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

At 10 a.m., I was checking the slope protection data at the edge of the foundation pit when my phone vibrated in my pocket.

I took it out and saw that it was from Xiao Hui.

A picture of a strawberry.

Yesterday she said she likes to eat strawberries.

The strawberries were bright red and served in a white porcelain bowl, against a backdrop of a table covered with a floral tablecloth. The photo wasn't very clear; it was a bit blurry, with the focus on the rim of the bowl, making the strawberries appear out of focus.

The photo was accompanied by the caption: "Brother Chen, strawberries."

I stared at the photo for a few seconds, unsure of how to respond.

When dealing with people on construction sites, I have a fixed set of language systems.

You can say "Okay, Mr. Huang" to the supervisor, "Received" to the boss, "Hurry up" to the workers, and "I know" to your mother. But none of these phrases apply to Xiao Hui.

I typed a few words: "It looks pretty sweet."

Send it out.

The other end quickly replied: "Mmm, it's sweet."

Then he posted another message: "Brother Chen, eat."

I stared at the words "Brother Chen, eat this" and paused for a moment. It wasn't that the sentence was complicated; it was just that the way it was expressed made me a little uncomfortable. Nobody talks to me like that. Nobody sends a picture of strawberries and says, "Brother Chen, eat this."

I replied with two words: "Okay."

I put my phone in my pocket and continued working.

But that photo kept circling in my mind. It wasn't that the strawberries were particularly beautiful, but rather the way it was expressed—direct, simple, and without any beating around the bush. Like a child's drawing, technically rough, but you know she wanted to show it to you.

During lunch, I took out my phone again and glanced at it.

Xiao Hui didn't send any more messages. There were only three sentences in the chat box: a photo, "Mmm, sweet," and "Brother Chen, eat it."

I opened her Moments, but it was still empty.

The profile picture was still that cat. I stared at the cat for a while and noticed that its eyes were yellow and round, somewhat like Xiao Hui's eyes; they both had that carefree look.

I left again.

The phone rang. It was Mom.

"Xiao, how was your meeting yesterday?" The mother's voice was filled with barely suppressed anticipation.

"good."

"What do you mean by 'not bad'? How's the girl?"

"It's alright, it's alright," I mumbled, taking a mouthful of rice.

"Don't try to fool me," Mom said, her tone becoming more urgent. "Aunt Wang told me that you and that girl got along really well, and you even ate dumplings together. The girl went home and told her parents that you're a really nice person."

My hand, which was picking up food, paused for a moment.

"Did she really say that?"

"What Aunt Wang said could be false? The girl is willing, what do you mean by that?"

I was silent for a few seconds. Xiao Hui's face flashed through my mind—pale, thin, with eyes looking at the ground, occasionally glancing up at me before looking down again.

"I'll look into it further."

"Alright, alright, look around," Mom's voice suddenly brightened. "Invite people out more often, don't just stay on the construction site all the time. What's so great about that construction site? It's all dusty and gloomy—"

"Mom, I'm eating now, I'll hang up now."

I hung up the phone and put it on the table. The stir-fried green peppers and pork in the lunchbox had gone cold, and a layer of white oil had congealed on it.

I took a couple of bites, but found it tasteless, so I put it down.

Old Huang didn't come in the afternoon.

On the contrary, I feel uneasy. I'd rather Lao Huang find fault than have him holding back something he can't bring himself to say.

Xiao Liu was organizing documents nearby, glancing up at me every now and then.

"Brother Chen, are you troubled by something today?"

"no."

"You've checked your phone eight times since this morning."

I flipped my phone face down on the table. "Get to work, stop talking nonsense."

Xiao Liu shrank back and continued organizing the documents.

My phone vibrated again at 3 p.m.

It wasn't a small meeting, it was the boss's meeting, and I felt a little disappointed.

"Muzi, have you thought about what I mentioned last time? My law firm is hiring assistants. No legal background is required; you can learn by doing. The salary isn't high, but it's better than your construction site job."

I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the screen for a long time.

I typed a few words: "I'll think about it some more."

Send it out.

The eldest replied instantly: "What are you thinking about? You've been thinking about this for eight years."

I didn't reply.

That really stung me, and the boss agreed.

I have indeed thought about this for eight years. I started thinking about it the year I graduated: Should I change careers? Should I take the civil service exam? Should I do something else? After eight years of thinking, nothing has changed. I'm still on the construction site, still shoveling mortar, still being manipulated by the supervisor.

I suddenly remembered something.

Right after I graduated from university, I was drinking with my best friend in a rented apartment.

The boss said, "I'll have to leave this industry sooner or later."

I said, "Me too."

My boss asked me what I wanted to do, and I said I didn't know.

