With the final fifteen days until the 2025 Spring Festival, the incandescent lights in the workshop burned even longer than usual. As Xiao Huang from the Administration Department re-fastened her slipped gloves for the third time, the electronic clock at the end of the assembly line skipped past nine p.m., the blue light from the monitor reflecting the fatigue on her face—this was already the fifth day that the entire office staff had been supporting the production line.

When the initial notice arrived, the printer was still churning out annual reports. "This batch of overseas orders must be cleared by the 18th," the factory director's voice vibrated through the conference room speakers. Outside, the sycamore leaves were swirling in the cold wind.

Old Zhang adjusted his glasses and quietly poured his freshly brewed goji berry tea into the wastebasket. The women in the Human Resources Department exchanged glances and silently closed the performance appraisal forms they were compiling. Half an hour later, over twenty figures who normally pounded away on keyboards and filled out reports were already dressed in dark blue work clothes.

The rhythm of the production line is far more unpredictable than Excel formulas. Xiao Ye from the Marketing Department was hit on the instep by a part on the conveyor belt on her first day. "Let me do it." Warehouse manager Lao Wang took the sorting basket from her, his calloused fingers deftly sorting the parts as if threading a needle. "I worked on the assembly line for three years back then, so this is nothing."

The workshop was always filled with the burnt aroma of instant coffee. On the fourth night, Sister Li from the quality inspection team quietly handed over a bottle of iced black tea. "The year my son took the college entrance exam, I set up a stall selling cold noodles outside the factory, sleeping only four hours a day."

" She unscrewed the bottle cap gently. "Look at that box of milk tea at the end of the production line. The boss had someone bring it from downtown, knowing young people love it." "

Unforgettable was when Xiao Chen was sealing the last box of product, discovering black dirt embedded in the cracks of his fingernails. He washed it five times but couldn't get it off. But when he saw the truck's taillights disappear at the intersection, he burst into laughter. Lao Zhang pulled out his phone to snap a group photo. Over twenty tired-looking faces appeared in the frame, each holding a half-cup of long-cold milk tea.

At the post-New Year commendation meeting, the boss's wife, Sister Sun, specifically mentioned that New Year's Eve. "We always talk about teamwork," she said, gesturing to the employees seated upright in the audience. "But a true team is made up of people in suits willing to squat on the floor to tighten screws, hands used to typing away until blisters form, and everyone knows they'll always share half a cup of their milk tea with someone in need."

When the meeting ended, everyone noticed a new pot of succulents at their workstation, with a sticky note taped to each. Sunlight filtered through the window onto the leaves, reminiscent of the warm, ever-present light at the end of the production line late that night.