Chapter 6

Chapter 6: The Snail Is Unfathomable

Lin Jianyuan had no time to dwell on the snail. He went back to his workstation and downed two pills in a hurry. The sweet tablets melted on his tongue; he drew a deep breath and forced himself to focus.

“Grab the laptops. We’re going to the studio,” Lin Jianyuan ordered.

Pei Shuo moved fast, packing both their laptops and chargers, plus anything else they might need.

Jiang Chen was still rattled by Lin Jianyuan’s “Get ready to pay damages,” his legs rubbery.

He handed over the keys. “Either of you drive? My hands are shaking…”

Lin Jianyuan gave him a cool glance. “I just took psychiatric meds. You want me driving—trying to send us straight to hell?”

“I’ll do it! I can drive!” Pei Shuo snatched the keys and sprinted out to mash the elevator button.

They stood in unusual silence waiting for the elevator. On his tablet, Lin Jianyuan raced through the plan Jiang Chen had Frankensteined.

Every time Lin Jianyuan’s finger paused on something, Pei Shuo was already scribbling it down.

Jiang Chen barely dared to breathe, standing off to the side.

Pei Shuo hadn’t had his license long and barreled through traffic. In the back seat, Jiang Chen white-knuckled his seat belt, scared stiff. Watching him, Lin Jianyuan wanted to kick the dumbass out of the car.

They finally made it to the live-stream studio. The cramped soundproof booth was crammed with gear, except for the cleared space in front of the cameras.

Three cameras were trained on the ring light in the center. The streamer’s desk before the green screen sat empty—the 3D virtual set meant to display products was glitching because Jiang Chen had last-minute swapped in a “square-faced black cat,” and the tech team were cursing at the flickering screen.

“Don’t bother debugging—use the very first version!” Lin Jianyuan charged over, tossed the line, and bolted.

“What?!” the tech team roared in protest.

Finally my turn to say that, Lin Jianyuan thought. Too bad he had no time to savor the petty thrill of being the client; he turned and went to check the rest of the setup.

Pei Shuo was crouched in a corner checking the teleprompter, fingers nervously pinching the edge of the tablet, the screen all but warping under his grip. Bootleg square-faced-black-cat collateral littered the control desk; the sight made Lin Jianyuan see red. He stormed over and ripped down a poster.

“Four hours till we go live. Redo the backdrop, and pull all printed collateral!” Lin Jianyuan grabbed Jiang Chen by the collar, impatient. “When exactly do the new materials get here?!”

“It’s gonna take a bit.” Jiang Chen, frantic, was pinging the group for reinforcements.

Just then a junior assistant passed by. Seeing Jiang Chen, she blurted, “Hello, Boss Jiang!”

Lin Jianyuan and Jiang Chen both looked up at her. She blinked, then her gaze snagged on Jiang Chen’s collar, clutched tight in Lin Jianyuan’s fist.

Jiang Chen jerked back as if struck by lightning, awkwardly patting his collar. “It’s fine, I can tie my own tie,” he muttered. “Lin Jianyuan, you do your thing.”

Assistant: “…”

Lin Jianyuan: “Dumbass.”

Jiang Chen’s composure fell clean off his face. The junior assistant sensed the mood souring, tossed out a quick “I’ll go find the host,” and bolted.

“Color team, lower the background saturation! Director! Has the director talked with the host yet? Go confirm the script—forget it, bring it here, I’ll check it myself!” Lin Jianyuan felt like only meds were keeping a lid on his irritability. He kept his voice level as he directed everyone, then found a second to fish out his endlessly buzzing phone.

—Jiang Chen was going nuts tagging everyone in the work chat; the whole thing was a war zone.

Lin Jianyuan skimmed at speed; in the pile of noise, he saw only one line: Too late.

“Lin Jianyuan, uh…” Jiang Chen shuffled over with a face like he’d just swallowed shit.

“Shut up, save it,” Lin Jianyuan cut him off. “Go to the warehouse and haul over all the backup materials from last week’s sample run. Three boxes. Move!”

“Me?” Jiang Chen pointed at himself, startled.

“Or should I go?”

With the look of a man being held down and force-fed shit, Jiang Chen slunk off.

The digital countdown flipped to 02:12:47. Passing a man-high promo standee, Pei Shuo caught it in the corner of his eye. The graphic on the standee was wrong. His face changed. He hesitated two seconds, grabbed a box cutter, crouched, and started scraping the layer.

