One meter

This winter is exceptionally cold. If I could, I'd rather stay in bed than go out. I'm particularly sensitive to the cold; no matter how many layers I wear, I still feel chilly. But in reality, I have to go out in this freezing weather because I have to go to work. I also wish our factory could have winter breaks and summer breaks like schools. That way, I would love my job even more and be more enthusiastic and proactive. In reality, that's impossible, and all of this just exists in my wishful thinking. When I get paid this month, I'll buy Grandpa a nice down jacket and Dongdong a pair of sneakers. Kids wear shoes so easily; they need a new pair every two or three months.

I rushed onto the bus; if I was even a second slower, I'd have to wait for the next one. Why is this damn bus so crowded? My second wish is that there will always be empty seats on buses and that there will never be traffic jams.

At 8:20, it's time to go to the factory and clock in. I'm very satisfied; I'm never late, and I have a strong sense of time. Being late is not a good habit, and because I don't have this bad habit, my monthly bonus is almost always full. Not bad, I still work very hard.

At 8:25, I rushed into the women's changing room to change into my work uniform. Calling it a uniform was a bit of a stretch; it was just a blue overcoat, and everyone in the factory had to wear it. Once in the uniform, I hung the tape measure from my pocket around my neck. I checked my shirt pockets; thankfully, my pens and other belongings were clipped there, and my two side pockets contained things like a sewing kit and a small chalk box. I always check my gear before entering the workshop. It's a good habit.

Sitting in my usual spot, I began my workday.

Yes, I'm a garment factory worker. From being clumsy at the beginning to being shrewd and capable now, the price I've paid is hands full of little bags and needle holes. It's a good job; at least I don't have to buy clothes anymore. I just need to buy a fashion magazine, and if I see a style I like, I can make it myself. I make summer dresses, some blazers, and pencil skirts myself. Some fashion items are hard to imitate because of the fabric, so I bring the magazine or style pictures to the factory to ask the experienced workers or young designers.

My grandfather was a tailor; before Liberation, he apprenticed under a master tailor to make Zhongshan suits. Influenced by him, I loved watching him make clothes and drawing beautiful designs from a young age. I originally planned to apply to a fashion college, but unfortunately, my grades weren't ideal, and the tuition was expensive. Before retiring, my grandfather was a renowned master tailor in the factory, and after I graduated, he helped me find a position there. Although he's been retired for many years, many people still respect him. And I worked hard; I quickly learned everything my master taught me.

What makes me happiest is that if I see a piece of fabric I like at the factory, I can buy it at the absolute lowest price. Sometimes, my tailor will even make me a suit when he has a spare moment. It looks just as good as Armani.

I currently have two jobs. One is at a clothing factory during the day. The other is that on my days off, I also do some sewing for my neighbors to supplement their income. Last time, I even made a cosplay outfit for the little girl downstairs. I picked up some leftover lace trim from the factory. These scraps of lace, pieced together, gave the skirt a unique charm. It's a pity Dongdong is a boy; if he were a girl, I would make him a princess dress too. I would dress him up like a doll, making all the other kids envious.

I really hope I get paid tomorrow, and ideally every day would be payday. Am I being too greedy? Oh well, it's not illegal to think about it.

Zhang Qian

"Zhang Qian, the phone!"

The workshop foreman walked over to my seat and loudly told me that I had his phone number. Our workshop has a rule that communication devices like cell phones and pagers aren't allowed in, because it's believed to affect work morale and motivation. Anyway, I don't have a cell phone, and I don't need it.

When I arrived at the director's office, the phone was still ringing; it seemed the matter was quite urgent.

"Hello?"

"Xiaoqian, Dongdong is sick." It was Grandpa calling.

"He was fine when he left this morning, what happened to him?" This little guy is so hard to please.

"He has a fever and is still lying down."

"You didn't send him to kindergarten?"

"No, how can we go if he has a fever? I gave him a sleeping pill, he'll be fine once the fever goes down," Grandpa said.

"Ah? Stimulants?" My God, Grandpa, are you trying to kill him?! "Grandpa! What did you give him to eat?"

"Peace and stability."

"Those are sleeping pills! How could you give him medicine like that?" I think I should rush back. I don't care about losing some money; my son is the most important thing.

"Oh, I misread it, it's Analgin."

Grandpa, your sudden outbursts really startled me!

"How about I take leave and come back?" I said.

"No need, just focus on your work. I just wanted to call and let you know I'm safe. Don't worry about anything, it's nothing serious."

Report that you're safe? You might as well not call at all. If you didn't know, you'd save yourself the trouble. How am I supposed to feel safe?

"Really not going to?"

"No need, I'll take care of things at home, don't worry."

Grandpa, it's because of you that I feel uneasy. But I can't say that. My grandpa is a good person in every way, except he has a bit of a wild temper.

After hanging up the phone, I returned to my seat and continued my work. The more I thought about it, the more alarmed I became. My grandfather is 83 years old this year, and he's usually quite healthy. I don't trust him to take care of a child, and if he were to collapse, the entire burden of the family would fall on my shoulders—it could really be the death of me.

I asked the workshop director for a leave of absence. She had a stern face, as if I owed her money and she was going to owe me money. After waiting for a long time, she finally took out a leave form from her drawer and asked me to fill it out.

My workplace is about an hour's drive from home, and since it's past rush hour, I'm driving fairly fast.

I finally made it home and rushed to Dongdong's bedside without even putting down my bag.

I touched his forehead; it was burning hot. Grandpa said he had taken his temperature earlier, but the mercury markings were too small for him to read, so he didn't know the temperature. I asked him what medicine he had given the child, and Grandpa slowly dug a small bottle out of the wardrobe.

What was it again? An Shen Wan (安神丸)?

Grandpa, I think I should take a few of these calming pills too.

I picked up Dongdong and hailed a taxi downstairs, rushing to the nearest hospital. In the car, the little guy kept saying, "No shots, no shots!" With the way he's acting now, I could write a whole storybook about him when he grows up; who knows, a publisher might even be willing to publish it.

Upon arriving at the hospital, Dongdong seemed to sense he was about to be executed and began to cry and scream. No matter how I tried to soothe or pat him, he wouldn't listen. I held the child while waiting in line to register, and asked a nurse to help me fill out the medical record card with my name and address.

The pediatric ward was on the fifth floor. Dongdong absolutely refused to take the elevator, kicking his little feet incessantly at me. I could only reassure him that he wouldn't get any

……