It started buzzing right at five thirty in the morning - just one sharp sound.
Stillness followed his motion, eyes closed. The movement came first, automatic, like clockwork wound each dawn. Three slow inhales passed while he stayed flat, tuned to sounds beyond plaster - a muffled siren, metal groaning in the shaft, a throat clearing below. All usual. No surprises.
He stood.
A single table stood inside the room. The space felt tight yet tidy, stripped down by choice. On one wall, just a chair waited. A bed lay flat on a short base near the floor. Nothing hung on the walls. Surfaces stayed bare. Each item rested where it belonged simply because extra things had vanished long before. It wasn't about following some trend of less-is-more. Too much stuff pulls at your mind. And that pull uses up strength. Strength you do not have to waste.
A single glass of water, just room temp - he sipped it quiet. Coffee waits its turn. Each stretch came slow, deliberate, like gears turning one after another. First the ankles eased open. Then up through knees, hips, spine - each joint waking in line. Shoulders loosened next. Finally the neck, rolling free. Three full years lived inside this same pattern. Change never asked itself in.
Faint light lingered at the edge of morning.
He jogged.
Each loop followed identical streets, winding past quiet homes before slipping into the narrow riverside green. That stretch curved alongside water, brief, then dumped him onto the gravel path hugging the utility lane. Distance stayed constant - six point two every time. Sound didn't come from speakers. His ears stayed empty on purpose. Instead, he matched breaths to footfalls while studying faces lost in private moments.
A broom moves across concrete someone already swept the day before. Slow motions shape a woman's morning, each gesture measured. On a parked scooter, a rider naps, face hidden under a helmet. What happened yesterday happens again today. Life here follows loops, not logic. Predictable rhythm gives comfort, even when things feel unbalanced.
Forty-two minutes marked Lin Chen's finish, give or take twenty seconds. The morning air pulled heat from his skin. Home came one block at a time, pulse slowing, thoughts leaning ahead.
Start with a shower. End it cold - thirty seconds, no less. Eat two hard-boiled eggs. Add plain rice. A pinch of salt only. This meal runs the engine. It does not entertain.
At seven forty, clothes on, he left the house.
Forty minutes passed slowly during his ride into work. On his feet the whole time, he gripped that familiar handle above him like clockwork every morning. Packed full, yet silence ruled inside the car - bodies close, but no one bumping, nobody speaking, just stares glued to glowing glass or drifting blankly ahead. A stranger's screen flashed jagged words: police caught someone again somewhere far off, officials repeating they're still looking into it
Few noticed Lin Chen skip the article entirely. It stayed untouched on their screen for hours after.
Thunder rumbled down alleys. A distant hum beneath city breath. Their presence hung like heat haze - noticeable only when it burned too close. Thinking of them never crossed his mind.
Above the shops and storefronts, another tall structure stood - just like the rest, shiny and square. His ID clicked against the sensor, one quick dip of the chin toward the man by the desk, then he chose steps over lift. Level three appeared without surprise. Same as always.
The machine came alive quicker than others, right there at his workstation. Back then, he fixed it up on his own, just one quiet weekend when the office sat empty. As coworkers drifted into the room slowly, murmuring under their breath, he scanned through digital records. Traffic made someone grumble. A laugh cracked through the air - too sharp - for something that barely counted as humor.
Seconds before nine, a warning flashed across his display.
A small thing. Something nearly everyone overlooked.
Inside, Lin Chen paused - eyebrows down, not from fear, but focus. Something odd in the system's memory use, a bump where smooth flow should be. Not dangerous yet, just wasteful. If ignored, trouble could grow by next month. Possibly later.
Within moments, he found where it started.
A minute past nine, the problem was gone.
A quiet change went live. Nothing was posted. A lone note appeared in the docs, flat and brief. Then back to tasks. Hours passed. The boss moved down the hall, cup steaming. Eyes forward. No pause.
That was fine.
Lunchtime found Lin Chen picking at rice by his workstation. This round, greens came along for the ride. Over near the window, chatter about a fresh team head floated through the air. Sharp tones gave it weight, hard to ignore.
"Management likes him," one said.
"He speaks clearly," came the answer.
One skipped talking about skill. The other stayed quiet, just watching. Lin Chen said nothing at all.
A message showed up after lunch, asking for ideas about getting things done faster. Lin Chen wrote down three tiny tweaks that could cut work time by one-fifteen. After scanning it slowly, he wiped the whole thing away.
Not worth it.
By 6:03 p.m., the machine powered off, then he walked out. Not staying late tonight. Nothing gained by it, also nothing urgent made it necessary.
Back at the apartment, Zhao Mei was there waiting. She had arrived earlier.
Her gaze lifted from the cushions, a slow grin forming. Right on schedule, you arrived
"I usually am."
Quiet laughter slipped out as she moved over a little. About her day came up first - packed, nonstop. Then his turn: nothing much, really. Sharing food led into watching part of a show they would not remember. After that, quiet filled the room without needing words.
Afterward, in the quiet of night, her eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling above. Stillness filled the room around her.
Same thing tomorrow. That's what mattered.
Outside, the city rolled along like clockwork. Machines kept working. Mistakes got fixed without noise - sometimes they just stayed broken. So long as he stayed focused, unseen, ready - he wouldn't be noticed.
Falling asleep, he held that quiet sureness inside him, never knowing just how thin its edges really were.