"Oh, it should be right next to the cement wholesale company on Underworld Path. I remember that place is number 299."
The car started up, and after about half an hour, we arrived. The whole street was pitch black, several streetlights were out, and the darkness pressed in as I got out at the cement company.
After getting in, I noticed the van felt eerily light. Sitting down, it lacked the usual solid feel and wobbled strangely, as if something was off. There was a driver and two other workers.
"Wow, man, you're so skinny—how do you weigh so much?" the driver turned and joked.
"Maybe it's just because I'm new around here. Let's go."
Muttering to myself, I opened the flyer. The writing was all crooked and messy, even with a few typos. Makes sense, I thought—these days, business is tough, so it's probably some small company. After all, even printing costs a few cents per sheet!
The van sped off with a whoosh, but something felt deeply wrong. It didn't feel like a normal ride—my feet couldn't touch the ground, and it was more like soaring through darkness than driving.
I settled back, trying to relax. I wasn't tired at all after days of rest. But the man sitting behind me, surrounded by tools, had a face shadowed with gloom. His dark eyes never stopped staring at me, cold and unblinking.
"Hello, this is Midnight Cleaners. Is there work to be done?"
The sudden words startled me so much I fell to the floor.
We went up to the third floor, to an office that looked new, but the furnishings were unsettlingly old—mostly furniture from thirty years ago. The most eye-catching thing was the black rotary phone on the desk, its presence strangely ominous.
"Kid, you look pretty sharp. Just got here, huh?"
"Bro, feeling down?"
"Hey, Mike, he's new here, so of course he smells a little different. Maybe your brain really did get scrambled in that car crash."
"Heh, is that so? Bro, if you end up looking all miserable, don't expect me to bail you out!"
"No need for introductions. Just write your name and age. You start tonight—we take care of our own. Pay's every two weeks. It's tough work, but better than starving."
I knew Underworld Path—it was in the south part of the city. I'd been there several times. There were several big companies in that area. Maybe this cleaning company was a big one too? Maybe the lines were busy today because they had so many people.
"I'm heading out to look for a job," I said, getting up.
"Tonight, we're heading to the nearby market. We're the first company in this area, so make me proud—don't screw it up."
"You sure you're alright?"
After a while, I still couldn't get through, and by now it was already 3 p.m. I'd have to look for work tomorrow. I put away my suit and decided to go out for a walk.
Strangely, in our old apartment building, I hadn't seen anyone coming or going for ages. Most of the doors and windows were tightly shut.
I wandered the streets for most of the night, ate a good meal, and only came home late, a little tipsy from drinking.
It was already midnight, and I was ready to sleep. As soon as I walked in, the ghost was sitting at the table, holding the flyer.
"Bro, try the number again."
A bit drunk, I laughed and picked up the phone.
"It won't go through anyway. Tomorrow, I'm gonna really look for a job, work hard..."
With a beep, the call connected.
"Hello, this is Midnight Cleaners. Is there work to be done?"
I sobered up instantly.
"I... I'm calling to apply for a job at your company."
"Oh, I see. Come to 300 Quandong Road. We're short-handed right now, so as soon as you arrive, you can start work."
After hanging up, I quickly put on my suit, tidied myself up in the bathroom, and opened the door.
"Don't follow me. Listen, I agreed to help you, but stay out of my life."
"Heh, really? Bro, if you end up bawling your eyes out, don't come crying to me!"
I hummed a little tune, cheerfully heading downstairs.
I knew Quandong Road—it was in the south part of the city. I'd been there several times. There were several big companies in that area. Maybe this cleaning company was a big one too? Maybe the lines were busy today because they had so many people.
I happily flagged down a cab.
"Driver, 300 Quandong Road."
"Where should I drop you off?"
"Oh, it should be right next to the cement wholesale company on Quandong Road. I remember that place is number 299."
The car started up, and after about half an hour, we arrived. The whole street was pitch black, several streetlights were out, and I got out at the cement company.
I checked and hadn't remembered wrong—the cement company was number 299. I looked to the side, but strangely, at the end of the road, there was only a cross street, no sign of number 300.
I took out my phone and dialed the number.
"Hello, are you next to the cement company? I can't seem to find you."
"Yes, just walk a few steps and you'll see it."
As I talked on the phone and walked, a four-story building suddenly appeared before me. Several red and black vans were parked at the entrance, and people were coming and going.
