Li Ming, holding a wine glass, stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling window. Outside, fireworks bloomed, illuminating the colossal silhouette of the "Shenzhou-1" ultra-deep well drilling platform. This was China's first well exceeding ten thousand meters, marking a milestone in China's deep-earth exploration technology. As the project's chief engineer, Li Ming should have felt proud, but an inexplicable unease churned within him.
Lao Li stared at the number on the screen, his brows furrowed like a twisted rope.
Xiaofang recently felt that something was a little off.
The "Spring-Dodging Agency" opened a storefront at the end of the old street, the entrance so narrow it looked like a crack squeezed between two buildings. The sign was handwritten, the characters crooked and twisted, like the "ancestral secret recipes" found in old, neglected neighborhoods.
As the Spring Festival approached, the sound of firecrackers grew louder, seemingly about to shake the city. But inside the agency, it was eerily quiet. Old Liu sat behind the counter, slowly sharpening his kitchen knife, which was rumored to "dodge all disasters." He wore a grease-stained apron, his face wrinkled like an old newspaper crumpled by time.
Old Li, a diligent programmer at his company, had recently felt like a wind-up toy, repeating the same code, the same routes, and even the same coffee-drinking posture every day. But this year's Start of Spring was a little different. The company issued a notice that, in response to the "dodge spring" initiative, all employees would have a day off.
Old Li didn't quite understand what "dodging spring" meant at first. Later, through various push articles and WeChat groups, he gradually realized that dodging spring was to avoid clashing with "spring" on the day of the Start of Spring, which was said to ward off evil and eliminate disasters. Although Old Li found it a bit superstitious, the company had requested it, and he couldn't do much about it.
Old Wang woke up to the piercing shriek of his alarm clock, or rather, he was startled awake. It was five in the morning, the world outside was still a blur, with the only indication that it was the fifth day of the Lunar New Year, the big day for welcoming the God of Wealth, coming from the intermittent sounds of firecrackers in the neighborhood. Old Wang turned over and pulled out the golden ingot he had prepared beforehand from the head of the bed—a plastic one, but shiny enough to be deceiving.
He lived in an old single apartment. It wasn't large, and the furnishings were simple, but a table in the center of the room stood out. It was a specially customized "God of Wealth Altar," made of mahogany and finely crafted, with images of five different Gods of Wealth on it. The incense burner was filled with incense sticks, and the smoke filled the room, making it somewhat choking.
"Gold, it's gone up again today!"
Old Wang muttered to himself, holding his thermos mug, staring at the glaring numbers on the computer screen. He worked at "Gleaming Gold" company, whose main business was gold jewelry. But Old Wang wasn't a designer, nor a salesperson; he was just an ordinary clerk in charge of data entry. His daily task was to input the real-time gold prices and inventory data of various jewelry items into the company's internal network system.
Old Li had graduated from medical school five years ago. He always fiddled with his small school emblem – a snake coiled around a staff, cold and smooth. Other classmates treated it as a decoration, but Old Li felt that it hid some secrets.
The emblem's design was almost the same as all medical schools. Old Li once asked his teacher what the serpent staff represented. The teacher would always smile and say it was “a symbol of medicine,” “healing the sick and saving the dying.” But Old Li always felt something was wrong. Why was a symbol of healing so cold and devoid of warmth?
Old Wang clutched a crumpled movie ticket, on which the words "Bench Ticket" were clearly printed. He looked around; the cinema lobby was bustling with people, each carrying a variety of benches. There were small plastic stools, bulky wooden benches, and even someone lugging a foldable lounge chair.
"These days, you even have to bring your own equipment to watch a movie," Old Wang muttered. In his hand was an old wooden plank he had found at home, looking rather shabby.
Old Wang opened a lotus root cake shop in an urban village. It was small, just a fryer and two tables. His lotus root cakes were crispy and delicious, famous far and wide. Every evening, a long queue formed outside the shop, filled with the warmth of everyday life.