72 posts tagged with "Society"

Zhang Qiang was the chosen one. Not because he was handsome, nor because he was talented. It was purely because he was ordinary enough, a regular office worker in Beijing for five years, over thirty, unmarried, and unable to snag a ticket home for the Chinese New Year.

The Spring Festival Gala directing team had launched a "time capsule" project, claiming to select fragments of ordinary people's lives, package them into data streams, and project them onto the future Spring Festival Gala stage, so that future audiences could see "us" and understand "us." Zhang Qiang found it intriguing, so he signed up.

On New Year's Eve, Xiaoming's family sat in front of the television, not to watch the Spring Festival Gala, but to wait for a phone call.

Old Wang was the most unremarkable cog in the company machine. In fact, he was more like a piece of gum stuck in a corner, his presence barely noticeable. On the last workday before the Lunar New Year, while everyone else was busy snapping up holiday goods and their phones were constantly ringing, his desk was still occupied by an old desktop computer and a well-worn copy of the "Modern Chinese Dictionary."

Everyone knew that Old Wang didn't like using mobile phones. He still used an old model from ten years ago, his reasoning being, "As long as it can make calls, it's fine." But today was different. The company had suddenly issued a notice requiring all employees to attach a gold sticker to the back of their phones before coming to work tomorrow. This was to demonstrate good wishes for the New Year, and they were to uniformly scan and upload it using a new app. Apparently, this was the boss's new "good luck" ritual for the year.

After retiring, Old Li was appointed by the community as a “New Year’s Flavor Index Evaluator.” This was a trendy job, supposedly determined by a "New Year's Flavor Algorithm" developed by a well-known AI company. Every day, Old Li’s job was to walk to different families with a tablet, take a few photos, and ask a few questions.

"Did you put up Spring Festival couplets this year? How many characters?" The app on the tablet would immediately give a score.

When Lao Li received the notice, he was munching on half a cold bun. The notice was simple, two words: "Paste couplets." He didn't pay much attention to it, after all, subway stations put up Spring Festival couplets every year before the Spring Festival, it was a routine. He put down the bun, picked up his toolbox, inside lay a brand new bucket of paste and a brush. Lao Li was a veteran employee of Shenzhen Metro, he could paste couplets with his eyes closed.

But when he arrived at the warehouse and saw the pile of snow-white paper rolls, he was stunned. What kind of Spring Festival couplets were these? These were clearly rolls of white paper! He opened one roll, it was covered in dense black Song typeface, it read like an obituary, or a tasteless instruction manual. He rubbed his eyes, confirming that he wasn't mistaken, these weren't red paper with black characters, but white paper with black characters, and they were pre-printed. He found the warehouse manager, who pushed up his glasses and said in a mechanical tone: "According to the higher-ups, this year's Spring Festival couplets will all use this."

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.

Old Li had been working at the community supermarket for almost ten years, transforming from a naive young man into a greasy middle-aged one. He felt that the supermarket was like his life, he could see the end at a glance – plain, but something he couldn't give up.

Recently, the community started a new thing: residents would score the supermarket. It wasn’t anonymous scoring, but rather, real-name scoring via handwritten notes posted on the notice board at the entrance of the supermarket. At first, everyone found it quite novel, but later it changed its flavor.

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.

"Ten yuan? You're so stingy!" In the WeChat group, the homeroom teacher, Ms. Li, followed this sentence with an eye-rolling emoji. Zhang Qiang stared at his phone screen, his face flushed. He knew this "gentle reminder" was aimed at him.

The cause was a "charity donation" organized by the class to buy winter supplies for children in mountain areas. After much hesitation, Zhang Qiang still clicked "Donate 10 yuan." It wasn't that he was unwilling, but he was indeed tight on money due to recent company layoffs. He thought that ten yuan was also a token of goodwill, and every little bit counts. Who knew that this "goodwill" would instantly become the target of a public shaming.

After retiring, Old Wang's greatest pleasure was taking an evening stroll in the community garden. He always felt that the ground beneath his feet was a bit strange; not soft, but rather hollow. He tried stamping on it, to confirm he wasn't just seeing things.

Old Wang lived on the first floor and had suffered from dampness for years. He mused that it would be great if he had a basement. This thought, like weeds growing wildly in a corner, spread in his mind each day.