Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Life Lies in Motion

July still burned. With one tap, Lin Jianyuan hit skip on the crush of the subway and went straight to the office.

If only he could skip work too. No such luck.

Squishy thief’s skip is anything but smart—if he doesn’t actively steer his body, the parts he “skips” leave him sitting there the whole time like an idiot, motionless.

So he still had to show up in the flesh.

The second he clocked in—same old mess of bullshit.

Pei Shuo did his best to share the load, but there’s only so much a one-month intern can do.

Most of it still landed on Lin Jianyuan.

When he finally got things to a stopping point, he decided to take a paid shit and unwind.

He’d barely sat down, hadn’t even opened Candy Crush, when Jiang Chen bellowed outside, “Lin Jianyuan!”

Lin Jianyuan ignored him and kept playing.

“Where’s Lin Jianyuan? Where’d he go?” Jiang Chen’s shout carried in.

A moment later, his phone started ringing. The tiny stall filled with the tinny ringtone.

The moment Lin Jianyuan saw “Jiang Chen” on the screen, his temper spiked. He wanted to grab a fresh turd and cram it into the man’s mouth.

Nag, nag, nag—nag your damn mother! Can’t a man take a dump in peace?

Cursing under his breath, Lin Jianyuan yanked up his pants and charged up to Jiang Chen. “What?”

“Oh, there you are,” Jiang Chen said. “There’s an empty desk downstairs, right? When you have a minute, have the intern tidy it up, check the keyboard, computer, all that. We’ve got a new hire coming in a bit—get it ready in advance.”

“?”

“What?”

Incredulous, Lin Jianyuan said, “That’s it?”

“Yeah,” Jiang Chen said, as if it were obvious.

“You dragged me out mid-shit to tell me that? You couldn’t fucking—”

Heat surged up his chest again. He forced it down.

Because this was Jiang Chen, after all.

A dumbass, through and through.

A dumbass doing dumbass things—perfectly on brand.

Was he really going to expect a dumbass to act normal? That would make him the dumbass.

“I didn’t know you were on the toilet,” Jiang Chen grumbled. “And can you try to be a little civilized? Stop going on about shit and piss all day…”

“Then I’ll stuff it in your mouth,” Lin Jianyuan said.

Caught off guard, Jiang Chen blurted, “What?”

Calm, composed, Lin Jianyuan said, “If you won’t let me curse, I’ll just have to shove the shit and piss into your mouth instead. What, am I supposed to choke on it?”

Is that even how that works?!

Panic-stricken, Jiang Chen slapped a hand over his mouth.

Anyone else threatening to stuff someone with a turd would be blustering.

But not Lin Jianyuan.

The man was actually unhinged.

Jiang Chen was genuinely scared.

“…Anyway.”

Back in the office, Lin Jianyuan told his coworkers, “From now on, feel free to swear.”

The whole room howled.

“You actually fought for our right to swear?” Qin Shi laughed so hard he pounded the table. “And you, my hero—you’re a real friend!”

“Ever since Lin Jianyuan ‘went crazy,’ he’s been in much better spirits,” Su Zhiwei said, pleased. “We all are!”

They all howled with laughter, but Lin Jianyuan still couldn’t let it go. He stood up and headed out.

“Bro, you going to keep taking a dump?” Pei Shuo snickered, trotting after him. “I’m coming too! The legendary on-the-clock dump! I gotta try it!”

“Are you out of your mind?” Lin Jianyuan snapped. “I’m going for a smoke.”

“Oh. Hahaha.” Even scolded, Pei Shuo stayed cheerful, grinning like a big Golden Retriever that’s just been kicked by its owner.

Pei Shuo really was a sweet-natured guy.

Lin Jianyuan went downstairs. If this were a TV drama, he’d be smoking on the rooftop right now—better view. Unfortunately, this was real life.

The roof was locked. No getting up there.

There were already a few suit-wearing white-collar types at the smoking area. He recognized them from other floors and nodded hello.

They traded a look and the same weary, beast-of-burden smile.

“Man, this job sucks the soul right out of you.”

“Tell me about it—spinning like a top every day.”

“That busy?”

“Not just busy—there’s a whip at your back.”

“Don’t even. I’ve been working late every day, no time with my kid. The other morning he woke up early, I hugged him before I left—he looked at me like he barely knew me...”

The beasts of burden smoked and griped about the company, about life. Smoke hung thick in the air; a little mountain of butts rose in the ashtray.

He didn’t have a family, but he could feel it all the same.

Before he knew it, he’d finished a second cigarette.

He pulled out his pack, reaching for a third, and his hand stalled.

A red thread slipped out of the pack, silent as breath, inching toward his fingertip.

He moved left; the thread went left.

He moved right; the thread went right.

He snapped the pack shut. The thread was lopped off and vanished.

Lin Jianyuan: “?”

He opened the pack again. Nothing in there but a few cigarettes.

He went to slide one out, and the red thread sprouted from thin air again, creeping up toward his finger.

Lin Jianyuan: “...”

Anti-addiction system, huh.

He glanced around and realized that, at some point, red threads had sprouted from the cigarettes between the beasts of burden’s fingers.

Vein-like threads writhed and coiled around their fingers; with every drag and exhale, they drove deeper into their veins.

They noticed nothing. Through the haze their eyes were tired, numb, groping for a future.

“Is it starting to rain?” Lin Jianyuan said suddenly.

“Huh? Rain?” Heads lifted from the smoke. Someone held out a hand, puzzled, to catch the drops.

