Old Wang stared at his phone screen, his finger hovering stiffly above the "Send" button. In the WeChat group, relatives and friends were sending New Year greetings with great enthusiasm, and various red envelopes flew across the screen. This year, he was chosen by his company to be the executor of the "New Year's Gift" event. To put it bluntly, it was to send digital red envelopes to clients and partners using the company's newly developed AI red envelope system.

"Brother Wang, it's time to send them!" said his colleague Xiao Li beside him, his tone laced with excitement. "This time, we're going to give users a 'surprise' and let everyone feel the power of technology!"

"Beep beep," the phone screen lit up, with a New Year's blessing notification from the company's internal AI assistant, "Xiao Ling": [Dear Mr. Zhang, thank you for sticking to your post on New Year's Eve. Here is a custom AI blessing for you: Wishing you a new year with no bugs in your code, doubled performance, a sturdy hairline, and early financial freedom! - From the DeepSeek AI team].

Xiao Zhang looked at the slightly rigid blessing on the screen, and a self-deprecating smile stretched across his lips. This was the third consecutive year he was working overtime at the company on New Year's Eve. The office was empty, with only him and the "clatter" of the keyboard. The sounds of fireworks faintly carried in from outside, making the silence here feel even more like a tomb.

Zhang Wei, an inconspicuous programmer in a cubicle, has recently found himself a "celebrity." To be precise, a "net god." It all started with a post he made on an anonymous forum ten years ago. Several hundred words, it accurately predicted every program of this year's Spring Festival Gala, from the opening dance to the midnight chimes, even including a celebrity's lip-syncing being exposed by the audience.

Old Zhang stood in front of the mirror, carefully applying foam to his hair. Today was National Hair Washing Day, a new regulation issued by the "Better Life Promotion Committee" aimed at "enhancing the national spirit." Old Zhang didn't quite understand the connection between spirit and hair washing, but he was a law-abiding person, after all, it was related to his personal credit score.

He lived in an old residential area, where the water pressure had always been unstable. To ensure a good hair washing effect, he had turned on the tap half an hour early, accumulating half a bucket of cold water. Now the hot water supply was normal, but the temperature felt inconsistent, like the unpredictable policy.

Old Wang was holding a bowl of instant noodles, his eyes glued to the screen. The Spring Festival Gala was in the middle of a skit, Shen Teng's familiar face contorted as he tried to elicit laughter from the audience. But Old Wang thought this year's skit seemed a bit weak, the jokes were awkward, even forced. He put down his chopsticks, picked up the remote, and habitually opened the bullet comments.

Zhang Qiang was the chosen one. Not because he was handsome, nor because he was talented. It was purely because he was ordinary enough, a regular office worker in Beijing for five years, over thirty, unmarried, and unable to snag a ticket home for the Chinese New Year.

The Spring Festival Gala directing team had launched a "time capsule" project, claiming to select fragments of ordinary people's lives, package them into data streams, and project them onto the future Spring Festival Gala stage, so that future audiences could see "us" and understand "us." Zhang Qiang found it intriguing, so he signed up.

On New Year's Eve, Xiaoming's family sat in front of the television, not to watch the Spring Festival Gala, but to wait for a phone call.

Old Li is the owner of a community print shop. Before the Spring Festival, he introduced a machine called the "New Year Greeting Slogan Generator." This thing wasn't large, looking like an oversized calculator, with the words "New Year Blessings, One-Click Generation" flashing on the screen. Old Li didn't expect to get rich from it; he just wanted something novel to bring some fun to the neighborhood.

On the first day, customers flocked in. Someone asked for "newlywed blessings," and the machine spat out, "Wishing you a son soon, two children in three years." Someone wanted "auspicious words for the Year of the Snake," and the machine replied, "May the Year of the Snake bring you great fortune, dominate your area, and be flooded with wealth!" People found it novel and readily paid for it, seeking good luck. Old Li happily collected the money, thinking that this machine was quite fun, at least better than his old, outdated printer.

Old Wang was carried into the bank.

He lay on a makeshift stretcher, his old cotton-padded coat emitting a musty smell, his thin, bony hands covered in age spots. Several young, strong sons, sweating profusely, carried him carefully, as if they were carrying a fragile porcelain. Li, the bank lobby manager, quickly approached, his professional smile becoming a bit stiff.

Old Li's biggest hobby after retiring was playing Chinese chess with his old buddies in the community pavilion. Today, however, he seemed a bit absent-minded.

"Old Li, you're playing chess like you've lost your soul." Old Wang pushed up his reading glasses, staring at Old Li's lonely "cannon" on the chessboard.