Chapter 4 Almost
Wang Qingwei rarely worked overtime today, but he didn't go home either.
I sent a message to Qian Helin early, and the two of them insisted on getting together for drinks and chat. One didn't want to reply, and neither did the other, but it was like they had made an appointment. I don't know who made up this perverse idea that men need "their own space," as if only by releasing all their emotions in that closed little space can they go home and face the chaos of life.
The two of them met at a hot pot restaurant near Houhai Beach. The area was already crowded with tourists, and parking was expensive. After much deliberation, Wang Qingwei decided to drive. The traffic was incredibly congested, and he pressed the brake with his right foot for a long time, but he didn't even make it a kilometer before his foot went numb.
"I should have taken the subway."
"If I had known..." This phrase has become almost a catchphrase for Wang Qingwei. Just yesterday, a colleague from his team died of a heart attack while resting at home. This morning, at work, his boss mysteriously summoned him to the office and, after a long, irrelevant conversation, finally broke the news: he asked if the deceased colleague had requested leave before his death.
I should have paid more attention to his health. I saw him slumped over his desk several times, feeling unwell, and I simply offered him a bottle of water. There's no such thing as regret. Even a three-year-old knows that. When something like this happened at a critical juncture in the company's IPO process, the boss certainly didn't want to take responsibility. As the deceased's supervisor, he was likely to be blamed.
A constant stream of tourists lined the streets, snapping photos, some weary, some excited. In this bustling city, one more or one less person wouldn't seem like shocking news. But for the boss, the "reasonable and legal" reduction of one person was his primary concern. The traffic lights at the intersection kept changing, but the long convoy didn't move much forward. Wang Qingwei stared at the taillights of the car in front of him, feeling a surge of frustration.
Whenever Wang Qingwei got drunk at a karaoke bar, he'd always order "Almost" by A-Du. He felt like his life was always "almost," almost managing his marriage, almost getting his job done, almost living the life he wanted.
"If you miss the right person, the decision is made in that second or that minute. At the crossroads of love, you are the passerby I can't wait for."
The lyrics floated out from the speakers, gently landed on Wang Qingwei's heart, and then sank.
Qian Helin sat in the restaurant early, looking forward to Wang Qingwei's arrival so that he could have the first bite of meat.
"Did you two sleep in separate beds?" Qian Helin asked cautiously, as if afraid of being overheard. But in such a noisy restaurant, who could hear who was talking?
"What's wrong? Were you kicked out of the master bedroom?" Wang Qingwei had just made himself a big bowl of sesame paste. It was extremely unhealthy but unusually delicious. He ate it first and rolled the boiled mutton in it. The combination of fat and oil would clog blood vessels but it could soothe the mood.
They were college roommates who, in typical fashion, had a crush on the same girl. Unfortunately, the girl ignored both of them and went abroad for a master's and doctoral degree after graduation. She later received a green card and never returned. However, as they approached their forties, Wang Qingwei gradually felt that love was simply not an option in his marriage. If they were to seriously discuss "love," the couple would find it difficult to make it work. After all, if they were to talk about love, who would they have to argue with about the daily necessities of life, like utilities and property fees?
Over the years, all they'd heard about that girl from classmates was scraped together. To say they didn't miss her would be a lie; who doesn't have a secret crush on someone? Regardless of gender, as long as it wasn't the person in front of them, they always seemed to have a filter.
"It's not like she was kicked out," Qian Helin said, picking at the meat in his bowl. "She complained that my breathing was too loud when I slept and it kept her awake."
Wang Qingwei couldn't stop laughing, and a bad idea suddenly popped up in his mind, "Why don't you try putting your dog's muzzle on your own mouth?"
"Forget it, I might as well just sleep in the second bedroom instead of suffering that."
Qian Helin seemed preoccupied, drinking one glass after another, rambling on about irrelevant matters, avoiding the main topic. Wang Qingwei had no appetite for a drink either, his mind preoccupied with the day's work schedule and the pile of work he still had to deal with tomorrow. Even when the wine reached his lips, he couldn't quite taste it.
When Song Xiaoxiao called He Xiaolan, she was cleaning up at home. The house was littered with "quasi-junk": seemingly useless, yet when it came time to throw it away, none of it was willing to be thrown away. It ended up piling up in a corner, slowly rotting and stinking. Life was like this for the couple, too: unresolved problems piled up, piling up until, in the end, even their lives began to rot and stink.