The sky was leaden; they seemed to realize it was about time. They said their goodbyes and headed back to their pens.

The instant the packs were pocketed, the writhing blood-threads snapped.

Lin Jianyuan gave it a glance and looked away.

He finished his smoke and went back upstairs. The office was still grinding along.

Everyone’s ass seemed glued to a chair; they were too busy even to grab a sip of water.

He threw himself back into work. After a bit, something felt wrong.

He stood, skeptical, and looked over his shoulder.

Well, hell—there it was again.

This time it was just one, not so tough he’d need scissors.

He lifted his butt and—twang.

The thread snapped.

Something clicked. He looked around.

Sure enough, everyone had threads on them.

Left: Pei Shuo, laser-focused on a deck. Two under his butt—one per cheek.

Right: Qin Shi, swearing over data. A tangle under her seat, one from her mouse hand, one from the back of her neck to the monitor.

Up-right: Su Zhiwei, seething at a client. Butt, right hand, neck—and one at his throat.

—Or not the throat.

The thyroid.

At this point, what was there not to get?

These weren’t ordinary threads.

They were SOS flares from the body.

With that, Lin Jianyuan sprang up and clapped. “Comrades!”

“?” Pei Shuo looked up.

“What now!” Qin Shi snapped, looking up.

“@!#@%#…!%!” Su Zhiwei was still swallowing bile at a dumbass client.

Lin Jianyuan raised his arm and called, “Work never ends; your body’s your own! Everybody, put it down, step away from the screen, unclench your brain—let’s do some exercise!”

Pei Shuo: “?”

Qin Shi: “?”

Even Su Zhiwei on the phone: “???”

A one-second freeze.

Next second: collective epiphany.

“Right! The job belongs to the company; the body’s mine! Screw the early meeting! Ten-minute break even if the sky falls!”

“Shit, I forgot—I’m about to pop! Bathroom first!”

Up on the mezzanine, Jiang Chen leaned out and gaped. The entire office had lost it.

Qin Shi was squatting, Pei Shuo was doing burpees, Su Zhiwei was flowing through Baduanjin; everyone else was moving however they could.

Craziest of all, Lin Jianyuan stood hands on hips facing a blank wall, eyes fixed, utterly intent on God knows what.

The others he could handle. What he feared was Lin Jianyuan going feral. He couldn’t help shouting, “Lin Jianyuan! What are you doing!”

“Kegels!” Lin Jianyuan barked. “What, not allowed at work? You paying for my hemorrhoids?!”

Jiang Chen: “…”

Do your kegels, but why yell at me!

And since when is that something to proclaim at full volume?

Watching the gym-class riot, his scalp tingled.

He was about to shut it down when everyone sighed, “See? A little movement helps,” “Five minutes is plenty,” and went back to their desks.

Jiang Chen: “?”

That’s it?

As the office calmed, Jiang Chen, suspecting a prank: “??”

Maybe I should… kegel too?

After the burst of exercise, everyone looked sharper. The room felt less irritable, less crushed.

Pei Shuo came back to Lin Jianyuan a little winded, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.

The stink of the job lifted; he was a lively college kid again.

Work really is hell on the body.

Five minutes of movement, and all the wriggling threads were gone.

Even the squish-toy thief couldn’t help exclaiming, “Miracle worker!”

Lin Jianyuan nodded, pleased. “Life is movement.”

Shame the miracle didn’t last.

An hour later, the threads writhed back out of chairs, keyboards, mice, screens, inching toward bodies.

Lin Jianyuan promptly called for another round.

Another hour…

“Will it ever end!” Lin Jianyuan slammed the desk, furious.

Work! Truly! Fucking toxic!

Every hour, threads emerged to siphon his life.

If not the keyboard, the mouse.

If not the chair, the screen.

Enough already! I’m done!

Let it all burn!!

His roar startled everyone; even Jiang Chen leaned over the railing, frowning at Lin Jianyuan’s latest episode.

Lin Jianyuan jabbed a finger at the monitor and let fly: “Suck, suck, suck—suck my dick! One more suck, you piece-of-shit computer, and I’ll blast you with one punch!”

Then he wheeled on his phone. “And you, you useless brick! You overheat replying to WeChat! You choke on a file download! Trying to kill me so you can inherit my thyroid nodules? Fuck you!”

Everyone: “…”

Jiang Chen: “…”

Crude but not wrong—still, way too crude.

Jiang Chen shot frantic looks, hoping someone would restrain him.

But everyone just watched, eyes shining with awe.

Cursing doesn’t fix anything, but damn it feels good.

—Low-key better than the KPI report.

Lin Jianyuan cursed out the screen, keyboard, mouse, tower—the whole setup—and still wasn’t done.

Pei Shuo had never seen anything like it—staring, slack-jawed.

Qin Shi worried he’d smash the keyboard and was about to intervene when Lin Jianyuan snatched up his phone.

Qin Shi blanched. “No—no! Your own phone! Phones are expensive!”

Too late!

He did something that made everyone gape.

He grabbed a fistful of air and jammed it into the charging port, snarling, “Poke, poke, poke! How do you like it! Poke yourself!”

Everyone: “??”

Jiang Chen: “…” I need oxygen.

They were dumbstruck by the nonsense—then Lin Jianyuan himself froze.

“Huh?” Lin Jianyuan studied the phone, puzzled. “Why is it charging?”

Everyone: “?”

What!

Having a meltdown can charge your phone?!!