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墨書 Inktalez
The light and shadows danced, and through the emerald window, the willows swayed gracefully in the gentle breeze. She fought the urge to turn over in her upper bunk, wanting to gaze a little longer at the sky outside.
Her head throbbed painfully; since starting work, such moments of tranquility had become rare. She thought to herself: work is merely selling oneself. Labor is honorable, yet the daily grind seemed to incessantly undermine her physical and mental well-being. It hardly seemed worth it. If work was meant for living, then life shouldn't require her to suppress herself so much, sacrificing her soul and energy for a meager paycheck that barely satisfied her desires.
Life should be about freedom, and for Ji Xia, freedom meant having the right to choose whenever and wherever she wanted.
She wanted to escape, but this was not her first failure.
Ji Xia, Ji Xia, you’re not as brave as you imagine—let alone how others perceive her as somewhat odd, difficult to get along with, hard to understand, too direct, often offending social norms with her bluntness. She didn’t want to be a freak or an oddity; at the very least, she didn’t want to leave people with a bad impression of being "rude."
During her holidays, forced by circumstances, Ji Xia enjoyed changing outfits multiple times a day—not for a fashion show but rather to cheer herself up through self-deception. So many clothes made it feel like she had lived through various different times in a single day.
Joy and sorrow were condensed into a cup of coffee—bitter yet sweet. Before starting work, she never liked coffee. After beginning her job, feeling mentally drained and not materially wealthy, coffee became her lifeline; however, she still couldn’t bring herself to drink strong American coffee.
Sometimes she found herself so bored that she would take the bus alone. Ji Xia wasn't physically strong; her daily work was already exhausting enough mentally and physically. Riding the bus allowed her to effortlessly enjoy the sights of half the city.
Thus, she often loved taking the bus or occasionally riding a double-decker sightseeing bus for a leisurely stroll without any purpose. Although she would sometimes accidentally doze off. Buses always required waiting; the long wait felt like the agony of anticipating a weekend after five working days—though it might not always be exactly five days; it could be seven or ten.
Ji Xia spent a lot of money.
Her spending exceeded her current internship salary by double, mostly funded by her parents’ support. She used money to exchange for all sorts of valuable yet meaningless things to entertain herself—perhaps she wasn’t rich enough to buy everything, including happiness and joy, but it seemed she didn’t want that much either; why was it always so hard to achieve?
She drifted away from old friends and met new colleagues—people with diverse personalities who were worth observing and more reliable. In Ji Xia's perspective, colleague relationships should be more intimate and complex than those with classmates. We were all flowers nurtured in different social environments; flowers from all corners of the world converged in Jinghai—a vast place filled with people.
Yet they needed close cooperation and teamwork. So despite Ji Xia's disdain for work, she still believed that in Jinghai where myriad flowers bloomed together, there would surely be a bright tomorrow.
Wu Guan
Wu Guan faced challenges but always managed to overcome them.
On a busy morning—no, more accurately speaking, in the early hours of dawn.
“How long has it been since you’ve seen the sun at four in the morning?” Scrolling through a trending video made Wu Guan feel his temples throb; seeing the sun at four o'clock every day was hardly anything special. Humans always made a fuss over trivial matters and occasionally erupted into collective hysteria.
He worked at the breakfast buffet in Jinghai Hotel’s lobby bar, starting his shift at five o'clock after waking up at four-thirty. He would shave his beard, apply some hair gel, slip on his shoes, and within three minutes be clocking in for work. Not for any other reason—it was simply his job. The hotel’s enviable high occupancy rate brought in a steady stream of guests; breakfast service ran from six-thirty to ten-thirty, but as part of the breakfast operations team, Wu Guan’s workday began at five.
Five o'clock—he hated that number. Thankfully he woke up at four instead; his lucky number was four. Today was Thursday—a lucky working day—with only seventy-eight breakfast reservations. Wu Guan adjusted his bow tie and grinned at his reflection in the mirror.
Compared to his night-shift colleagues, early shifts felt blissful; he almost always finished work punctually at two o'clock in the afternoon. After two o'clock came plenty of time for sleep recovery and efficiency improvement—even an opportunity to enjoy afternoon tea at other hotels. “Orange Heart, Clever Idea”—an interesting theme; what did it matter if they were competitors? Wu Guan didn’t care much about that; he wasn’t a leader.
December was upon them—time for crispy orange cake, roasted chestnut cheesecake, Christmas platters, dreamy hot red tea and mulled wine steaming up the air; even 3D-printed coffee with floating milk foam felt surreal: undoubtedly the most beautiful and heartfelt season. White, red, green—the winter colors stood out vividly without needing any adjustments on exposure or contrast.
