The New Dispatch Worker

On the morning of check-in, the Support Team’s seating area was in the southwest corner of the Production Department office, separated from the restroom by a single aisle. The air always carried the smell of cleaning agents. Chen Mo set his backpack down on a wobbly desk. The surface was covered in sticky-note residue left by the previous user—like half-peeled Band-Aids that hadn’t been cleaned off properly.

“Your computer’s over here,” said Specialist Zhang, who was handling his onboarding. She pointed to a desktop monitor with yellowed bezels. “The login credentials are on a piece of paper. Set them up yourself. Later, the Support Team lead will come to get you.”

“Thanks,” Chen Mo said.

Specialist Zhang gave a curt nod and walked away, as if completing an unnecessary task. Chen Mo sat down and pressed the power button. The fan roared like it was about to take off. While the machine booted, he looked around.

The Support Team area had six desks in total. Two were empty, and three others were occupied. All three were dispatched workers—he could tell from the documents on their desks and the color of their ID badges. They each kept their heads down, working without glancing up. In the corner was one more desk, occupied by a woman in a white blouse, around thirty-five, with short hair and thin-rimmed glasses. Her desk nameplate read “Lin Jiahui.”

Xiao Lin.

Chen Mo remembered that name. In the materials Old Zhou had given him, she was listed as a senior employee in the Production Department. According to the file, she’d been in the department for seven years. Three years ago, she had openly opposed one of Li Zonghan’s proposals. After that, she was transferred to the Support Team, changed from a regular employee to a “support role”—effectively sidelined.

He took another look at her. She was organizing a stack of documents, her movements practiced but her expression tense, like a snail ready to retreat into its shell at any moment.

The computer finally finished booting. Chen Mo logged in with the credentials from the paper. The screen showed a Windows XP desktop, with Mingyang Technology’s logo as the background. He opened the internal system and saw his own basic info—“Chen Mo, Admin Specialist, Dispatched.” The photo was a headshot with a blank expression.

“New guy?”

A voice came from behind. Chen Mo turned. A middle-aged man stood there, wearing a light blue shirt with a loose collar, holding a stack of documents. His nameplate read “Support Team Lead Liu Dehua”—Chen Mo almost laughed out loud. It was really Liu Dehua, no joke. He should be singing instead, he thought to himself.

“Yeah, first day,” Chen Mo said, standing up.

“Oh, good.” Team Lead Liu flipped through the papers. “You’re… Chen Mo? Admin specialist for the Support Team, handling paperwork and data organization. Have you done similar work before?”

“A bit,” Chen Mo said vaguely. “I worked in admin at an electronics factory before.”

“Good enough.” Team Lead Liu didn’t seem interested in digging deeper. He pointed toward Xiao Lin. “For now, follow Lin Jiahui. She’ll show you the ropes. Find me if you have any issues.”

Then he left, like completing a standard operating procedure.

Chen Mo sat back down and looked at Xiao Lin. She was typing, head down, showing no sign of acknowledging him. He decided to take the initiative—after all, blending in was step one.

He walked over to her desk, keeping his tone as harmless as possible. “Hi, I’m Chen Mo, first day today. Team Lead Liu said I should follow you for now. Is there anything I can help with?”

Xiao Lin looked up. Her eyes scanned him cautiously for a few seconds. It wasn’t curiosity—it was assessment. Is this guy safe? Could he be sent by Li Zonghan?

“Take the desk next to mine,” she finally said, her voice low. “I’ll give you a process flow first. Read it, and if you have questions, ask me.”

She pulled a photocopied sheet from her drawer and handed it to him. Chen Mo took it and returned to his seat. The process flow was a standard SOP for Mingyang Technology’s internal paperwork. For him, the content wasn’t the point. The point was to get Xiao Lin to talk more.

