That city, like a steel behemoth, sprawled on the banks of a murky river, breathing out smoke, dust, and clamor. Deep within its belly, in a cramped, damp alley, huddled Old Ma and his grandson, Little Stone. The alley was a crease in the city, a corner where sunlight disdained to linger long. But for Old Ma, as long as Little Stone's laughter echoed there, it was the last remaining fragment of paradise.
The sky was overcast, as if water could be wrung from it. Old Man Li stood by the reservoir with his hands behind his back, puffing on his pipe. The water level of the reservoir was getting lower day by day, almost to the bottom. Normally at this time of year, the reservoir would be bustling with jumping fish. This year, however, not even a ghost of a shadow could be seen.
"Something's not right," Old Man Li exhaled a smoke ring. "I'm afraid something's going to happen."
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
My name is Li Ming, an ordinary office worker, shuttling daily through the city's cold concrete jungle. The cubicle is my fortress, and the food delivery app is my armory. I used to think that this was the progress of the times, where with a tap of a finger, delicious food would arrive. That was until a news report hit the surface of my calm life like a pebble shattering a tranquil lake – "Undercover reporter at Huang Men Chicken warns not to order takeout before 11 am."
Old Li set up his chess stall under the gazebo in the community park, relying on the small earnings to pass the time after retirement. The sun was nice today, and he had just set up when he saw a young woman pointing her phone at him, taking a barrage of photos.
"Grandpa, your chess stall is so creative!" the woman said with a giggle, revealing a row of even teeth.
On the first day of the Lunar New Year, the sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow on the old wooden floor. A few coins and a crisp hundred-yuan bill lay scattered on the floor, gleaming brightly in the sunlight. I, a post-00s girl who had just turned twenty, was sitting on the floor, rubbing my sore knees.
Yesterday, I kowtowed 888 times.
"My luck has been terrible lately, I can't even grab a prize from a claw machine," Xiao Ai muttered to herself, carefully examining her newly done nails in the mirror. The tips glittered like tiny, unreal jewels. She had just been promoted at work, and being the “rolling king” of her department, this was a small treat for herself.
Zhang Xiaowei’s nail salon was located on the second basement floor of an office building. The store was not big, but business was fairly brisk. She had great skills, fair prices, and most importantly, she always managed to accurately capture the deepest desires of her customers. For example, a white-collar worker who was mentally exhausted by PPTs could have their nails transformed into a beautiful starry sky, as if carrying her away from this oppressive reality.
"You see, isn't this height perfect?" the doctor said with a smile, pointing to the X-ray image. On the image, in the middle of my shin bone, there was a steel rod, like a scar that stretched across.
I stared at the steel rod. It wasn't perfect, it was even a bit ugly. But in the doctor's eyes, it represented the height I had dreamed of, the height accepted by society.
He was once a popular idol, the prince charming in the hearts of countless young girls, the affectionate Zhong Tianqi in the TV series "My Lucky Star."
But now, he has become a suspect in a murder case, locked up in a cold prison. His past halo has long faded, leaving only endless darkness and remorse.