Extra One: “Moments of Overtime”

The worst time was when he even ended up in the emergency room.

At that time, Ye Ji’an had just graduated not long ago. He had started school early, and at just twenty-four years old, he had interviewed with a well-known large corporation, a state-owned enterprise involved in real estate, military trade technology, cultural relic collection, and several other fields. He had previously interned there and gone through three rounds of interviews, and finally, he was hired to work in the risk control department of one of the corporation’s investment branches.

Of course, he couldn’t be a director; he was just a small fry, with layers of leadership above him. They made the decisions, and he was responsible for executing the tasks. Risk control was a troublesome job, and there weren’t many colleagues at his level. With one on maternity leave and another suspended for review, Ye Ji’an inadvertently became the main labor force. He hurriedly learned a lot to adapt to the position, spending his days either making reports or writing documents, or researching policies online to compile useful information to hand over to his superiors.

It became routine for him to miss the last bus home.

There were days when he was so exhausted that he would just lay his head on the desk for a quick nap.

As for overtime pay, no one ever mentioned it.

Ye Ji’an deeply suspected that the reason they hired a greenhorn like him, with no experience, was just to exploit him, so his “assigned tasks” were particularly numerous.

Fortunately, the salary was above average, with full benefits, and they even helped him resolve his household registration issue. Compared to his classmates, Ye Ji’an felt he was quite lucky.

When he was tired, he just drank coffee; there was freshly ground coffee in the pantry, and instant coffee was also available, all for free.

Ye Ji’an was content.

As for the later incident, it happened so quickly that it felt unreal. He had just started in August, and the incident occurred in February of the following year. Ye Ji’an had pulled three days of work and two all-nighters, drinking countless cups of instant coffee, and collapsed on the ground while on his way to submit a report.

It was only six in the morning, and there were very few people in the company; at least, there wasn’t even a cleaning lady on this road. He had originally planned to slip the documents under his boss’s door and then return to his desk to sleep for two hours, but now, even that was impossible.

Ye Ji’an realized he couldn’t stand up.

So he simply lay down.

The carpet smelled dusty, and his vision was darkening. He could see the air vent of the central air conditioning on the ceiling; the slats were light gray, and the lights were bright white. Ye Ji’an felt like he was spinning or falling, as if a skyscraper was a hurricane, and he was the calm eye of the storm. He took out his phone and dialed 120. He wanted to report his exact location, but when the words came out, he wasn’t even sure what he was saying.

After that, he might have fallen asleep.

When he woke up, a nurse was by his bedside, changing his IV bag.

He received this explanation: insufficient blood supply to the cervical spine, severe lack of sleep; at just twenty-four, it was already like this. If he continued to rely on coffee, he would likely be dead by thirty-four.

Or maybe he would be dead but not dead, lying in bed for a lifetime.

Ye Ji’an said he understood and asked the nurse for a cup of plain water. He opened his phone to check; at that time, text messages were still popular. He saw that two days had passed, and one message after another had come in, his own heroic tale of calling for emergency help had spread throughout the entire department.

Ye Ji’an pressed his phone under his pillow, nervously staring at the stark white wall.

Could this be considered a brush with death? The feeling of unreality lingered. In any case, it was the first time he seriously questioned himself: did he really want to die?

In the end, he concluded that death was possible, but when and how to die had to be his own decision. Dying from overwork at his desk, in front of a glaring computer screen, seemed foolish no matter how he looked at it.

Not long after being discharged, he quit his job.

During Liang Xiao’s time working abroad, he also had his share of overtime.

To be precise, it was his colleagues who were too dedicated, especially a few Indians and Japanese who were full of enthusiasm, ready to throw themselves into their work. Although they often slacked off during working hours, they never made excuses to leave early after hours, which made him reluctant to be lazy. Work wasn’t a punishment for him; most of the time, it was quite interesting, even though he often found himself doing tasks that weren’t part of his original job during extra hours, which he could tolerate. The biggest trouble overtime brought him was disrupting the rhythm of his life.

For example, if he wanted to watch a movie, a sudden urgent task would mean he had to miss the premiere and catch another showing, and there was always the risk of being spoiled.

Or, for instance, if there were gecko eggs hatching at home, it would be a hassle if they hatched while he was working overtime.

And then there were the people he wanted to get to know better, to escape his single life, at least to strive for a bit of a sex life, but overtime would delay that. By the time he finally left the office with his bag, Liang Xiao often found himself suddenly losing interest in everything.

Movies? Forget it.

Geckos? Whatever happens, happens.

Dates? He didn’t want to add anyone to his life; it was already crowded enough.

The ten or so minutes on his way home were the most peaceful moments for Liang Xiao. He gripped the steering wheel, stopping at red lights, watching Manhattan’s ever-moving streets. Behind the skyscrapers, sometimes there was dawn, sometimes sunset, sometimes rain, and sometimes it was just dark with nothing. He occasionally felt like his life was being wasted.

