Old Wang's greatest joy after retirement was organizing his "legacy list." This wasn't a traditional will, but a detailed list of every small item in his life: a tea set used for thirty years, each cup with a different chip, like the irreparable regrets in his life; a pile of expired newspapers, recording the boring news of each day, like his monotonous life day after day; and a box of matchboxes he collected in his youth, the patterns on which always reminded him of those blurred past events.

He lived in a small bachelor apartment, the walls a mottled yellow, the window looking out at towering skyscrapers. Old Wang always sat by the window, sipping his strong tea, staring at his list in a daze. The list had been updated dozens of times, the writing becoming denser and denser, like his life, increasingly complicated yet increasingly empty.

Old Wang died, on the winter solstice night, as silently as the withered green ivy on his bedside, frozen and lifeless. No one knows the exact cause of his death, just as no one knows if he ever loved anyone in his life. All he left behind were the cold numbers in his bank account: four million three hundred thousand yuan, and a thirty-square-meter old apartment in the city center.

As usual, Old Wang's "estate" was put on public notice. The notice board was covered with dense small print, like a giant spiderweb, trying to capture anyone related to Old Wang. However, a month passed, then two, then half a year, and apart from a few routine inquiries, no one came forward to claim this “windfall.”

Lao Zhang’s workstation was always piled high with delivery boxes. He was an operations assistant at a live-streaming e-commerce company, and his daily work consisted of unpacking, sorting, and taking photos to send to his colleagues in the live-streaming room. Recently, the company had been heavily promoting a product called “Original Cut Beef Rolls,” which had been selling like hotcakes. The beef roll deliveries he unpacked each day were enough to fill half the office.

Lao Zhang found it a bit strange. The company’s warehouse wasn’t that big, so where did all these beef rolls come from? Curious, he picked up a box. The packaging was exquisite, with the red characters "Original Cut" particularly eye-catching. When he opened it, a rich, meaty aroma wafted out, and the texture looked real. But he felt that something was off, maybe he was just desensitized to the smell of beef after unpacking so many boxes recently.

Zhang Qiang wakes up at seven o'clock every morning, not by the alarm clock, but by the notifications pushed by the "project reminder" app he set. This app is mandatory for every employee to install, set up by his company to facilitate the smooth progress of the "world-class project".

Zhang Qiang still doesn't understand what exactly the so-called "world-class project" is. Inside the company, the narrative shifts; sometimes it's AI intelligent evolution, and other times it’s metaverse infrastructure. In short, they are all concepts that sound grand but are hard to grasp. His job, simply put, is to spend every day in front of the computer screen, navigating through obscure code and data streams, like playing a maze game that can never be solved.

When Old Wang walked into the "Step by Step Higher" clinic, his heart was pounding. At a height of one meter sixty-eight, it had become the biggest obstacle in his life. Failed blind dates, setbacks at work, even the dancing grannies in the community would look at him with eyes that seemed to say, "How can you be so short?" He gritted his teeth and decided to try this unconventional method of "bone lengthening."

The clinic was decorated in a luxurious and glittering style, more like a high-end club than a hospital. The receptionist had a sweet smile, addressing him with "sir" at every turn, making Old Wang feel lightheaded. He was led into a small room where a doctor in a white coat was waiting for him. The doctor was young, wearing wire-rimmed glasses, looking refined and scholarly.

"Sigh, failed again." Zhang Wei sighed softly, looking at herself in the mirror.

Master Li had been working at "Old Chengdu" hot pot restaurant for seven years, making him a veteran. His expertise wasn't in stir-frying spices, but in recognizing angelica. The angelica used in the restaurant was all hand-picked by him. He said that good angelica has a special fragrance, and smelling it for a long time can calm your heart.

He was responsible for the miscellaneous tasks in the back kitchen. His daily job was to spread out bundles of angelica, pick out the ones with poor appearance, and then slice them according to the standard and dry them. When slicing angelica, he was always very serious, as if he were sculpting a work of art. At this time, he would always hum the songs he loved to sing when he was young, songs he learned when he was a soldier. He had long forgotten the lyrics, but the tune was imprinted in his bones.

Old Wang first met "Little Wang" when he was skillfully assembling a robotic arm. Old Wang remembered that at that time, Little Wang's eyes still had a hint of wildness that didn't belong to this place. That was Little Wang, who had just stepped down from the "Dian Han" position. The company, in order to appease "talent," had transferred him to the "robotic arm assembly" department.

Old Wang, oh no, everyone calls me "Dianhan" now, standing on the stage of the company's annual meeting, the lights are blinding me. The audience below is a sea of black, all colleagues dressed in suits, looking like they just came off the assembly line. I'm holding this freshly baked "Dianhan 2024 Annual Work Report" in my hand, feeling a mix of emotions.

The first page of the report is a record of my hard work over the past year. I've transformed from an ordinary assembly line worker into the company's ace in the "new media strategy." Every day, I livestream, forcing a smile at the phone camera, teaching people how to tighten screws and solder circuit boards. Sometimes, I even perform a "welder's rock and roll." Fans call me "Dianhan," saying I've made the boring factory life interesting, which is considered a significant contribution to the company.

Old Wang, wearing his somewhat dated baseball cap, squinted at the computer screen under the dim yellow lamp. In front of him, densely packed numbers filled the screen, lines of posts from online forums, arranged as if silently summoning something.

These past few days, a peculiar wave had swept through the internet—Chinese and American netizens were reconciling accounts online. It all started when someone accidentally discovered some "peculiar" differences in prices between the two countries. So someone proposed that everyone conduct an online reconciliation to see who was “fleecing” whom. At first, Old Wang was disdainful, finding it utterly boring, but when he saw the comparisons of “one jin of pork” and “one gallon of gasoline” in the posts, he suddenly felt like he should do something too.