-2- Your name
At 6:30 in the morning, Zhao Jinghuan finished washing up, put on a helmet, and left the rental house with 15 units on the 0th floor. As the rent is low in the neighborhood, many of Zhao Jinghuan's colleagues live in several buildings built in the last century. The small square downstairs is full of electric bikes parked by various riders. Xiaohong and Xiaolan, wearing helmets, laughed and cursed as they drove away from Zhao Jinghuan. Zhao Jinghuan didn't move in the center of the square. After an unknown amount of time, an acquaintance came over with a helmet. It was Xiaoman, who was nicknamed the poet by his colleagues at the takeaway station. Xiaoman walked up to Zhao Jinghuan, without saying a word, swung the helmet in his hand and hit Zhao Jinghuan's head lightly. He didn't swing it hard, but the collision of the two helmets still made Zhao Jinghuan's head buzz. Zhao Jinghuan retaliated, smacking Xiaoman on the back of the head. "What are you doing? Are you sick?" Xiaoman replied, "I see you're still half asleep. I'm trying to cheer you up." He hopped on his scooter and said, "Last night, when I was delivering food, I saw you sitting in front of the university." Zhao Jinghuan didn't know what to say, so she just hummed. Xiaoman asked if she was frustrated or heartbroken, but she didn't answer. Finally, Xiaoman said, "In this line of work, you have to keep moving forward." He paused. "Who cares if it's going to Donggang or West Lake? Just keep moving. Stop overthinking it. Who cares what's going on? Just keep moving." With that, he put on his helmet and rode off. Zhao Jinghuan knew he was right. Just get on with it, just move on. They didn't even care about the red light, so what was the point in worrying about these trivial things? And what was the point of being plagiarized? The ex-boyfriend she hated had become a trendy toy designer, which meant she wanted nothing to do with trendy toys anymore. She got on her electric scooter and placed her phone on the stand. Everything was the same as usual. Zhao Jinghuan couldn't count how many mornings like this she had already spent, nor did she know how many more there would be in the future. Her hand hovered over the button to start accepting orders, and she suddenly muttered to herself: "Room 602, Unit 2#1, New Residence Renovation Building, Haiya Lane." That was the address of the Waikiki Super Play Studio that she had written down. It was clearly in her area, a place that she could reach at any time. She suddenly made up her mind. She reached out and turned off the screen of her phone: "I can't just let it go like this." ... Zhao Jinghuan took out the suit she bought when she graduated. She bought it in preparation for the civil service exam interview. It was a price that made her feel like she was going all out (RMB 399), but in the end she never used it. She tied her hair, put on some light makeup, and put on a full set of combat uniforms. She seemed to have finally...
At 6:30 in the morning, Zhao Jinghuan finished washing up, put on a helmet, and left the rental house on floor 0, unit 15.
As a low-rent area nearby, several buildings built in the last century were home to many of Zhao Jinghuan's colleagues. The small square downstairs was filled with electric bikes parked by riders of all kinds. The red and blue scooters, helmeted, laughed and cursed as they whizzed past Zhao Jinghuan.
Zhao Jinghuan in the center of the square did not move. After an unknown amount of time, an acquaintance came over with a helmet. It was Xiaoman, who was nicknamed the poet by his colleagues at the takeaway station.
Xiaoman walked up to Zhao Jinghuan, without saying a word, and swung the helmet in his hand and hit Zhao Jinghuan's head lightly. He didn't swing it hard, but the collision of the two helmets still made Zhao Jinghuan's head buzz.
Zhao Jinghuan fought back, hitting Xiaoman on the back of the head: "What are you doing? Are you sick?"
Xiaoman said, "I saw you were still sleepy. I wanted to wake you up." He got on his electric bike and said, "Last night when I was delivering food, I saw you sitting in front of the university."
Zhao Jinghuan didn't know what to say, so she just hummed. Xiaoman asked her if she was frustrated or heartbroken, but she didn't answer.
