Old Li's biggest hobby after retiring was playing Chinese chess with his old buddies in the community pavilion. Today, however, he seemed a bit absent-minded.
"Old Li, you're playing chess like you've lost your soul." Old Wang pushed up his reading glasses, staring at Old Li's lonely "cannon" on the chessboard.
Old Wang was assigned to be the lighting technician at the highest altitude branch venue of the Spring Festival Gala this year. Saying it's a branch venue, it's actually just a stage built on a snowy mountain peak, surrounded by howling winds and endless snow. He was wrapped in three layers of down jackets, but his hands and feet were still numb from the cold.
"Old Wang, make the lights brighter! More vibrant! More festive!" the director's hoarse voice came from the walkie-talkie. Old Wang made a face at the snowy ground on the screen, his fingers dancing on the cold control panel. He knew that the director wasn't really asking for vibrancy, but just something to fit the "Spring Festival Gala" label.
Zhang Wei received a special invitation, with black lettering that read "Ms. Yang Tianzhen's Fortieth Birthday Farewell Ceremony."
She thought she was mistaken, rubbed her eyes, and confirmed it was correct. The invitation also stated the location and time, which was actually in the company's top-floor conference room.
Old Wang was driving his smart car, live-streaming using the in-car camera. Today, his challenge was to complete an "untouched steering wheel" self-driving challenge during rush hour on the Third Ring Road.
"Hey everyone, today we're going to try something exciting!" Old Wang grinned at the camera, revealing his two signature gold teeth. "Full self-driving, I'm just here to chat with you guys, it's completely safe!"
Old Wang is the CEO of the "All-Sugar Cola Project," a middle-aged man with a bald head and a beer belly. Every morning, he would say to his reflection in the mirror, "Today, is another day to strive for the sweet cause of humanity."
What is the "All-Sugar Cola Project"? Simply put, it is to make every human being fall in love with all-sugar cola through an implantable device called the "Sweet Chip." Old Wang firmly believes this is the ultimate solution to social anxiety and the way to improve the happiness index. He preached this logic to his subordinates with a loud voice, like a missionary, while they nodded mechanically, their eyes devoid of any emotion.
In the duty room of the police station, the newly arrived Xiao Li sits upright. On the table in front of him is a brand-new "Duty Officer Regulations."
The most prominent rule on the regulations is: "When members of the public come for consultation or help, the duty officer must say the four words 'I am a police officer,' and the tone must be firm and full of strength, so as to enhance the public's sense of security."
At eight in the morning, Li Mei hurried to the mall, as was her daily routine as a luxury goods saleswoman. She skillfully turned on the counter lights, arranging the newly arrived bags as if preparing for a grand ceremony. Today, she was wearing a dark blue professional suit, trying to look more professional and refined. After all, in this glamorous battlefield, any imperfection would be magnified infinitely.
Xiaoya's fingertips were adorned with ten silver snakes, their scales reflecting an ominous light under the lamplight. This was not some avant-garde fashion statement, but a carefully crafted "snake-year fortune-attracting manicure" she had spent a full two thousand yuan on. In this era where everyone believes in metaphysics, everyone in the office had become a Feng Shui master, and Xiaoya was no exception. She felt that these cold, gleaming silver snakes would surely bring her a wealth of fortune, or at the very least, stop her proposals from being utterly trashed by her supervisor.
Old Wang had been sitting in the train station waiting hall for almost three hours. The hard plastic chair beneath him was causing his back to ache, making him miss his old rattan chair at home even more. It had snowed last night, and the road surface had iced over this morning. Old Wang had fallen, making his back even worse.
He squinted, watching the passengers coming and going in the hall. Suddenly, he noticed some familiar faces—they were the photographers from the "cushion incident" that had been hotly debated online a few days ago. They were back, phones in hand, with a faint hint of excitement on their faces. Carefully, they pulled out some brand-new cushions, printed with "Warm Reminder," from their handbags, skillfully placed them on the hard chairs, and then began posing, flashing bright smiles for the cameras.
Old Wang has been incredibly busy recently. His warehouse is piled high with all kinds of "China Red" products: red lanterns, red couplets, red clothes, red cups, and even red toilet seat covers.
All of this is due to the recent sudden rise in the "China Red" craze. Streets and alleys have been dyed red overnight. People are like they are under a spell, pursuing this color that represents joy and patriotism.