I ran over, still a bit confused, but figured I must've missed it earlier because I was drunk.
Inside, everyone was wearing blue hats and light blue uniforms, looking busy. A kindly, chubby older man—he looked about forty—was standing in the hallway, efficiently directing people.
I walked in and explained why I was there. He smiled and said to follow him to register.
We went up to the third floor, to an office that looked new, though the furnishings were a bit outdated—mostly furniture from thirty years ago. The most eye-catching thing was the black rotary phone on the desk.
"Young man, you look sharp—must've just arrived in this area, huh?"
I was a bit puzzled but nodded anyway.
"Ah, what a shame—so young."
I grew even more confused.
"No need to say anything else. Just write your name and age. You start work tonight—we treat our people well. Pay comes every two weeks. It's tough, but better than starving to death."
I didn't expect the kindly old man to be so straightforward. Without hesitation, I wrote down my name and age in a little booklet.
In a room, I changed into the new uniform, grabbed a brush, and followed the chubby old man's instructions to a black van.
"Tonight, we're working at the nearby market. We're the first company to open here, so do your best—don't embarrass me."
I patted my chest and promised.
"Don't worry, sir. I've been in this line of work for years—I'll make you proud."
Once I got in the van, I was thrilled. This was my old profession, and the pay was great—probably because it was a night shift. It was nearly three times what I used to make.
After getting in, I noticed the van felt unusually light. Sitting down, it lacked the usual solid feel and wobbled a bit. There was a driver and two other workers.
"Wow, bro, you're so skinny—how come you weigh so much?" the driver turned and asked.
"Maybe it's because I just got here. Let's get going."
A short, sharp-faced man beside me spoke up.
The van sped off with a whoosh, but something felt off. It didn't feel like a normal ride—more like flying than driving.
I settled back comfortably, not tired at all after resting for days. There was someone sitting behind me with some tools, but his face was gloomy, his dark eyes staring at me.
"Is there something on me?"
As he spoke, the man leaned over and sniffed me.
"You've got a weird smell on you."
I raised my arm and sniffed.
"Nope."
"Ah, Mike, he just got here. It's normal to have a bit of a smell. Maybe your brain got scrambled in that car accident?"
The man behind me laughed, and I laughed along, though I thought his head looked a bit odd—almost like a big melon.
We introduced ourselves. The melon-headed guy was Mike Mao, a former traffic cop who joined after a car accident.
The sharp-faced one was Leo Huang, and the driver was David Wang.
"Back there, I had liver cancer. But ever since I came here, I've felt light as a feather."
Leo Huang said this, and I looked at him in surprise.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
Just then, a man staggered down the street ahead, clearly drunk. Our van nearly hit him, but suddenly, as if he'd seen a ghost, he turned and bolted.
I jumped in fright, but thankfully we didn't hit anyone. We arrived at a bustling market entrance. I checked my watch—it was almost 2 a.m. How was the market still so lively?
The market was packed with all sorts of people. Street vendors lined the way, and as I entered, a rich aroma wafted over. My stomach growled, and I sniffed the air.
The smell came from a stall on the left. Something was simmering in a pot, and when I glanced inside, I nearly gagged.
Inside the pot were eyeballs, about the size and shape of human eyes. Then I figured they must be cow eyes—lots of people were eating them.
The three of us got to work, cleaning up the trash on the street.
"Xiao Huang, is this the new guy at your company?"
A vendor asked.
"Yeah, he's young, just came over. By the way, Ethan, how did you get here?"
"I just caught a cab..."
"Ah, yeah, a car accident. But it's fine—being here isn't so bad."
I replied, feeling like our conversation was a bit off-topic. But the street was full of trash, so we got to work cleaning up.
We worked until 3:30 a.m. My stomach was growling, and I checked my pocket—just a few dozen yuan left. Two days ago, I gave the old man thirty thousand, my last savings.
I didn't want anything expensive. One stall seemed to be cooking offal, but I chose a porridge stand instead. A big pot of bright red porridge simmered, smelling delicious.
"Ethan, let's go. Don't just stand there."
Leo Huang grabbed me, ready to leave. I said I wanted some porridge first, thinking I'd treat them since it was my first day on the job.
"Hey, forget about eating. When the rooster crows at four, people like us need to head back. If we don't, there'll be trouble. It's company policy."
Helpless, we got back in the van. With a whoosh, it sped off, and everything outside flashed by.