Early one morning, she received a call from her assistant in Washington.
His voice sounded urgent. He explained that there had been a problem with the restaurant's full repainting project. During the work, the contractors had also painted a few rusty doors and windows. What had been intended as a casual, convenient gesture unexpectedly enraged the restaurant owner. Those old doors and windows were deliberately preserved to maintain the restaurant's character; now that they were painted over, the original "flavor" was gone, and the Loft atmosphere he had cherished was ruined. The owner not only refused to pay for the paint or labor but had also filed a lawsuit, demanding compensation and requiring Li Ming herself to appear in court.
Li Ming was silent for a moment after the call. Many things seem simple in theory, but in reality, they always turn out differently.
She spent the night arranging matters with her elder brother regarding their father and younger brother, and set off for Washington the next day.
During the trial, she spent almost every day shuttling between the courthouse and the firm. The restaurant owner remained stubborn, insisting that the doors and windows be restored to their original state and demanding a high settlement. In court, both sides explained, presented evidence, and debated point by point. Sitting there, listening to every detail being dissected, Li Ming inevitably felt exhausted. What had started as the workers taking an extra step had now been magnified under the lens of the law, and everything became far more complicated.
Her lawyer, however, stayed calm. He explained, step by step, that the doors and windows were already severely rusted, difficult to maintain, and that the workers' painting had not been an act of malice but a routine measure. After several rounds of mediation, he proposed a compromise: partially restore the doors and windows to preserve the texture of the old materials while minimizing the compensation.
After a few weeks, the owner finally agreed to the plan. Both parties signed a settlement agreement, and the matter was resolved.
The day she left the courthouse, the Washington sun was bright. Standing on the steps, Li Ming suddenly felt a weight lift off her shoulders. The lawsuit was not a major issue, but the tension that had pressed on her for days finally began to ease.
Life soon returned to its usual rhythm.
Every morning, she went to the firm, reviewed drawings, replied to emails, arranged materials and schedules, and then visited the construction site. Construction sites never looked as neat as the drawings. Workers had their habits, and foremen had their own ideas. On a previous project, one foreman had thought following the drawings was too cumbersome, so he altered the wall layout on his own—only to find the dimensions were off and had to tear everything down and start over. Those days were hectic for everyone.
Clients were not always easy to deal with either. Some would suddenly change their minds about confirmed plans; some were anxious about progress; others requested last-minute layout changes. Li Ming often found herself explaining things on-site while recalculating time and costs in her head. Sometimes, she felt this job was not just about design—it was constantly about coordinating relationships between people.
Gradually, she became accustomed to this rhythm. She spent her days shuttling between construction sites and the office, and in the evenings, she would return to her apartment, make herself a cup of tea, and sit quietly by the window. Occasionally, she would call home in Harbin, hearing a few words from her father about family matters or her younger brother's silly laughter on the phone.
Life in Washington went on this way—day after day. It seemed ordinary, yet there was always something new happening. Design, construction, disputes, rework, and, little by little, completion—many spaces in the city slowly took shape through such repetition.
And Li Ming, in these days, gradually learned how to live with reality.