Old Wang has been feeling a bit troubled lately. It's not because of his daily commute on the bus, which feels like a battlefield every morning, nor is it because of his salary that never seems to increase. It's because he has participated in the new energy vehicle lottery three times, and each time he has failed miserably. He feels like he's being toyed with by a giant, invisible machine.
Old Zhao once again saw those familiar, cold Chinese characters on the 12306 interface: "Insufficient tickets." He sighed and skillfully opened a third-party ticket-grabbing software. Sure enough, the glaring four words "Ample Tickets Available" mocked him.
This was not the first time. Every Spring Festival travel season, Old Zhao had to experience this "mystical" ticket purchasing process. He couldn't understand it. If 12306 clearly showed no tickets available, where did these third-party platforms get their "extra tickets?" Did they possess some mysterious black technology?
Old Wang, before retiring, was the director of education at a school, a man who adhered to rules and regulations his entire life. Now, he was frowning at the New Year's Eve dinner table. What worried him was not the lack of New Year's goods or his children not being by his side, but his grandson, Xiao Bao, who was in elementary school.
Old Wang was quite excited recently, not because of his year-end bonus, but because of mobile phone subsidies. A policy was released, stating that to stimulate consumption, subsidies would be given for buying new phones, and old phones didn't need to be handed in. Old Wang's five-year-old relic could finally retire honorably.
He excitedly rushed to a mobile phone store, where the clerk's enthusiasm made him feel a bit uncomfortable. "Sir, take a look at this one, the latest model, high camera pixels, fast running speed, and an AI assistant!" The clerk pointed to a cool-looking phone in the display case. The price was indeed cool too, but after the subsidy, it didn't seem so unbearable.
Old Wang was selected.
Not for the lottery, nor for a promotion, but for the company's newly launched "Firewall Project." The HR manager patted him on the shoulder, beaming, "Old Wang, you're usually so diligent and honest at work; this project is perfect for you!"
Old Li sat on a bench in the hospital corridor, a newly printed insurance claim list resting on his leg. The numbers on the list were like cold, hard nails, piercing his heart. Six days ago, he was riding his old bicycle when a car making a sharp turn at an intersection knocked him flying. Old Li lay on the ground for ten minutes, felt his head, and since he could still move, he got up and walked away, pushing his bicycle.
Old Liu was a gardener. His days were spent trimming lawns and watering plants, a life as monotonous as concrete. His greatest pleasure was keeping several koi in a large fish tank on his balcony.