Sleeping like a dead pig

Ming Shuzhen slept until past six in the evening.

As the sunlight slanted and the floor-to-ceiling window shifted from bright to shadowed, she jolted awake.

She’d slept deeply, warmed by the sun, and had a cozy dream.

In the dream, the boss came to the lounge. Colleagues napping on the central sofas left, and those who stayed stood to greet her.

Only Ming Shuzhen slept like a log.

The dream’s sunlight was as radiant as reality, casting golden-red grid shadows across the hall.

A colleague seemed to want to wake her, but the boss waved them off, letting her sleep.

Someone whispered to another, “That’s the connected hire. Look how the boss spoils her.”

Though hushed, Ming Shuzhen heard it.

She wondered, ‘Who’s that about? A connected hire? Are there connected hires here?’

But that was normal, right? Every workplace had them.

Then she thought, ‘This dream feels so real, even sparking subconscious thoughts.’

Looking around, the lounge was empty—everyone had likely returned to their desks after lunch.

She thought sheepishly, ‘Good thing I’m a nobody. No one noticed me.’

Otherwise, sleeping all afternoon might’ve earned her a scolding.

Checking her phone, she saw only family messages, easing her mind slightly.

In the family WeChat group, her mom had posted about cooking at her place to celebrate Ming Shuzhen’s job.

Replying with an “OK” gesture, she rubbed her cramped legs, put on her coat, and wobbled up from the sofa.

The sun had set, dimming the light.

Ming Shuzhen headed to the elevator, uneasy.

She’d vanished all afternoon—how would she explain that to Sister Meilin?

She wasn’t usually *this* sleepy. QAQ

Winter sunsets came early, and twilight soon settled. Office buildings outside lit up, twinkling like stars.

Taking a regular elevator to the fourth floor, she found the workstations empty, computers dark.

“No way, did everyone leave already…?” Ming Shuzhen’s heart sank.

Could she just leave? Was there a check-out process? She hadn’t clocked in, and Meilin hadn’t mentioned anything.

A flurry of thoughts swirled as she shuffled to her desk.

Her computer was off, and the office’s only light came from the overhead fixtures.

Some colleagues had clip-on desk lamps. Ming Shuzhen decided to get one too.

It’d help in low light and save her eyes.

She slowly grabbed her gloves and hat, ready to leave.

Since no one was blasting her in the WeChat group, she’d probably dodged trouble.

Like a student dozing through class, uncalled on by the teacher, she felt both lucky and guilty.

Tiptoeing to the elevator, she eyed the glowing overhead lights, unsure if she should turn them off.

Shouldn’t the power be cut? Was someone in charge?

What if no one was, and the lights stayed on all night? What if it caused a fire?

Thankfully, the elevator arrived. Ming Shuzhen steeled herself and left.

No way a company this big didn’t have someone handling power.

Outside, cold air hit her.

She wrapped her coat tighter and hurried to her scooter.

A big dinner awaited at home. Ming Shuzhen rode fast, ignoring the cold wind creeping up her pant legs.

A local, her family had bought a small apartment when she was in middle school.

It wasn’t large, but the price and location were good, so they snatched it up.

Later, her dad considered selling it for a bigger one, but the pandemic stalled those plans.

When Ming Shuzhen got the Red Brick job, close to home, her parents saw no need to move.

At her complex, she parked her scooter. The Zhouzhuang trip and winter’s drain had nearly depleted the battery, so she plugged it in to charge.

In the elevator, she pressed “8.” Rubbing her numb legs, she slowly warmed up.

Her parents had chosen this “golden” floor for its water pressure, lighting, ventilation, and auspicious vibe.

Ming Shuzhen didn’t care much about property value or feng shui—she just wanted a cozy, modern home.

Inside, the warmth of her apartment relaxed her.

Her mom, busy in the kitchen, wiped her hands and came out. Her dad, tied to the stove, poked his head out.

“Back?” Her mom took her bag, hanging her coat on the entry rack. “Cold out there?”

Ming Shuzhen nodded, her nose pink from the chill. “Cold.”

“Drink some hot water to warm up,” her mom said, pouring a cup for her to hold.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” her dad called from the kitchen.

“Okay,” Ming Shuzhen said, rinsing her hands in the bathroom. Warm water raised her hand temperature.

