Face as Square as a Television

Chen Pi first felt that something was wrong with his face during his senior year's final exam. The invigilator, Old Wang, stared at his face for a full three minutes, then took off his reading glasses, rubbed his eyes, and looked for another three minutes. Chen Pi felt his cheeks burning, not because he was too nervous about the exam, but because Old Wang's gaze was like an X-ray, scanning for some secret.

"Have you been watching too much TV lately?" Old Wang finally couldn't help but ask, his voice not loud, but like a needle piercing Chen Pi's heart. Several students around them looked up, exchanging glances, and then quickly buried themselves in their work, but their peripheral vision lingered on Chen Pi. Chen Pi touched his face; it was indeed a bit numb. He thought about how he had been chewing betel nut for almost eight years, two packs a day, without fail since junior high school.

That night, Chen Pi looked at himself carefully in the mirror and realized that his face was indeed somewhat square, with sharp edges, resembling an old television set, the kind with a thick screen and a robust frame. He thought it might just be an illusion, maybe it would be better tomorrow.

But it wasn't. His face became increasingly square, from initially "somewhat like" to later "just like." Classmates started calling him "remote control," "channel," and "TV face" behind his back. At first, he would feel angry, but later he became numb. He felt that his face was no longer his own, more like a public display platform.

At the graduation ceremony, when the principal was giving a speech, all the students couldn't help but look at Chen Pi. He sat in the last row, his head like a giant screen, reflecting the light from the auditorium. When the principal said, "The future belongs to you," Chen Pi felt a chill on the back of his head, the focus of countless eyes. He felt like those words were not addressed to them, but to his "display screen."

The day the college entrance exam results came out, Chen Pi received a text message: "Congratulations on being admitted to Beijing Communication University, major: New Media Art (Television Direction)." He looked at the message and couldn't help but laugh. This was simply dark humor. He felt like an invisible director was living inside him, controlling this absurd drama.

College life for Chen Pi felt like a giant performance art exhibition. His face became a popular "check-in spot." The first thing new students did upon entering the school was to "take a photo" with Chen Pi. He was forced to accept various interviews and became the school's "living signboard." Every day, he was asked the same question: "Why did you become like this?" Chen Pi would mechanically answer each time, "Maybe I just love watching TV too much."

In his junior year, the school held a "Human Art Exhibition." Chen Pi became the final exhibit. He was painted matte black, his body was covered with various television operation buttons, and he was placed on a platform, like a real old television set. Everyone gathered around him, taking photos, discussing, and commenting. At that moment, Chen Pi felt like he had truly become a worthless tool.

After the exhibition, Chen Pi walked alone on the empty campus. He took out his last pack of betel nut and threw it into the trash. He looked up at the sky, the stars twinkling, like countless TV screens, broadcasting his silent absurd life. He realized that not only was his face square, but his entire life had become a spectacle for others to watch. He thought maybe he should write his own script and let others act out his play.