Finally, Xiaoman said, "In our line of work, we have to keep moving forward." He paused, "Who cares if he's going to Donggang or West Lake? Just keep going. Don't overthink it. Who cares what's going on? Just keep going."
He put on his helmet and rode away. Zhao Jinghuan knew he was right. Just do it, and leave. They didn't even care about the red light, so what was the point of caring about these trivial things?
Besides, what if it was plagiarized? The ex-boyfriend that disgusted her had become a trendy toy designer, which meant that she no longer wanted to have anything to do with trendy toys.
She got on her electric bike and put her phone on the stand. Everything was the same as usual. Zhao Jinghuan couldn't count how many mornings like this she had spent, nor did she know how many more there would be in the future.
Her hand hovered over the button to start accepting orders, and she suddenly muttered incoherently:
"Room 602, Unit 2#1, New Residence Renovation Building, Haiya Lane."
That was the address of Waikiki Super Play Studio that she had written down.
It's clearly in her area and a place that can be reached at any time.
She suddenly made up her mind.
Reaching out and turning off the phone screen: "I can't just let it go like this."
…………
Zhao Jinghuan dug out the suit she'd bought upon graduation. She'd bought it to prepare for a civil service exam interview. It was a price she'd felt she'd spent (RMB 399), but she'd never used it. She tied her hair, applied light makeup, and donned her full combat uniform. She seemed to have finally found the courage to fight. Concerned that appearing on an electric scooter with a Meituan Waimai logo on it might undermine her credibility as an independent designer, she opted to take the bus.
Haiya Lane, an old resettlement complex, sits mid-hill to the right of Fumin Road. It's a scattering of old residential buildings, not a gated community. The daunting uphill climb at the entrance makes it a special zone even delivery drivers are reluctant to tread. The circulation is chaotic, and even the house numbers are haphazardly labeled. But this didn't faze Zhao Jingya, a former delivery driver. She easily found Building 2 between Buildings 3 and 5, and Unit 1 was the third unit from the left.
602 is indeed on the 6th floor, which seems to lack some novelty.
As Zhao Jinghuan climbed the dark, narrow corridor, its plaster walls covered in advertisements for locksmith services and infertility clinics, she thought: "Working in such a suspicious location clearly reveals the sinister nature of this company called Waikiki. It's like those pre-prepared food fast food restaurants hidden in residential buildings."
She climbed all the way to the sixth floor, the top floor of this old building. At the end of the stairs were two security doors, one on the left and one on the right. The right door had a spray-painted painting of five closely packed cartoon heads—two women and three men—with different expressions. There was no company nameplate on the door, but I guess the "Waikiki" studio was here.
Zhao Jinghuan saw the door was ajar and cautiously opened it, forgetting for a moment that she had come to argue. The security door swung open, revealing a spacious hall measuring several dozen square meters. Four workbenches, each with their own unique furnishings, were crammed into the center. The exhaust ducts on each table were connected by a duct, feeding a filter fixed to the ceiling.
The only person in the room was a thin, bespectacled man sitting at one of the workbenches. Several spray cans lay scattered on the cluttered surface, some upright and some down. Files, hand drills, and various other tools were also scattered on the table. When Zhao Jingya entered, he was clutching an unpainted part, frowning, staring hopelessly at his laptop, which was clamped to the bookshelf with a movable stand.
Probably for ventilation, the weather in July was a little chilly, but the windows were still open. When the door was opened and the draft blew through, the boy noticed that Zhao Jinghuan had walked in.
The two strangers' eyes met, and they were both hesitant. In the end, the boy spoke first: "Have you changed the property management?"
Zhao Jinghuan was stunned for a moment before she realized that the boy mistook her for the property manager. She quickly waved her hands and said she wasn't a property manager, but then she lost her momentum and stammered, "You...where's your boss...I'm looking for your boss."
The man wasn't wary of her. He told her he was probably still on his way and led her into the back office. It wasn't a large office, but the boss's desk, a gaming chair, and several PVC figurine cabinets filled the space. Zhao Jinghuan glanced at the cabinets and immediately saw the purpose of her visit.
