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

As the year drew to a close, the provincial capital had its first snowfall. It wasn't heavy, just a fine, light snow, like salt sprinkled on the ground. It melted as soon as it fell, leaving the roads wet and making a crunching sound when you stepped on them.

Construction had already stopped, but none of the workers had left. I had just gotten up this morning when I saw the yard packed with people. Of course, they weren't there to work; they were there to demand their unpaid wages.

Because the client is still delaying payment for the project, Lao Hu has urged them several times, but the client always gives different reasons, such as "it's in process," "the leader is on a business trip," or "the accountant is sick," and the money just won't come in. Lao Hu can't afford to pay anymore. Recently, Lao Hu has become less and less talkative and smokes more and more. His office is filled with smoke, like it's on fire.

"Engineer Chen, it's almost the Lunar New Year, and we still haven't received our wages. What are we going to do?" The one who spoke was Liu Jun, the foreman of the carpentry team.

"Mr. Liu, the client hasn't paid yet. Mr. Hu is trying to find a solution."

"Find a solution? I've been thinking about it for half a month." Liu Jun's voice was a little hoarse, not from shouting, but from anxiety. "Engineer Chen, let me tell you the truth. Some of my men need to go home for the New Year, some have children waiting for tuition fees, and some have elderly relatives waiting for medical treatment. I can't let them work for nothing."

From the crowd behind, someone shouted, "We won't leave until we pay!"

Old Hu arrived. He walked up to Liu Jun, took out a cigarette from his pocket, and offered it to him. Liu Jun didn't take it.

"Mr. Hu, don't give me that crap. Just tell me, when are you going to pay me?"

"Before the New Year."

"How many days until the end of the year? Is it the 29th or the 30th?" Liu Jun's voice wasn't loud, but he emphasized each word. "President Hu, I've worked for you for a year, and we trust you. But this year is different. I heard the client hasn't paid, and you can't cover the shortfall. Tell me the truth so we can prepare."

Old Hu was silent for a few seconds. He looked at the people behind Liu Jun. Some were wearing military overcoats, some were wearing cotton-padded clothes from the construction site, and some didn't even have cotton-padded clothes, just woven bags over them. Their faces were red from the wind, their hands were in their sleeves, and their necks were hunched. They were all old men who had worked with him for a year.

"Liu Jun, do you believe me or not?"

"I believe you, but believing you won't fill my stomach."

"Twenty-nine, I'll pay you seventy percent. The rest will be settled after the new year when construction begins. I mean what I say."

Liu Jun stared at Lao Hu for a long time. The workers behind him also looked at him. A gust of wind blew, stirring up dust at the construction site entrance and landing on the people; no one tried to dodge it.

"Seventy percent," Liu Jun said. "Okay. But you have to keep your word."

"Keep your word."

Liu Jun turned around and looked at the workers. "Disperse, disperse. General Manager Hu said that 70% will be settled before the end of the year."

The workers began to disperse. Some cursed, some sighed, and some had already walked away without even turning their heads. Liu Jun was the last to leave, walking up to Old Hu and extending a hand. Old Hu shook it.

"Mr. Hu, you still call me when we start work after the New Year. I'll still work for you."

"it is good."

……

On the 29th, the client finally made a payment. It wasn't much, just enough to pay the workers' wages, but not enough to cover the money Lao Hu had advanced.

Old Hu paid the workers 70% of their wages. He gave them IOUs for the remaining 30%, saying he'd settle the rest after the New Year when work resumed, but nobody knew when that would be.

Then Lao Hu called me into his office.

"Chen Mu," Old Hu pushed an envelope over, "this is your salary for this month."

I took it, didn't count, and it felt much thinner than last month.

"Not all. Only five thousand," Old Hu said. "If you can't hold on and need more money, just tell me."

I put the envelope in my pocket. "We can manage."

"Okay, then you can pack up and head back. Let's leave it at that before the New Year. I'll let you know when we start work after the New Year."

"Okay, Mr. Hu, Happy New Year in advance!"

Old Hu paused for a moment, then said, "I hope so."

Stepping out of the office, I mentally calculated: mortgage payment of 3,500, medical expenses of 2,200—this month's income was negative. I took out my phone, opened the bank app, and saw my balance: 4,321.

My phone vibrated. It was a message from Xiaohui.

"Brother Chen, are you coming back?"

I'll go back today.

"It's cold on the road. Wear more layers, Brother Chen."

"The same to you."

I put my phone in my pocket and looked at the empty site. The workers were all gone; the construction site was as quiet as a ghost town. The tower cranes were still, the pump trucks were silent, and the vibratory rollers were quiet. Only the sound of the wind blowing through the safety netting, a whooshing sound, like someone sighing.

My phone vibrated. I took it out and called out, "Mom!" I quickly answered.

"Xiao Mu, come to the hospital, your father is hospitalized."

Hearing this, my head went blank for a moment. "Mom, I'm going right now."

When I arrived at the hospital, my dad was already resting.

I asked my mother softly, "Mom, what's wrong with Dad this time?"

"Ascites. His stomach is swollen like a drum, and his legs are swollen too. If you press on them, they leave a dent that doesn't spring back for a long time. We just finished draining the fluid."

Hearing my mother and me talking, my father opened his eyes and winked at me.

My mother waved to me, signaling me to go out with her and we went into the hallway.

"The doctor said your dad can't be discharged; he'll have to stay until after the New Year." She said it very softly, as if afraid someone would hear.

"Mom, did the doctor say how Dad's symptoms are this time?"

"The doctor didn't say. He just said it depends on the situation."

I didn't ask any more questions.

After my mother and I entered the ward, my father opened his eyes and looked at me. "Xiaomu, has your matter been settled?"

"It's settled, Dad. May 18th."

"May?" He paused for a moment, as if counting the days. "There are still four months left."

"Um."

"Four months," he repeated, then stopped talking.

I know what Dad is thinking.

Four months—whether he could make it that far, nobody knew. But he didn't say it. He never said such things. He never said, "I'm afraid I won't make it," never said, "I can't do it anymore." He would only say, "It's okay," "Same as always," "You go about your business."

I walked out of the ward and stood in the corridor. The corridor was long, and the bright white light made people's faces look pale.

I took out my phone, scrolled to Xiaohui's chat window, hesitated for a moment, then typed a few words and sent them: "Xiaohui, May 18th, it's set."

Xiao Hui quickly replied, "Okay. Brother Chen, I'll tell my mom."

I walked back to the ward. Dad's eyes were closed, his breathing heavy, as if he were carrying something uphill. Mom sat on the edge of the bed, a half-peeled apple on the bedside table, its flesh oxidized and yellowed.

My mother stood up, walked over to me, and lowered her voice.

"Xiao Mu, your dad's medical expenses have gone up again this month. The doctor said they've added an imported drug, which costs 300 yuan a day."

"It's okay, Mom, don't worry. I just got paid today, it'll be enough."

"Your uncle lent you 10,000 yuan. Keep your money for now; you still have things to do. Save the money for those things." She looked at me, her eyes reddening, but she didn't cry. "Your dad said he absolutely has to see you get married. He said he can manage."

"Yes, Dad will be alright," I reassured him.