Afraid of gouging the standee’s backing, his hand with the cutter trembled—until Lin Jianyuan lobbed him a can of spray adhesive. “Use this! Go!”

Snapping back to it, Pei Shuo grabbed the correct graphic and slapped it over the wrong one with a wet smack.

Everyone was running.

In the next room the host screamed, “Where are my contacts?” The tech team pounded on the crashed server. Carrying boxes, Jiang Chen tripped on a cable and yanked down half the green screen.

Clutching the materials list, Pei Shuo looked to Lin Jianyuan, who was leaning against the wall chugging water, pale fingers flying over his laptop, bangs hanging low to hide the bluish shadows under his eyes.

The control room’s red light flashed on.

“Audio, prep for the first link-up!” the director’s roar cracked across the room.

All nonessential personnel cleared the live area. Pei Shuo strode to Lin Jianyuan’s side. Lin Jianyuan wiped the water from the corner of his mouth. “We’re about there. You keep watch—most important, keep an eye on Jiang Chen and don’t let that fuckwit screw anything else up. I’m stepping out for a bit.”

“Yuan-ge!” Pei Shuo hurried after him, worried. “Where are you going? Are you feeling okay? I’ll go with you!”

“I’m taking a shit! What the hell would you come for?”

“…Right.” Pei Shuo had been about to go grab his arm to steady him; at that, he snatched his hand back and muttered, “Oh. Th-then… good luck.”

Lin Jianyuan gave him a what-are-you-even-saying look and stalked off, simmering.

Half an hour to go before the stream, Lin Jianyuan ran through everything again in his head and decided there shouldn’t be any loose ends this time.

He let out a breath and sat down on the toilet.

That blitz of fixes had his scalp still prickling, his head a hive of bees. No—he needed to take a gloriously on-the-clock shit, savor it, or he’d be cheating himself—wait, fuck, he was still on sick leave! Damn it!

Grumbling, Lin Jianyuan set a ten-minute alarm, then sat on the toilet and started scrolling short videos.

When you’re wound that tight, even scrolling short videos doesn’t hit the spot. He switched over to Candy Crush.

You have to hand it to Candy Crush at times like this—especially with the sound on. The thud-thud-thud of combos was deeply satisfying; dopamine kept slamming his synapses, letting him slip, for a moment, free of all this idiot bullshit.

The next second: ding ding ding—

The alarm went off!

Lin Jianyuan froze, hurriedly silenced it. Tugging up his pants as he stood, he thought, Ten minutes already? That fast? Felt like I only played a round or two.

But a glance at the time said it had indeed been ten minutes…

Let it all burn.

I can’t do this fucking job.

He splashed water on his face at the sink, pulled himself together, and went back to the live studio.

Host in place, lights and cameras set, all the gear checked, materials confirmed.

The director’s hoarse bellow split the room: “Quiet on set! Three, two, one—go live!”

Arms folded, Lin Jianyuan stood behind the director, watching the feed on the console monitor with him. Jiang Chen let out a long breath, relief in his voice: “Can’t believe it—we actually pulled it off! It’s saved!”

Lin Jianyuan and Pei Shuo both turned to look at him.

“Uh… what?” Realizing he’d jumped the gun, Jiang Chen fumbled, “Okay, fine, I admit it—this time it was mainly Lin Jianyuan who came through, really pulled our company out of the fire…”

“No, that’s not what Yuan-ge meant.” Even Pei Shuo couldn’t take it; he said, deadpan, “Boss Jiang, the stream just started—we’ve got a full three hours ahead! You can’t relax yet. The crucial part is only just beginning!”

Jiang Chen: “…”

“Don’t blame Boss Jiang, Pei Shuo.” Arms still folded, Lin Jianyuan said coolly, “Boss Jiang always keeps to the big picture, never gets hands-on with a stream. It’s only natural he doesn’t know better.”

Doesn’t. Know. Better.

Those three words landed like iron fists on Jiang Chen’s face.

“Fine… whatever.” Jiang Chen rolled his eyes and walked off.

Lin Jianyuan kept his eyes glued to the live feed. Everything was proceeding by the book. A wave of fatigue crept in.

“So pissed—what a bastard, all snide remarks. He ran us ragged, not even a thank-you, and we still have to buy our own coffee!” Bristling with indignation, Pei Shuo thrust a hot cup at him. “We’re beasts of burden at this point—and we even have to pay for our own feed!”