——A faceless black man doing a backflip, landing face first.
Zhao Jinghuan's anger shot up. The figurine that had plagiarized his idea was displayed right before her, in the center of the entire figurine display case. It was as if it had anticipated her arrival and deliberately placed it in the most prominent position, provoking her, mocking her. She suppressed the urge to smash the cabinet to pieces, pulled up a chair, sat down angrily, and began to simulate the scene that was about to happen.
Zhao Jinghuan silently memorized her lines and vividly described how she was inspired at her graduation ceremony and, after four years of gestating, created the sculpture titled "Life Backflip." Her goal was to express the profound thought of university students entering society, facing challenges head-on before they were even prepared. She was about to point her fingers together in a sunflower-pointing-to-the-puppet gesture at the plagiarist, both to appease him and accuse him of plagiarizing her, a recent graduate and a budding independent artist. This perfectly embodied the theme of "Life Backflip."
She would curse the plagiarist for being shameless, and might even bring up Lu Kai, who died at the graduation ceremony, and accuse him of desecrating not only the art of an independent artist, but also a living life!
Zhao Jinghuan practiced the entire set of speeches over and over again. When he was about to start the fifth time, someone suddenly pushed the door and walked in.
Zhao Jinghuan turned around. She had assumed the company's boss would be a middle-aged man with a potbelly, but the man who walked in looked only three or four years older than her, and quite good-looking. He was wearing a teal green hoodie, which set off his pale skin, making him look young and energetic.
For a moment, Zhao Jinghuan even felt that the boy in front of her looked familiar. However, as a college student who had just graduated from a major with a male-to-female ratio of 1 to 14, she had not met many boys who left an impression on her.
Zhao Jinghuan carefully observed the boy in front of her and confirmed that he had nothing in common with her ex-boyfriend who always had an air of arrogance. She couldn't imagine where this familiar feeling came from.
Perhaps it had been too long since she had interacted with a white-skinned boy without a helmet, so she was a little nervous and almost forgot the purpose of her visit. She almost blurted out, "I wish you a pleasant meal."
Finally, the boy who walked in asked her first: "Wanfeng...my colleague said you had something to talk to me about."
"Ah...ah...right!" Zhao Jinghuan had completely forgotten the words she had rehearsed several times. Anxiously, she pointed at the black figurine on the display case and said, "This, this backflip. Tell me about its design concept!"
The boy seemed to have completely ignored the rudeness in Zhao Jinghuan's tone, and his deer-like eyes lit up instead.
"You have good taste, don't you?" He opened the display case, took out the backflip figurine, and held it in front of Zhao Jinghuan. "This kind of art figurine doesn't naturally sell in large quantities like blind box toys, but it can better express the designer's concept. I made this figurine because I think it can resonate with ordinary people. Although what I want to express is not that positive, it is more of a sense of helplessness towards life. Look at this little man, he is actually doing a backflip, and the overall curve is a little kinked, which means he gave his all when performing this action. But the result-"
He flipped the figurine over to show Zhao Jinghuan its faceless face. "But it landed face first, flat on its back. Life is often like this: We put all our effort into something, like doing a backflip, only to end up flat on our backs."
The boy talked freely and was obviously full of confidence in the art figure in his hand. However, when Zhao Jinghuan heard these words, she was so angry that her hands were shaking a little - the boy in front of her not only plagiarized her work, but even the creative concept he expressed was exactly the same as what she wrote on Xiaohongshu.
She finally remembered the rehearsal and pointed at the shameless boy in front of her with two fingers together: "You...you..."
The words were on the tip of her tongue, about to come out, but Zhao Jinghuan seemed to suddenly think of something. She stared at the boy in front of her and realized that she must have seen him before, but she just couldn't remember where.
"Wait, I want to ask, what is your name?"
The boy across from me smiled. "Yeah, I haven't introduced myself yet." He extended his hand. "I'm the designer of this backflip figurine and the founder of Waikiki Studio." "My name is Lu Kai. What's your name?"
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