The lecture hall was on the cruise ship's third deck. Normally a theater, it had been temporarily converted into a venue for a career development seminar today. Rows of red folding chairs had been set out, seating about two hundred people. The aisles between the chairs were very narrow.
The air smelled of copy paper, mixed with the scent of sweat and coffee. Some people stood in the back, some sat on the steps, some leaned against the walls. Everyone was holding a cover letter. Some rolled into tubes, some in transparent document folders, some with corners already curled.
I had changed into a JK-style outfit: a short white top and a navy-blue pleated micro skirt. Dianzi had changed into a matching JK-style outfit: a light gray short top and a white pleated micro skirt.
We found a spot at the edge of the room. I brushed my fingers across the choker. The floating interface lit up, the livestream automatically activating.
"Today, this girl here is attending a career development lecture." Dianzi smiled at the camera.
[chat] JK!
[chat] Daughter looks so studious today 🎒
[chat] That back design is absolutely stunning ✨
[chat] Wifey's little cloud is so cute
On the lecture podium stood a middle-aged man in a gray suit, his hair combed very neatly. He spoke into the microphone. His voice came out of the speakers, carrying a slight metallic echo. No one in the audience applauded. Only the hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of paper.
He pointed beside the podium. On the floor was a cardboard box, its edges sealed with packing tape, the side marked with a few characters in black marker. The handwriting was scrawled, the last stroke dragging very long.
"After the lecture, everyone can place their cover letters in this box. We will organize them collectively and forward them to our partner companies."
The box's opening gaped. There were already some cover letters inside.
Dianzi glanced in the box's direction, and the camera followed. She slowly panned the camera back, scanning the audience below. In the front row, someone was folding a cover letter into a small square, stuffing it into a pocket. In the back row, a person was repeatedly smoothing out the curled corners of a cover letter with their fingers.
The lecture began. The man in the gray suit spoke the usual platitudes: cover letters should be concise, highlight key achievements, quantify results. Some in the audience were taking notes, others staring into space, others scrolling through their phones.
I noticed a young man standing not far from the cardboard box. A dark gray jacket, a black backpack, the zipper not fully closed. He kept staring at the box but didn't approach it.
Halfway through the lecture, the man in the gray suit announced a break. The crowd loosened. I temporarily turned off the livestream camera and headed toward the corridor.
Around the corner of the corridor, a young man was crouched beside a fire hydrant. He clutched a cover letter in his hand, his knuckles white. The collar of his shirt had been washed stiff, and threads were fraying at the cuffs. He heard footsteps, raised his head to glance at me, then lowered it again.
"Three months of sending these out. Not even one interview."
I crouched down to his eye level. There were two bruise-colored patches under his eyes. His lips were dried and cracked.
"If there was a way you didn't have to send cover letters anymore, didn't have to interview anymore, didn't have to worry about tomorrow anymore. Would you be willing to try it?"
He paused. "What do you mean?"
"Follow our arrangements. We'll make you happy. We'll make it so you don't have to think about anything."
He was silent for a long time. The red iron of the fire hydrant reflected in his pupils, like a small, still fire. He rolled his cover letter into a tube and stood up. The paper tube warped slightly in his grip.
"Thanks. But I still want to try again myself. Even if I lose, it'll be on my own terms."
He left. He didn't look back. The emergency light at the end of the corridor stretched his shadow very long.
Dianzi poked her head out from around the corner. "He refused?"
I nodded. "There will always be some."
We walked back. The lecture hall had filled up again. As the lecture neared its end, the man in the gray suit pointed at the cardboard box. The crowd began to move. Not surging forward, but a slow, hesitant shuffle. Some walked straight over, stuffed their cover letters into the box, and turned away. The box filled up quickly, cover letters spilling over the top.
Near the side door, a small group of foreign tourists had paused to watch the proceedings.
A merchant from the Sunken Cities, his coat embroidered with the coral-thread insignia of his trade guild, stood with his arms crossed, his jaw literally hanging open. A mouth wide enough to catch a melon, as the saying went in his port.
Beside him, a scholar from the Iron Archipelago, her spectacles glinting under the fluorescent lights, kept shaking her head and muttering to her companion. The companion, a cartographer from the same islands, had spread his hands in disbelief.
"This is unbelievable," the merchant said, loudly enough that several people turned. "They just put their futures in a box? A cardboard box?" The scholar adjusted her spectacles, staring at the overflowing pile of cover letters. "I have never seen anything like this. Never." The cartographer simply shook his head, over and over, as if no map in the world could chart what he was witnessing.
——The box's capacity is limited. But a person's expectations aren't. Expectations can be stacked indefinitely, until they collapse.
That young man finally moved. He walked to the box, pulled the sheaf of papers from his backpack, bent down, and placed his cover letter right on top of the pile. He straightened up, looked at the box, then turned and left. His shoulders were still stiff as he walked away.
After the lecture ended, the crowd poured out through the side door. Dianzi and I didn't rush to leave, waiting until the corridor was almost empty.
"Sister." Dianzi hugged me from behind, her face pressing against my back.
"What is it?"
"That man just now. The one clutching his cover letter." Her voice dropped very low. "When he refused us, he said even if he loses, it'll be on his own terms. The shell of autonomy is harder than we thought."
I turned around and gripped the back of her neck, my thumb pressing against the pulse behind her ear. "Hard shells need grinding. A few more rounds, and the cracks will show."
She said nothing, just pressed her forehead against my collarbone, her breathing slowly steadying.
After a long while, she finally lifted her head, the corner of her mouth curving upward. "This girl is okay now."
"Really?"
"Of course." She reached out and gently squeezed my fingers.
I let go of her hand and led her outside. The light at the end of the corridor was very bright. The sea sparkled in the distance.
"Sister, what do you think those people submitting cover letters will eventually discover?"
"They'll discover the box isn't the answer. And when they realize that, they'll look everywhere for another way out. We need to make sure they find us."
She said nothing more. Outside the porthole, the sea was very blue, the clouds very white.
In the distance, the cardboard box was being dragged away. The topmost cover letter fell to the floor. Someone stepped on it. The shoeprint was splayed outward, size forty-three. The packing tape on the edge of the box had split open, like a mouth.