Chapter 25: Work is a Form of Spiritual Cultivation

When Shang Zhitao opened her eyes the next morning, her entire body ached. A child of the vast plains, she wasn’t used to walking on mountain paths for half a day. She managed to get up despite groaning about how tired she was, but Lumi wasn’t so lucky—her period had arrived.

Already exhausted, Lumi now felt as though not a single part of her body belonged to her. Her cramps were severe, and she alternated between sharp abdominal pain and nausea. Shang Zhitao was frightened and rushed outside to find the driver. “We need to take Lumi to the county hospital; she’s sick.”

The driver didn’t dare delay and quickly helped transport Lumi to the hospital, where she received a pain-relief injection. Feeling deeply guilty, Shang Zhitao sat beside Lumi and began to cry quietly. The girl who usually brushed off hardships with a smile couldn’t stop crying today out of concern for Lumi.

“Ancestors above, are you trying to send me a clock?” Lumi teased her. “Stop crying already—it’s just bad timing.”

“Can you go back today?” Shang Zhitao wanted Lumi to return immediately. This place was too harsh, and Lumi hadn’t experienced such hardship before. She herself hadn’t either, but she had chosen to come here and knew she had to endure.

“No,” Lumi shot her a glare. “Don’t even think about sending me back. I’ll be fine tomorrow. If I leave you here alone, Kitty will bully you to death.”

“I won’t let her bully me…”

“Nonsense. You’re too naive; anyone can push you around.” Lumi sighed. “I want a bowl of hot noodles…”

“I’ll go buy some!” Seeing that Lumi finally had an appetite, Shang Zhitao jumped up and ran off. The county town was better than the misleadingly named small mountain town. Next to the hospital was a bustling food street filled with people. Shang Zhitao spotted a noodle shop with a long line and a delicious aroma wafting out. She called Lumi: “You can’t eat spicy food, right…?”

“Nonsense! Get me the spiciest one!”

Shang Zhitao giggled. “Okay.” She waited in line for a long time, bought two bowls of sour-spicy tripe noodles, and also picked up some skewers for Lumi before returning to the hospital. Since Lumi’s right hand was hooked up to an IV, she opened her mouth toward Shang Zhitao: “Come on, feed me.” And Shang Zhitao obediently fed her bite by bite.

Lumi enjoyed watching Shang Zhitao’s earnestness. There weren’t many girls like her left these days. When she treated others well, it wasn’t necessarily with expensive gifts but with a sincere heart laid bare.

The two stayed at the hospital until the afternoon when Lumi regained her strength, and they returned to the mountains.

The crew had already finished their preparations and was waiting for the actors to arrive. When they saw them return, everyone gathered around to express concern. Lumi waved her pale hand dismissively: “After the injection, I’m as good as new. When are the actors arriving?”

“Soon,” replied the director, sitting beside Lumi and whispering, “How much budget did we get approved this time?”

“I don’t know…” Lumi evaded the question. “We’re just here to oversee execution. Besides, doesn’t the client pay?” In reality, Lingmei had negotiated an all-inclusive deal where the client authorized Lingmei to handle everything, only inspecting the final product. But before leaving, Alex had instructed them not to reveal this to the production team. Production teams would spend every last cent if given millions.

Seeing he couldn’t extract any information from Lumi, the director turned to Shang Zhitao: “Flora, do you know?”

This time, Shang Zhitao had learned a thing or two and mimicked Lumi’s evasiveness: “I don’t know either… My boss just sent me here to handle logistics.”

Back and forth, no useful information was shared.

“Not bad, little Tao Tao,” Lumi praised her after the director left. “You’re learning quickly—already know how to dodge questions from these old foxes.”

“You taught me well.”

By the time night fell, the actors arrived—not famous ones. The series of advertisements Lingmei was producing aimed to connect products with human emotions through heartfelt storytelling. This particular story followed a boy living in the mountains, experiencing different stages of life before returning home. Its goal was to reconnect the brand with its long-time customers.

That night, filming began outdoors. Having never experienced this kind of work, Shang Zhitao found it fascinating and stood bundled up in her down jacket, watching the commotion. Work truly came in all forms—some spent their days glued to computers, working overtime nonstop, while others memorized scripts and delivered lines. Each had its own charm.

Shang Zhitao watched attentively, so absorbed that she didn’t hear her phone ringing. It wasn’t until late at night, after shooting ended, that she noticed Alex had called. She quickly returned his call, catching him during a break in a management meeting.

“Alex, sorry—I didn’t hear my phone ring earlier because I was on set.”

“Is Lumi okay? Just now, Kitty from Creative reported that Lumi is sick.”

“Huh?”

Why would Kitty mention Lumi being sick during a work report? Shang Zhitao didn’t understand, nor did she dwell on it. She relayed what happened to Alex.

“It’s fine—let her recover fully and make sure nothing goes wrong. Also, there’s an urgent project in the department, and one of you needs to come back to support us. You two decide who will return.”

“Got it, Alex.”

After hanging up, Shang Zhitao told Lumi, “Alex said there’s an urgent project, and you need to go back to support.” Finally, there was an excuse to send Lumi away, and Shang Zhitao’s guilt eased slightly.

