At 4:20 PM, a system notification popped up.
It wasn't a forced pop-up; it just briefly lit up in a corner, like a casual reminder.
[Notification] Due to project restructuring, some positions will undergo a reorganization of responsibilities. Please pay attention to subsequent arrangements.
Zhou Qiming glanced at it but didn't open it.
These kinds of notifications came almost every day.
The content was always similar, the tone almost the same; the only difference was the timestamp.
He had slowly learned to distinguish which notifications truly required immediate action and which were just preemptive evasions.
This one seemed to belong to the latter.
Ten minutes later, a new message popped up in the group chat.
[Supervisor]: @Zhou Qiming Qiming, come to the meeting room before you leave work.
He stared at the message for a while.
There was no reason given, and no emojis.
Very clean.
This cleanliness made it impossible to ignore it as a regular notification.
The meeting room was at the very end of the corridor, next to the fire escape.
It was rarely used.
The lighting was cool and dim, and there were still wisps of water on the table, rings of which looked like someone had just lingered on the bottom of a cup.
When Zhou Qiming entered, the supervisor was already seated.
There was another person he didn't recognize next to him.
This person looked younger than him, with short hair, and wore a formal employee badge, a different color from theirs.
He sat upright, hands on his lap, not fidgeting.
"Sit down," the supervisor said.
There was no small talk.
No one asked if he was busy or what he had been working on.
"The project needs some adjustments soon," the supervisor said, flipping through a document, his tone flat, as if reading a passage that had been confirmed many times before. "Your current line will be gradually integrated into the automated review system."
When these words were spoken, Zhou Qiming didn't feel much of a stir.
It wasn't that he hadn't expected it.
This matter had come up in internal discussions several times, but it had never actually been assigned to anyone.
Now it was his turn.
He nodded.
"It's not a layoff," the supervisor added, as if anticipating his reaction. "It's a transfer of responsibilities. Your workload will gradually decrease."
Zhou Qiming didn't speak.
He actually had a few questions.
For example, how long would "gradually" take? What would happen after "decreasing"? Was there any possibility of reversal?
But these questions seemed somewhat superfluous in this situation.
"So what will I mainly be doing after that?" he asked anyway.
The supervisor finally looked up and glanced at him.
That glance was brief but clear.
"Initially, you'll assist with bug fixing on the new system," he said, "and mentor the new recruits as well."
The person next to him smiled.
It was a subtle, silent smile.
It seemed like an unconscious reaction, or perhaps a confirmation that he should be friendly.
"Salary unchanged," the supervisor added.
His tone was like a reassurance.
But that reassurance wasn't actually handed to him; it was simply placed on the table.
Zhou Qiming didn't reply.
He suddenly noticed a detail—
From beginning to end, no one had asked him if he was willing.
The meeting ended quickly.
No signatures were required, and nothing needed his immediate confirmation.
Everything seemed pre-arranged, just a notification according to procedure.
As he walked out of the meeting room, he saw his shadow in the glass at the end of the corridor.
The shadow was elongated by the light, making him look thinner than he actually was.
It wasn't the feeling of being pushed away.
It was more like being subtly moved.
Not upwards, not downwards.
Just a little further from the center.
Back at his workstation, he found that the workload in the system had been reduced.
Not a sudden decrease.
But a small chunk had been cut off.
A gap had appeared in the previously continuous queues.
It wasn't a reduction in workload.
It was more like a gradual reduction in his presence.
He continued processing tasks, but his speed unconsciously slowed down slightly.
Not intentionally.
He suddenly realized that speed and slowness were no longer important here.
The newcomer sat opposite him.
That person was the one from the conference room earlier.
The newcomer, while operating the keyboard, asked in a low voice, "How do you usually judge this boundary?"
His voice was very low, as if he didn't want to disturb others.
Zhou Qiming leaned closer and glanced at the screen.
The image was stuck on a blurry edge.
The rules weren't clearly stated; usually, it relied on experience.
He explained it again.
He didn't deliberately simplify, nor did he say anything extra.
He simply stated how he usually did it, truthfully.
The newcomer listened attentively, nodding occasionally, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, not rushing to operate.
"Thank you," he said.
Then he lowered his head and continued working.
He didn't ask any more questions.
At that moment, Zhou Qiming suddenly realized—
He was handing over, bit by bit, the parts that still required his judgment.
Not being taken away.
He was handing them over himself.
As he finished get off work, he swiped his card as usual.
The machine beeped crisply.
The beep was short and quick.
Stepping out of the office building, he stood at the doorway, his steps faltering.
His body remembered the route.
But his sense of direction seemed to have been slightly distorted.
Not lost.
But no longer sure why he was moving forward.
He suddenly remembered the state of his dream.
There was no "replacement" there.
Because there was no concept of "position."
When this thought popped into his head, he didn't suppress it immediately as usual.
nor did he let it linger.
He simply stood there for a moment.
A breeze blew between the buildings, carrying a slight chill.
Then he turned and walked towards the subway station.
His steps were steady.
Just a little slower than before.