At such times, he often missed the food back home: steaming dishes, bustling restaurants, as if that could reignite his passion for life. However, most of those memories had faded, just a vague concept representing “delicious.”

Liang Xiao thought it didn’t matter; one didn’t have to love life.

Ultimately, when he received news of his promotion, he chose to resign, citing his desire to return home for authentic lamb hotpot. Americans thought he was crazy, but Liang Xiao thought about it and felt the crazy ones were them.

Ye Ji’an firmly believed he was Liang Xiao’s first out-of-the-closet object in the department.

It seemed he couldn’t just remain a familiar junior and meal buddy? Liang Xiao was open-hearted with him. So, as brothers? Ye Ji’an felt that was also a bit off; it wasn’t that Liang Xiao was acting strangely, but this discomfort was reflected in Ye Ji’an’s own mental state.

Liang Xiao said, “The person I like,” “is the only one for me,” “is a guy.” These three elements were constantly tied to Ye Ji’an’s heart, like a fire waiting for the right wind. Every time Liang Xiao appeared before him, these three elements seemed to turn into sounds, floating in Ye Ji’an’s ears, constantly reminding him.

Liang Xiao smiled at him, and he thought, is it me?

Liang Xiao took him to try a Mexican restaurant, and when he cut the grilled meat, he first placed it on Ye Ji’an’s plate. He thought, is it me?

Liang Xiao borrowed a lighter from him in the smoking room and said, “Senior, your tie looks very spirited today.” He still thought, is it me?

Ye Ji’an sometimes felt it was very tiresome to be suspicious all day.

But if he didn’t doubt, he felt unwilling.

One time, a colleague in the department fell ill and was in the hospital after an appendectomy, and that person happened to be working on the same project as Liang Xiao, so the burden naturally fell entirely on one side. Ye Ji’an thought it over; it was the busiest time for the department, and everyone was working themselves to the bone. He didn’t want to pile more pressure on anyone, so he ultimately decided to take matters into his own hands and ensure everyone was well-fed.

Since he had become a superior, he had to take responsibility.

Naturally, he and Liang Xiao became the last two to stay late.

On the final day of wrapping things up, Ye Ji’an encountered a problem. He called the sickly, half-conscious guy in the hospital to double-check the situation, and sure enough, there was a mistake. After correcting it, they fell behind schedule. However, finishing the work in one night was still more than enough. He found Liang Xiao in the pantry. “Thanks for your hard work; I’ll take care of the rest.”

“It’s fine, Senior. Two people are faster,” Liang Xiao was busy with the coffee pot, brewing another cup. He turned around and smiled at Ye Ji’an, “I’m not very tired; I can still catch a taxi home.”

“I’m not going back; you should take the chance to catch the subway now.”

“If I don’t leave now, we can both go back together.” Liang Xiao was very insistent.

You’re a living Lei Feng. Ye Ji’an silently thought.

So, the one you mentioned… is it me? He began to think again.

He felt speechless about himself; Ye Ji’an realized he was actually quite afraid of being overly sentimental. He took Liang Xiao’s black coffee, heated a cup of whole milk with yellow sugar for him, and said, “You should rest for a bit,” as he looked down at the microwave’s decreasing numbers, “You can’t drink coffee like this; it’s a lesson learned.”

“But you drink a lot too.”

“You, a fine young man, can’t be like me.” Ye Ji’an smiled, patted his shoulder, and handed him the milk. Liang Xiao opened his mouth but said nothing, reaching out to take it. Their fingers brushed against the glass, touching each other. Besides the sound of the air conditioning, the night was very quiet; perhaps they could hear, in that second, their hearts beating quite fast. Maybe it was an illusion.

Ye Ji’an paused for a brief moment, perhaps less than half a second, but that moment of daze did exist. Such trivial physical contact must have happened before, perhaps just a few days ago, when Liang Xiao hadn’t come out yet. But he couldn’t remember any of it because his heart had never raced like this.

So now, here, what exactly was happening? Ye Ji’an thought, almost defiantly, that there were two pitiful people whose hearts were racing, perhaps about to die from caffeine and all-nighters.

Once he thought of that, he knew he was deceiving himself.

He looked at the young man silently drinking milk in front of him, taking it seriously, and he felt a sudden impulse to lean his forehead against Liang Xiao’s shoulder. So, Ye Ji’an turned away and returned to the office to work.

Liang Xiao leaned against the counter, watching his back, making yet another resolution that before he could take over his family business and support this person, he would definitely stay late with him until the end.

The milk was sweet, with a thin, soft layer of cream clinging to his lips.

Sometimes, one still had to love life.

Overcast skies and smog seemed to be the standard for early spring. Liang Xiao had been in this city for nearly two years and still hadn’t gotten used to it. That day, they didn’t work too late, just past nine, and many colleagues were still around. They happened to run into each other in the bathroom, washing their hands and exchanging glances in the mirror.

