My mother is a very strange person.
That was the thought I kept returning to, long after the interview was over and long after the results sheet had been pinned to the door.
Because nothing about the last two years made sense unless that first strange instruction made sense too.
Since my fourth year at university, my mother had made one request of me every single week.
Go to Uncle Lu Zhengqing’s house and clean it.
No excuses.
No missed weeks.
No half-hearted visits.
Just go.
At first, I thought it was ordinary family duty.
My uncle lived in an old residential area in the old town, in a three-bedroom home that had clearly been worn down by time.
The wallpaper looked tired.
The furniture was old.
The television in the sitting room was still an old LCD set that belonged to another era.
From the outside, he looked like a retired man enjoying a quiet life.
That was all.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing suspicious.
When I arrived, he was usually in his study with a book, or on the balcony tending his flowers with the patience of someone who had nowhere urgent to be.
He would see me, smile, and ask a gentle question.
What had I been reading lately.
What I thought about current affairs.
Whether I had kept up with my studies.
I answered politely every time.
I never imagined there was anything hidden in those questions.
I only thought he was lonely, and that the weekly cleaning was my way of helping him and, perhaps, keeping him company.
“Uncle, your study has so many books. It takes me half a day to dust them every time.”
He would always smile at that.
“Then read a little more. There is nothing wrong with that.”
I remember thinking he sounded exactly like the sort of elder who liked books for the sake of books.
But even then, there were small things I could not quite explain.
People came to see him all the time.
Some wore uniforms.
Some arrived in expensive cars.
Some brought fine tea and sat with him for long stretches of time.
My mother would always warn me in advance.
“Keep your head down. Don’t talk too much.”
So I did.
I stayed quiet, cleaned the shelves, wiped the table, watered the plants if needed, and left without asking questions.
For two years, I thought I was simply a dutiful niece helping an elderly relative.
Then came the civil service interview.
When the written results were released and I saw that I was third in the city, my mother was calmer than I was.
She did not celebrate loudly.
She did not make a fuss.
She only told me to prepare well and not to be nervous.
So I did exactly that.
On the day of the interview, I wore a neat navy suit and tied my hair back so tightly that it felt severe.
The waiting room was full of people who looked equally prepared, equally serious, and equally determined not to show their nerves.
The girl beside me was Zhao Wanru.
She was dressed beautifully, with perfect make-up and a Cartier Ballon Bleu on her wrist that flashed every time she moved.
She glanced at me and asked whether I was also applying for the same role.
When I told her yes, she asked my written score.
“Third.”
Her mouth curved just slightly.
“I was first.”
I said nothing.
She turned to the person beside her and lowered her voice in a way that was not actually quiet at all.
“I heard the head of the interview panel today is Deputy Director Zhou from the city bureau. My father has had dinner with him before.”
The other candidate leaned in immediately.
“So you already know people on the inside?”
Zhao Wanru gave a small, confident smile.
“An interview is never only about ability. Connections matter too.”
She looked at me when she said it, as though she expected me to feel embarrassed.
I did not react.
At that point, I was still too calm to understand what was coming.
Then my name was called.
I walked through the door and into the interview room.
Five judges sat in a straight line.
And in the middle, with his familiar face and steady expression, sat Zhou De Sheng.
Deputy Director Zhou.
The man who came to my uncle’s house at least twice a month, always carrying tea.
To his left sat Li Chang He, Head Li, the same man who had once sat in my uncle’s living room and accepted tea from my own hands.
Second from the right was a younger man named Gu Yan Shen.
He was the one who came most often.
Every time he visited, he called my uncle “teacher”.
The instant they saw me, all three of them changed.
Not dramatically.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
But I noticed.
Zhou De Sheng cleared his throat.
Li Chang He lifted his water glass and took a slow sip.
Gu Yan Shen held my gaze for a few seconds before looking away.
I stood in the answering area and felt my thoughts sharpen into a single line.
My mother had told me to clean my uncle’s house every week.
Was that really only cleaning?
“Please answer the first question.”
Zhou De Sheng’s voice was calm, almost cold.
It was nothing like the warm tone he used while drinking tea in my uncle’s home.
I took a breath, forced myself to steady my voice, and began.
One question after another.
I answered them all.
And the whole time, I never once looked directly at the three people I recognised.
When it was over, I walked out with my heartbeat still too loud in my ears.
Zhao Wanru was waiting in the corridor, leaning against the wall with the confidence of someone who had already decided how the results would look.
“How was it?” she asked.
“Alright.”
She gave a short laugh.
“Alright? In this kind of interview, even a perfect answer may be useless. What matters is whether—”
She stopped speaking.
The results had been posted.
We both stepped closer.
First place in the interview: Su Nian — 92.6 points.
Second place: Zhao Wanru — 87.3 points.
A five-point gap.
The smile left Zhao Wanru’s face at once.
“Impossible…”
She stared at the paper for several seconds, then turned sharply to me.
“You know someone inside, don’t you?”
I met her gaze.
“No.”
“Then how is that score possible?”
“I think it is very possible.”
She pressed her lips together and said no more.
I left the building with the notice still burning in my mind.
On the way home, I called my mother.
“Mum, I’ve finished the interview.”
“What were the results?”
“First place.”
She did not sound surprised.
She did not even sound pleased in an obvious way.
“All right,” she said. “Come home for dinner.”
That was all.
No excitement.
No relief.
No questions.
Just the same calm voice as always.
When I got home, I put my bag down and sat at the dining table.
“Mum.”
“Yes?”
“What exactly does Uncle do?”
Her chopsticks paused for only a moment.
“He is still your uncle,” she said. “A retired official.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“Then why were three people in the interview room today people I have seen at his house?”
My mother set her chopsticks down and looked at me.
“Eat your rice.”
“Mum…”
“Why ask so many questions? You passed on your own ability. You answered the questions yourself. What does that have to do with anyone else?”
I said nothing.
Because on one level, she was right.
The score was mine.
The answers were mine.
No one had spoken for me in that room.
And yet the feeling would not leave me.
The visits to my uncle’s house.
The careful silence.
The visitors who arrived and left without explanation.
The way my mother kept pushing me back there week after week.
The way those three judges had reacted when they saw me.
None of it fit together neatly.
And that was the point.
The harder I thought about it, the less I believed that my mother had simply been making me clean an old man’s house.
There was something she had never told me.
Something my uncle had never said out loud.
Something those men in the interview room already knew.
I sat there with my bowl of rice going cold in front of me, and for the first time in my life I felt the truth standing just beyond the door, waiting for someone to open it.
