The bus stopped in a town.
Chen Li remained seated for a moment after everyone else stood. Outside the window, the town looked exactly as he had seen in his childhood—low buildings with faded signs, tangled power lines, and a sky that felt closer.
Yunhe Town.
Chen Li stood, slung his bag over one shoulder, and stepped down onto the cracked pavement. The town reminded him that distance had never meant escape.
For higher education, Chen left his mother and hometown for many years. After his mother died, he returned to his hometown.
He reached his house. The street was silent. A convenience shop across the road had changed. There's a clinic at the corner of the street.
Chen adjusted the strap of his bag and started walking.
Chen's house was small. He stood in front of the door for a long moment, then opened the gate. The metal gate creaked; the sound is sharp. A stray cat darted away from under the steps.
Chen set his bag down and exhaled slowly. His shoulders ached from months of unresolved exhaustion.
He moved through the house, opening the door. His old room was filled with dust. He cleaned his house.
Outside, footsteps passed the gate.
A woman's voice followed—low, familiar, edged with complaint.
Chen paused.
Through the window glass, he caught a glimpse of her walking past the gate next door. Her hair was tied loosely, a few strands clinging to her neck in the heat. She carried groceries in both hands.
Evening settled.
By the time Chen stepped back outside, the streetlights had flickered on, casting long shadows on the road. He locked the door behind him and leaned against the gate.
Even if I want something to eat, I need money.
In the city worked in shops to earn some money, but he is new here. He wasn't here to pretend at nostalgia. For shelter, he has his mother's house, but for living, he should do something to earn.
He straightened and headed toward the main street.
The notice board outside the small commercial block was crowded with overlapping papers. He was scanning the board for new jobs. Then he saw,
Part-time helper needed.
Night shift available.
Temporary staff—apply inside.
A voice came from behind Chen.
"Hey, move, you're blocking the board," one woman said.
Chen stepped aside.
Her heels clicked sharply against the pavement. She moved closer to the board, her posture straight, chin slightly raised.
She wore a fitted blouse and a skirt. The fabric was too crisp that her presence alone felt like an accusation. She tore down one of the notices with a single motion.
"That one's filled," she said flatly, folding the paper once before slipping it into her bag.
Chen watched her hands—slender, efficient, and unhesitating.
"I haven't seen you here. Are you new here?" she added.
"No, returned after a long time," Chen replied.
That made her glance up.
Her eyes were sharp and assessing. They lingered on Chen's face for half a second longer than necessary before she looked away again.
"Hmm," she said. "Then you already know how things work here."
She turned to leave, then stopped.
"If you're looking for work," she said, "don't waste time on the board. Yunhe doesn't advertise what actually pays."
She walked off before he could respond.
Chen remained where he was, he wasn't sure whether she had been offering advice or a warning.
At the corner shop, the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly.
Behind the counter, a woman in her late twenties leaned on her elbow, scrolling through her phone. She looked up when the bell rang, eyes flicking over Chen with casual interest.
"Water?" she asked.
"No, I need some work," Chen added.
That earned him a slow smile.
"Everyone's looking for work," she said. "Depends on what you're willing to do."
She told him about delivery shifts, late hours and the pay. A few other names were mentioned in passing—places, people, possibilities. Chen listened carefully, filing everything away.
Yunhe was small, but it was interconnected. One job led to another. One person led to many more.
Outside, across the street, a light flicked on in a second-floor window.
A woman stood there for a moment, framed by the glow. She loosened her hair, letting it fall down her back, movements unguarded in the privacy of her own space.
Chen looked away before she noticed.
When he returned home, the neighboring gate was open.
The woman from earlier was there again, with groceries. Up close, Chen could see the faint lines of tiredness around her eyes.
She glanced up. Their eyes met.
Recognition flickered—brief, restrained.
"Back already?" she asked.
"Just arrived," Chen replied.
She nodded and smiled.
"Yunhe hasn't changed," she said.
Chen watched as she picked up the last bag, fingers tightening slightly around the handles. As she turned to go inside, she paused.
"If you need anything," she said quietly, "I'm next door."
The door closed behind her before he could answer.
Chen stood alone in the dim streetlight, the town settled.
Tomorrow, I would start working.
That was the thought Chen Li held onto as he opened the gate and stepped back into the house. Inside, silence continued.
He dropped his keys onto the small table near the entrance and loosened his collar. He moved into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water, and drank it slowly.
Through the thin wall, a muffled sound drifted in. The neighbour's house was close enough that Chen could hear everyday noises.
Chen leaned against the counter, listening despite himself.
Next door, Mei Lanying rested her palms on the sink and stared at her reflection. The overhead light was too bright. She reached up and rubbed her temples, then turned the tap off with a sharp twist.
She dried her hands and glanced at the door that separated her house from Chen's home. There's a thin boundary between two houses, nothing else.
"Get a grip," she muttered under her breath.
Her phone buzzed on the table. A message. Short, Impersonal and Expected.
She didn't reply.
Across town, the lights in the upper floors of Hengda Logistics were still on.
Zhou Yating sat alone in her office, jacket draped neatly over the back of her chair. The day's reports were stacked in perfect alignment on her desk. She tapped a pen against her fingers, eyes unfocused, because her focus was on the image of a man standing under the notice board.
Returned, he'd said.
Most people didn't return to Yunhe unless they had no leverage left.
She opened her laptop and typed a name into a local registry search, with the hope of who he was. The system lagged for a moment, then returned a short list.
There it was.
Chen Li.
Her lips curved slightly. Her expression was more like confirmation.
"Interesting," she said softly.
Back in the house, Chen showered. Now that his shoulder muscles loosened, he feels relieved. He changed into a clean shirt and stepped into the living room, phone in his hand.
He scrolled through his notes, it is filled with names, places and half-written reminders. The convenience shop woman had given him a contact. She said she wants a delivery supervisor who can manage the night shift of the warehouse on the east side of the town.
A knock sounded at the door. Chen froze for half a second before setting his phone down and walking over. He opened the door.
Mei Lanying stood there, holding a small bowl covered with plastic wrap.
"I made too much soup," she said, eyes steady. "Thought you might not have eaten."
The scent reached him immediately—warm, comforting, and intimate.
"Thank you," Chen said, stepping aside.
She hesitated, then entered his house, gaze flicking briefly around the living room. The room is clean, sparse and lived-in.
"Still unpacking?" she asked.
"No, it is completed. Just cleaning the home," he replied.
That earned him a brief, almost involuntary smile.
She handed him the bowl, fingers brushing his for a fraction of a second. Her hand withdrew immediately.
"You should rest," she said. "Yunhe doesn't ease people in."
"I've noticed," Chen said.
She nodded once, as if that settled something.
At the door, she paused again.
"If you find work nearby," she added, "be careful who you trust."
Then she left. The door clicked shut softly behind her.
Chen stood there for a long moment, bowl warm in his hands, pulse inexplicably unsteady. Her words are echoed in Chen's ears.
Later, lying on his bed, Chen stared at the ceiling.
Yunhe Town was quiet at night, but not silent. Faces drifted through his mind—brief, incomplete impressions.
The woman at the shop was casual and curious.
Zhou Yating, sharp-eyed and unreadable.
Mei Lanying, controlled, tired, standing just a little too close.
He feels connections between them. It looks like a knot with multiple threads.
He exhaled slowly.
This town was small, but it was not simple. He thought himself.