Though just for three, the dishes were artfully prepared.

“Posting to Moments?” her dad asked, as usual.

“Yup.”

Her parents shifted aside to avoid photobombing her shot.

Ming Shuzhen adjusted the plates, snapping a few pics.

Once she set her phone down, her parents knew it was time to eat and picked up their chopsticks.

“How was your first day? Colleagues nice?” her mom asked.

“Mm-hmm,” Ming Shuzhen nodded vigorously. Nice? They were practically angels.

She shared highlights about the company and coworkers, then asked her mom if she could lend her Hale’s card to a colleague for eye bag surgery.

Her mom agreed, of course.

“You bought fish in the morning. What tasks did they give you in the afternoon?” her dad asked, noting she’d only mentioned the morning.

“Afternoon…” Ming Shuzhen scratched her head, stuffing food in her mouth. “Just reviewed materials.”

“Oh, that’s good. Get familiar now, so you’re ready when projects come,” her dad said, unsuspicious.

Ming Shuzhen ate quietly, head down.

Her mom looked at her warmly, placing a rib in her bowl. “Your dad and I trust you. If you’re ever upset, tell us. Don’t bottle it up.”

“I know,” Ming Shuzhen said, her tone shifting with a hint of playful whining, used to her parents’ nagging.

Her parents were loving but not overly indulgent, instilling solid values. Her calm demeanor showed she’d grown up cherished.

After dinner and dishes, the three watched TV on the sofa before her parents left.

“Come home on weekends. Practice driving. Let your dad take you out. Scooters are too cold,” her mom fretted.

“We’ll see,” Ming Shuzhen said. She’d failed her road test thrice and driving test twice, dreading cars.

“No ‘we’ll see.’ Practice, and you’ll get it,” her mom insisted, wanting to continue but Ming Shuzhen cut in.

“Okay, go home already. It’s getting colder,” she said.

“We’ll come cook again the day after tomorrow?”

“Mm,” Ming Shuzhen nodded absently, finally shooing them out.

The next day at work, she asked Meilin about quitting time.

Meilin said winter hours were 9 a.m. to 5:30 p.m., with lunch breaks flexible as long as work was done well.

Noticing Meilin’s reaction, Ming Shuzhen relaxed—her afternoon nap hadn’t raised any flags.

Qian Duoduo arrived late, shooting gossip-filled glances their way.

Meilin gave her a look to focus on work, and Qian Duoduo toned it down.

With no tasks again, Ming Shuzhen opened the company software Meilin showed her.

The interface was simple: messaging, data transfer, and file receipt.

She clicked the messaging tab.

There was one public group chat, likely the whole company based on the headcount.

Messages were sparse, posted every month or two.

The latest was from yesterday afternoon.

It showed “Ming” sharing a photo of the fifth-floor lounge: “Rest Area.”

Clicking it, Ming Shuzhen realized she’d gone to the wrong place. No wonder they didn’t put beds in that big space.

The real lounge was elsewhere, behind a hidden door without a handle, which she’d missed.

The photo showed cushy recliners like business-class seats, with adjustable backs and footrests, and blackout curtains.

She wasn’t sure if it was gender-segregated, but it was far more dignified than sprawling on the hall sofa.

Rubbing her face, which felt hot, she cringed at her embarrassment.

To distract herself, she turned to Meilin. “Sister Meilin, who posted this in the group?”

“The boss,” Meilin said, glancing at her screen and the company chat.

“…Oh.” The beauty who wore little and treated Team Two to fish.

Meilin gave her a knowing look.

The office was full of gossip—everyone knew the boss was soft on this “connected hire,” letting her sleep all afternoon without a word.

The boss rarely posted in the group, so this was likely a nudge for someone who’d gone to the wrong spot. Ming Shuzhen missed the hint entirely.

“You could get a blanket for naps,” Meilin suggested, seeing her idleness.

Ming Shuzhen agreed she needed to spruce up her bare desk, which looked like she’d quit any second.

On Taobao’s web version, she added a blanket, a rechargeable lamp, and a storage rack to her cart.

She considered “No Anxiety” signs and blind box figurines but Meilin stopped her.

In the end, she got a peace lily plant—green leaves, blooming flowers, symbolizing smooth sailing and lifting her mood.