He liked it here and was deeply fascinated by it. In this magnificent European-style palace, he finally felt like a guest, able to take his time without a care in the world.
During afternoon tea, Wu Guan, dressed in a plain black down jacket and black-gray jeans, encountered a special lady. Miss Bai was a regular at the Jinghai Hotel, consistently appearing at the end of the long VIP list for morning meetings.
Everyone in the hotel knew her—except for the interns, who were quickly briefed on the preferences of important guests. For instance, she detested black truffles and nuts, was allergic to alcohol, and usually had breakfast in her room. The room service would prepare freshly baked rolls with black truffle mayonnaise, a small bowl of blanched lettuce, and a cup of hot skim milk from the lobby bar. Sometimes, she would add a Benedict Egg or an extra serving of Azure Lobster. Miss Bai loved crispy bacon, cooked until it was crunchy enough to be mistaken for chips; the chef had to be particularly careful when frying it, as it could easily burn and ruin an entire batch.
For every new intern in the lobby bar kitchen, the first hurdle was to perfectly fry the bacon that Miss Bai adored. Wu Guan found it amusing; it seemed that professional habits truly were like an affliction.
At this moment, in Junyang Grand Hotel, he found himself pondering another guest's likes and dislikes despite being a guest himself—it was puzzling. But soon, something even more unexpected happened: Miss Bai approached him and politely extended her right hand, saying, "Hello, may I invite you for a cup of coffee?"
Huh? Should he respond with "It would be my honor"? If this were work-related, he would certainly decline politely. But life is an action verb; now in his life state, he could easily refuse such a strange invitation. Yet at that moment, Wu Guan agreed. Even he was surprised by his own response.
Curiosity got the better of him. Perhaps it was fate that led him to act against his own nature and instincts. He was willing to bear some responsibility for this choice. However, having come this far, it was unclear whose responsibility it truly was.
Miss Bai—he only knew to call her that. Before she even recognized him, he had already accumulated many shallow memories about her. The first time they met outside of Jinghai Hotel was over afternoon tea and coffee. Miss Bai only drank iced lattes at Jinghai Hotel, but that day she had sparkling water with ice and lime. He himself never drank coffee; he only consumed milk and juice—on that day, he had orange juice.
Wu Guan couldn't handle even a little hardship when it came to taste. Yet Miss Bai herself resembled a cup of coffee, exuding a slightly bitter aroma. Despite her meticulously crafted appearance—makeup, hairstyle, outfit—all perfectly arranged, there was an undeniable hint of fatigue about her; she seemed as if she had never slept soundly.
The true Miss Bai was like what some celebrity once said about sponges: she could squeeze time out of her busy work schedule to do everything she found interesting. Wu Guan used to call her Miss Bai; now he referred to her as A Li—her full name was Bai Li.
They dined together and visited exhibitions side by side. Jinghai was vast; there were always countless exhibitions to explore.
So far, the most impressive exhibition he had seen was an immersive VR experience themed around the ocean. Beautiful coral—ubiquitous coral. In the blue light of that moment, Wu Guan experienced a disorienting illusion as technology tracked his gaze through an underwater tunnel that extended infinitely; their eyes held an absolute reality—a heartbeat so vivid it almost felt like summer.
Only in summer could there be so many unexplainable palpitations.
As they walked one behind the other, both wanted to hold each other's hands.
During the Christmas season, for hotel staff, it felt like an unavoidable battle—a tough nut to crack. Aside from eating and sleeping, for the first time he felt that everything in the world was somehow related to him. How could there be so many people in this world? How could people have so many things to do? Yet they still had to think; otherwise, they would face their leader's friendly reminder: "Wake up! Are you working?"
Packing up orders, refilling water—there weren't enough containers left; hot water ran out; cold water ran out; tea ran out; even warm water ran out.
"Excuse me, could you please give me a new portion? This one got mixed up."
"Waiter, could I have two more bags, please?"
"Do you have any paper?"
"I need another bowl, please."
"Could you pour me three cups of water? One hot, please."
"I need some napkins. Where's the restroom?"
"Where are your power banks?"
"When will the dishes I ordered arrive?"
"Can I have another one of those cups?" — "I'm sorry, sir, but tea is charged per person. If you want another cup, it will cost an additional 88. Is that okay?" "Oh, then I won't take it." "Alright."
Wu Guan's head was buzzing. He could still remember a special cocktail called Weng Weng Mei that many ladies often ordered. He wondered if Miss Bai had ever tried it; he had never seen her drink. He thought it wasn't that great anyway, just a name without substance.
"Waiter, the bill, please."
In the evening, let's go to Poseidon Sea together and enjoy the breeze.
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