Chapter 40: Personnel
"All settled. Put them in Room 106 of Building 7." Xiao Zishan held up his folder with a show of consulting it, though he remembered every detail perfectly well. The gesture was merely a leftover habit from years of white-collar meetings.
"Meng Xian. Twenty-five. Spent time abroad. Fluent in English. Background in finance and accounting. Pan Feng. Twenty-eight. Currently unemployed. Claims experience as a fast-moving consumer goods sales representative. Single. Zha Wuchu. Twenty-four. Pharmaceutical technician. Single. Tian Jiujiu. Twenty-seven. Water Conservancy Design Institute of X Province, Y City. Technician specializing in water supply and drainage. Single."
"Excellent—except for one useless one, they're all skilled professionals." Wei Aiwen slapped the table with evident satisfaction, deliberately glancing at Xiao Zishan.
The implication was not lost on him. In his heart, Xiao Zishan despised this loudmouth, but he'd learned long ago never to let contempt show on his face—nor to argue openly. He knew his place here: even for a casual card game, he didn't truly belong in this room with the Committee members. The others simply nodded in acknowledgment. He continued his report:
"I had casual conversations with all of them. Everyone shows genuine enthusiasm for the crossing. Their commitment seems quite firm."
These so-called "conversations" served as the Executive Committee's initial screening of newcomers. Under the guise of welcoming chatter, they assessed each person's background and personality—whether they possessed sufficient teamwork spirit and emotional intelligence to join this unprecedented venture.
"Meng Xian is extremely fond of light weapons. Trained in moving-target shooting at a sports school for several years. Spoke extensively about firearms. Pan Feng was relatively quiet during the process. Somewhat introverted. Hobbies include gardening and history. Knows the FMCG industry well. Holds an accountant's license. Tian Jiujiu..."
After briefly outlining his impressions and assessments of each newcomer, Xiao Zishan provided the Committee with an inventory of their declared personal belongings. "I've drafted a summary. I'll submit it along with the registration forms to the Internal Affairs Group tonight. They'll conduct the next evaluation round. Roommates have already been assigned to observe them."
"Who was assigned?" Wen Desi asked.
"That's outside my purview—Internal Affairs handles it from here." Xiao Zishan spread his hands. "Should I inquire?"
"No need." Wen Desi, Ma Qianzhu, and Xiao Zishan exchanged brief, knowing glances.
"So as of now, 476 people have effectively checked in."
Personnel concentration had begun approximately six months earlier. People had been arriving almost weekly, all passing through the same process. Of the 2,106 individuals who'd enthusiastically discussed and replied to posts about crossing through the wormhole, fewer than 800 had joined the subsequent encrypted chat group. Those who'd actually traveled here and committed to staying numbered under 500.
"That many dropped out?"
"About fifty in total. The 476 are those currently committed to crossing." Xiao Zishan checked his list. "Over the next two weeks, roughly fifty more should arrive. These should all come through."
"'A Thousand Talents' has become 'Five Hundred Arhats.'" Wei Aiwen sighed dramatically. "Too few people. Everyone talks big online, but when it comes to actually doing something, they're all damn cowards!"
The others remained silent. Whether more or fewer people was preferable—that was a genuine paradox. For those presently occupying Executive Committee positions, fewer might actually prove advantageous. More people meant more opinions to manage. Though all planning had been handled by the Committee, the masses had provided no input. Currently, newcomers followed Committee arrangements with the docility of arrivals in an unfamiliar place. Once everyone got to know each other and found their footing, who knew what complications might arise.
"Better to keep the team lean," Ma Qianzhu dismissed the concern with a laugh.
"On the positive side, we do have talent across all necessary fields—no critical gaps." Xiao Zishan allowed himself some satisfaction. "Just fewer women than we'd like. Most are accompanying husbands or boyfriends; not many are single."
"Naturally—mostly bachelors signing up." Wen Desi tilted his head back. "Anyone with established family ties wouldn't abandon everything for this..."
Wei Aiwen snorted. "Women are just trouble anyway. Whining and complaining all day."
"Then don't ask the organization to arrange a wife for you later. We don't handle that."
"Who needs the organization?" The young man's eyes gleamed. "Ancient little lolis—I'll have as many as I want. One to massage my back, one to rub my waist, and one to—"
Xi Yazhou interrupted impatiently: "'I' this and 'I' that—you're barely more than a kid, always saying 'I' like you're some big shot. With that attitude, no woman would want you anyway!"
"No problem, Little Wei," someone else grinned. "The Ming Dynasty has a thriving 'Brokeback Mountain' scene, and only high-quality talents indulge..."
"Bullshit! You're Brokeback Mountain! Your whole family is Brokeback Mountain!" The young man's face flushed with indignation—teasing him had apparently become a local pastime.
"Actually, I have a question for the Committee." Xiao Zishan seized the opportunity to redirect the conversation. "About foreigners."
"Foreigners? Absolutely not! Too many complications later!"
"I'm against foreigners too. Those not of our race must have different hearts!"
"This case is somewhat special," Xiao Zishan pressed on.
"Don't tell me it's a military medic who served in Iraq. If so, we might consider."
"No... it's an applicant's girlfriend." Xiao Zishan extracted a sheet from his folder. "Ding Ding. Male, thirty-two. Han ethnicity. Reporter for a major media group. The foreign woman is called... Panpan? Apparently American."
"Whoa, a Western chick!" Wei Aiwen leaned forward eagerly. "Any photos? Any photos?"
"She's someone else's girlfriend. What are you getting excited about? Sit down."
"She needs to be investigated!" Wei Aiwen gestured wildly. "She might be an American spy. Definitely sent by the FBI to infiltrate us—to stop us from rewriting history!"
