Civil Engineering in the Mortal World: Ten Years Without Knowing Today's Events

Looking at the caller ID, I sighed with a wry smile, hesitated for three seconds, and then answered the phone.

"mom."

"Xiao, how did your talk with that girl go?" Mom asked softly on the other end of the phone.

Sigh, is that even possible?

Yesterday I messaged someone to ask if they had time to grab a bite this weekend, and they replied six hours later, "I've been pretty busy lately." Scrolling back further, the previous message was a "Good morning," and the one before that was also a "Good morning."

Between adults, there's no need to say "no."

"It's off," I said calmly.

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone.

"It's okay, it's okay," Mom's voice dropped noticeably, but she still tried to lift it. "Mom will look for you again. Aunt Wang next door said she has a niece—"

"mom."

"What's wrong?"

This is the third one this month.

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

Suddenly, the noise from the construction site surged in—the rumble of the pump truck, the high-frequency vibration of the vibrating rods inserted into the concrete, and the foreman shouting "Left! Left!" in the distance.

"Xiao," Mom finally spoke again, her voice much softer, "I have something to tell you, but don't take it personally."

"Um."

"That girl your Aunt Wang mentioned last time, the one... the one who's a little slow-witted," Mom carefully chose her words, "her family said they don't want any dowry, and they'll even give her a car as part of her dowry. Her parents just think you're honest and want someone reliable—"

"Mom..." Before I could continue speaking.

"Let me finish," Mom said, her tone becoming more urgent. "I've met that girl. She's not ugly, fair-skinned, just a little slow to react. Her parents said she can do housework and cook, but not anything too complicated. Think about it, if you were with her, she wouldn't complain or make a fuss, how easy would that be? Besides, she doesn't want anything. You know your father's health; he just wants to see you get married."

"Mom, stop talking."

As soon as I finished speaking, the person on the other end of the phone immediately fell silent.

The silence was longer than before.

I could hear my mother's soft sigh, a sigh squeezed out from the bottom of her throat, a sigh she didn't want me to hear.

"Mom isn't forcing you," the mother's voice had a slight nasal tone, "Mom just... look at you, you're already thirty-three, and people your age in the village already have kids in elementary school."

"I see."

"Do you understand what that means? You agree?"

How could I possibly agree to that?

How am I supposed to live with a girl whose mental age is only that of a nine-year-old? What can I talk to her about? I come home exhausted after a long day and want to talk to someone. I tell her that the client yelled at me again, that the supervisor was nitpicking, and that the concrete slump was off by ten millimeters and would be returned—would she even understand?

But saying "I disagree" to her mother felt like pricking herself with a needle.

My father started vomiting blood in the middle of the night during my second year of university. He was rushed to the hospital and diagnosed with cirrhosis. He later underwent a spleen and stomach removal. Although he survived, due to the spleen and stomach removal, he could no longer eat like a normal person and could only take nutritional supplements and traditional Chinese medicine.

At that time, I was still in college and had to ask my family for living expenses every month. My mother bore all the pressure alone. In order to raise money for my father, my mother only ate steamed buns for three meals a day during the two months she was in the hospital. It was during that time that my mother's health deteriorated.

She wants me to settle down and start a family. She thinks that even if the girl is a little slow-witted, at least she'll be a companion and can at least give the family a child.

How can I simply say I disagree?

"Mom, given her condition, what if she has children who might inherit it—"

"Their parents said it's not hereditary; it's just from a fever they had when they were little," the mother quickly said. "I asked the doctor, and they said it's not hereditary."

"Mom, what if?"

The person on the other end of the phone went silent again.

"Okay, let's take another look." The mother's voice softened. "Have you eaten?"

"I've eaten, Mom. I have to get back to work now, so I'll hang up." I quickly hung up the phone.

The phone screen went dark, and I saw my face reflected on it.

He looked drab, with slightly red eyes. At thirty-three, he had accomplished nothing and was still causing his elderly mother to worry about finding him a wife.

Sigh, I put my phone in my pocket, put on my helmet, and before I even got to the scene, my walkie-talkie exploded.

"Engineer Chen, Engineer Chen! The formwork for the eastern section's foundation slab has burst! The formwork has ripped open! Concrete is gushing out!"

My mind went blank for a moment, and then I quickly ran to the scene.

By the time they reached the eastern section, the situation had already gotten somewhat out of control.

