At six o'clock in the morning, the sun has not yet completely dispelled the fog on the edge of the city. In the "Starlight Hotel" near the university town, the laundry room on the first floor is already bustling. There are no business people in suits and ties, nor are there tired travelers, just a group of plainly dressed college students. They skillfully operate the coin-operated washing machines, stuffing bags of dirty clothes inside.

Li Ming is one of them. His movements are smooth, obviously not his first time here. He wears black-rimmed glasses, and his eyes show a tiredness that doesn't match his age. He expertly operates his phone, paying for the laundry, his actions carrying a sense of mechanical repetition. Today, he's wearing a light blue T-shirt with a small line of text printed on the front: "Reject Internal Competition, Starting with Me." This line seems particularly ironic in this setting.

Old Li is the night security guard at this chain hotel. His daily job involves strolling around and occasionally dealing with minor disputes, such as guests getting drunk and throwing up in the hallway. Recently, he noticed a strange phenomenon: young, student-looking individuals, carrying bulging bags, would check in and head straight for the hotel's laundry room.

At first, Old Li thought the students were facing emergencies during their travels and needed to wash clothes. But after several consecutive days of this, he felt something was amiss. After all, the hotel's laundry service wasn't cheap; how could the students afford it? He began to pay attention to these students. They typically only stayed one night, checking out the next morning with their bags of clothes all clean and dry.

Old Wang stood in front of the company's lottery machine once again, feeling complicated. This was the third time this month, and the one hundred and twenty-seventh time he had participated in the lottery since joining the company ten years ago. Inside the machine's glass cover, colorful cards floated like a school of trapped fish, interspersed with a few glittering "grand prize cards."

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 has been a bit excited recently because he has finally saved enough "sleep coins."

In this era, sleep is no longer a simple rest, but a tradable resource. Technology has advanced to the point where sleep duration can be accurately measured and extracted, and then converted into "sleep coins." People with sufficient sleep can sell their excess sleep to those who are sleep-deprived, at a significant price, of course.

Old Wang has been feeling particularly upbeat recently, as he figured he was about to take a big advantage of the government for the first time in his life. What advantage? National subsidy! The national subsidy for new energy vehicles!

He had saved half his life's money, plus his son's contribution, and finally gritted his teeth and ordered a new energy car before the New Year. The salesman, Xiao Li, patted his chest and guaranteed, "Uncle Wang, don't worry, this national subsidy will definitely come through. All the procedures are complete. Before the Spring Festival, you can drive your new car home for the New Year and show off!" Old Wang listened, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. He imagined driving his new car, the envious looks from the villagers, and how glorious he'd feel.

"Dear passengers, welcome aboard this smart train provided by Voyah Chasing Light. The final destination of this train is: Hometown.”

The sweet female voice in the broadcast was like honey, making people feel warm inside. Li Ming took off his headphones, rubbed his tired eyes. Outside the train window, the scenery was receding rapidly, as if someone had pressed the fast-forward button. He glanced at his phone, the signal was full, but there were no new messages.

Old Wang has been feeling a bit troubled lately. It's not because of his daily commute on the bus, which feels like a battlefield every morning, nor is it because of his salary that never seems to increase. It's because he has participated in the new energy vehicle lottery three times, and each time he has failed miserably. He feels like he's being toyed with by a giant, invisible machine.

Old Zhao once again saw those familiar, cold Chinese characters on the 12306 interface: "Insufficient tickets." He sighed and skillfully opened a third-party ticket-grabbing software. Sure enough, the glaring four words "Ample Tickets Available" mocked him.

This was not the first time. Every Spring Festival travel season, Old Zhao had to experience this "mystical" ticket purchasing process. He couldn't understand it. If 12306 clearly showed no tickets available, where did these third-party platforms get their "extra tickets?" Did they possess some mysterious black technology?

Old George's vegetable garden has recently become a mystery in the neighborhood. Not because he grew anything rare, but because his garden appears and disappears like a ghost.

At first, everyone thought Old George's dementia was acting up again. After all, he's in his eighties, so it's normal that he might not remember whether he'd planted anything. But gradually, people felt something wasn't right.