Li Ming, holding a wine glass, stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling window. Outside, fireworks bloomed, illuminating the colossal silhouette of the "Shenzhou-1" ultra-deep well drilling platform. This was China's first well exceeding ten thousand meters, marking a milestone in China's deep-earth exploration technology. As the project's chief engineer, Li Ming should have felt proud, but an inexplicable unease churned within him.
Old Wu, a young man drifting in the city, has recently become obsessed with "Spring Festival Gala-themed tourism." It's not because he particularly loves watching the Spring Festival Gala, but because of a "year-end check-in" task assigned by his company—he must visit four cities "brought to fame" by the Gala, take photos in front of designated landmarks, and post them on WeChat Moments, collecting four "likes" to receive his full year-end bonus.
There's no way to argue with these rules. Old Wu shouldered his bag, like a clockwork puppet wound tight, and began his "performance."
Old Zhang stood in front of the mirror, carefully applying foam to his hair. Today was National Hair Washing Day, a new regulation issued by the "Better Life Promotion Committee" aimed at "enhancing the national spirit." Old Zhang didn't quite understand the connection between spirit and hair washing, but he was a law-abiding person, after all, it was related to his personal credit score.
He lived in an old residential area, where the water pressure had always been unstable. To ensure a good hair washing effect, he had turned on the tap half an hour early, accumulating half a bucket of cold water. Now the hot water supply was normal, but the temperature felt inconsistent, like the unpredictable policy.
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 Li had been working at the Shenzhen Metro for fifteen years. He couldn't remember how many spring couplets he had put up, but this year was definitely the most unusual. In previous years, they were all red with gold characters, festive and joyous. This year, however, a batch of white couplets with black characters had appeared out of nowhere, plastered all over every corner of the station, even the ticket machines were covered with a sheet saying "Have a smooth journey and arrive home safely."
"Who did this?" Old Li complained to the new intern, Xiao Zhang. Xiao Zhang pushed up his glasses and said carefully, "Uncle Li, I heard this is what was requested from above, to reflect...to reflect a new kind of cultural creativity?"
Li Ming habitually took out his phone and scanned the QR code on his high-speed rail ticket. The ticket gate beeped and released him, and he dragged his suitcase into the waiting hall. The screen displayed train information, and he confirmed the train number and platform, and skillfully found his carriage.
Train conductor Li Ming sighed, looking at the empty train car. It was another G233 high-speed train with only him on board, traveling from Beijing to Shanghai. Ever since the implementation of the new seat reservation system, his daily work felt like acting to an empty room. There were very few passengers, but that was not the strangest part. The weirdest thing was that, no matter which train it was, there was always an "E seat" that was booked but never actually occupied.
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 was a small-time streamer, consistently going live at 8 PM every night to showcase his cooking skills, which had been seasoned by time and cooking fumes. His live stream room was named "Old Wang's Kitchen Aroma," and his audience was stable at a single-digit number, mostly retired folks from downstairs, occasionally a child from the neighbor's house would sneak in and shout "Grandpa Wang, hello."
Tonight was no exception. Old Wang skillfully sliced potatoes while the oil sizzled in the pan. He habitually rambled to the camera, “Making some shredded potatoes with vinegar today, simple and delicious, suitable for all ages. Don't you agree? Hey, Old Li, why haven't you sent any comments today? Did you go downstairs to play cards again?”
Old Li Tou was a temporary worker at the zoo. His daily job involved driving his beat-up van back and forth between the city center and the wildlife rescue station in the suburbs. One day, he received an urgent notice stating that a wild panda was "parading" on the highway, wiggling its butt while running, which was seriously disrupting traffic.
Old Li Tou mumbled to himself, "Is this panda drunk or something?" He had been driving for half his life, and he had seen all sorts of strange animals. But one that dances on the highway was definitely a first. When he arrived on scene, sure enough, there was a crowd of people pointing at a black and white furball, and the panda was wiggling its butt with a good sense of rhythm. It took Old Li Tou a great deal of effort to get the "dancing king" into his van.