The boss is too indifferent.

Sunlight streamed through the half-open wooden window, spilling onto the long table.

The grandmas delicately traced patterns on cloth with bamboo sticks, then carefully carved textures with blades.

Ming Shuzhen watched their wrinkled faces. Despite their age, their eyes were clear, no glasses needed, as they patiently etched designs at the table.

To apply for intangible cultural heritage status, Liu Wenjing had invited media friends for publicity.

With children visiting for an extracurricular activity, the workshop buzzed with their chatter and laughter.

“Most of these kids’ parents work in the city, leaving them here with their grandparents,” Liu Wenjing explained.

The workshop was crowded. For close-up shots, the grandmas repeated actions, often leaving cloth unfinished, piled on the table.

Visiting students dyed fabric messily. Their teacher, seeing the growing crowd, had them line up at a corner table to draw quietly.

Liu Wenjing was clearly popular. The grandmas pulled her over, asking how to pose for the cameras.

Ming Shuzhen and the others sat on wooden stools, watching the old and young work together, feeling relaxed.

Liu Wenjing, sitting among the grandmas, glanced over and invited them to wander or try dyeing.

Qian Duoduo eagerly grabbed some cloth and joined the students.

“Pillow-Pillow, want to dye fabric?” The small, low stool cramped their long legs, knees brushing.

Ming Shuyan, sitting close, asked if she wanted to join the kids.

Ming Shuzhen, uninterested, shook her head, staring out the window.

Liu Wenjing smiled, pleased to see them blending in.

She’d brought them here partly to share the village’s culture, partly hoping they’d empathize with its challenges and go easier on the Book House inspection.

Ming Shuyan saw through her intent. Noticing Ming Shuzhen’s daydreaming, she stayed to chat.

“Nice sunlight here, warm and cozy.”

“Mm.”

“Those kids are cute, all chubby.”

“Mm.” Raised by grandparents, of course they’re chubby.

“Thirsty? Liu got juice for everyone.”

“Not thirsty.”

Only then did Ming Shuzhen realize Ming Shuyan was trying to make conversation.

She shifted her gaze from the window to her boss.

“Boss, want to dye fabric? Go ahead, don’t mind me,” she said, blinking, a bit groggy from skipping her nap.

“What do you think about when you’re zoning out?” Ming Shuyan ignored the dyeing question, asking another.

“Everything,” Ming Shuzhen said slowly, basking in the sun. “I was thinking about what Han Shuyu told me.”

“Han Shuyu?” Ming Shuyan tilted her head. “You two close?”

“Feels closer than other colleagues. Probably because she’s easy to be around,” Ming Shuzhen said honestly.

“Oh,” Ming Shuyan nodded slowly, filtering out the workshop’s noise, recalling how Ming Shuzhen interacted with Han Shuyu.

Not much different from how she was with her.

The workshop carried a faint chemical scent, not harsh, more like wet grass after rain.

Ming Shuyan, catching the smell, dropped the topic, not wanting to hear Han Shuyu’s name again.

But Ming Shuzhen suddenly felt chatty, though still mentioning her.

“Before coming, Han Shuyu said the kids don’t read at the Book House. I thought they were shy, but watching them, they’re lively—some are little chatterboxes, needing teachers to keep them in line.”

She mused, “Boss, if we just inspect, write a report, and leave, the Book House is just for awards and propaganda. It loses its purpose.”

Ming Shuyan frowned, surprised Ming Shuzhen thought this deeply, not just daydreaming.

“Those aren’t our problems,” she said from a business perspective. “Liu Wenjing and Xu Bao have thought more than us and found no good solutions. We’re here a few days—what can we do?”

Ming Shuzhen wasn’t convinced. “I thought of something.”

“Heh, go on,” Ming Shuyan chuckled, skeptical.

“Give the courtyard’s soil to the kids to plant seeds, with name tags on stakes. They’d come to check on them, maybe enter the Book House,” Ming Shuzhen said, eyes squinting in the sunlight. “You saw how spotless it was inside—too clean.”

Ming Shuyan cut in.

“It’s nice, but to kids, it’s a serious, adult place. They’re scared to go in.”

She urged Ming Shuyan to think like a child. “Remember when we were kids, intimidated by big, formal places?”

Ming Shuyan bristled at “when we were kids.”

Unnoticing, Ming Shuzhen continued brainstorming. “Maybe add slogans to encourage reading, stick cartoon labels on books or shelves. Play soft music in the reading area so it’s not too quiet, making kids feel constrained.”

