The Self-Cultivation of a Reborn Massage Therapist

Chapter 298 Live Broadcast (Part 1)

That day, before dawn, Wang Xiulan arrived at the familiar Workshop No. 7.

Compared to this place, the new workshop and the three imported electronic jacquard machines running in parallel within it seem like a dream.

Workshop No. 7 has no generous night shift allowance, no mandatory 15-minute paid rest after two hours of work, no rest room, and no free tea or hot meat buns.

In Workshop No. 7, the air was filled with a murky smell of cotton wool and machine oil. The lighting was dim, and the old domestic looms looked like rows of steel monsters, emitting deafening, arrhythmic roars.

Wang Xiulan returned to her most basic post – “inspecting broken wires”.

Her job involves shuttling back and forth between three production lines, each fifty meters long.

The eyes must be fixed on the thousands of rapidly moving shuttles, and once a broken thread is found, one must rush over immediately and reconnect the thread as quickly as possible without stopping the machine.

This was a huge drain on both her eyesight and physical strength. The intense patrols made her dizzy, and the piercing noise caused her constant tinnitus.

Sweat trickled down her forehead, soaking her mask and sticking to her face, causing an itchy and stuffy feeling. Less than two hours into her work, her lower back began to ache slightly; that familiar, aching, worn-out sensation had returned.

Here, no one cares about your skills, only your speed. A foreman with an indistinct face stood at the end of the aisle, arms crossed, staring at everyone like a supervisor, his eyes cold.

The bell rang at noon, not to signal liberation, but to herald another battle.

A fifteen-minute lunch break.

Wang Xiulan practically ran towards the cafeteria, following the crowd.

There was no queue; everyone crowded haphazardly at the window, handing in their stainless steel lunchboxes.

The chef, expressionless, wielded a large ladle, slamming a spoonful of bland cabbage and tofu along with a spoonful of rice into the lunchbox with a "clatter," splashing soup everywhere.

Holding her lunchbox, she found her coworker, Sister Li, in the noisy crowd.

Sister Li is a few years older than her and is a veteran "sewing worker" in Workshop No. 7. She is responsible for sewing the woven fabric into massage clothes. She has been doing this job for ten years. Her coworkers said that Sister Li had a glorious past. They don't know why she has been working at the grassroots level for so long.

For Wang Xiulan, Sister Li was very knowledgeable, and she always gained a lot from listening to her.

At that moment, Sister Li was sitting in the corner eating heartily, with her phone propped up on the table. Several coworkers were watching her intently as they ate.

Wang Xiulan glanced at them; all of these people had been to that new workshop!
"Quick, Xiulan, come and see! That old lady is broadcasting again!" Sister Li lowered her voice, her tone a mixture of nervousness and a hint of inexplicable anticipation.

Wang Xiulan leaned closer and saw on the phone screen that the old lady named Zhou Yaqin was sitting leisurely at the entrance of the "Relaxed and Slow" shop, holding a cup of steaming flower tea in her hand.

He looked all smiles, ready to watch the show.

The title of the live stream was so arrogant it could make someone explode on the spot:

"To some people in Jin Dayang's group, it might be time to find a different spot to tread your sewing machines!"

Zhou Yaqin took a sip of tea and slowly began to speak, her tone full of mockery: "Oh, good afternoon, my fellow netizens bursting with a sense of justice! Are you tired of crying these past few days? Have you wiped away the tears you shed for Jin Dayang's coworkers? Don't worry, I have a good show for you today, I guarantee you'll laugh out loud for all the tears you shed yesterday!"

She picked up the thick document on the table and waved it in front of the camera: "First of all, thank you to Jin Dayang Textile Factory for sponsoring the trending topic, and also thank you to that unknown 'foreman' brother. Your Oscar-worthy performance almost made me believe it." A coworker nearby heard this and let out a very soft, cold laugh squeezed out from between his teeth, before burying his head in his food again.

Zhou Yaqin slammed the document on the table with a "thud," and the camera zoomed in.

"This thing is called a 'contract'. You might not be familiar with Jin Dayang's boss or the industry association bigwigs who are pressuring you behind the scenes. I'll give them to them for free today, and also teach you all a lesson."

Her slender finger tapped on a page of the contract, and she read it aloud in an exaggerated, aria-like tone:

“Listen to how ‘easy and slow’ we are! Appendix 3 of the contract, ‘Employee Welfare Guarantee Clause’. Article 1: Party A (Easy and Slow) ‘forces’ Party B (Jin Dayang) to provide dedicated line workers with salaries no less than 150% of the industry average!”

Wang Xiulan noticed that Sister Li's knuckles had turned white from gripping the stainless steel chopsticks so tightly.

“The third rule is the most outrageous!” Zhou Yaqin said with a pained expression. “We have actually ‘insanely’ stipulated that every two consecutive hours of work must be followed by at least fifteen minutes of paid rest! This is simply a stumbling block preventing our fellow workers from working twelve consecutive hours for a better life!”

This sentence made all the workers around the dining table stop eating.

No one was shocked, because they had all had those precious fifteen minutes.

At this moment, their faces showed the numbness of being slapped in the face by reality after waking from a dream. A young girl's eyes instantly reddened, but she bit her lip hard to keep the tears from falling.

"There's also a fourth point: providing free, hygienic, and nutritionally balanced meals... Oh, sorry, maybe I misunderstood 'nutritional balance.' I thought it should at least have some oil."

Everyone subconsciously glanced at the clump of yellowish cabbage in their lunchboxes, and then, without prior arrangement, turned their gaze to the foreman at the cafeteria entrance, who had his arms crossed and whose expression was beginning to turn unnatural.

On her phone, Zhou Yaqin abruptly changed the subject, directing her criticism at the audience watching on screen:

"Now, I want to ask those netizens who were so indignant yesterday, how do you feel? Does it feel good to have your sympathy used as a weapon? A brain is a good thing, and I advise everyone to bring it with you when you go online!"

Finally, she flashed a bright smile at the camera, but her words were chillingly cold:

"As for Jin Dayang's management and that 'movie star' gentleman, please take a look at Article 246 of my country's Criminal Law. Defamation can carry a maximum sentence of three years. I've heard that the sewing machines in prison are quite easy to operate."

In the crowded and noisy canteen, the air was filled with the greasy steam of cheap dishes and the smell of sweat from thousands of bodies squeezed together.

The clanging of stainless steel plates against the long table, the scraping sound of chopsticks shoveling food, and the clamor of workers complaining or laughing at the top of their lungs gradually thinned out and eventually disappeared as the old lady's live broadcast continued.

The chopsticks paused in mid-air, the chewing motions became slow and mechanical, and finally stopped completely. People stopped talking, but simply looked up, their gazes sweeping across their own phone screens and the faces of their coworkers around them, who were also holding their phones.

Thousands of workers and thousands of eyes are focused on those small, glowing screens.

Only the buzzing of the old exhaust fans on the canteen ceiling proved that time had not stood still.

The foreman's impatience had long been replaced by deep doubt.

He frowned, unable to comprehend the sudden collective silence. He strode over to the nearest table, about to reprimand them.

Just then, he clearly heard Zhou Yaqin's crisp yet cold voice coming from a cell phone: "...Now, let's talk about brains. Boss Jin, and everyone standing behind you, let me guess what you're planning..."

(End of this chapter)