From the moment the sun peeked over the tiled rooftops of the city, the Youth Arts Bureau was abuzz with activity. An unusual tension hung in the air like the humidity before a summer storm. Doors were scrubbed clean, posters straightened, chairs polished until they gleamed. Even the sleepy ceiling fan had been dusted thoroughly and now spun overhead as if equally anxious to impress.
Jia Lan arrived earlier than usual. Her shoes clicked softly on the polished floors as she walked past the reception area. Her soft cream blouse and navy skirt were impeccably neat, and her low bun was tied with a simple silk ribbon. She carried a thermos of chrysanthemum tea and a folder of recent sketches tucked under her arm.
"Morning, Sister Li," Jia Lan greeted as she passed the front desk.
"Oh good heavens, Lan Lan, you're early!" Sister Li exclaimed, half-dressed in her apron, still arranging tea cups. "They say the inspection team's already in the neighboring building!"
Jia Lan smiled gently. "Then we'll be ready by the time they arrive."
But beneath her calm expression, her thoughts whirled.
Inspections are serious… especially now. One misplaced document, one smudged ink blot—and someone will bear the brunt.
The other clerks bustled in one by one. Zhao Meiling was wiping her desk with fervent energy, even adjusting the angle of her framed certificate four times in ten minutes.
"I swear, I've never seen you so meticulous, Meiling," Jia Lan teased lightly.
"If we're getting inspected, I'm not letting some outsider say my desk is cluttered!" Zhao Meiling huffed, her eyes sharp.
At her own desk, Jia Lan placed her thermos beside a crisp stack of promotional designs and adjusted a vase of plum blossoms she'd brought from home that morning. Everything had to feel professional yet inviting, artistic yet respectable.
"Lan Lan, do you think the inspectors will ask about our youth art program?" Wang Fei whispered as he leaned near her desk, eyes darting like a guilty schoolboy.
"They might," she answered, voice low. "Just speak clearly, show the materials. No need to panic."
"But what if they ask about the painting we submitted last week? I still think we should have gone with the one with the mountain scene!" he fretted.
"Too late now," Jia Lan replied with a tiny smile. "Just remember what we practiced. Confidence."
Inside, Jia Lan was preparing herself too. She could feel the tightening in her chest—the echo of a life long past. Her old world had been full of constant performance reviews, cutthroat competition. The tension of pretending to belong where she never truly felt safe.
But here, she reminded herself, I'm Jia Lan. I have a family. A place.
Still, the nervous energy of the Bureau seeped into her bones.
By mid-morning, news came that the inspectors were making rapid progress. Jia Lan looked around the office. It had never been so quiet. Even Sister Li had ceased gossiping, standing rigidly beside the tea station.
A loud voice echoed in the hallway.
"They're here!"
The room straightened collectively, like marionettes pulled by invisible strings.
Four individuals entered—two men and two women, crisp suits, sharp gazes. Their expressions were unreadable, clipboards in hand. One of the women made a beeline to the wall calendar, ticking off something as she scribbled notes.
"Let's begin with the youth art files," said the lead inspector. His tone wasn't unkind, but it carried weight.
Jia Lan stepped forward. "I've arranged the documentation here. Would you like me to walk you through the recent programs or our upcoming initiatives?"
The man glanced at her. For a moment, his brows furrowed, almost as if taken aback.
"You are...?"
"Jia Lan. Design Coordinator."
He nodded. "Please proceed."
Her voice was smooth, practiced, confident. She detailed each folder, each set of sketches, and photos of community outreach events. She answered questions calmly, even anticipating one or two.
"Here's the winter showcase series," she explained. "We partnered with three middle schools and one art club to highlight emerging talent."
"Who chose the participants?" asked one inspector.
"I did, alongside Director Xu and two volunteer educators."
One of the inspectors paused at a photo of the recent spring showcase. "This arrangement. You did this?"
"Yes."
"It's refined. Creative. Not overdone."
Jia Lan bowed slightly. "Thank you."
The rest of the inspection moved forward with more murmurs, nods, and scribbles. When the team exited, everyone seemed to deflate at once—like a balloon released from high altitude.
Sister Li fanned herself dramatically. "I thought my heart would give out when they flipped through my attendance log!"
"Did anyone notice how that younger inspector kept scribbling while looking at our teacups?" Wang Fei muttered.
"They probably think we're too cozy," Zhao Meiling replied, shaking her head. "Government funding isn't for sipping tea, after all."
"Well, I think our tea cups are classy," Sister Li huffed. "Those floral ones? Limited edition!"
"I just hope they appreciated the plum blossoms," Jia Lan murmured with a small smile.
Amid the chatter, Jia Lan returned to her desk. She poured the now-lukewarm chrysanthemum tea and took a quiet sip.
It went well. Better than expected. But… was it enough?
She looked down at the corner of her desk, where she kept her system's daily sign-in charm hidden inside a carved jewelry box.
Day 62 Reward: Pine Scented Face Cream (50ml)
She chuckled quietly. "Well, a small win for today."
Outside, the sky was bright blue with cotton clouds drifting lazily. A breeze stirred the paper on her desk.
The storm had passed. For now.
But Jia Lan knew better than to grow complacent.
This life, this peace—was worth guarding.
And she would.
As she dabbed a bit of the pine-scented cream on the back of her hand, Jia Lan couldn't help the dry smirk that curled on her lips.
"If I had a yuan for every time someone almost fainted today, I'd have enough to open a tea stall across the street… Maybe I'd name it 'Inspection Brew'—Guaranteed to make even the strictest inspector blink twice."
She glanced at Wang Fei, who was still nervously adjusting his collar, and Zhao Meiling muttering about their pen holders not being 'aesthetically aligned.'
"Oh, gods above," she thought, hiding a grin behind her thermos, "and they say artists are dramatic."
She looked at the now-quiet corridor, her pulse finally steady.
Tomorrow, maybe she'd reward herself with an extra egg for breakfast. If she survived one more bureaucratic day.
As she gathered the last of her materials, a sliver of mischievous relief curled inside her chest.
Well, that's done. Maybe next time they can inspect something truly terrifying—like Sister Li's pickled radish jar. I swear that thing has been in the break room since the revolution.
She stood, smoothed her skirt, and walked toward the pantry with grace, sipping her tea. The world outside bustled on, unaware that inside this humble little office, a quiet victory had just been won.
And Jia Lan—smiling behind her thermos—was already thinking about what kind of soup she'd make for dinner.
Perhaps lotus root and pork ribs. Something hearty.
Because tomorrow… they'd all be back to chaos again.