Chapter 1: Won't Survive Probation

Chen Zhuo stuffed the last pair of coveralls into the snake-skin bag, the blast furnace outside still roaring. He'd listened to that sound for three years; with his eyes closed, he could pick out exactly which furnace it was and which stage of the burn it was in. But today, it felt like listening through a layer of water. The window glass was coated in grime. After three years living here, for the first time, that noise didn't feel like it belonged to him.

"Chen Zhuo, stop stalling. The dorm manager's called out to me three times already." Wang Tiezhu was squatting in the doorway, hard hat slung on his wrist, the electric cart engine still running. "Say something, will you?"

"Does saying something keep you here?" Chen Zhuo zipped the bag all the way down and slung it over his shoulder. The dorm was empty. Even the bedframe had been flipped over and propped against the wall. On the wall, only a half-worn ID badge hook remained—the hook was still there, but the badge was gone. The girl from HR had been polite about it: 'Probation Panel comprehensive assessment failed. Don't come in tomorrow.' Polite, the way someone tells you the cafeteria has braised pork today.

The wind was strong downstairs. It carried the smell of coking coal and rust, stinging the eyes. The stream of workers clocking out spilled out of the factory gates, a solid block of blue coveralls. No one gave him a second look. Chen Zhuo pulled out his phone and checked his balance: 320 yuan. Three years as an apprentice. 1,095 days. It all came out to this number in the end.

"Three-twenty." He said it out loud.

"What?"

"In my account. Three-twenty."

Wang Tiezhu blinked, then shoved the hard hat in his hand toward Chen Zhuo's chest. "Get in. Come with me."

The gig market was in the old freight terminal area, a row of tin sheds connected to one another. There were more people than cargo. It wasn't fully dark yet, but under the shelters, the ground was packed with guys waiting for work—straw hats, rubber boots, rolled-up blankets. A lightbulb hung from the ceiling, casting a dim yellow glow. Every face looked coated in a layer of oil. Some guys were playing cards, others chugging cold water and gnawing on steamed buns. Wang Tiezhu knew the spot by heart. He parked the cart in front of a stall that was lit up. "Boss Qian, I brought the guy."

Qian Shouren stepped out from behind the counter. His shirt was starched straight, and the smile on his face seemed like it was permanently attached to his skin. "Oh, one of Tiezhu's guys? No need to ask." He held out a cigarette. Chen Zhuo didn't take it, but Qian wasn't embarrassed about it. He just casually tucked it behind his own ear. "Machine plant? Can you read blueprints?"

"Yeah."

"Can you use a demolition hammer?"

"Yeah."

"Then we're good to go." Qian Shouren pulled a sheet of paper from a drawer and slapped it on the counter. "There's a slab of tube-shaped apartments in the old district that needs to be demolished. Daily pay, 240 a day, lunch included. Contract's for three days. Probation is three days—if you do good, you keep working. If you don't, you get paid on the spot and walk. No debts owed either way."

Chen Zhuo stared at the paper. It was an oil-pressed form. At the top, in bold black font: Demolition Daily Labor Agreement. The small print below was dense as ants. The Party A column had a red stamp on it, the edges a little blurry. He was used to looking at blueprints. He hated it when text was squeezed in like this, but he read it line by line.

"Why looking so closely?" Qian Shouren laughed and slid a pen across the counter. "It's a standard format. I send out dozens of guys a day from here."

"What if I'm not qualified?" Chen Zhuo asked. "If I fail probation, do I get paid on the spot?"

"On the spot. Not a cent short." Qian Shouren patted the paper. "I've been doing this in this neighborhood for eleven years. Ask Tiezhu."

Wang Tiezhu nodded from the side. "He's a bastard, but he doesn't cheat on pay."

Chen Zhuo picked up the pen. The plastic handle was shiny from all the previous guys holding it. He signed his name, and as he brought the final stroke down—

Hum.

It wasn't a sound. It felt like something had been stuffed into his brain. Like someone had pressed a red-hot iron plate against the back of his skull. It burned, but it didn't hurt.

[Probation Panel Activated]

[Industry: Construction Demolition]

[Countdown: 71 hours 59 minutes 59 seconds]

[Loading hand-feel...]

Chen Zhuo's hand shook. The pen nearly dropped.

"What's up?" Wang Tiezhu leaned in.

"Nothing." Chen Zhuo put the pen down and clenched his fist. His hand was still his hand—knuckles, calluses, the scar on his palm from a lathe. But he knew it was different. In that instant, he had clearly "known" how to demolish that tube-building: which wall to start with, which beam was load-bearing and couldn't be touched, whether the sound of knocking down a load-bearing wall should be dull or sharp. If it's sharp, stop. If it's dull, you can proceed. These things hadn't been thought through; they had just grown into his hands.

"Your face looks pale." Qian Shouren took the contract, his smile lines deepening slightly. "Regrets? It's still in time to regret. Tear it up and re-sign."

"No regrets."

"Then head downstairs. The Foreman is waiting."

Chen Zhuo turned to leave. Wang Tiezhu fell in step with him, lowering his voice. "That reaction of yours earlier... it looked like you got electrocuted."

"About right."

"What do you mean, about right?"

Chen Zhuo didn't answer. He couldn't. How could he explain? Could he say that right now, with his eyes closed, he could feel which bricks in this building were patched in later? Could he say his hands understood the trade before his brain did?

