Cherries Eternal

Old Liu's biggest hobby after retirement is to wander around the farmers market at the entrance of his neighborhood every afternoon, picking out some fresh goodies. Recently, he's become obsessed with cherries. Those bright red fruits are just delightful to look at. But something feels off to him.

These cherries, from early winter to the Spring Festival, never seem to rot. He asked the fruit vendor, "How come these cherries last so long?"

The vendor chuckled, patting his chest and said, "Old Liu, you just don't get it, do you? It's high-tech! What age are we living in now? The preservation technology is top-notch; they can stay fresh for a whole month."

Old Liu was skeptical. He had seen fruits when he was younger; none could last that long. He wondered if these cherries had become truly "ironclad."

He started observing more consciously. Mrs. Wang, his neighbor, also bought a lot of cherries. Her grandson munched on them every day, and the leftover pits piled up into a small plastic bag. Old Liu picked up a pit, examined it carefully; the color was dark, almost black, like aged wood, yet it was smooth as jade, without a trace of decay.

The more Old Liu thought about it, the more uneasy he felt. He tried putting a few cherries in the refrigerator and a few on the balcony, wanting to see how long they would last. As a result, a month passed, and the ones in the fridge were still red and plump, while the ones on the balcony hadn't withered at all. These were not fruits, but models!

He began to suspect that these were not cherries at all, but highly realistic substitutes. He opened his phone, searched for news about "cherries not rotting," but found nothing but calm on the internet, as if everyone was already used to these "eternal" cherries.

Old Liu decided to do an experiment. He took out the largest cherry from the refrigerator and cut it open with a small knife. The moment the knife touched the flesh, he was stunned. There was no juice, no fruit fibers at the cut; instead, there was a layer of delicate, white, gel-like substance, much like medical silicone.

He gently peeled it open. Inside the gel was a tiny chip, its surface etched with dense numbers and patterns. He couldn't understand them, but felt a chill run down his spine. He realized that these were not cherries at all but electronic products disguised as fruit!

Old Liu found the vendor at the market and threw the cut-open "cherry" in front of him. The vendor, however, remained calm, smiling and said, "Old Liu, what are you doing? It's just a cherry, right? Technology is so advanced now, isn't anything possible?"

Old Liu looked at the vendor's stiff smile and felt a sudden wave of helplessness. He looked around and found that the people in his neighborhood were all munching on "cherries" without a clue, their faces beaming with satisfaction, as if they were enjoying the most delicious delicacy in the world. He felt like he was in a grand absurdist play, and he was the only conscious audience member.

He went home and threw all the remaining "cherries" in the trash. But soon he picked them up again, arranging them one by one on the table, carefully covering them with old newspapers, like treasuring some secrets. He thought that maybe one day, people would need these, to relive the taste of real fruit and genuine memories.

The next day, people in the neighborhood started talking, saying that Old Liu had gone crazy, throwing away perfectly good cherries, claiming they were fake. Old Liu just smiled, then walked to the entrance of the market again. He stared at the bright red "cherries" and thought that perhaps soon even the word "real" would become unfamiliar.

In the afternoon, sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the potted plants that Old Liu had placed on the windowsill. It was the last pot of chrysanthemums he had bought last fall. The flowers had long withered, but a few sprouts of grass had stubbornly emerged from the soil, verdant and striking. He couldn't help but smile. This was real, he thought.