He spent the morning reading through it, pretending to be unfamiliar with the system and asking her a few questions. Her answers were short, as if she were rationing her words. But Chen Mo noticed a detail: every time she answered, she would subconsciously glance toward Li Zonghan’s office.

That office was at the far end of the Production Department, with glass partitions and half-drawn blinds. Occasionally, Li Zonghan would walk out, stand at the door, and talk to the section managers. His voice wasn’t loud, but everyone’s ears perked up. His smile seemed measured—standard arc but no warmth—while his eyes scanned like a predator hunting.

At lunch break, most employees headed to the cafeteria. Only Chen Mo and Xiao Lin remained in the Support Team area. She was still organizing files, not leaving.

Chen Mo decided to test the waters. He stood up, pretending to get water, and as he passed her desk, he casually said, “Not going to lunch?”

“I brought my own,” she replied without looking up.

“Oh.” Chen Mo filled his cup and went back to his seat, not pushing further. Too much pressure would make her even more guarded. He needed time.

The afternoon’s work was organizing a stack of expired purchase orders. Chen Mo flipped through the yellowed pages. On the surface, he was filing them; in reality, he was familiarizing himself with Mingyang Technology’s procurement process and approval hierarchy. He noticed something interesting: most orders were signed off by Li Zonghan, but the final approval line had a name—“Qian Dafu.” Boss Qian? The owner of Supai Human Resources? Why would a temp agency owner appear in the approval column of purchase orders?

He silently memorized the name.

Near the end of the day, Xiao Lin finally spoke to him unprompted.

“Chen Mo.” She stood by his desk, her voice very low. “Do you… know Deputy Manager Li?”

Chen Mo’s heartbeat didn’t accelerate. He didn’t even twitch an eyebrow, as if she’d told a boring joke. He looked up with a confused expression. “Deputy Manager Li? The one in Production? No, I don’t. I just got here today.”

Xiao Lin stared at him for a few seconds, as if verifying he wasn’t lying. Then she dropped her head, her voice even softer. “Be careful. He’s not… very nice to dispatched workers.” As she said it, her fist unconsciously clenched.

“What do you mean?”

Xiao Lin didn’t answer. She turned and walked back to her desk, starting to pack up.

Chen Mo watched her retreating figure and filed that note away. Her willingness to warn him showed that her resentment toward Li Zonghan had reached a tipping point—she just wasn’t ready to say more. This was a crack, but it needed time to widen.

Quitting time came. Chen Mo packed his backpack and prepared to leave. As he passed Li Zonghan’s office, he glanced through the half-drawn blinds. Li Zonghan was still there, on the phone, his expression relaxed, his tone cheerful. Chen Mo couldn’t hear the conversation, but he could tell the call wasn’t with anyone inside the company.

He didn’t pause. He walked straight out of the office.

He stood outside Mingyang Technology’s main entrance for a moment, making sure no one was following him, then turned into the convenience store next door. He bought a bottle of water, found a seat by the window, and took out his phone.

He made a call.

“Hey, it’s me,” Chen Mo said. “First day done, initial observation complete. Li Zonghan’s office is at the far end of the Production Department. I’ve confirmed the safe’s location.”

“And the password?” Old Zhou’s voice came through.

“Not yet. Need time.”

“No rush. Any discoveries?”

“A name showed up on the purchase orders—Qian Dafu. The owner of Supai Human Resources?”

There was a pause on the other end.

“Qian Dafu is the head of Supai Human Resources and also one of Mingyang Technology’s suppliers,” Old Zhou said. “He’s also Li Zonghan’s golf buddy.”

“Supplier?” Chen Mo frowned. “Why would a temp agency owner appear in the approval column of purchase orders?”

“What do you think?”

Chen Mo didn’t answer. He recalled the stack of orders from the afternoon. Qian Dafu’s name appeared in the last column—“Approved by Special Vendor.” Why would Mingyang Technology’s special vendor approval slot be stamped by a temp agency owner?

“This case is more complicated than I thought,” Chen Mo said.