Old Wang, the carpenter, was cursing. Two laborers were shoveling away the gushing concrete. A gap had appeared at the joint of the formwork, and concrete was flowing out like a mudslide, spreading across a large area on the ground.

"Stop shoveling! Stop the pump truck first!" I shouted.

The pump truck has stopped.

The noise suddenly subsided, leaving only the gurgling sound of concrete seeping out from the cracks.

I crouched down to take a look at the reinforcement of the template.

The spacing between the steel pipes is too large, and two of the butterfly buckles have loosened.

I was about to scold Lao Wang, but when I saw that his face was covered in ash and his eyes were bloodshot, I swallowed my words. Lao Wang worked until 1 a.m. yesterday and started work again at 6 a.m. today.

"Add two steel pipes and tighten them again," I said.

Just then, the phone rang again.

I pulled it out and saw it was Director Huang An. At this point, this "weasel" calling could only mean trouble. I had no choice but to answer the phone, even though I was hesitant.

"Hello, Mr. Huang."

"Chen Mu, have you submitted the concrete mix design report? I just tested the slump, and it's over 200. You've made 200 with your C40 concrete? What are you trying to do? Do you even want this foundation slab anymore?"

I suppressed my anger and took a deep breath.

"Mr. Huang, it's normal for the slump of pumped concrete to be a little higher. We measured it when we arrived, and it's 180..."

"Weasel" interrupted me directly, "I don't care how much you measure, I can see it on the spot and it's too diluted. You stop pouring immediately, adjust the mix ratio and pour again."

"Mr. Huang, we can't stop now," I tried my best to explain. "The foundation is already half-poured. If we stop for more than an hour, the joints will become cold joints, and the entire foundation will be a hidden danger. You know this better than I do."

"That's your problem. Who told you to cooperate so poorly? Anyway, I'm telling you this: if you don't make adjustments, I'll issue a rectification notice."

The phone hangs up.

Damn it, they'll just say that's your problem.

I stood beside the gushing concrete, phone in hand. The vibrator started up again—the workers didn't know the supervisor's number; all they knew was to finish pouring as soon as possible so they could go home.

If this continues, the "weasel" will definitely not get away with it, and it will eventually reach the client, who will inevitably deduct money, and the boss will be cursing again.

If the waterproofing is stopped, cold cracks will form, causing the entire base slab to fail. This will lead to basement leaks later, which will be an even bigger problem, and I will definitely have to take the blame for it.

Damn it, there are pitfalls at both ends. I guess I'll just have to choose the slightly shallower one.

"Keep shooting," I said to Lao Wang, "keep a close eye on the areas where the model explodes."

Then I sent a WeChat message to the supervisor: "Mr. Huang, the mix ratio has been adjusted, and the slump of the later materials is controlled at 160. Please forgive the previous issues."

Although I know sending this message is pointless, and Lao Huang will still close deals as usual, I still need to leave a record to prove that I "have made adjustments."

My phone vibrated again before I could even put it in my pocket.

The boss's WeChat voice message lasted four seconds.

I clicked on it.

"Chen Mu, keep a close eye on that progress payment. The client says there's a problem with the documents, so you need to get it sorted out by tomorrow."

I gave a wry smile, replied "received," then stuffed my phone into my pocket, snatched a shovel from Old Wang, and started shoveling up the waste on the ground.

The concrete had already begun to set, and it was a bit difficult to insert the shovel. Every shovel took all my strength.

There was someone shouting something in the distance, but I couldn't hear it.

The pump truck restarted, and the roar came down again. The vibrating rods buzzed inside the base plate, making my temples throb with pain.

Finally, the shoveling is finished.

The sun was almost setting, casting a dark red glow over the construction site. The tower crane cast a long shadow, like a giant cross planted in the ground.

I'm just a construction worker, what right do I have to look down on others?

I stuck the shovel into the pile of concrete and wiped my hands on my pants. No matter how much I wiped, the dust on my hands wouldn't come off, and my fingernails were full of black dirt.

it's getting dark.

I still have to work the night shift.

I took out my phone and deleted my mother's call history—not because I didn't want to look, but because I was afraid to. Then I opened the chat with my blind date, and the last message was still one I had sent: "Good morning."

I typed a few more words and sent them: "Okay, sorry to bother you."

Send it out.

The other end replied instantly this time. Just one word: "Mm."

This is great, it's straightforward and efficient. I don't have to rack my brains every day to come up with chat content. I deleted the chat box, put my phone back in my pocket, and continued to stare at the pump truck. I have to work overtime tonight.