Old Wang had been with the company for fifteen years, growing from a naive intern to a balding, middle-aged man. He had participated in countless projects, witnessing the company's entire journey from a small workshop to a listed corporation. His workstation, much like himself, was old but carried too many memories.

Recently, the company launched a "trade-in" event, encouraging employees to bring in their old computers, old phones, and even old office supplies. The company would provide a trade-in value based on an assessment, allowing employees to purchase new products. Old Wang thought it was just a normal promotion, but it turned out to be a grand performance art by the company.

Before retirement, Lao Li was an accountant at a factory, adept at the abacus. After retiring, he became addicted to the internet. Not for news or chatting, but for enthusiastically “reconciling accounts” in various forums. Not really for money, but for the pleasure of precise, error-free numbers. He often said, "This world is full of fluff, only numbers are real."

Recently, he became engrossed in reconciling accounts with a group of American netizens. It began with several mysterious lists of goods, with a mix of items ranging from Chinese tea to American coffee, and prices in both RMB and USD, like a large global trade mystery box. Most of these netizens were Americans. Lao Li guessed they were probably from the finance industry, very sensitive to numbers.

Li Wei’s room was like a deep well, the only window facing the towering gray wall of the next building. Every morning, she would get up in the dark, put on makeup under the pale light of her desk lamp, and then rush to her cubicle in a downtown office building.

Lately, Li Wei had become fascinated by a strange pastime: in the afternoon, while others were resting or napping, she would set up a huge reflector, letting it, like a giant mirror, reflect the sparse sunlight from the rooftop into her room.

Old Wang was quite excited recently, not because of his year-end bonus, but because of mobile phone subsidies. A policy was released, stating that to stimulate consumption, subsidies would be given for buying new phones, and old phones didn't need to be handed in. Old Wang's five-year-old relic could finally retire honorably.

He excitedly rushed to a mobile phone store, where the clerk's enthusiasm made him feel a bit uncomfortable. "Sir, take a look at this one, the latest model, high camera pixels, fast running speed, and an AI assistant!" The clerk pointed to a cool-looking phone in the display case. The price was indeed cool too, but after the subsidy, it didn't seem so unbearable.

Old Wang has recently become obsessed with "life-extending blind boxes."

It’s not that he’s particularly afraid of death, but lately, he’s been seeing red and white advertisements everywhere - on the subway, in the elevators, even on his own toilet seat: “Life balance insufficient? Don't panic, blind boxes are here to help!” The accompanying picture is a metallic, gleaming cube, mysterious and alluring.

On the eve of the Spring Festival, Lao Wang discovered a new app on his phone called "UnionPay Red Packet Rain." It was said that to celebrate the successful inscription of the Spring Festival as a World Heritage, UnionPay, in collaboration with various merchants, was distributing digital red packets in the sky over cities at set times each day. These red packets could be used to offset consumer spending. Initially, Lao Wang didn't pay much attention, thinking it was just another gimmick used by businesses. That was until he saw people in his neighborhood wearing AR glasses, running around downstairs like a group of madmen chasing fireflies.

After retiring, Old Li became obsessed with the internet, or more precisely, with "reconciling accounts" with American netizens. It's a strange thing to say, but it started with a post about a "China-US price comparison." Bored, he began arguing with a few American netizens. At first, it was just a comparison of who had more expensive eggs, but later it evolved into posting bills – utilities, property fees, internet fees, even grocery lists.

Old Li communicated with them using his broken English, but he was having a great time. He felt he had found a new hobby, which he grandly called "promoting international exchange." He often said, "Look, foreigners are the same, they also have to worry about pennies and dimes!"

At lunchtime, Zhang Qiang skillfully swipes his employee badge and walks into the brightly lit ByteDance cafeteria. A dazzling array of food is on display, each with an exquisite price tag, except for the plate in his hand—the 100-yuan standard meal, which is free.

This used to be a perk that countless internet workers envied: free, abundant, and high-quality. When Zhang Qiang first joined, he was also proud of it, feeling that ByteDance's generosity and strength were impressive. However, over time, he began to feel that something was amiss.

The lights at the annual meeting flickered, a little too dazzling, mirroring Wang Wei's current mood. She clutched the thin piece of paper in her hand, which displayed her newly "won" grand prize – an extra ten days of paid annual leave. Below the stage, her colleagues were clapping, their eyes filled with envy and bewilderment. After all, who would consider valuable annual leave a prize?

"Wang Wei, congratulations!" Old Li from HR approached her, patting her shoulder with a beaming smile. "The company's really thinking outside the box this year, using annual leave as a prize. You're the first one!"

Old Wang sat on his creaky office chair, staring at the constantly refreshing "cat tax" payment records on his screen. This was the third time he had hit the refresh button, and the numbers were climbing like crazy weeds, each one higher than the last. Just a few months ago, who would have thought that this previously obscure Xiaohongshu account would become wildly popular because of a bunch of American netizens paying "cat tax"?

Initially, Old Wang just wanted to post photos of his tabby cat named "Tuanzi", mundane things like "Tuanzi slept all day again," and "Tuanzi ate half my bread." Until one day, an American netizen commented, saying that seeing Tuanzi reminded them of their cat that had recently passed away and they felt healed, adding in broken Chinese, "This cat, I want to pay tax."