Disappearing Answers
· 4 min read
In those days, knowledge was still encased in paper shells, like fragile cicada exuviae, waiting to be ripped open to release the so-called "fate." But fate, you know, is like Schrödinger's cat; before the box is opened, it both exists and doesn't exist.
The truck driver, Old Wang, was a taciturn man with more wrinkles on his face than the roads he'd traveled. He drove his dilapidated Jiefang truck, carrying a load of answer sheets that determined the fate of countless people, bumping along the national highway. He felt like a fertility god, except he wasn't delivering babies, but rather the ethereal "future."