You don’t have to throw away garbage and you don’t have to divorce as long as you have strong enough patience.
"Your Wang Qingwei said that he needs 'his own space'." Song Xiaoxiao tried hard to suppress her laughter on the phone while relaying Wang Qingwei's nonsense. The two men who were about to slip under her feet were like mangy dogs, making wishes to the sky one after another.
She rushed to the hot pot restaurant after receiving a call from Qian Helin. There were so many people in the restaurant, and she could accurately locate Wang Qingwei and Qian Helin at a glance. The two grown men hugged each other and cried, and they cried quite devotedly. This kind of scene was rare. She took pictures from all angles and sent them to He Xiaolan before she took them away with satisfaction.
"Tell Wang Qingwei," He Xiaolan said with a hint of self-mockery in her voice, "to ask him to buy me a 200-square-meter villa, so that every part of the house can be his."
As He Xiaolan said this, she kicked shut a drawer that had been open for three days. Wang Qingwei must have forgotten why he opened the drawer at the time, but as long as He Xiaolan didn't close it, the drawer would remain there, open forever.
When Wang Qingwei woke up the next morning, he had completely forgotten about the "space" incident. The alarm clock slapped him awake with a thud. Breakfast consisted of a sandwich from the nearby bakery. Early morning time was precious; how to "break through" and "lead the charge" during the morning rush hour required planning ahead. He Xiaolan didn't mention his excessive drinking the previous night, and Song Xiaoxiao didn't bother to address Qian Helin, who was soundly sleeping in the second bedroom with his dog. Adults have their own limits, and the one they should take care of is always themselves.
He Xiaolan's assistant Ge Lin told her that the Human Resources Department wanted to recruit a new person, a returned overseas master's degree holder who was personally interviewed by the boss Yang Fan. The person could speak four foreign languages fluently and was also recommended by the big boss himself.
"Look at how difficult the job market is right now," Ge Lin said, lowering her voice. "This girl, seeing how ruthless Yang Fan is, didn't even run away."
As he was speaking, Yang Fan walked into the office in a suit and tie and glanced at He Xiaolan and Ge Lin in the tea room.
"Manager He, please come to my office later."
"Okay, Mr. Yang, I'll be right there."
Watching Yang Fan walk away, He Xiaolan took a deep breath helplessly, handed her cup to Ge Lin as if handing over an important item, and said half-jokingly: "I will go to do my errand now."
The boss's words are like a frying pan in a dried fruit shop. Once something hits their lips, they'll have to harp on it over and over again, returning to the starting point. Even the smallest details can take half an hour to harp on.
Exhausted. Although it had not been an hour since she arrived at the company, He Xiaolan already felt tired. There were still resumes for four positions to screen, personnel for five positions to optimize, two employees' birthdays to celebrate, and... there were so many things that her to-do list could no longer hold. She had to do it. Only by doing well could she pay off the mortgage, buy Yueyue everything she wanted, and buy a new car by the end of the year. She had been driving it for ten years, and this year's earth-brown car was no longer pleasing to the eye.
Wang Qingwei drove that drab brown car to the home of his deceased colleague Zhang Hang. He couldn't offer any words of comfort, and could only mechanically convey the company's message.
Zhang Hang, just 30 years old, got married last year. His wedding photo still sits on the sofa, having originally planned to hang it in his new home once it was finished renovating. His wife is pregnant and due in two months. As he spoke these words, Zhang Hang's parents and wife were already in tears.
Anyone watching this scene would shed a few tears. Furthermore, Wang Qingwei wasn't bringing good news. Zhang Hang died while on leave, making him ineligible for work-related injury insurance. The clauses are cold and unforgiving; once a "person" is no longer "useful," they ruthlessly remove him or her, replacing them with a new batch of "objects" and leading them right back into the trap set by the clauses.
Wang Qingwei quietly left behind 20,000 yuan. He had saved this money for six months by living frugally and borrowed 3,000 yuan from Qian Helin. It was a small token of his appreciation for Zhang Hang's family.
That night, Wang Qingwei went to the supermarket and bought a large bag of vegetables, then went home to cook a meal. He Xiaolan looked at the table full of dishes and thought he was going to discuss divorce, making such a big fuss. But before this somewhat ceremonial evening even began, a phone call from He Lianhua ruined it.
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