You Can Reply. You Don’t Have to Explain.

I

Lin Zhao stared at his phone screen. The WeChat message had sat in the chat for almost forty minutes.

“How’ve you been lately? Found a job yet?”

The sender was Zhou Jianguo, a former colleague from the project department. “Old colleague” was not quite right. They had worked together for less than two years. One ran around on site in engineering. The other did budgeting in commercial. Their desks were three rows apart. Their interactions were weekly meetings and the occasional late-night takeout order. On Lin Zhao’s last day, Zhou Jianguo ran into him by the elevator, patted his shoulder, and said, “Keep in touch.” Then they never spoke again.

In those forty minutes, Lin Zhao typed three replies.

Version one: “Still looking. Keep an eye out for me if you hear of anything.” He read it twice and deleted it. That was as good as admitting he was idle. The next question would probably be “How many interviews have you had?” “The market’s pretty bad now, huh?” “What salary are you expecting?” He did not want to answer any of them.

Version two: “Just locked something down. Still going through the process. I’ll let you know once it’s confirmed.” He laughed at himself as soon as he finished typing. What process? He had not even scheduled one interview. If the man asked “Which company?” he would have to invent a company name, invent a position, then say, “You know how it is in construction. The process is slow.” One lie would need ten more to cover it.

For version three, he got halfway: “Zhou, I’ve been...” Then the cursor blinked for a long time, and he deleted the second half.

He did not know what he was struggling with.

If he did not reply, the man had at least reached out first. They were not close, but you do not turn away someone who greets you with a smile, and in this industry they would keep running into each other. If he did reply, it felt like someone lifting the curtain and taking a look inside. On his desk sat three unsent resumes. In the fridge there was half a carton of eggs and two cans of beer. He did not want anyone to know he was living like this.

In the end, he locked the screen, put the phone face down on the table, and went out to the balcony for a cigarette.

II

Downstairs, the convenience store owner was stocking instant noodles. She knew Lin Zhao. He used to come in every morning for breakfast. Lately he came less often, and when he did, it was at night. A bottle of water or a pack of cigarettes, then he left. That day she asked one extra question: “You haven’t been going to work lately, huh?”

Lin Zhao smiled. “Taking a break.”

She did not ask anything else. She turned around and hauled over another box of goods. Standing in front of the freezer, Lin Zhao thought the store owner was better at conversation than Zhou Jianguo. She asked a question. He answered. That was the end of it. She did not press him: “How long a break?” “Found your next place yet?” “Want to help me watch the store?” She tossed him the thread of conversation. He caught it. Then they each went back to their own business.

He thought, If only Zhou Jianguo had asked like that.

But he knew Zhou Jianguo probably meant no harm. A former colleague asking “Found a job yet?” was like a relative asking “When are you getting married?” The person asking might not want the answer. The person answering always felt pushed into a position where he had to explain himself.

The problem lay in those two words: explain himself.

III

Lin Zhao thought back to the year he first entered the industry, to the foreman who trained him, Old Chen.

Old Chen had worked on construction sites for more than twenty years, from construction worker to project manager. He had seen everything. Once Lin Zhao asked him, “Master, when you left your last company, did you tell anyone there where you were going?”

Old Chen was looking at blueprints. He did not even look up. “Why would I tell them?”

“Didn’t they ask?”

“They asked.” Old Chen turned a page. “If they ask, say, ‘Not settled yet.’ If they ask again, say, ‘Once it’s settled, I’ll buy you a drink.’ He says, ‘Don’t forget.’ I say, ‘I won’t.’ Done.”

At the time, Lin Zhao thought Old Chen was brushing him off. Now, sitting in his rented room staring at a WeChat message, he understood the weight of that sentence: “Why would I tell them?”

Old Chen was not cold. He still sent holiday greetings to former colleagues and gave wedding money when their kids got married. He simply knew the difference. Relationships are relationships. Where you are going is where you are going. If the relationship is close enough, you do not need to be asked. You will say it. If it is not, you do not say it even when asked. Telling is a favor. Not telling is your right.

Lin Zhao opened Zhou Jianguo’s message again. This time he did not draft anything in his head.

He replied: “Still looking around, Zhou. Once I’ve settled, I’ll buy you a drink.”

