In progress.
After sending off the first interviewee, a few interviewers sipped water to moisten their throats.
They chatted casually while taking a break.
“Brother Song, don’t you think your questions are a bit too harsh on the candidates?”
The person from the finance department, an older gentleman, spoke up.
“Huh? Harsh?” Song Wuli looked puzzled.
He originally thought that since everyone was a hard-working employee, he’d just toss out some simple questions to help the interviewees score some easy points—basically giving them free points.
Math within ten, something anyone could count on their fingers, how could that be considered difficult?
They continued interviewing over a dozen more people, but it was always the same old questions.
Most of the candidates failed the two simple questions Song Wuli added.
He couldn’t understand why so many people hadn’t even reached elementary math proficiency, especially since many applicants were college graduates.
Why did only two people answer the simple math question correctly?
If they couldn’t even solve elementary math, either their diplomas were fake, or they had forgotten everything taught to them.
Such candidates were unacceptable to the copywriting team.
He wanted to help the working people, but he couldn’t help those like this.
The two who got the math question right, however, failed the second question.
The copywriting team’s work involved only a small amount of math knowledge; mostly it tested language skills.
Song Wuli’s two questions tested precisely these: one math, one language.
So far, none had fully satisfied him.
Among them were quite a few outstanding applicants, already marked by HR and finance as potential backups.
Gradually, it reached noon—it was time to eat.
HR and finance staff smoothly got up to leave.
Song Wuli, on the other hand, felt a bit strange and stayed seated.
Their eyes met, both sides equally puzzled.
Old Song finally spoke, “Are we just going to break for lunch now? What about the interviewees?”
HR understood his meaning and replied, “That’s why we call each interviewee separately, brother. We schedule specific times. We don’t gather everyone in the morning; we split them into morning and afternoon sessions.”
Song Wuli smiled awkwardly. “Sorry, this is my first time doing this. I didn’t know. I thought you just left the candidates hanging like that.”
HR said, “No worries, you’ll get used to it. Your team’s pretty famous in the company. I’m sure you’ll be back again soon.”
The three of them chatted and laughed as they left, but when they opened the door, they saw someone still sitting on the bench.
It was that Western woman he’d briefly met before—what was her name? Lita?
Seeing the three of them come out, the woman looked at them with confusion.
HR looked at her curiously and asked, “Are you here for the interview?”
They had already reviewed her information and knew she was an interviewee, but asked deliberately.
The woman nodded seriously, “Yes, sir.”
HR said, “Your Mandarin is very standard.”
She nervously replied, “I’ve practiced Mandarin for a long time.”
HR asked, “Weren’t you scheduled for the afternoon session?”
She answered, “I was worried I’d be late, so I came early.”
Awkward.
Song Wuli added, “How about… we do some overtime?”
He realized this might feel like moral coercion and was awkward to say this in front of others—refusing would be difficult.
As expected, HR and finance exchanged embarrassed looks but agreed.
They returned to continue the interviews.
It was still the two of them conducting the interviews.
Lita answered their questions fluently, as if quoting textbook answers.
She seemed quite capable.
Almost every item on the checklist was ticked—she was the best performer among all candidates.
Only a few items received different evaluations due to the interviewers’ personal experiences.
When faced with Song Wuli’s easy math question, Lita also answered correctly, earning one point.
For Old Song’s second question about commute time, she answered: “About half an hour.”
Her reply was phrased in literary Mandarin.
Song Wuli gave her a tick.
HR and finance nodded repeatedly, clearly satisfied, then asked a few more questions.
HR: “What is your expected salary?”
She replied, “3,000.”
All three interviewers were momentarily stunned.
Not because it was too high, but because it was too low.
The city’s minimum wage was just above 2,900, so her 3,000 was basically giving away free labor.
HR calmly continued, “Can you accept overtime?”
She hesitated, “I try to avoid overtime.”
This disappointed HR and finance.
They asked some more questions until the last one: “Do you have any questions for us?”
Finally, it was her chance to speak freely.
She seemed well-prepared and began, “Before anything else, I’d like to share my story. I was born in…”
“Um…” Song Wuli quickly interrupted, “Please keep it under 100 words.”
She was taken aback, took a few seconds, then regained her composure.
After simplifying, they heard her story.
She claimed her hometown was destroyed, so she left that painful place and came to the Eastern Alliance to start a new life.
Currently, to support herself, she was looking for a long-term stable job.
So a low salary didn’t matter; stability was what she wanted.
Song Wuli pondered briefly: She was playing the sympathy card!
It just felt off—this shabby company’s copywriting job, did it really deserve such self-abasement?
And 3,000 was almost the city’s minimum wage.
Was she really taking this seriously?
Old Song thought a long time and neither gave her a tick nor a cross but wrote a note: Very eager for this job, might have other reasons.
There was also an inconclusive detail—perhaps because Song Wuli had studied tea art, he felt this woman carried a faint scent of tea.
Maybe it was just an illusion.
The interview ended, and HR told her to wait for a reply.
On the way out, Song Wuli glanced at HR and finance and saw they had both given her a cross.
After seeing the woman from the other district off, Song Wuli enthusiastically joined HR and finance, offering to treat them to a meal as an apology for taking up their time.
They declined at first but eventually accepted.
They walked several blocks and found a place near a milk tea shop to eat some stir-fried dishes.
In his heart, he couldn’t let go of last night’s incident; the image of that friend kept flashing through his mind.
He wondered how he was doing.
Sitting by the window where he could see the milk tea shop’s entrance, they chatted while waiting for food.
The topic, naturally, was the interviews.
They praised some outstanding candidates and joked endlessly about the poor ones.
There were a few people who should pass the morning session, but salary expectations still needed discussion.
As the conversation flowed, it naturally turned to the most impressive interviewee.
Lita.
Sweet and beautiful, with a distinctly Western look.
Her long orange hair stood out among the sea of black hair.
What was her name again? He could never quite remember, only that it was Lita.
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The fact you can’t remember is weird already