“Yes,” Old Zhou replied, his voice calm as if discussing the weather. “That’s why I said you need time.”

“I know.”

Chen Mo hung up and took a sip of water. The convenience store’s automatic doors kept opening and closing, people coming and going without noticing him. He looked out the window at the Mingyang Technology building. Lights were turning on one by one, like a giant honeycomb.

The next morning, Chen Mo arrived ten minutes early. Only Xiao Lin was in the Support Team area, making coffee.

“Morning,” Chen Mo said.

“Morning.” This time, Xiao Lin didn’t avoid his eyes. “Did you… get used to things yesterday?”

“Not bad. I finished the process flow. Should be able to start working today.”

Xiao Lin nodded, hesitated, then added, “Did you… notice that our department is rolling out a ‘Temp Workforce Optimization Project’ recently?”

“I heard Team Lead Liu mention it,” Chen Mo said. “Something about switching to a new temp agency?”

“Yes.” Xiao Lin’s voice dropped even lower. “Deputy Manager Li brought in a company called ‘Supai Human Resources,’ saying it would lower costs. But… I’ve heard that company has issues.”

“What kind of issues?”

Xiao Lin glanced around, making sure no one else was nearby, then said, “I heard from dispatched workers who quit that the company delays their salaries. And…” she paused, “Deputy Manager Li seems to be interviewing those workers individually, one by one.”

Chen Mo’s heartbeat finally picked up. Individual, private interviews with dispatched workers—that was exactly a violation of Article 17-1 of the Labor Standards Act. If he remembered correctly, that regulation prohibited the client company from individually interviewing dispatched workers during the term of the dispatch contract. The only legal method was a collective “workplace environment briefing.”

“Are you sure?” Chen Mo asked.

“I… I’m not sure,” Xiao Lin lowered her head. “Just rumors. But…” she looked up, a flicker of bitterness in her eyes, “a lot of things in this department aren’t ‘just rumors.’”

Chen Mo didn’t press. He nodded and said, “Thanks for telling me. I’ll be careful.”

Xiao Lin didn’t say more. She turned and went back to her desk.

Chen Mo sat down and turned on his computer. His mind was racing, organizing information. Li Zonghan brought in Supai Human Resources, individually interviewed dispatched workers, suspected of violating Article 17-1. At the same time, Qian Dafu’s name appeared on purchase orders, suggesting a possible under-the-table arrangement between Li Zonghan and Qian Dafu. If he could get evidence, he could use that weakness to make Li Zonghan trip in front of upper management.

But where was the evidence?

He remembered the safe in Li Zonghan’s office. Yesterday when he passed by, he’d glimpsed the lock—an electronic keypad, four digits. Following common sense, someone like Li Zonghan probably wouldn’t use a very complicated code. Maybe a birthday, wedding anniversary, or… some number meaningful to him.

Chen Mo’s phone vibrated. He opened it. A message from Old Zhou: “Qian Dafu’s info has been sent to your email. Stay safe.”

He put away the phone and started working. The morning passed quickly. He helped Xiao Lin organize two reports, ran a delivery to the General Affairs Department, and even went to the cafeteria to help carry drinks. These odd jobs let him move around freely while observing the office layout and camera positions.

At lunch break, he went to the cafeteria again. This time he didn’t sit in a corner. He chose a spot where he could clearly see Li Zonghan. Li Zonghan was sitting with a few section managers, chatting. He laughed heartily, but that laugh, like Chen Mo remembered—fake, calculating, like a mask glued to his face.

Chen Mo noticed a detail: Li Zonghan’s phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, and his expression instantly turned serious. He stood up, walked to a corner of the cafeteria, and answered, his voice very low. But Chen Mo still caught a few keywords: “Boss Qian,” “that batch of goods,” “don’t let the company know.”

Chen Mo filed those keywords away. Boss Qian—Qian Dafu. That batch of goods—what goods? Don’t let the company know—clearly nothing good.

