Perfect Height

The elevator doors opened, revealing a row of straight legs, all wearing black suit pants, reflecting the bright office lights. I, Li Ming, at 172 centimeters, barely squeezed into this forest where the average height was 180 centimeters.

This wasn't a modeling agency, but our company's routine morning meeting. Since the company introduced the "Project Excellent Height," all new male employees were required to undergo "height-increasing surgery." I hesitated at the time; after all, "breaking bones" sounded chilling. But HR's smile was gentle yet firm, "Mr. Li, this is not only for your career but also for the overall image of the company. We are pursuing the perfect height."

The so-called "perfect height" was 8 centimeters taller than me.

At first, I walked around the office like I was on stilts, wearing my newly tailored suit and still not used to the high-heeled leather shoes. My colleagues, all a head taller than me, walked with a swagger and laughed heartily. I began to feel like an anomaly, a short bonsai tree, thrown into a tropical rainforest.

After the height increase, everything seemed to go smoothly. My proposals were easier to pass, clients were more willing to listen, and even at lunch, I could grab a seat by the window. I began to think that these 8 centimeters had indeed changed my fate. My promotion speed was like a rocket; soon, I became the department head and started to get used to looking down at other colleagues in the meeting room.

The door to my office is automatic, and every morning, as I walked in with my head held high, it would open gracefully, as if welcoming a giant. I loved that feeling, being high above, in control of everything.

But, sometimes, I would feel a strange emptiness. In the middle of the night, I'd feel like a puppet being manipulated, standing tall, yet having lost my true self.

It was Friday, another routine morning meeting. I stood at the head of the conference table, overlooking the rows of colleagues standing tall and proud. Their suits were impeccable, their shoes gleaming, and their faces wore confident smiles.

Suddenly, I saw a figure sitting in the corner, slightly short, wearing an ill-fitting suit, the trouser legs bunched up at the ankles. His head was slightly lowered, as if afraid of being noticed.

I frowned, a feeling of indescribable disgust rising in my heart. Who was it? How dare they violate the company's rules and wear such untidy clothes to the meeting?

I cleared my throat, pointed at him, and sternly asked, "Which department are you from? Why aren't you wearing the company uniform?"

He slowly raised his head, his eyes full of confusion and fear. He opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to say something, but stopped short.

I was even angrier, just about to explode, when suddenly, a familiar voice echoed in my mind, "Mr. Li, this is not only for your career but also for the overall image of the company. We are pursuing the perfect height."

I was stunned. I looked at him carefully, and the more I looked, the more familiar he seemed. This face, it seemed like I had seen it somewhere before.

Until he tremblingly uttered, "I, I am Li Ming, I am, I am new here."

I instantly understood. It turned out that the company had hired another batch of newcomers, and he, was the very me of the past.

After the morning meeting, I returned to my office, sat in the large executive chair, the bustling city outside the window, tall buildings everywhere, and yet I felt like I was trapped in a huge glass tank, high above, but utterly alone.

I opened my computer and searched "long-term effects of bone-lengthening surgery," and the screen filled with dense text, reports about bone necrosis and nerve damage. I suddenly felt a sharp pain, spreading from deep within my legs.

I subconsciously looked down at my legs, and beneath the long trouser legs, my feet had turned wooden, stiff and cold. I stood up, trying to move, but found that my legs couldn’t bend, and I could only move forward stiffly.

I wanted to make a sound, but found that I could no longer utter any sound.

The elevator doors opened, revealing a row of straight legs, all wearing black suit pants, reflecting the bright office lights, and I had become one of them, stiff, unable to make a sound.