A beat-up van was parked downstairs. The Foreman was a black-faced guy named Hu, clutching a stack of hard hats. "Just two?" He glanced at them. "Forget it, whatever. Tonight, we level the three-story building on the east end. We need it cleared out by morning. Come with me. One rule—don't touch that building on the west."

"Why?"

Foreman Hu gave him a look. "Under that building on the west is an air-raid shelter. The maps are gone. No idea where the load-bearing walls are. Boss said leave it alone." He slapped a hat onto Chen Zhuo's head. "Talkative, aren't you?"

"Just one question."

"One question costs you money." Foreman Hu huffed and turned to climb the van.

Wang Tiezhu tugged on Chen Zhuo's sleeve. "Bro, hold it together. This is how it works. Do a day, earn for a day."

Chen Zhuo said nothing and climbed into the van. The vehicle rattled toward the old district, streetlights streaking backward as they passed. He closed his eyes. The "red-hot iron plate" in his brain was still there, the countdown numbers ticking down, steadier than a second hand.

[Peer Review: Pending Collection]

[Employer Satisfaction: Pending Collection]

[On-Site Witnesses: 0]

He flipped those words over in his mind twice. The more witnesses, the harsher the payout? That thought hooked him like a fishhook.

The van stopped at the alley entrance. The tube-buildings stood pitch black, half the wall plaster peeled off, revealing red bricks underneath. Chen Zhuo got out, stepping on broken brick shards. His feet sank. The alley was narrow, with piles of old doors and rotten furniture stacked on both sides. The smell of mold and dampness drilled right into his nose.

"The east one." Foreman Hu pointed that way. "Strip it down from the third floor. Watch the landing spots. Finish it tonight, 240 each."

Chen Zhuo looked up at the building. Three stories, brick and concrete, a tin shed on the roof that clattered in the wind. He looked at it for three seconds. The machinery in his brain started turning on its own: the tin shed had to be dismantled first, or it'd collapse and crush people. There was a diagonal crack on the east wall of the third floor, running from the window sill to the eaves. That wall couldn't be pushed down in whole; it had to be cut into blocks and lowered. The balcony on the second floor was an addition. The rebar hadn't been punched into the main wall. Three guys standing on it and it would collapse.

"Hey, new guy." Foreman Hu called out. "What are you staring at?"

"The tin shed has to go first." Chen Zhuo said.

Foreman Hu stopped walking and turned to look at him.

"The east wall on the third floor has a diagonal crack. If you push it in whole, it'll fall into the alley." Chen Zhuo kept talking, his voice low, sentence by sentence. "That balcony on the second floor was added later. Load capacity is insufficient. Three guys stand on it and it goes."

The alley went quiet for a beat. Several workers squatting on the ground, smoking, looked up.

Foreman Hu stared at him for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed. "How the hell do you know? Did you come here this morning?"

"I haven't been here."

"If you haven't been here, how do you know?"

Chen Zhuo opened his mouth. He truly couldn't say it. He just *knew*. It was like knowing how many fingers he had on his left hand. But if he said that, he'd either be called a madman or assume he'd scouted the site.

"I worked at a machine factory before," he finally said. "Read blueprints."

"Blueprints? This dump has blueprints?"

"No." Chen Zhuo said. "But buildings are built by rules. There are rules for building. When you demolish, you can see them."

Foreman Hu flicked his cigarette butt onto the ground and ground it with his shoe. He walked halfway around the building, reached the base of the east wall, and looked up. He looked for a long time.

"There is a diagonal crack," he said, walking back. His tone had changed. "The rebar on that balcony... I'll go up and kick it and find out." He paused. "Fine. Tonight, you lead a crew. Just one. If things go wrong, you take the blame."

"I don't take the blame." Chen Zhuo said. "I demolish by the rules. If things go wrong, it's the building's fault."

Foreman Hu blinked, then cursed something under his breath and laughed. "You got nerve, kid. Alright, you lead. Listen up—all of you, follow him tonight."

"Why are we listening to this guy, Hu?" someone complained.

"Because he spotted that diagonal crack in one look. Did you see it?" Foreman Hu glared. "All working guys, get over here. Listen to how he's going to do it."

Chen Zhuo stood under the pitch-black building, with seven or eight workers behind him and the clattering tin shed above. He suddenly remembered what the HR girl had said: *Comprehensive assessment failed.* He hadn't argued back then, because he honestly couldn't figure out where he was good at anything. Now he knew. His hands knew.

[Countdown: 71 hours 42 minutes 11 seconds]

[On-Site Witnesses: 9]

[Notice: Top-tier craftsman hand-feel for demolition industry loaded. Complete one high-completion job during the probation period to receive a higher Tenure Coin settlement.]

"Hey, Chen Zhuo, right?" Foreman Hu held out a crowbar. "Stop standing there. Talk."

Chen Zhuo took the crowbar. The weight of the iron settled into his palm, familiar as if he'd been holding it for three years.

"Go up to the third floor." He said. "Dismantle the tin shed first. Post four people at the corners. Clear out under the second-floor balcony. No standing on it. Cut the east wall into blocks, work from the eaves down, lower them piece by piece."

"Lower them where?"

"Into the alley." He used the crowbar to mark a line on the ground. "Outside this line, not a single block lands."

The workers moved. Some grumbled, some swore, but nobody asked why anymore. Chen Zhuo stood by that line, looking up at the building. The wind made the tin shed rattle louder.

Just then, a shout came from the alley entrance. Foreman Hu was shouting at the top of his lungs: "Stop stalling—start demolition!"