He finished his lunch and returned to his desk. Xiao Lin was already there, sorting a document. When she saw Chen Mo come back, she hesitated, then spoke again.

“Chen Mo.”

“Hm?”

“Do you… think Deputy Manager Li has been under a lot of pressure lately?”

Chen Mo looked up, feigning confusion. “I just got here yesterday, how would I know?”

“Yeah.” Xiao Lin lowered her head. “Forget I said anything.”

But she didn’t really let it go. After a few seconds of silence, she added, “I heard that the general manager’s office has been auditing the department’s procurement records. Deputy Manager Li has been working overtime the past few days, seems like he’s organizing something.”

Chen Mo’s heartbeat quickened. Procurement records—that was exactly the tool Li Zonghan had used to frame him years ago. If the general manager was auditing procurement records, it meant upper management was already noticing Li Zonghan’s problems. This was a good opportunity.

“Oh?” Chen Mo pretended to ask casually. “Really? I thought the deputy manager usually left on time.”

“He used to,” Xiao Lin said. “But this past week, he’s been staying until after nine every night.”

Chen Mo nodded and didn’t ask further. He lowered his head and continued organizing files. But his mind was already planning the next step.

If Li Zonghan had been working late, that meant there might be an opportunity to access his office safe. As long as he could find a chance to get in, he could try the password—or find other evidence.

He remembered the electronic keypad on the safe from yesterday. Four digits. According to psychological statistics, most people use birthdays or anniversaries as passwords. Li Zonghan’s birthday was in the materials Old Zhou gave him—April 15th. 0415. If that was the password, then after work today, he might have a chance to try it.

But the risk was high. If the password was wrong, the alarm might go off, or the safe might lock him out. He needed more concrete information.

The afternoon work was lighter—mostly organizing filing cabinets. The cabinets were in a corner of the office, not far from Li Zonghan’s office. Chen Mo pretended to look for documents while keeping an eye on Li Zonghan’s office. The files were older than him; turning the pages sounded like sighs—like the air conditioner in Old Zhou’s office.

Near the end of the day, Li Zonghan took a phone call and then left his office in a hurry. Chen Mo noticed that he didn’t lock the door when he left.

This was an opportunity.

Chen Mo pretended to go to the restroom, passing by Li Zonghan’s office door. He quickly scanned inside—the office was empty. The safe was against the wall beside the desk. The electronic keypad showed four numbers: 0415.

His heart skipped a beat.

0415—not only was it Li Zonghan’s birthday, it was also his own birthday.

Chen Mo didn’t stop. He walked into the restroom, closed the door, and took a deep breath. 0415—if the password was really that simple, he could act tonight. But he couldn’t rush. If Li Zonghan came back and found the safe had been opened, it would alert the enemy.

He needed the perfect timing—a moment when Li Zonghan wouldn’t suspect a thing.

Chen Mo left the restroom and returned to his desk. Xiao Lin was already packing up to leave. She glanced at him, seeming to want to say something but holding back.

“See you tomorrow,” Chen Mo said.

“See you tomorrow,” Xiao Lin replied, her voice carrying an unreadable emotion.

Chen Mo packed his backpack and walked out of Mingyang Technology’s main gate. The sky had darkened; streetlights were on. He stood at the entrance and looked back at the building. The light in Li Zonghan’s office was still on—he’d come back and was working overtime.

Chen Mo didn’t linger. He turned into the convenience store, bought a bottle of water, and sat by the window. He took out his phone and sent a message to Old Zhou: “Safe password appears to be 0415. Will confirm tonight.”

Old Zhou replied with one word: “Good.”

Chen Mo put away his phone and took a sip of water. He stared at the Mingyang Technology building through the window. One by one, the lights went out, until only the one in Li Zonghan’s office remained.

In his mind, he began the countdown.

When that light finally went out, it would be time to move.