“Oh, and let kids pick songs, write them on a blackboard, make a playlist to display.”

“For seeds…” she grew excited, ideas seeming feasible, “tulip seeds—cold-resistant, colorful. Kids would love them.”

“It’s sunny here; tulips love sun.”

“Boss,” Ming Shuzhen finished, eager for feedback, “what do you think?”

Ming Shuyan looked at her, seeing her excitement and investment, reluctant to dampen it.

But practically, she thought, what’s the point?

She had little childhood, didn’t care about others’, and avoided thankless tasks.

Saying so would draw criticism.

Ming Shuzhen, kind and passionate, raised in sunlight, saw it everywhere. Ming Shuyan’s darkness would startle her.

So she nodded. “Pretty good. You can tell Liu Wenjing.”

“Really?” Ming Shuzhen beamed, thrilled at the affirmation.

Ming Shuyan didn’t nod again or confirm, just watched her radiant smile, feeling her own affection was laughable.

How could she match someone so vibrant?

Head lowered, she felt dimmer beside Ming Shuzhen.

Meanwhile, Ming Shuzhen, elated, caught Liu Wenjing and shared her ideas.

“Great thinking,” Liu Wenjing said, surprised, but tempered it. “A splash of cold water, though.”

Ming Shuzhen’s smile faded. “Go on.”

“These kids aren’t like city kids. They farm at home, young as they are, helping with chores. They might not care about planting flowers. Cartoon labels are good, though. Music… it’s a library, better quiet,” Liu Wenjing spread her hands.

Ming Shuzhen nodded, a bit deflated. “But bookstores like Xinhua play soft music.”

“You said soft music,” Liu Wenjing smiled kindly. “Kids this age don’t get that. Giving them song choices might not work.”

“The Book House needs a reading atmosphere, not chaos. Plus, this project isn’t just mine—higher-ups value it and inspect regularly.”

That last point fully deflated Ming Shuzhen.

She looked at Liu Wenjing, eyes dim with disappointment.

Seeing her, Ming Shuyan felt a pang and consoled, “Having these ideas is impressive. Some are doable—we can buy stickers and markers tonight, put them up tomorrow.”

Liu Wenjing quickly said, “No, no, I’ll buy them. Don’t trouble yourselves.”

“It’s fine,” Ming Shuyan said, mindful of Ming Shuzhen’s feelings. “City stores have better designs; we’ll grab some at a stationery shop.”

“I’ll transfer you the money,” Liu Wenjing said gratefully.

Ming Shuyan didn’t insist, not wanting her to feel indebted.

—

That afternoon, leaving the village, Ming Shuyan had the driver stop at a stationery store. She and Ming Shuzhen picked out bags of stickers and marker sets.

Seeing Ming Shuzhen still thoughtful, Ming Shuyan said, “We do our job. The rest isn’t really our concern.”

Ming Shuzhen shook her head, disagreeing. “If nothing’s our concern, why protect the environment, care about green mountains, or revive villages? Everyone just minds their own patch, ignoring the rot elsewhere.”

“Most times, minding your own patch is enough. Realism forges outcomes, not ideals,” Ming Shuyan hesitated but shared her true thoughts.

Her real stance: don’t waste time on thankless tasks. Their job was inspection; the rest was secondary.

Ming Shuzhen’s face crumpled, shocked. “You’re too cold.”

Still upset, she quickened her pace, no longer walking beside Ming Shuyan.

Ming Shuyan, carrying the bags of stickers and markers, strode to catch up.

Neither spoke.

Ming Shuzhen, face set, thought, *So what if she’s the boss? She’s flawed, lacks empathy. I won’t align with her.*

Ming Shuyan matched her pace, trying to stay parallel.

She regretted her bluntness.

With others, she’d hide her true thoughts, offering neutral platitudes.

But with Ming Shuzhen, she spoke honestly, urging against fruitless efforts.

Now, she regretted it, fearing her image in Ming Shuzhen’s eyes had plummeted, that she’d be ignored.

And Han Shuyu—compared to her, Ming Shuyan must seem awful.

Lips pursed, she felt anxious for the first time, terrified of losing Ming Shuzhen’s friendship.

Back in the car, they stayed silent.

Qian Duoduo showed Ming Shuzhen her dyed fabric; she only gave a tight smile. Qian Duoduo assumed she was tired.

That night, Ming Shuzhen, washed and in bed, got a video call from Wu Yuanchu.

“Pillow-Pillow, how’s the trip?”

