8 posts tagged with "Existentialism"

When Wang Ming first heard the news about the "Sanbengzi shortage," he paid it no mind. It was just a simply constructed, even somewhat clumsy three-wheeled motorcycle, seemingly out of place in the vast, efficient, future-bound city he inhabited. However, within days, the news spread like a silent plague. First, it was neighbors whispering in the hallway, then colleagues exchanging anxious glances in the office pantry, and finally, even the old man selling savory crepes on the street corner added worriedly while making change, "Heard they're going crazy for them over in America, probably means we'll run out here too."

Lao Wang finally got his hands on the car. Not by stealing, not by robbing, but in a way more characteristic of these times—you know the kind. A brand new, gleaming metallic, Bavarian-proud, five-letter iron beast. In theory, this thing symbolized success, at least the greasy kind, the kind others could recognize at a glance. Touching the blue-and-white emblem on the steering wheel, Lao Wang's heart felt like it held a rabbit, one that had just popped some pills, kicking frantically with excitement. The feeling was like the first time he held a girl's hand in his youth, soft and smooth, full of infinite possibilities, as if he was about to do something earth-shattering.

K. felt it necessary to go to the police station. This wasn't out of anger or revenge, although she had every reason to be angry—the man who claimed to be single, with whom she had been involved for nearly a year, the gentle and well-spoken Mr. Z, turned out to be already married. She discovered this purely by chance, as jarring as finding a hair not belonging to her on a clean floor. This isn't anger, K. told herself, it's a confirmation of order, a necessary clarification of facts. Deception is deception, just as two plus two equals four; it was a fact that needed to be recorded.

The first time he woke up at half-past two in the morning, he thought it was just a coincidence. Outside the window, the city slumbered in a thin halo of light, neon signs like dying stars flickering their last weary colors. He glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table; the red numerals "02:30" were like a brand, clearly seared onto his retinas. Thirsty, he thought, then got up for a glass of water, lay back down, and quickly fell asleep again.

K, or let's call him Old Wang for now – names, after all, had long been worn down to vague designations in this endless hustle – rode his creaking electric scooter, navigating the maze-like veins of the city. Today, the system had assigned him a special order, marked "Urgent" and "Medicine." The remarks section pleaded, "Life-saving medicine, please be quick, only an old person at home." The address pointed to an old residential complex on the city's edge, a place like a forgotten fold hidden beneath the glossy surface of the metropolis.

K, weary of the office air thick with a mixture of dust and despair, decided to climb a mountain during the holiday. He'd heard of one on the outskirts of the city, not high, but with views said to cleanse the soul. He needed cleansing, desperately. The city felt like a vast, sticky web, and he sensed he was being slowly digested. The mountain, perhaps, was a pocket of reality outside the web.

Zhao Xunjin, a name that dissipates in the wind like a musical note.

Old Man Li is sitting by the sea again.