The Secret of the Persimmon

Old Wang was known as the "honest guy" in the company. He arrived at work on the dot every day, diligently sat in front of his computer, and the sound of his keyboard tapping was just like an old sewing machine. His department was responsible for data processing, a mind-numbingly boring task. While other colleagues chatted about hot topics during lunch break, like the latest popular TV series or celebrity scandals, Old Wang would quietly munch on the steamed buns he brought from home, seemingly isolated from the world.

But recently, Old Wang had noticed something strange. His colleague, Xiao Li, was acting suspiciously every day, always tinkering with some oddly-shaped wooden lumps in the corner. Some of these wooden lumps looked like apples, some like pears, and some even like—persimmons. At first, Old Wang thought Xiao Li was playing with some new stress-relief toys, so he didn't pay much attention. Until one day, he accidentally saw Xiao Li shipping packages on an e-commerce platform, with addresses all over the country. It was then that he realized things were not as simple as they seemed.

Old Wang cautiously approached Xiao Li, pretending to ask casually, "Xiao Li, what kind of side hustle have you been up to lately? It looks quite interesting."

Xiao Li, realizing he couldn't hide it any longer, grinned, revealing his pearly white teeth. "Brother Wang, you're amazing, you actually found out." He picked up a bright red persimmon and waved it in front of Old Wang. "Look, this is a persimmon comb I made, and it's selling like crazy recently."

Old Wang's jaw almost dropped. A comb? This thing was actually a comb? He carefully looked at the "persimmon," which was engraved with fine lines, and the back was inlaid with a row of small comb teeth. It was indeed a comb.

"This... how could anyone buy this?" Old Wang asked, puzzled.

"You'd be surprised, people these days like creative things. The more unexpected it is, the more people will buy it," Xiao Li said triumphantly. "I can earn tens of thousands a month just from this."

Old Wang's heart was filled with mixed emotions. He worked his butt off every day processing data, only to earn a small salary, while Xiao Li, just by making combs in the shape of persimmons, could make a fortune. He felt as if he had been left far behind by the world.

Old Wang decided to ask Xiao Li for advice, as he also wanted to start a side hustle. Xiao Li readily agreed and enthusiastically taught him how to make persimmon combs and how to list them for sale. Old Wang also started tinkering with wooden lumps at home after work every day.

After a few weeks, Old Wang's persimmon combs were finally listed online, and he waited with anticipation for orders. However, a day passed, then two, then a whole week, and the number of orders remained zero. He was completely baffled. He had clearly followed Xiao Li's instructions, so why wasn't anyone buying them?

He couldn't help but ask Xiao Li, "Xiao Li, why isn't anyone buying my persimmon combs? Did I do something wrong?"

Xiao Li laughed, "Brother Wang, you're too honest. Do you really think people are buying combs?"

Old Wang was stunned. Not a comb? He looked at Xiao Li, confused.

"People are buying the creativity, the novelty, the contrast that the persimmon shape brings." Xiao Li patted Old Wang on the shoulder. "You made your combs too much like actual combs, and lost that absurd sense of humor."

Old Wang suddenly realized the truth. He picked up one of his own persimmon combs and carefully examined it. He realized that his "persimmons" were indeed too realistic, too neat and tidy, with no imperfections and no room for imagination.

He suddenly had an idea. He grabbed a file and began to "damage" the persimmon. He filed the surface of the persimmon unevenly, and even chipped off a corner, making it look like it had been eaten by insects. Then, he re-listed these "damaged" persimmon combs online.

The next day, orders flooded in like snowflakes. Old Wang was overjoyed, he had finally found his path to "wealth".

However, when he prepared to expand production, he found that he couldn't recreate that "just right" level of damage. The persimmons he made were either too perfect or too ugly, and there was no longer that strange sense of balance.

Old Wang fell into deep confusion. He looked at the mountain of wooden lumps and felt more lost than ever. He suddenly realized that he himself seemed to be swept up in this absurd trend, and what he was pursuing was perhaps no longer about making money, but an indescribable "reasonable" absurdity.

He picked up a persimmon comb, looked in the mirror, combed the little hair he had left, and smiled a helpless but slightly relieved smile. Perhaps this was the real "secret of the persimmon," a truth about absurdity, a paradox carefully wrapped up, and he was just an ordinary person who had accidentally discovered this secret but was powerless to change it.