Command on a Black Screen

Wang Er felt this year's spring was stickier than usual, even the wind carried a dampness, feeling like an unwiped rag against his face. He huddled in his small, north-facing room, staring blankly at the black, square block on the table—what they called a "smartphone." This gadget was his eyes, his ears, and sometimes, it seemed, his brain.

Today, this brain seemed a bit off, or perhaps, it was too sharp, making him somewhat apprehensive. A message popped up on the screen—no origin, no sender, just a line of cold, black text: "Quickly delete these APPs from your phone."

"These" which ones? Wang Er widened his eyes, scrolling down below the message for a long time, but found nothing; it failed to specify which "these" it meant. His heart lurched, as if an invisible hand had gripped it. The command was abrupt, domineering, and unquestionable, much like the official notices posted at the town gate—even if you couldn't understand the script, the sheer authority implied disaster if disobeyed.

He thought of asking his neighbor, Old Li, but Li's son had just picked him up yesterday, claiming the city air was better for retirement. He then considered asking Widow Zhang across the way, but her phone was still one of those old fossils that could only make calls and send texts; she likely wouldn't understand the troubles these "APPs" brought. Wang Er sighed, feeling like a shrimp abandoned on the beach, vast emptiness around him, only this black screen reflecting his own bewildered face.

"What on earth could it be?" he muttered, his fingers sliding unconsciously over the cold glass. The colorful icons on the screen, usually symbols of convenience and fun, now looked like lurking spies, any one of which might harbor "malicious intent." The news app? The opera app? Or the one where he could buy cheap eggs? The more he thought, the more confused he became, fine beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

He remembered Zhao Si from town, who, just the other day, had been summoned for questioning for half a day because of some "illegal software" on his phone. Zhao Si had returned completely deflated, listless, like he'd lost his soul. Wang Er shivered. He was an honest, law-abiding man running a barely surviving general store; what he feared most was "getting into trouble." That word, "trouble," felt like the Sword of Damocles hanging overhead—invisible, intangible, yet ensuring one could never truly relax.

"Delete! I must delete!" Wang Er gritted his teeth, as if making a solemn vow. But which ones? He stared at the screen intensely, as if trying to bore holes through it. The red icon was for his bank; if he deleted it, what about his money? The green one was for contacting his son far away; if he deleted it, how would his son find him? The blue one was for the weather forecast; if he deleted it, how would he know what to wear tomorrow?

Behind every icon tugged a thread, and the other end of that thread was tied to his life.

He stood up and paced around the small room, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet. Outside the window, the sky grew increasingly overcast. A few sparrows perched on the bare power lines, necks tucked in, looking as though they too were troubled by something.

"To hell with it! I'll start by deleting a few I rarely use!" he decided, as if grasping a life-saving straw. He sat back down, his fingers trembling as he selected a game icon he hadn't opened in a long time. He pressed and held; a small "×" popped up, accompanied by the words: "Delete app? This action will delete all its data."

Wang Er's heart tightened again. "All data..." He could almost see the colorful virtual characters and the "gold coins" he had painstakingly accumulated vanishing into thin air at this cold prompt. But this fear was quickly overwhelmed by another, larger fear—the fear of that baseless command, the urging to "Quickly delete." He closed his eyes, as if walking to his execution, and tapped the "×."

The icon vanished, leaving a blank space on the screen. Wang Er breathed a sigh of relief, yet also felt a piece of his heart had become empty too.

With the first one gone, the second was easier. He proceeded to delete a shopping app, a short video app, and a tool that claimed to "optimize memory." With each deletion, he felt a step closer to "safety," yet the inexplicable anxiety coiled around him like a tightening vine.

He began to observe the pedestrians on the street. Shopkeeper Liu from the neighboring store was also hunched over his phone, swiping with a furrowed brow. In the distance, near the teahouse entrance, a few idlers were gathered, pointing at a phone screen and arguing animatedly about something. A silent panic seemed to be spreading through the town's very air, carried on invisible waves.

"Did you get it too?" Wang Er couldn't help but call out to Old Wang, the postman, who was cycling past. Old Wang stopped his bike, pulled out his own phone, looking equally bewildered. "Got it. Makes no sense, no sender... says to delete something... I figured there's nothing that important on my phone, just that chess game app, so I deleted it just now." He sighed. "These days, things are getting harder and harder to understand."

Wang Er returned to his room. Looking at the considerably "cleaner" phone screen, he felt even more uneasy. Had he truly deleted "those" APPs the message referred to? What did the command actually mean? Who sent it? Why? Countless questions swirled in his head like a swarm of buzzing flies.

He suddenly felt that what he had deleted wasn't just a few app icons, but rather the fragile connections he had only recently established with this rapidly changing world. He felt stripped bare, standing naked on a desolate plain, with only the black screen that had issued the ambiguous command watching him coldly.

Night had completely fallen. The room was pitch black, save for the faint glow of the smartphone screen illuminating his face, etched with exhaustion and bewilderment. He thought that perhaps tomorrow, a new command would appear, telling him what he should download, what he should believe, what he should fear. And he, most likely, would comply.

After all, in this sticky, murky world, a sliver of false "security" was better than suffocating bewilderment. He placed the phone by his pillow and fell into a heavy sleep, dreaming of all the vanished icons, now like a legion of ghosts drifting back and forth in the emptiness of his heart.