Eight hundred and eighty.

 

I opened my year‑end bonus envelope and counted it three times.

 

Eight hundred and eighty yuan.

 

Old Liu from the next cubicle leaned over. “Yuan Ge, how much did your group get?”

 

I didn’t answer.

 

Old Liu pulled out his phone. “Our group averaged two hundred twenty thousand per person. Just got it, look.”

 

The string of numbers on the screen stabbed into my eyes, more painful than the metal shavings in the workshop.

 

I had worked at Tianchen Precision for ten years.

 

Ten years. I had handled over thirty thousand aero‑engine turbine blades. One hundred percent good rate. Not a single reject.

 

But so what?

 

“Song Yuan.”

 

Workshop director Ma Jianguo walked over with a teacup, smiling like a cheerful Buddha.

 

“Your contract expires next month. Have you thought about renewing it?”

 

I squeezed the envelope. It was thin, thinner than a supermarket gift card.

 

“Director Ma, I won’t be renewing.”

 

Ma Jianguo’s cup stopped halfway to his mouth.

 

“What did you say?”

 

“I said, I won’t be renewing.”

 

He laughed — that special laugh of a leader who thinks you’re joking.

 

“Yuan Ge, why the tantrum? If something’s bothering you, just say it. I’ll pass it up the chain —”

 

“No need to pass anything up.”

 

I wiped my dial gauge clean and put it into my own toolbox.

 

I had bought that gauge myself, eight years ago. It had been more loyal to me than the factory ever was.

 

“Tianchen’s annual net profit is three point two billion yuan. My year‑end bonus was eight hundred and eighty.”

 

I patted the envelope.

 

“Director Ma, is there really anything to talk about?”

 

The smile finally slipped off Ma Jianguo’s face.

 

“Song Yuan, you’re a manual polisher. Comparing your bonus to the R&D department’s? Have you looked at what position you hold —”

 

“Yes, I’m just a polisher.”

 

I locked my toolbox. “Then find another polisher.”

 

As I turned, I heard Ma Jianguo snort behind me.

 

“Leave, then. As if without Song Yuan, Tianchen can’t make blades anymore.”

 

I didn’t look back.

 

As I walked out of the workshop, I ran into Wang Lei from my group.

 

Wang Lei was leaning by the door, smoking. He squinted when he saw me carrying my toolbox.

 

“Yuan Ge, heading home for the New Year?”

 

“Yeah. Not coming back.”

 

Wang Lei nearly dropped his cigarette. “Not coming back? Are you serious?”

 

“Not renewing my contract.”

 

He looked at me, then at the toolbox, then laughed.

 

“Yuan Ge, think it through. Once you leave Tianchen, people like us are at the bottom everywhere. Out there, how many college graduates can’t even find a job? You’re just a vocational school grad —”

 

“Thanks for your concern.”

 

I didn’t let him finish.

 

At the factory gate, security guard Old Li poked his head out.

 

“Engineer Song, leaving?”

 

In ten years, Old Li was the only person in the whole factory who called me “Engineer Song.”

 

“Leaving, Brother Li.”

 

“Coming back?”

 

I glanced behind me.

 

The workshop was brightly lit. The exhaust fan of the polishing room hummed.

 

Ten years of calluses. Ten years of dust in my lungs. Ten years of precision, never off by a hair.

 

In exchange for eight hundred and eighty yuan.

 

“Not coming back.”