Su Rui's look for the day included three essentials: sunscreen, lip balm, and presence.
She strutted through the corridor with a mop in one hand and a bucket in the other, her spine straight, steps confident, movements deliberate. If you didn't know better, you might think she was on a runway.
She whispered to herself, "Chin up, core tight. Walk like you mean it."
Then, with theatrical precision, she dipped the mop into the bucket, swirled it exactly three times, and flicked it out dramatically across the floor.
"One must always mop with intention," she murmured, as if delivering a line from an indie film.
A cleaning lady passing by froze mid-step and stared at her like she'd just seen a ghost.
Today's assignment was the seventh-floor office area. Every desk she cleaned, every window she wiped, she treated like a behind-the-scenes segment of a lifestyle documentary.
"This stain requires a circular approach. Left hand stabilizes, right hand leads. Gentle pressure, 45-degree angle—"
Two office workers in the break room watched her in stunned silence.
"Um... did you see that?"
"She just gave herself a thumbs-up in the window reflection."
"I swear she winked at the coffee machine too."
By mid-afternoon, the cleaning department had entered a state of subtle panic.
One staffer reported to the supervisor, "Something's off with Lin-jie today. She's using big words and... smiling."
"You think she's still sick?" the supervisor asked.
"I think she's possessed," someone whispered.
Su Rui hadn't overheard them, but she could feel the change. People were glancing at her sideways now. They weren't just annoyed—they were confused. And possibly scared.
"I've over-acted," she thought, stiffening. "Too polished. Too un-Lin."
Just when someone was about to gently suggest she go home and rest, a scream rang out from the break room.
"Aaah! My leg—hot water!"
A young employee had slipped while carrying a kettle. Boiling water splashed across her calf. Panic erupted.
No one knew what to do—some reached for phones, others ran in circles shouting for ice.
Then a voice cut through the chaos:
"Don't move her leg! I'll get the first aid kit. It's in the storage closet—second shelf, red tape on the lockbox. Ice packs are under the water dispenser. You—call HR."
Everyone froze as Su Rui—no, Lin Yueying—burst into action.
Two minutes later, she returned with a med kit and ice. Her movements were swift and shockingly efficient. Ice first, towel support, elevation, spray, compress.
Even the usually scatterbrained intern obeyed her orders without hesitation.
In five minutes, the scene was calm.
People stared at her, stunned.
Someone whispered, "Okay... she's different now, but that's still Lin-jie."
"Yeah, only she would know where the ice packs are."
"And she saved Lao Ma last year too when he fainted... same vibe."
Just like that, the unease dissolved. Identity restored.
Su Rui wiped her forehead and stood up, realizing her legs were trembling.
"I'm not her," she thought. "But just now… I acted like her. Or maybe… I am starting to become her?"
She didn't know. And that unsettled her more than anything.
Later, as she carried her mop and bucket down the hallway, she passed by the glass conference rooms.
One door opened unexpectedly.
She lowered her head by instinct—but her eyes flicked up for a split second.
Time froze.
Standing there, framed by frosted glass and white light, was a man in a tailored suit, eyes sharp, expression unreadable.
Shen Yichen.
Her ex-husband.
They locked eyes.
She stopped breathing. The bucket slipped slightly in her hand.
He… frowned, just a little.
Then his gaze moved on—indifferent—and he walked past her.
He didn't recognize her.
But her heart, just like the floor she'd spent all day polishing, felt wiped clean—and hollow.