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“What if I’m worried about leaving you here?”

“If you don’t go back, both of us are done for.”

Early the next morning, Shang Zhitao saw Lumi off. Before leaving, Lumi gave her plenty of instructions: “You’re in charge of the marketing budget. You can handle后勤 (logistics), but they must treat you respectfully. Keep track of all expenses, as finance will audit them later.”

Shang Zhitao took Lumi’s advice to heart, though she still hadn’t mastered assertiveness. Whatever others asked her to do, she happily obliged. Within a day, she had become familiar with the crew. The director thought highly of her, saying she was different from other marketers, and remarked, “Next time we shoot an ad, we’ll ask you to come again.”

“Sure,” Shang Zhitao agreed. She then grabbed the procurement list and headed to the county town with the driver, becoming a full-fledged manual laborer. She realized that working in marketing required physical stamina. Thankfully, she was physically fit and energetic; otherwise, she might have collapsed under the strain of this mountain trip.

The driver, Liu Wu, was hired specifically for Luan Nian, a retired soldier. Since Luan Nian usually drove himself, Liu Wu often had free time and volunteered to drive here. At over forty years old, with a buzz cut and brimming energy, Liu Wu admired Shang Zhitao’s cheerful demeanor and lack of complaints. On the way, he complimented her: “You’re something else—a girl in marketing, unafraid of hardship or fatigue, always smiling. That’s rare.”

“Hehe.” Shang Zhitao chuckled. “I don’t know much, so I have to learn. Isn’t procurement considered learning too?”

“You’ve got a great attitude. But isn’t procurement just buying stuff?”

“Well, yeah.” Shang Zhitao paused. “Oh, Kitty mentioned this morning that you’re Luke’s driver?”

“Yes, though it’s mostly a leisurely job. Mr. Luan prefers driving himself and only lets me drive when he drinks.”

“Oh.”

Shang Zhitao made a mental note. She suddenly recalled that during their recent drinking session, Luan Nian hadn’t asked Liu Wu to drive. She realized that perhaps Luan Nian was avoiding any appearance of impropriety.

I should keep my mouth shut and avoid trouble, Shang Zhitao thought. Luan Nian was a man of deep calculation. Many things might seem unclear at first, but looking back after some time, one could begin to grasp his intricate thoughts.

“Are you close with Mr. Luan?” Liu Wu suddenly asked.

“Ah…” Shang Zhitao hesitated before replying, “Not really. We’ve attended a couple of meetings together, and otherwise, we just see each other occasionally at the company.”

“Are you afraid of him? I heard many female colleagues are.”

“Afraid!” Shang Zhitao nodded emphatically. “He’s terrifying.”

Liu Wu chuckled warmly. “Actually, privately, he’s quite nice—not stern at all. Sometimes, after drinking, I drive him home, and he invites me in for tea or fruit. He chats casually, not like the image you see.”

Shang Zhitao wanted to say, That’s because he hasn’t tried to persuade you to quit yet. But she held her tongue and simply smiled.

On their second trip to the county town, Shang Zhitao navigated more confidently.

The items the crew needed to purchase were miscellaneous—old palm fans, wooden stools,的确良 (Dacron) shirts, and more. Many of these items were hard to find in big cities but surprisingly available in this small county town.

Shang Zhitao suddenly remembered something Luan Nian had said during a meeting: business下沉 (penetration). How does it work? Perhaps it means catering to diverse audiences. Even things unused in big cities could find a market in smaller places.

From shop to shop, they picked items, haggled prices, and recorded expenses. These tedious tasks weren’t easy, and by the time they finished shopping, it was already 5 p.m. They hastily ate a quick bowl of noodles before heading back. Along the bumpy ride, Shang Zhitao regretted eating that bowl of noodles. As they neared the town, she asked Liu Wu to pull over and threw up.

What a spiritual cultivation this was.

Back at the lodge, she inventoried the supplies with the team, ensuring everything was in order before retreating to her room. After such a taxing day, she vomited again in the evening, her stomach churning painfully. She swallowed two pills, drank some warm water, and lay back on her bed, opening her laptop.

Without internet, she busied herself creating spreadsheets, inputting the day’s expenditures, and worked until midnight before finishing.

With Lumi gone, Shang Zhitao suddenly felt a bit lonely.

Young women are easily defeated by loneliness. Shang Zhitao had no armor against it. In the depths of the night, loneliness overwhelmed her like a flood. A sudden thought crossed her mind: When will I have a home? In a city like Beijing, whether inside the fifth ring road or beyond the sixth, it didn’t matter—as long as she could afford a tiny apartment. Would that end her loneliness?

Deep into the night, as she slept, she felt something crawl across her blanket. Groggily opening her eyes, she saw a pair of small, bright eyes staring at her in the faint moonlight.

She had never locked eyes with a rat before—this would be the only time in her life.

Her fingertips and toes went icy cold, followed by goosebumps rising all over her body. Time seemed to freeze, and she even forgot to scream.

The rat reacted faster than her, vanishing in a flash.

Thus, Shang Zhitao endured her first night of complete collapse.

Later, she recounted this night as a joke to others, saying, “A rat’s eyes can shine like stars too!”