The eldest brother said, "You don't know anything, yet you said you wanted to leave?"

I said, "Anyway, it's not civil engineering."

Eight years have passed. The eldest brother is gone, but I'm still here.

I picked up my phone, opened the chat window with my boss, and then closed it again.

What are you saying?

Saying "I'm still hesitating"?

Saying "I can't leave"?

Saying "My family needs money"?

These are all excuses.

There's only one truth, and I'm afraid.

I'm afraid of starting over after changing careers, afraid of competing for jobs with 23- or 24-year-olds at 33, and afraid that I might end up worse off than I am now.

I'm afraid I really can't do it.

At five o'clock in the afternoon, the sun began to slant westward. I stood on the top of the slope, watching the workers finish their shift. The tower crane was still turning, its arm casting a slow shadow on the ground.

My phone vibrated.

The voice message sent by Xiaohui.

I quickly clicked on it.

"Brother Chen, what are you doing?"

The voice was soft and gentle, like a child asking a question. There was the sound of a television in the background, but it was impossible to make out what was being broadcast.

I pressed the voice button and said, "I'm at the construction site, I haven't finished get off work yet."

After sending it, I realized I'd been too harsh. It sounded like I was talking to a coworker, not a girl.

But Xiao Hui quickly replied: "Thank you for your hard work, Brother Chen."

It was that kind of direct and simple expression again. No small talk, no preamble, just "Thank you for your hard work, Brother Chen."

Standing on the slope, looking at this sentence, I suddenly felt it was a bit unreal.

I worked on construction sites for eight years, and no one ever said "you've worked hard" to me.

The boss won't say it, the supervisor won't say it, the workers won't say it, and even mothers rarely say it.

Everyone was cursing, urging, and complaining.

If someone suddenly says "You've worked hard" to you, you might not know how to respond.

I typed five words: "It's okay, I'm used to it."

After thinking for a moment, I added, "Have you had dinner?"

Xiao Hui replied quickly: "I ate. Where's Brother Chen?"

"not yet."

"Brother Chen wants to eat."

I chuckled. Not a wry smile, but a genuinely funny one. A girl with the mental capacity of a nine-year-old was urging me to eat.

"understood."

I put my phone in my pocket and walked down the slope.

The setting sun shone on me, casting a long shadow.

I suddenly remembered that picture of strawberries—a white porcelain bowl, a floral tablecloth, and bright red strawberries.

That world is not the same world as my construction site.

That world is clean, quiet, and slow-paced. My world is full of dust and noise, and everyone is urging you to hurry up, hurry up!

I don't know if I can enter that world.

I don't even know if I want to go in.

At 8 p.m., I returned to my dorm and made myself a bowl of instant noodles.

The phone was on the table, and the screen lit up briefly. Xiao Hui sent a photo—a pink plush rabbit with droopy ears.

"Brother Chen, my rabbit."

I looked at the rabbit.

The fur was pilling, the ears had been sewn twice, and loose threads were sticking out. It was a very old rabbit that I had held for many years.

I suddenly remembered what Aunt Wang said—"She can do housework and cook at home."

Being able to cook means she won't go hungry. But she can't do complicated things. She can't use complicated appliances. She can't handle complicated interpersonal relationships. She can't handle complicated emotions.

She is a simple person who lives in her own world.

I looked down at the instant noodles in front of me. They'd been soaking for five minutes and were starting to clump together. I picked up my chopsticks, took a mouthful of noodles, blew on it, and popped it into my mouth.

The phone lit up again.

Xiao Hui's message: "Goodnight, Brother Chen."

It was not even nine o'clock yet.

I replied, "Goodnight."

Then I put down my phone and finished my instant noodles. I also drank the soup. After that, I threw the bowl in the trash and took a shower. Old Zhang from logistics hadn't fixed the water heater yet, so the water was still cold.

I stood under the cold water for a long time, and after that I felt a bit more clear-headed.

Lying in bed, I opened Xiaohui's chat window and looked at those photos again.

Strawberries. Plush rabbit.

Looking at the picture of the strawberries, I suddenly realized that Xiao Hui's hand was shaking when she took the photo. It wasn't the kind of shaking you get from Parkinson's disease, but the kind of shaking you get from not being able to hold the phone steady—a slight shaking that you can't really see unless you look closely.

I stared at the hand holding the phone for a long time.

Her fingers were slender, and her nails were cut very short and neat.

After a long while, I put my phone next to my pillow and turned off the light.

The room went dark.

There were insects chirping outside the window, a soft, squeaking sound.

I close my eyes.

A thought kept running through her mind—she didn't understand anything, but she could still send "Brother Chen, thank you for your hard work."