The office looked the same as it always did—bright lights, orderly desks, muted conversations—but Xiaoyu felt as though she had stepped into a place that no longer welcomed her.
Ever since The Weight of Light, something had shifted.
She couldn't pinpoint when it began. There had been no dramatic confrontation, no raised voices or public humiliation. Instead, it was subtle, almost polite. Like a crack forming beneath smooth glass.
Her access card beeped softly as she entered the department floor. The familiar hum of keyboards filled the air. A few coworkers glanced up, then quickly looked away.
She paused for half a second, unsure whether she was imagining it.
"Morning," she said softly to the group near the coffee machine.
Only one person nodded back.
Xiaoyu walked to her desk, her steps careful, her shoulders unconsciously tense. She set down her bag and opened her computer, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling crawling up her spine.
Her inbox loaded.
Her breath caught.
Over ten unread emails—most sent late last night or early this morning.
All marked urgent.
She opened the first one.
From: Project Supervisor Chen
Subject: Clarification Needed
Why was I not informed of the revisions sent to Client B? This has caused confusion on our end.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
She opened the next email.
From: Team Lead Xu
You were instructed to wait for approval before sending any updates. Please explain why you bypassed protocol.
Her chest tightened.
The third email.
From: Operations
The document you submitted does not align with the finalized data provided by management.
Xiaoyu leaned back in her chair, heart pounding.
This wasn't right.
She pulled up her sent emails, her files, her notes. Everything was there—timestamps, threads, confirmations. She had followed instructions. She always did. Carefully. Meticulously.
Yet somehow, the story had changed.
"Xiaoyu."
She looked up.
Supervisor Chen stood beside her desk, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He was a man in his forties, known for his calm demeanor and strict adherence to hierarchy.
"Come with me," he said.
Her stomach dropped.
The meeting room was small and windowless. The fluorescent light buzzed faintly overhead. Chen sat across from her, placing a thin stack of papers on the table between them.
"Do you know why you're here?" he asked.
Xiaoyu shook her head. "I believe there's been a misunderstanding."
"Several," he corrected.
He slid the papers toward her. Printed emails. Reports. Some were hers. Some… weren't.
She frowned. "This email—I didn't send this version."
Chen's brow furrowed. "Are you saying this isn't your work?"
"I'm saying," she replied carefully, "that this isn't the file I submitted."
Silence stretched between them.
Chen leaned back. "Xiaoyu, you're new. That's not a bad thing. But new hires are expected to be extra cautious."
"I understand," she said quickly. "That's why I double-check everything."
"Then explain why three departments are questioning your reliability."
The word hit her like a slap.
"Reliable?" she repeated quietly.
"You've caused delays," Chen continued. "You've skipped approval steps. And now a client is dissatisfied."
Her hands clenched in her lap. "I didn't skip any steps. I followed the process exactly as it was explained to me."
Chen sighed. "Processes change."
"No one told me," she whispered.
He looked at her for a long moment. "You need to adapt faster."
When she returned to her desk, the atmosphere felt colder.
Her coworker Lina leaned closer, lowering her voice. "What happened?"
"I'm not sure," Xiaoyu admitted.
Lina hesitated. "You should be careful. Management's been watching you."
Xiaoyu blinked. "Watching me?"
Lina glanced around before speaking. "There was a meeting last week. Senior managers. They mentioned… efficiency issues."
Xiaoyu felt her heart sink. "About me?"
Lina didn't answer.
The rest of the day blurred into quiet tension.
Tasks that used to be shared were suddenly assigned solely to her. Requests came without context, deadlines without warning. When she asked questions, responses were slow—or nonexistent.
By afternoon, her head ached.
She overheard whispers as she passed the break room.
"…always looks so harmless."
"…but mistakes keep happening."
"…new hires these days…"
She lowered her gaze and kept walking.
At her desk, she worked relentlessly. Line by line. Detail by detail. If they were watching her, she would give them nothing to criticize.
Yet no matter how careful she was, something always went wrong.
A file went missing from the shared drive—one she distinctly remembered uploading.
A meeting she was supposed to attend happened without her knowledge.
An instruction she followed was later labeled "incorrect."
By evening, exhaustion weighed heavy on her shoulders.
Supervisor Chen sent another message.
Please stay late to revise the project outline. Management wants a cleaner version by morning.
She stared at the screen.
The office emptied slowly. One by one, lights dimmed, chairs rolled back, conversations faded. Xiaoyu remained, alone except for the hum of the air conditioner.
She revised the document carefully, cross-referencing old notes, checking previous versions. Hours passed.
At some point, her eyes blurred with tears she refused to let fall.
She wasn't lazy. She wasn't careless. She knew that.
So why did it feel like the ground beneath her was constantly shifting?
Unbeknownst to her, several floors above, in a quiet executive office, a short meeting had already concluded.
"Keep her under observation," Liang Wei had said calmly, fingers steepled. "No direct involvement."
A department manager nodded. "Understood."
"She needs pressure," Liang Wei continued. "If she adapts, she stays. If she breaks—"
He paused, eyes cold.
"Then she was never meant to be here."
Back on Xiaoyu's floor, she finally shut down her computer close to midnight.
The city outside was silent, bathed in pale streetlight. Snow dusted the sidewalks like fragile lace. She stood by the window for a moment, pressing her forehead lightly against the glass.
For the first time since she started this job, doubt crept into her heart.
Maybe she didn't belong here.
Maybe the light she thought she had found was never meant for her.
At home, she sat on her bed, shoes still on, staring at her hands.
They were trembling.
She thought of her family—her parents' quiet pride, her little brother's faith in her. She had told them this job was her chance. That she was doing well.
The thought of disappointing them hurt more than the exhaustion.
She lay back slowly, staring at the ceiling.
Tomorrow would be another test.
Another invisible battle she didn't understand.
But somewhere beneath the pressure, beneath the quiet cruelty of unspoken expectations, a stubborn resolve remained.
She would not break.
Even if the cracks kept spreading.
Even if the light felt farther away than ever.