The Star Counter

In Zhang Qiang's third month at the company, he was transferred to the "Stellar Observation Department." He initially thought it involved astronomical observation, but on his first day, he was led into an airtight room. In the center of the room was a giant screen displaying mobile phone screenshots, each increasingly red.

“Your task is simple, count the number of stars in each screenshot,” said Department Head Li, handing him a counter with a deadpan expression, as if announcing that lunch would be steamed buns.

Zhang Qiang was stunned. “Stars? Aren't these all mobile phone screenshots?”

Li pointed to the screen. “See? Pixels. Each illuminated pixel represents a star. Now, get to work.”

Confused, Zhang Qiang began counting. The color of each screenshot was getting redder, and the pixels were becoming more densely packed. His eyes began to ache from the effort.

“What is the meaning of this?” He couldn’t help but ask Li.

Li adjusted her glasses, her eyes devoid of emotion. "This is the era of big data. Everyone is like a star, scattered in the ocean of information. Our job is to record and track the changes of each star."

"But... these stars are all turning red?"

"Yes, everyone is being consumed, overused. Eventually, they all become like this, red to the point of purple." Li’s tone was monotonous, as if stating a truth that everyone had long accepted.

In the following days, Zhang Qiang’s work consisted of facing the screen, counting those increasingly red “stars.” He tried to find patterns or meaning in the data, but aside from the growth in numbers, he found nothing. His colleagues had also grown accustomed to this absurd job. There was little communication between them; they just mechanically repeated the same actions, like cold cogs in a machine.

During lunch, Zhang Qiang overheard colleagues from the next department talking about the popular “Star Chart Project,” which supposedly predicted everyone’s future trajectory.

He suddenly realized that the red “stars” he was counting might be the data source for the "Star Chart Project." And those once bright pixels were now being coldly tallied by him, ultimately reduced to meaningless numbers.

Zhang Qiang began to reflect. He was once one of those pixels himself. He had worked hard, trying to prove his worth. But in the end, he had become a tool for counting “stars.” He recalled his former dreams, the real stars he gazed at during countless sleepless nights, stars that shimmered with hope and unreachable distance.

One day, the screenshots on the screen turned red again. Zhang Qiang saw a familiar face, it was a screenshot of his own mobile phone screen. Staring at the face gradually turning red, a strange sense of sorrow washed over him. He seemed to see his own future, like the “stars” on the screen, over-consumed and ultimately reduced to a meaningless red pixel.

He picked up the counter, pointed it at his own face on the screen, and pressed the count button. The number on the counter jumped.

Zhang Qiang looked at the number and smiled, a strange thought forming in his mind. He began rapidly pressing the counter; the numbers soared. Li, noticing Zhang Qiang’s unusual behavior, came over to stop him.

“What are you doing?” she demanded sternly.

Zhang Qiang didn’t answer. He just kept frantically pressing the counter, focused on his face on the screen, until the number on the counter reached an astonishing height.

“I’m done counting,” Zhang Qiang said to Li, a cryptic smile on his face.

Li looked at him, puzzled. She was about to say something when suddenly, all the lights in the room went out, and the screen went black, plunging the room into silence.

"What's going on?" Li shouted, panic in her voice.

"My stars... they are counted," Zhang Qiang murmured, a strange calmness in his tone.

The lights in the room suddenly flickered back on, and the screen rebooted. But this time, the screen no longer displayed those red screenshots. Instead, it displayed a sky full of stars, real stars, shining brightly in the black universe. And Zhang Qiang was gone. Only a counter was left, still ticking away, displaying a huge and terrifying number.