“Fine,” Ming Shuzhen mumbled, then burst into tears.

Wu Yuanchu, startled, asked what happened. Ming Shuzhen recounted Ming Shuyan’s words.

Ming Shuyan was washing up, the water masking the conversation. Ming Shuzhen wasn’t worried about being overheard.

Wu Yuanchu sighed. “Crying over this? It’s not a big deal.”

“Not big?” Ming Shuzhen, tears spent, felt lighter but aggrieved, staring at Wu Yuanchu on-screen, thinking it huge.

“Meeting someone with different values, hearing something beyond your worldview, and you cry?” Wu Yuanchu countered.

“Others embrace your idealism, but you judge their realism?”

“It’s not just realism—it’s selfishness,” Ming Shuzhen’s face scrunched, glaring. “You think I’m wrong?”

“You’re not wrong,” Wu Yuanchu soothed. “You’re kind, smart, thinking of the kids—you’re doing right.”

“As for your boss,” she paused, “many people today analyze problems practically. If it yields results, they act. If the impact’s small, even if it’s good, they weigh time and sunk costs.”

“That’s it. My boss thinks these small things are meaningless, that kids visiting the Book House doesn’t concern her—she’s coldly detached,” Ming Shuzhen, no longer crying, looked earnestly, feeling her mom understood.

“But saying they’re wrong? There’s no clear fault. Saying it’s right? In China’s relationship-driven society, connections are built on these ‘troubles,’” Wu Yuanchu guided her out of her emotions.

“Pillow-Pillow, everyone you’ve known has been so good, you don’t truly believe bad people exist. You think you won’t meet them. When you encounter someone selfish or clashing with your values, it feels like the sky’s falling. But is it really that big? These people exist, you’ve met one—will you get upset every time?”

“Mm…” Ming Shuzhen shook her head, her frustration easing.

She reflected. Ming Shuyan wasn’t that selfish. She’d let her hitch a ride to pick up Meilin, detoured to get her and Chen Hao for the airport, wrapped leftover bones for village dogs, and didn’t charge for this公益 project.

But… her face crumpled again. How could she coldly weigh whether something was worth doing? Such indifference.

Seeing her spiraling, Wu Yuanchu said softly, “Pillow-Pillow, know what your dad and I are proudest of?”

Ming Shuzhen pouted, guessing easily. “Having me? All parents say that.”

“Heh,” Wu Yuanchu chuckled, nodding. “One answer. There’s another.”

“What?” Ming Shuzhen’s eyes widened.

“How we raised you,” Wu Yuanchu said.

“We raised you so well. You’re kind, lovely, brave, empathetic…”

Tears welled again. “Why praise me?”

“Not praise—you are that good. But your goodness doesn’t mean others are. Their flaws aren’t just about values.”

“Like what?” Ming Shuzhen asked.

“Education, maybe no parents or good teachers to teach right from wrong, how to think, or handle self and world. Or experiences—hardships, bullying, making them guarded, rejecting closeness, growing cold. Or mindset—maybe they think this now, but later, with maturity or healing, they change.”

None fit Ming Shuyan.

“Those don’t match my boss. Colleagues say her family’s rich, no bullying—she’s just naturally cold.”

“Wealth doesn’t mean good education or experiences. Absent parents, emotional neglect can twist values. Has your boss shared her story? Calling her naturally cold is too harsh.”

Ming Shuzhen calmed, nodding softly.

Ming Shuyan emerged from the bathroom. Ming Shuzhen flipped over, back to her.

“Mom, I’m hanging up.”

“Rest early. It’s not a big deal. You’re not in school anymore—you’ll meet clashing values often. See them as part of the world’s canvas, allowing some abstract art.”

“Mm.”

Hanging up, Ming Shuzhen stared at the hotel wall, still heavy.

If it was just abstract art, she wouldn’t react this way.

She knew the world held shocking values, but picturing them on Ming Shuyan’s face was unbearable.

Was it because they were close, and she didn’t seem cold? Or because she’d found her charming, now feeling let down by the gap?

It hurt.

Though facing away, her ears caught Ming Shuyan turning off the bathroom light, disposable slippers scuffing the floor.

Thinking she’d climb into bed, Ming Shuzhen felt her bed dip—Ming Shuyan sat beside her.

Eyes shut, she pretended to sleep.

“I want to talk,” Ming Shuyan hesitated, speaking slowly.

Ming Shuzhen stayed silent, eyes closed, unmoving.

