Old Wang stared at himself carefully in the mirror. The face in the mirror was yellow, as if it had just been pulled out of a dye vat, but not a pure yellow, rather a strange color mixed with specks of orange, like the flesh of a low-quality tangerine. He reached out and touched his cheek, feeling that his skin seemed rougher than before, with a sandy texture, like sandpaper.
Today was the third day of Old Wang's "color change."
At six o'clock in the morning, the sun has not yet completely dispelled the fog on the edge of the city. In the "Starlight Hotel" near the university town, the laundry room on the first floor is already bustling. There are no business people in suits and ties, nor are there tired travelers, just a group of plainly dressed college students. They skillfully operate the coin-operated washing machines, stuffing bags of dirty clothes inside.
Li Ming is one of them. His movements are smooth, obviously not his first time here. He wears black-rimmed glasses, and his eyes show a tiredness that doesn't match his age. He expertly operates his phone, paying for the laundry, his actions carrying a sense of mechanical repetition. Today, he's wearing a light blue T-shirt with a small line of text printed on the front: "Reject Internal Competition, Starting with Me." This line seems particularly ironic in this setting.
Old Wang was known as the "honest guy" in the company. He arrived at work on the dot every day, diligently sat in front of his computer, and the sound of his keyboard tapping was just like an old sewing machine. His department was responsible for data processing, a mind-numbingly boring task. While other colleagues chatted about hot topics during lunch break, like the latest popular TV series or celebrity scandals, Old Wang would quietly munch on the steamed buns he brought from home, seemingly isolated from the world.
But recently, Old Wang had noticed something strange. His colleague, Xiao Li, was acting suspiciously every day, always tinkering with some oddly-shaped wooden lumps in the corner. Some of these wooden lumps looked like apples, some like pears, and some even like—persimmons. At first, Old Wang thought Xiao Li was playing with some new stress-relief toys, so he didn't pay much attention. Until one day, he accidentally saw Xiao Li shipping packages on an e-commerce platform, with addresses all over the country. It was then that he realized things were not as simple as they seemed.
"Welcome, what kind of style would you like today?" Xiaoya offered a professional smile, her tone as sweet as if it had been laced with three spoons of sugar. She had to repeat this phrase at least fifty times a day, addressing all sorts of nails with varying attitudes, slowly grinding away at her own self.
Today, a young woman wearing black-rimmed glasses walked into the shop. She was dressed in a well-tailored suit, her nails neatly trimmed but utterly unremarkable, resembling a typical white-collar worker from a cubicle. She pushed her glasses up her nose, her voice a bit tired, "Give me a simple solid color, something that makes my hands look whiter."
Teacher Zhang has been a bit bothered lately. It's not because of the mountain of exam papers at the end of the semester, nor is it the endless pleasantries of "Teacher, you've worked hard" in the parents' group chat. Instead, it's because he's recently become obsessed with a "new course" – human behavior studies, and a practical one at that.
The location of this course is a bit unusual; it's his colleague Teacher Li's single dormitory. The method is also simple: he installed a pinhole camera in the desk lamp next to Teacher Li's bed.
"Height is justice" - this mantra, which Xiao Jia held as an indisputable truth, had recently become the root of his anxiety. Watching his former childhood friends, once half a head shorter than him, now all looking impressive at the class reunion, even the company's receptionist was taller than him by a head. He felt like a dwarf abandoned by the times, his small body harboring the desire to grow like a wild weed bursting from the earth.
Xiao Jia decided to take a risk and go to a height-increase clinic that claimed to be "painless and fast-acting." The clinic was hidden in a dilapidated residential building in the suburbs, with no sign at the door, only the words "Height Dreams Start Here" scrawled on the wall. This eerie sense of mystery only made Xiao Jia more convinced that this was the place to make his dream come true.
"Welcome to the 'Teacher Title Evaluation Simulator'. In order to improve the efficiency of the evaluation and reduce human interference, we have launched this completely fair and objective system. Please enter your personal information."
On the screen, the cursor flickered, and Lao Wang typed on the keyboard with a slightly trembling hand. He is a veteran language teacher with twenty years of experience, and his eloquent speeches on the podium have long been replaced by clumsy keystrokes on the keyboard. He is at the critical juncture of title evaluation again this year. Although he is aware of the tricks of the trade, he still holds a sliver of hope and wants to see what score this "completely fair and objective" system will give him.
Before retiring, Old Wang rented a safety deposit box at a bank and put all of his family's heirloom gold and silver into it. He always felt uneasy keeping these items at home, believing it was more secure in the bank. He carefully read the safekeeping contract three times; the bank's seal was a vivid red, and his name was neatly written as the depositor.
Zhang Qiang stood in front of the full-length mirror, a slight smile playing on his lips as he gazed at his tall figure. He had paid an unimaginable price for this moment.
A few months ago, he was just an ordinary office worker, standing at 1.68 meters tall, feeling like a sardine in the crowded subway and a replaceable cog in the company machine. He was tired of looking up to others and longed to be the center of attention. So, he sought out the "Highly Customized" company.
At three in the afternoon, sunlight poured onto the windowsill of the legacy management office like melted honey. Old Lin, a seasoned administrator with twenty years of experience, was staring blankly at the cold numbers on his computer screen: 4.3 million yuan, and an apartment in the city center, unclaimed. This wasn't the largest estate he had handled, but it was the most absurd.
Old Lin adjusted his reading glasses and sighed. In this day and age, someone could actually be "so rich no one wants it," a merciless mockery of the social principle of "men die for wealth." He opened the thick case file, which recorded the life of the deceased Mr. Zhang, a life that was sketchy and brief, much like his quiet existence. No spouse, no children, not even distant relatives could be found.