“Thanks.” Lin Jianyuan took the coffee, tossed him a couple of perfunctory consolations.

The fatigue piled on in layers. The smoother the stream went, the more exhausted he felt.

His nerves, strung too tight before, now slackened uncontrollably; he yawned and yawned, forced to gulp coffee.

The day’s running around had left him aching in his back and shoulders. He couldn’t stay put in the swivel chair, shifting again and again.

A three-hour stream felt like serving time. In the end, he even pulled out his ultimate time-killer—Candy Crush.

Only this time, Candy Crush wasn’t doing the trick.

He’d cleared over a hundred levels, looked up—and it was only eight o’clock.

Eight o’clock! Only an hour gone!

God help me, two hours to go… Lin Jianyuan howled inwardly as boredom, irritation, and exhaustion kept piling up.

"Bro! You know what Jiang Chen is up to?!" Pei Shuo came back from a stroll, seething. "He's sacked out in the lounge! Fuck! We're in here glued to the stream, and he's next door asleep! Snoring loud enough to shake the rafters—I could hear it from the hall!"

Lin Jianyuan was so wiped he didn’t even have the strength to curse that dumbass boss anymore. Seeing the deathly look on his face, Pei Shuo hurried to say, "Right, bro, you head back first! Leave this to me. Don’t worry—this time, even if Jiang Chen puts a knife to my throat, I’m not taking his bullshit orders."

The lure of going home to sleep was strong. He thought it over, then shook his head. "I’ll find a place to lie down for a bit too—twenty minutes. If anything happens, come get me right away."

"Okay. Go on, bro!" Pei Shuo stood and handed him a jacket. "Use my coat as a blanket—don’t catch a chill."

"Mm." Lin Jianyuan took the kindness, waved, and was about to leave when something suddenly flicked past in front of him.

He froze where he stood, looking around blankly. At last he spotted a familiar, suspicious trace on the floor.

No—not just one.

There were countless.

At some point, the floor around them had sprouted countless glittering wet trails.

They crisscrossed, and up close looked viscous—as if a tight, impenetrable net had quietly woven itself around everyone in the streaming room.

"What is it, bro?" Pei Shuo looked up at him.

"Nothing." Lin Jianyuan scratched his head. "Careful—the floor’s slick."

Pei Shuo: "?"

Lin Jianyuan went out to find a place to rest. As he passed the next room he really did hear snoring inside. He balled his fists, fighting down the urge to rush in and take a shit on Jiang Chen’s face, and headed to the other end of the corridor to lie down.

He set a twenty-minute alarm, pulled Pei Shuo’s jacket over himself, shut his eyes, and settled in blissfully.

—Ding ding ding!

Lin Jianyuan: ?!

He jolted awake, heart pounding. He grabbed his phone—the alarm was going off!

Twenty minutes already? That fast?!

He raked a hand through his hair, annoyed. The thought of going back to stare at the stream made his head pound.

Maybe... five more minutes?

Yawning nonstop, sleep heavy over him, he hit "snooze five minutes," tossed the phone aside, rolled over, and dropped back into dreamland.

—Ding ding ding!

Again?!!!

It felt like he’d only just shut his eyes and the alarm was blaring again. Five more minutes... He didn’t even want to lift his eyelids; the urge to keep sleeping had crushed everything else.

Five more minutes—let the sky fall, I’m still taking five more minutes... Eyes closed, seething with irritation, he groped for his phone.

Clack. The phone hit the floor.

He still didn’t want to open his eyes for fear the drowsiness would vanish. Eyes shut, lying on his side, he stretched an arm under the couch to feel for the phone.

Instead of the phone, his fingers found something wet, cool, and limp.

"!!!" Sleep vanished in a heartbeat. He shot upright. "Fuck! What the hell is that!"

"Fuck! You can see me!" shrieked a snail on the floor.

Lin Jianyuan: "?"

Snail: "??"

Lin Jianyuan sat on the couch glaring at the snail, and the snail, sprawled on the floor, glared right back at Lin Jianyuan.

One man and one snail, four eyes locked.

The snail gave its feelers a shake and, with unfathomable gravity, said, “To think a mere human could see me…”

“What the fuck is this bullshit?!” Lin Jianyuan saw red and, without a second thought, raised his foot and stomped the snail flat.