“I’m not heartless. Everyone wants kids reading comfortably in the Book House. But first, we’re here to inspect—that’s our job, priority one. Second, Liu Wenjing’s tried more solutions than us, and they’ve failed. Will sticking notes or planting flowers make kids drop their guard and read? How do you ensure they won’t just pose with books like when officials visit?”

“I can’t list pros and cons like you capitalists,” Ming Shuzhen mumbled, head in her blanket.

“No capitalist,” Ming Shuyan chuckled, tugging the blanket to let her breathe. “Don’t escalate it. We’re just two people—one rational, one emotional—approaching things differently.”

“Fine, you’re right, rational, thorough. I get your view, you don’t need to repeat it. I won’t bring it up again,” Ming Shuzhen’s head was pulled out, hair a mess.

Seeing her face, Ming Shuyan’s heart sank. “You cried?”

“Leave it,” Ming Shuzhen whispered, turning away.

“I thought a lot,” Ming Shuyan lowered her head, needing to clarify. “I could’ve humored you, said do whatever.”

“But I don’t want to treat you like a casual acquaintance, spouting platitudes, letting you waste effort knowing it’s futile,” she listed reasons again.

Frowning at the blanket-hider, she pressed her lips. “I could hide my practicality, cheer you on, but that’d keep us surface-level. I don’t want that distance.”

It was her first time baring her heart, only to hit a wall, labeled “selfish.”

With others, she wouldn’t care. This was her first time explaining herself, terrified Ming Shuzhen would think her bad, a villain, and cut her off.

“It’s not tried yet—how’s it futile? Even if it is, skip trying? What if it works?” Ming Shuzhen lifted her head.

Eye contact finally, Ming Shuyan met her gaze. “So, I say we’re just rational versus emotional.”

“Hmph,” Ming Shuzhen pouted, catching on. “All this to say you’re scared I’d misunderstand you as cold and selfish.”

“Yes, I’m scared,” Ming Shuyan admitted. “Scared you’d ignore me.”

“You’re my boss—how could I?”

“You know what I mean,” Ming Shuyan’s worry lingered, eyes anxious.

Ming Shuzhen pursed her lips, saying half-heartedly, “How would I?”

Seeing this, Ming Shuyan sensed their rift easing, relaxing slightly.

“You want to do it, I’ll do it with you.”

“What about your ‘job first, time costs’ talk?” Ming Shuzhen’s voice was soft.

Both carried post-conflict unease.

“Inspection is first—we’re hired for that, not to solve kids’ reading issues. Outside work, we can put in effort for other things.”

Hearing this, Ming Shuzhen felt better.

Her mood lifted, and she reflected.

She’d been bold, snapping at her boss, calling her a capitalist.

“Boss, I shouldn’t have said that. I thought you were selfish, weighing pros and cons, so I got upset. Sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. I should’ve fully explained my thoughts.”

Their rift thawed.

Once it did, Ming Shuzhen noticed Ming Shuyan on her bed’s edge, their gaze oddly intimate.

*No, I’m straight—can’t think ‘intimate,’* she scolded herself, recalling dorm life with roommates, which never felt this awkward.

Ming Shuyan reflected too. “I should’ve cleared things up at the stationery store. You were already mad, and I said nothing, letting you stew. Sorry.”

“I used to believe: hit a wall, break it, find a new path. Somewhere, I lost that spirit, thinking no good outcome means don’t try. That guarantees nothing, but trying might,” rational Ming Shuyan analyzed herself emotionally.

Ming Shuzhen’s unease persisted. “You don’t need to explain.”

“With others, I wouldn’t,” Ming Shuyan stared at her.

Ming Shuzhen, eyes red from crying, buried in her blanket, looked pitiable.

“What’s that mean?” Ming Shuzhen blinked. *Why explain to me, not others?*

“I’m no saint; I can’t make everyone like me. But I care what you think. I’m scared you’ll think I’m bad, that you’ll cut me off,” Ming Shuyan murmured, gazing into her eyes. “I know I have flaws. With others, I don’t care. With you, I want you to see my good side.”

“No, Boss, you’re great,” Ming Shuzhen blinked, understanding her unease.

This felt like a crush—constantly curating her image for someone she liked.

“Still mad?” Ming Shuyan’s eyes softened, looking at her.

“Boss, are you mad?” Ming Shuzhen shook her head vigorously, turning the question.

“I wasn’t mad,” Ming Shuyan’s eyes finally smiled.

Seeing Ming Shuzhen calm, her heart lightened.