very capable. No wonder he speaks Cantonese so fluently."

"It seems like it has a story to tell..."

Cheng Yin's expression remained unchanged, as if she hadn't heard anything. She walked straight to the corner by the window, sat down, and ate in silence.

She lowered her head and continued eating quietly.

At 3 p.m., a colleague from the Human Resources Department delivered a document with a beaming smile: "Director Cheng, this is your evaluation form for one year since you became a full-time employee. Please sign it."

Cheng Yin took the pen and suddenly realized that it had been a whole year since she left that bizarre and wonderful land and came to this peaceful seaside town.

Three hundred and sixty-five days. No casino neon lights that never go out, no sudden gunshots, no phone calls in the middle of the night reeking of alcohol or blood.

She signed her name on the evaluation form, her handwriting neat, clear, restrained, almost like printed text.

She walked past the bus stop in front of the company, but instead of waiting for the bus that would take her directly to the entrance of her residential compound, she turned a corner and headed towards a large supermarket two blocks away.

The supermarket was playing soft, sweet pop love songs. She pushed her shopping cart and carefully selected ingredients for dinner in the fresh produce section: a bunch of fresh romaine lettuce, a small piece of pork tenderloin, and a few bright red tomatoes.

At the checkout counter, she took out her phone to scan the code, and the cashier asked skillfully, "Do you have a membership card? You can get discounts with points."

"No," Cheng Yin replied in Cantonese, handing over the cash.

Back at the apartment, I rinsed the rice and started cooking. I sliced ​​green peppers and marinated the meat slices with seasonings. The oil in the pan was hot, and the ingredients were added, making a soft "sizzle" sound. The white smoke was quickly swept away by the range hood.

This sound, this scene, completely overshadowed the cigar smoke and chilling ambergris aroma that lingered at those lavish banquets deep in my memory.

After dinner, she opened her laptop to browse industry news. An inconspicuous news flash caught her eye: "Macau gaming license bidding imminent, Lai's Group may withdraw from core competition." The article briefly mentioned that the group's chairman, Lai Yiu-tung, had been unusually low-key recently, selling off some non-core assets, seemingly preparing for business transformation. Her gaze lingered on that name for half a second, then she closed the page expressionlessly.

She got up to wash the dishes, the warm water washing over her fingertips bringing a real, simple warmth. She dried the dishes and placed them in the sterilizer before walking onto the small balcony.

The night sky over Parrot Island is dotted with stars, a few scattered but truly twinkling, unlike the night sky over Macau, where the night sky is always dyed a chaotic orange-red by endless neon lights.

The sea was calm in the distance, with the occasional lights of fishing boats returning late, like scattered diamonds on black silk.

Her phone rang again; it was an unfamiliar number from Yingzhou. She hesitated for a moment, then answered, "Hello?"

"Excuse me, are you Ms. Cheng Yin?" The other party spoke fluent Mandarin in a formal tone. "I'm from the Development Department of the Yingzhou City Women's Federation. We've noticed your outstanding performance in your professional field and would like to invite you to the 'Greater Bay Area Professional Women's Power' sharing session next week..."

Cheng Yin politely but firmly declined the invitation and hung up the phone. She glanced at the time: 9:30. Time to take a shower.

The steam from the hot water obscured the bathroom mirror. She wiped it away with her hand to get a clear view and looked at herself.

My hair has grown longer and hangs softly over my shoulders. My skin has improved a lot.

His eyes... seemed to have settled into something, no longer a blank silence, but occasionally flashing with very faint, elusive emotions. The skin at his collarbone was smooth and even; the warmth and weight that had once lingered there had vanished without a trace, like sand washed away by the sea.

Before going to bed, she checked the doors and windows as usual. She turned the door lock twice clockwise to lock it in place, and then put on the safety chain. She fastened the windows. Just like every night for the past year, she repeated the same actions, building a safe, closed world that belonged only to her.

She turned off the light and got into bed. The air conditioner was set at 25 degrees Celsius, emitting a steady, reassuring hum.

The occasional sound of vehicles passing by outside the window was distant and indistinct.

There were no phone calls ringing suddenly in the middle of the night, no heavy embraces tinged with the smell of alcohol or gunpowder, and no nightmares intertwined with gunshots and bloodshed.

Only in this small corner of the world does she find a tranquility that belongs solely to her and that she has absolute control over.

Cheng Yin closed her eyes, and her breathing gradually became even and long.

Tomorrow is Saturday. She plans to go for a run on the seaside trail in the morning, then go to the city library to borrow two newly published financial case studies. On Sunday, she'll do a thorough cleaning at home, and maybe… she can try making steamed spare ribs with black bean sauce—a dish she's never tried before—following a recipe from her phone.

Ordinary, stable, and routine, like millions of urban white-collar workers, they build a life without any major upheavals.

Everything in Haojiang, that labyrinthine city built of money, desire, danger, and fleeting tenderness, truly resembles a breathtaking dream, gradually fading away with the sound of the waves.