The morning air carried the scent of summer blossoms, and the chirping of sparrows created a deceptively peaceful ambiance across the city. But at the Youth Arts Bureau, a completely different air buzzed—tense, hurried, and borderline frantic.
Jia Lan stepped into the building promptly at eight, her appearance as composed as ever. She wore a mint green cheongsam with white lotus embroidery, paired with soft cream flats. Her hair was twisted into a low bun secured with a jade pin, exuding understated elegance. In one hand, she carried her usual leather portfolio, and in the other, a wrapped container of sweet lotus seed pastries she had made the previous night.
"Jia Lan, have you heard?" Sister Li rushed to her side the moment she stepped in.
"Heard what?" Jia Lan asked calmly, though the slight crease in Sister Li's brow already told her it was something serious.
"The inspection! From the Municipal Committee. They'll be here tomorrow!" Sister Li whispered, as if the walls might hear.
Jia Lan blinked once. "So it's official?"
"Director Xu confirmed it this morning. He's already shouting in the archive room. Zhao Meiling is rewriting the latest report, and even Wang Fei skipped breakfast to fix the bulletin board."
Sister Li patted her chest. "Heaven help us. If even one file is out of order…"
Jia Lan gave a serene smile. "Then we better make sure not a single one is."
---
By mid-morning, the bureau had become a whirlwind of energy. Dusty shelves were cleared, old labels replaced with freshly handwritten ones. Workers, who usually moved with languid efficiency, were suddenly energetic—almost aggressive—in their dedication to orderliness.
Jia Lan retreated to her desk to begin re-sorting exhibition plans. A stack of flyers was already piled high in her inbox. She organized each according to event type, theme, and audience age, her hands gliding over paper with practiced ease.
Zhao Meiling passed by, her hair pinned high and her usually pristine blouse showing signs of chalk dust. "Jia Lan, the director wants all the exhibition outlines reprinted on clean templates. He said yours don't need changing, but he'd feel better if they were on fresh paper."
"Understood," Jia Lan replied, reaching for her finest calligraphy pen.
---
Even the tea corner wasn't spared. The delicate porcelain cups were scrubbed to a shine, and Sister Li replaced the old chrysanthemum flowers with fresh stems from the alley market.
"Even the tea has to impress," she muttered. "Can't have them thinking we drink yesterday's brew."
Around noon, lunch arrived—boxes of steamed buns, pickled lotus root, and stir-fried bok choy delivered from the local canteen.
"Eat fast," Zhao Meiling warned. "We've got the back corridor to clean next."
---
By afternoon, Director Xu made the rounds, barking orders with a red face. "That storage room! Burn those old posters if you must—but make it neat!"
Jia Lan noticed even he wore a freshly pressed suit, though his shoes were slightly scuffed. His usual gruffness was now spiced with anxiety.
As she sat back at her desk after lunch, Jia Lan noticed something else—Shen Yimin and Liu Fenfang, the so-called "acquaintances," loitering near the front lobby.
They peeked in but didn't dare enter this time. Perhaps the sudden uptick in activity had intimidated them. Or perhaps they simply couldn't think of another excuse to drop by.
"Who are those two again?" Zhao Meiling muttered beside her. "They look like villagers hoping for leftover rice."
"Someone I knew once," Jia Lan replied coolly, not looking up.
Zhao Meiling snorted. "Looks like the city air doesn't suit them."
---
That evening at the Jia residence, the air was equally abuzz.
Jia Lan's father, Jia Chenghai, returned from his own bureau earlier than usual. "You're all getting inspected tomorrow?"
"Yes," Jia Lan said as she unpinned her jade hair accessory.
Lin Shunhua, her mother, appeared from the kitchen with a fragrant chicken and mushroom stew. "Eat well tonight. I added extra ginseng for your focus."
"Will the committee be harsh?" her grandfather asked as he settled into his armchair.
"They can be, but I don't think we'll have trouble," Jia Lan replied. "We've worked hard."
Her younger cousins—visiting for the week—whispered about how "cool" it sounded to be inspected, like in a spy movie.
"Tomorrow," Jia Lan said with a knowing smile, "will be the real performance."
As the night wore on, she retreated to her room, preparing her clothing for the next day—a crisp white blouse with narrow navy trousers and pearl earrings. Professional, refined, and quietly powerful.
Before bed, she opened her notebook, checking off the final task of the day. Her sign-in system gave her a modest reward: a silken ribbon in pale rose, perfect for tying scrolls or letters.
Not every day was extraordinary, but every small gift was cherished.
She folded it carefully into her drawer and dimmed the lamp.
Tomorrow, the curtain would rise.