After sending it, he tossed the phone onto the sofa and went to the kitchen to fry two eggs. While the second egg was cooking, the phone buzzed. Zhou Jianguo had replied, “Sounds good, good luck.” Then the conversation stopped there. No follow-up questions. No “By the way, did you pass that certificate exam?” No “I heard so-and-so company is hiring. Want to try?”

Lin Zhao took a bite of the fried egg and thought this had not been so hard after all.

IV

But it was not over.

Three days later, Lin Zhao went to an industry networking event. It was at a hotel in the east of the city. He had not wanted to go, but the organizers said a few friends from general contracting would be there. He thought, What if there is an opportunity? So he went.

After signing in, he turned around and saw Zhou Jianguo standing by the coffee table at the refreshment area.

They both froze for a moment. Zhou Jianguo recovered first. “Hey, Lin Zhao! You’re here too!” He walked over with his coffee and added, with an ease that made Lin Zhao pause, “By the way, has your job situation been settled? You said you were still looking the other day. What about now?”

Lin Zhao’s heart skipped a beat. He understood something then. Zhou Jianguo was not deliberately pressing him. He could not remember, or rather, he did not think this was something worth remembering. To him, “Found a job yet?” was like “Have you eaten?” He had asked last time. Now they had met again, so he asked again. Nobody would take offense.

But Lin Zhao still did not want to explain his current situation by the coffee table, in front of seven or eight people in the same industry.

He smiled. “Still going through the process. Once it’s settled, I’ll tell you in detail.”

Zhou Jianguo nodded and turned to talk to someone nearby about a project they had recently won. The topic slid away, as if nothing had happened.

Lin Zhao took his cup and walked to a corner of the venue. He thought Old Chen’s line could use half a sentence more: If they ask, say “Not settled yet.” If they ask again, say “Once it’s settled, I’ll buy you a drink.” If they still ask, that is not your problem.

V

After the event, Lin Zhao ran into a subcontractor boss he had worked with before, surnamed Fang, outside the hotel.

Boss Fang offered him a cigarette. “I heard you left your old company? Where are you working now?”

Lin Zhao took the cigarette, and Boss Fang lit it for him. He took a drag and quickly ran through it in his head. Boss Fang had worked with him on two projects. The man was decent enough, but loose-lipped. At a dinner once, Boss Fang had told another contractor’s quote as a joke to a table of people.

“Looking at opportunities with a few friends,” Lin Zhao said. “Boss Fang, have you had a lot of projects lately?”

As expected, Boss Fang followed the thread. “A lot? Not at all. We can’t collect the payments...” Then he went on for ten minutes about the misery of clients delaying payments.

Lin Zhao listened, nodding occasionally, murmuring “Mm” now and then. When Boss Fang ran out of steam, Lin Zhao stubbed out his cigarette and said, “Boss Fang, I’ll get going. Let’s talk later.” Boss Fang waved. He had forgotten to ask what “opportunities” Lin Zhao was even looking at.

Lin Zhao walked to the subway station and sent Old Chen a WeChat message: “Master, that line you said back then, ‘Why would I tell them?’ I think I finally get it.”

Half an hour later, Old Chen replied with a voice message. In the background was the noise of pile driving on a construction site: “Good, if you get it. Remember: you’ve left the company. The former company’s business has nothing to do with you anymore. Where you’re going is your own business. If someone asks, you give them one sentence. If they don’t ask, you don’t say a word more. What’s dignity? Dignity is: I don’t put you in an awkward spot, and you don’t make me explain myself.”

Lin Zhao listened to the message twice.

VI

Another week passed, and Lin Zhao finally settled on a company. Not a big one, but the position fit, and the salary was twenty percent higher than his last job.

He messaged a few close friends and arranged to meet for dinner over the weekend. Then he thought for a moment and sent Zhou Jianguo a message too: “Zhou, it’s settled. Let me buy you a drink sometime.”

Zhou Jianguo replied instantly: “Congrats! Which company?”

Lin Zhao typed four words: “Tell you in person.”

Zhou Jianguo sent back an “OK” emoji.

Lin Zhao put down his phone and opened the fridge. This time it was not just eggs and beer. There were greens and tofu he had bought the day before. He put on an apron and started chopping vegetables.

Outside, the streetlights had just come on. Downstairs, the convenience store owner was watering the pothos by the door. She looked up, saw Lin Zhao busy in the kitchen, and nodded at him through the glass. Lin Zhao nodded back.

Neither asked the other, “How’ve you been lately?”

But both knew: some things did not need to be asked. One look was enough.