27 posts tagged with "Absurdity of social rules"

Old Wang, a car mechanic on the edge of the city, had the greatest wish to let his son, Xiaobao, see a real fireworks display on the Spring Festival. This year’s Spring Festival was a little different from previous years. The news said that in order to protect the environment, many places had implemented a ban on setting off fireworks, but it had also loosened up a bit, allowing it in “specific areas and specific time periods.” This word "specific" was like a maze, making Old Wang completely confused.

Old Wang's home was located in the urban-rural fringe area. The tall buildings around them seemed like indifferent giants, and only the sound of firecrackers during the Spring Festival could bring a bit of liveliness. Xiaobao's eyes were always fixed on the fireworks that occasionally streaked across the night sky, his eyes full of longing. Old Wang knew that Xiaobao had a colorful fireworks world in his heart.

The "Concentration" training base is located in an inconspicuous gray building in the suburbs, with no sign at the entrance. Every morning at seven o'clock, students arrive one after another to begin their day of "concentration" training.

A-Qiang is a new student here. He used to be a senior executive at a company, but was demoted by his boss after spacing out during an important meeting. By chance, he saw a flyer for "Concentration," and with a try-it-out mentality, he paid a large tuition fee and joined this mysterious organization.

Zhang San woke up, and the first thing he did wasn't to wash up, but to "beep" his wrist-mounted QR code scanner. The screen lit up, displaying: "Today's Health Code: Green. Risk Assessment: Low. Allowed to go out."

"This jelly, the color is really beautiful." Old Wang picked up his phone and took a picture of the dazzling array of jellies on the counter, posting it on his WeChat moments.

He is a food safety supervisor, and has been in this line of work for almost twenty years. His daily job is to inspect various food stores, checking the production dates, ingredient labels, and whether there are any expired or deteriorated products. He is always very serious, meticulous, and even a bit nitpicky. His colleagues secretly call him "Serious Wang."

The old chessboard, worn like a weathered rock, sat in the center of the empty room. A single dim bulb weakly illuminated the black and white intersections on the board, like silent sighs.

Ke Jie sat before the board, he hadn't moved the pieces in a long time. He was no longer the Go prodigy admired by millions, now he was just an ordinary person, or rather, a Go player abandoned by the times. The past praises and applause had retreated like a tide, leaving him alone to face the emptiness.

Professor Zhang has been so worried lately that his hair is about to fall out. As the backbone of the Folk Culture Research Center, he was entrusted with an important task—to write an English introduction for China's application for Spring Festival to become a World Heritage Site, with a word limit: 200 words.

The sun lazily spilled onto the stone table in the park. Ke Jie—no, it should be "World Go Nine-Crown Champion"—sat upright, facing an old man in an undershirt, holding half a steamed bun in his hand. The chessboard was very old, with even a few suspicious stains on it, but the pieces were new, jet-black and shiny, out of place with everything around them, just like his current identity.

The day after he changed his Weibo note to "World Go Nine-Crown Champion," he decided to come here to play chess. Not to prove anything, but just to see what this title could bring him. He imagined that maybe someone would recognize him, and then rush to take photos with him, ask for his autograph, or at the very least, someone would exclaim, "Oh, isn't that...that...the Nine-Crown Champion?"

Old Li sat in front of the TV, a bag of peanuts in his hand, as the award ceremony for a Go competition played on the screen. He wasn't a Go enthusiast; he'd only been following it because everyone in the neighborhood had been talking about it these past few days, saying there was a "zero-win champion." It was a novelty, something he had to see.

On the screen, a young man received the trophy with a stiff expression, forcing a smile. The commentator’s voice was laced with a hint of awkward excitement: "Let's once again congratulate Mr. Bian Xiangyi, who won this year's LG Cup with a record of zero wins!"

Old Wang is a postman in Maple Leaf Town. He's been doing this job for almost twenty years, riding his old bicycle through the town's streets every day, rain or shine. Maple Leaf Town isn't big, just a few main roads and some old neighborhoods. He could navigate it with his eyes closed. Recently, things have been a little different in the town, or rather, things are different in the sky.

There are a few buzzing "giant flies" in the sky now. Old Wang knows they are drones, supposedly bought by the Canadian government to monitor the border. The border is just a small river away; on the other side is the United States. Old Wang often sees the farms on the other side, cows leisurely grazing in the fields, and occasionally a few cowboys riding horses, very much like a Western movie.

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.