Beyond the Red Carpet

Old Wang was in the backstage area of Weibo Night, picking his teeth with a toothpick. All around him were glamorous celebrities, each one like a mannequin in a shop window, plastered with perfect smiles, awaiting their turn on the red carpet. He, Old Wang, was the odd one out in this dazzling scene. He was neither a celebrity nor a staff member; he was just a "vibe setter."

"Old Wang, look at the camera, smile!" A young man in a black uniform, holding an iPad, said to Old Wang. Old Wang grinned, revealing his yellow teeth, and gave a stiff smile.

Old Wang's job was to sit in the corner of the red carpet, responsible for clapping, cheering, and making exaggerated expressions when celebrities passed by. He had been working here for five hours, and his facial muscles had begun to twitch. He couldn't remember how many times he had clapped, nor how many times he had shouted, "Ahhh, so beautiful!". All he knew was that his palms were about to develop calluses, and his throat was nearly hoarse.

"Be professional, Old Wang; you're the benchmark of our vibe team." The supervisor walked over, patting Old Wang on the shoulder. The supervisor had a strange smile, as if to say, "You have contributed your soul to this stage."

Old Wang smiled wryly to himself. For this meager monthly salary of three thousand yuan, he had to go to various events every day, performing this "lighting up the atmosphere with passion" act. He had once been a young man with dreams, dreaming of becoming a painter, using his brush to depict the world as it really was. But now, he could only use smiles and applause to conceal the desolation in his heart.

"Old Wang, it's your turn." The supervisor pointed to the end of the red carpet, where a celebrity in a glittering dress was walking gracefully towards them. Old Wang took a deep breath, tried hard to squeeze out a brilliant smile, waved his arms, and let out a deafening cheer.

The celebrities on the red carpet were like meticulously crafted commodities, showcasing their perfection under the spotlight. And Old Wang was like a cheap prop, performing his part diligently in the corner. Between them was an invisible chasm, the distance between illusion and reality, glamour and dullness.

Suddenly, Old Wang noticed a news item scrolling across an electronic screen next to the red carpet: "California wildfires economic losses revised upward to $150 billion." His smile froze, and his arms stopped waving. He thought of his parents back home, still struggling with the mortgage for next month. He thought of his own past dreams, which had scattered like fallen leaves in the wind, dissolving into the air.

For a moment, Old Wang felt like a clown standing on a burning stage, performing his heart out, yet not seeing the shore of hope. He smiled again, but this time, his smile contained more helplessness, bitterness, and a kind of mockery of reality.

His applause was still fervent, his cheers still high-pitched, but a sigh quietly echoed in his heart, unheard by anyone. Only he knew that, beyond this glamorous red carpet, there were countless others like him, being swept along by this absurd world.

At the end of the red carpet, the flashbulbs flickered, the celebrities continued their performance, and Old Wang remained at his post, like a wind-up toy.