Chapter 4 — The day I disappeared, they realized their mistake

To Hao began to feel uneasy. For the first time, he proactively mentioned: "Mom, didn't To Niem really happen? Should I report it to the police?" My mother went to the station. The police looked around: "There are no signs of unusual departure, the phone number has been destroyed, there are no clues to the case - this case is only considered a voluntary loss of contact. Adults have the right not to contact their family." My mother lost weight. Every night, she sat on the balcony, sometimes muttering: "Nhiem Nhiem... has something happened to her..." Vuong Le no longer said "it's better to go" anymore. Because she discovered a more serious problem—the “subsidy” source in the house had stopped. For the past nine years, I have sent money home every month. More is three thousand, less is one and a half thousand. Like a blood transfusion machine that never stops. Now the machine has stopped. Electricity and water bills increased, milk powder money was low, Trang Trang's extra classes could not be paid. To Hao's monthly home loan is 8,300 yuan, Vuong Le is pregnant and can't work, her mother's pension is only 2,100 yuan— Life suddenly became suffocating.

“Or tell your mother to find a way to contact To Niem,” Vuong Le told To Hao, “at least let her continue to send money back.”

To Hao was silent for a moment. Then he blurted out something that he didn't expect:

“Have you ever thought about… why she left?”

Vuong Le rolled his eyes: "Who knows? You have a big personality." To Hao did not answer. He remembered last night's dream. In the dream, To Niem stood in front of him, looking very calm.

“Brother, you never even said a word of thanks.”

He woke up. But the eye sockets are wet. A year has passed. I, To Niem, like a drop of water falling into the ocean, completely disappeared. No one knows where I go. No one knows I'm alive. No one knew—in Hangzhou, eight hundred kilometers away, that drop of water was gradually becoming a river. The first night in Hangzhou, I slept in a partitioned room in the village area of the city. Eight square meters. A bed, a wardrobe, a folding table. The snoring sound of the person next door penetrated through the wall, and the smell of barbecue smoke from the restaurant downstairs penetrated the window. But I sleep very deeply. More peaceful than any night in the past twenty-seven years. Because these eight square meters are mine. No one pushed the door in and said, "Give your room to your grandchild first." No one called to say "there is a shortage of housing this month". No one looks at me while eating and says "I'm a girl". Rent is 650 yuan. Plus electricity, water and internet, about more than 700 yuan. My total amount is 2370 yuan. I have to find a job within a month. On Wednesday, I joined an internet company. Administrative assistant. Monthly salary 4,500 yuan. No insurance—three-month trial. Job: receptionist, receiving express deliveries, arranging meeting rooms, ordering food for departments. Almost identical to the job I used to do in my hometown. But I know, this time it's not the same. Because I no longer "work to support the family" anymore. This time, I did it for myself. During the day when I go to work, I do everything without fail. The whiteboard pens in the meeting room always have ink, the water bottle is always full, and parcels are always delivered in the right place. No one compliments. Doing good administrative work is a matter of course, but not doing well will attract attention. I don't care. Because my focus is not on daytime. Every evening at seven thirty I leave work. I cycled home boarding house. Take a bath, eat a bowl of instant noodles or white porridge with pickles. Then I opened the laptop on the folding table—the old one was bought for 800 yuan, and the left corner of the screen had a small dead spot. Start studying. I registered to study at university online. Language and Literature major—because the tuition is the cheapest, and there is no math exam. Every day I study until one o'clock in the morning. Get up at six o'clock. Sleep for five hours. Enough. Before, at home, I was still lying in bed at midnight thinking, "Should I send money home this month?", tossing and turning and not being able to sleep. Now there's no need to think anymore. My mind is empty and I can learn again. In the company, there is a girl named Tieu Chu, who works with me and also does administrative work. One afternoon, when she saw me munching on bread and watching the course, she stopped to look.

“What are you studying?”

“Self-study at university.”

She rolled her eyes: "You work in administration and still learn this? What's the use?" I put my headphones back in and didn't answer. What's the use—you'll see. Three months later. Company year-end party. The administrative department took care of the logistics, Tieu Chu and I set up the table, laid out gifts, and adjusted the projector. I was so busy that my thighs hurt and I didn't have time to drink water. During the party, there was a section where departments reported their achievements. The sales department's PPT was very poorly done—the colors were messy, the data table was skewed, the font size was inconsistent, and the manager even had to frown when reading it. After the party, administration must store documents of departments. I looked at that PPT for ten minutes. Then turn on the computer, take two hours to do the whole thing again. Not because of free time. But because in the past three months I have been studying data analysis and business logic through online courses, and need a chance to practice. Colors are unified. Charts replaced with columns and trend lines are easier to understand. Each page has the main conclusion in bold. Finally, there's a page of "next quarter's growth forecast"—figures I deduced myself from the company's public reports. It was three o'clock in the morning when I finished. I saved two copies. One archived version, one— I hesitated for a long time. Finally, still upload to the company's internal shared drive. The next day nothing happened. The third day was the same. On the afternoon of the fourth day, the receptionist's phone rang.

"To Niem? President Lam told me to go to her room."

Lam Man Chi—deputy general manager of sales department. Forty-three years old. In the company, everyone calls her Ms. Lam. Dress neatly, talk without meandering. When meeting, he can bang the table, but he also invited the whole room to eat at a Japanese restaurant for more than 300 yuan per person. During three months in the administrative department, I only saw her from afar a few times. Never talked. I knocked on the door and walked in. She was staring at the computer screen.