"Little Wei, do you actually know what the FBI does?" The perpetual know-it-all Luo Duo moved to correct his technical error.
"Whatever—some American spy organization. They also protect the president!"
"Want to be the one to investigate her?"
"I'll definitely complete any task the organization assigns!" The young man's earnest sincerity was so overwhelming that Zhong Lishi, who'd been teasing him, felt embarrassed to continue.
Wen Desi nodded thoughtfully. "Personally, I'm inclined to agree. If she's family to one of our people, let her come along. Even if she wanted to serve America, there'd be no America left to serve. Alright. I'll confirm with him. Come to think of it, we don't have anyone with media and publicity expertise. Could prove useful down the line."
"We need professionals in every field—and ordinary people too." Wen Desi emphasized. "When receiving new arrivals, be careful not to treat those with expertise more warmly than those without. That kind of differential treatment causes problems."
"Understood. Unity is paramount."
Meng Xian lay on the iron bunk bed in the dormitory, staring at the large duffel bag he'd stowed on the upper bunk. Outside the window, the night was utterly quiet. He could clearly hear sounds drifting down from upstairs—someone watching a film with rather suggestive audio.
All the excitement of the journey here—the anticipation, the nervous energy—had drained away once things went still. In its place settled an irrepressible unease.
What's wrong with me? Have I actually gone insane? I had a perfectly good job in America, and I left it to come to some village in Guangdong. What exactly am I trying to accomplish? Change fate? Remake history?
Meng Xian usually enjoyed alternate-history novels. He'd fantasized countless times about transmigrating to another era—rebuilding China, establishing great achievements, acquiring three or four devoted wives. But he'd always known it was pure fiction.
Now, once through the wormhole, he would simply vanish from this world. As good as dead to everyone who'd known him. Parents. Relatives. Friends. A future wife... Of course, he didn't even have a girlfriend currently, let alone a wife. But if he hadn't come here, a decent wife had still been a real possibility...
The thought made him want to withdraw, to flee. He sat up abruptly. Across the room, Ye Yuming sat on the next bed, also staring into space. Ye had arrived before their group.
"What—can't sleep?" Seeing him stir, Ye Yuming tossed over a cigarette.
"I don't smoke..."
"Suit yourself. I should quit too." Ye Yuming pocketed the cigarette. "What's bothering you—not going to game online?"
"Don't feel like it." Meng Xian sighed. "No idea when we'll actually leave." The words were somewhat disingenuous, yet not entirely false—once they actually crossed, this uncertainty would end. The waiting was hardest.
"You really look forward to D-Day that much?"
"Don't you?"
"Hard to say. The whole thing feels... unreliable." Ye Yuming sniffed his unlit cigarette. "If Director Wen and Mr. Ma weren't people I trust, plus..." He paused meaningfully. "I'd almost worry it's some elaborate scam."
"Surely not." Meng Xian's confidence wavered slightly.
"Yeah, I think not either. That's why I came. But what happens over there—genuinely hard to predict."
"Hasn't Director Wen already taken people across multiple times?"
"In small groups, sure. But with this many people, this much equipment..." Ye Yuming's expression darkened. "What if the energy destabilizes? Or something goes catastrophically wrong after crossing?" He met Meng Xian's eyes. "If you die there, there's no loading a save file."
"Maybe you respawn in the original timeline?" Pan Feng, who'd been reading quietly on another bed, suddenly interjected.
"Haha, that's quite a theory." Both Ye Yuming and Meng Xian laughed.
Pan Feng set down his book and sat up. "Think about it—according to typical transmigration tropes, isn't the protagonist always struck by lightning, hit by a car, drowned? So logically, if you die in the other timespace, you should respawn in this one."
"If there's a Time-Space Administration Bureau, apply for resurrection immediately after death." Meng Xian laughed for a while, his mood inexplicably lightened. "Xiao Pan, you said you were in sales—what did you sell?"
"Me?" Pan Feng smiled ruefully. "Don't laugh—my longest sales job was sanitary napkins."
The entire dormitory erupted in laughter. Zha Wuchu slapped the bed frame. "You're making that up! You sold sanitary napkins? What girl would buy from you..."
Pan Feng picked up the cigarette Meng Xian had declined. "Mind if I have this?"
"Go ahead, go ahead." Ye Yuming even lit it for him, then took one for himself.
Pan Feng took a long drag. "I was in channel sales—selling directly to wholesalers. Nothing to do with girls." He exhaled slowly. "The FMCG business gets harder every year. More competitors, pickier customers, higher company expectations—but the salary stays frozen..."
"You think this whole thing is legitimate?" Ye Yuming pressed.
Pan Feng glanced at him, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Why wouldn't it be? Unless Director Wen's completely lost his mind, why would he orchestrate all this? To scam money? At this scale, he'd be hemorrhaging his own cash."
"So you genuinely want to cross?"
"Cross." Pan Feng flicked ash onto the floor. "Why not? I'm what they call 'working poor.' Went to college, work diligently enough. All these years of effort, only manage to scrape together a bit of savings. Got to save for emergencies, for marriage, for a down payment, for decades as a mortgage slave. Complain even slightly online and someone tells you to swim the Pacific for a few cents. I'm too cautious for anything dramatic—been a model citizen all my life. In this timeline, I'd never dare break a single law. But living feels pointless. Stifling." He shrugged. "So I came to take a chance."
The dormitory fell silent. His words had touched something in everyone present—some unspoken understanding, some shared frustration that none of them could quite articulate.
Ye Yuming smiled faintly, lay back down, and began mentally drafting his report for the Internal Affairs Group.
(End of Chapter)