Later, when all the colleagues had left, Liang Xiao spent the night in Ye Ji’an’s office.

With glass walls, they didn’t dare turn on the lights, doing everything stealthily, afraid that some diligent person might suddenly return, but it was also quite thrilling.

The next morning, Ye Ji’an woke up on the sofa, while Liang Xiao was half-asleep, resting his head on Ye Ji’an’s lap. Looking at the time, there was just over an hour left until work started, so there was no time for a workout, but they still needed breakfast. After a night of tossing and turning, they were quite hungry, and the two planned to have a hearty meal, like Cantonese dim sum, shrimp dumplings paired with chicken feet.

After washing up in the bathroom where they had locked eyes the night before, as they walked toward the elevator, Liang Xiao was still a bit groggy, frowning as he scrolled through his phone. Ye Ji’an walked in front of him but suddenly stopped, “You’re here so early.” He greeted a colleague who was also waiting for the elevator.

“Ah, yes,” the young girl seemed a bit nervous, not daring to look at the two of them too much, “I forgot to grab something, I’m going downstairs to get it… Director Ye, you came in quite early too.”

Ye Ji’an smiled and said, “Yes, yes,” holding the elevator door for her to go in first. However, he pretty much understood; this girl’s workstation faced his office, and she had probably seen something when she came to work, like Liang Xiao lying on his lap yawning, and so she hurriedly ran off, trying to pretend nothing had happened. After all, stumbling upon the explosive private matters of a superior was more terrifying than exciting for a newcomer. Unfortunately, the elevator was too slow, and they happened to run into each other at that moment.

For Ye Ji’an, being seen wasn’t a big deal; after all, he had dressed properly after finishing up the previous night, and he had wrapped several layers of tissue around his suit and thrown it in the trash, so there was no issue of being disheveled. What worried him more was whether this girl would be more afraid of him in the future, her nerves affecting their work communication.

But from his position, it wasn’t appropriate to explain anything.

When he turned back, he saw Liang Xiao had already put his phone away, hands in his pockets, looking at the descending numbers on the screen with a slight smile in his eyes.

You little brat, you look quite handsome, Ye Ji’an thought.

Then I won’t worry, he thought again, instead pondering what porridge to have later, whether it should be fish slices or pumpkin millet?

Sure enough, as soon as they reached the first floor, the startled girl hurriedly walked away. Ye Ji’an, feeling an inexplicable sense of guilt, covered his face and reminded Liang Xiao to put on his mask. The two of them, fully armed, walked out of the building.

The smog was overwhelming, and the wind was cold. The dim sum shop was just across the street, and the green light was on; Ye Ji’an prepared to dash across.

But Liang Xiao tugged at his sleeve, “I’ve saved enough money.” He said.

“Today is Senior’s birthday.” He added.

Ye Ji’an was still a bit slow to react, turning to look at him, only able to see a pair of smiling eyes and a small patch of skin that looked particularly fair in the cold weather, “I completely forgot.”

“Look back.” Liang Xiao cupped his cheeks, gently turning him around. Ye Ji’an followed his strength and turned to look up—

The LED screen of the company building, which hadn’t changed for months, was no longer displaying the XX Bank advertisement.

In its place was a line of large characters, red and glowing, several stories high, each character as big as several rooms, particularly eye-catching in the gray, hazy air: “Happy Birthday, May It Last Forever.”

Ye Ji’an felt a bit breathless, and Liang Xiao was momentarily at a loss for words. The two stood side by side below, continuing to look up.

These words made them feel very small.

The morning rush hour had begun, and behind them, cars were flowing like water. These pedestrians and vehicles passing by the giant screen might head to any corner of the city.

Could it be said that this screen, these eight characters, had also traveled through the entire city of Beijing? Ye Ji’an pondered.

“Two million five hundred thousand,” he broke the silence.

“Yeah, it can be displayed all day, or it can be turned off right now. I didn’t put my name at the end because I felt that would attract a lot of strange people,” Liang Xiao’s voice was muffled by the mask. After a pause, he added, “It should look better in the evening.”

“I’ve seen those at the Citibank Tower; they do look better at night,” Ye Ji’an took out his phone to take a picture. “I think I’m going to faint. Should we post something on social media? We don’t want to be the last to react when everyone else is already talking about it online.”

“…I think it’s a bit silly.” This time, it was Liang Xiao who covered his face.

“I really like it; I’ve already posted it,” Ye Ji’an raised his voice, “Are you going to refute these two lines?”

“But it really is silly.”

Ye Ji’an pulled down his mask and yanked Liang Xiao’s down a bit too, playfully biting him. Liang Xiao was caught off guard but quickly wrapped his arms around him to prevent him from leaving, softly licking his lips. Ye Ji’an finally opened his mouth properly, intertwined his hand with Liang Xiao’s, reached into his pocket, held his phone, and said softly, with a smile, “You have to post too.”