New Year Limited Edition
Old Li was jolted awake by his phone alarm early in the morning. He struggled to sit up, feeling as if he had just woken up from a long nightmare. Outside the window, it was gray, and even the sunlight seemed to have lost its festive vitality. On the phone screen, unread messages displayed identical blessings, all saying "Happy New Year" and "Full of Good Fortune." He mechanically replied, his fingers sliding across the screen, but his heart felt empty.
He was a mid-level manager at an internet company, and his usual forte was breaking down complex projects into actionable steps, then running them efficiently like a machine. But now, he found himself as if he had also become a machine set by a program, with the daily task of outputting "good fortune."
Today is the first day of the Lunar New Year. According to company regulations, each employee must post at least three original New Year's greetings on their WeChat moments, along with a selfie. The photos must have a bright smile, a festive background, and the text must be full of positive energy. This is part of the company's "Good Fortune Index" assessment, which is directly linked to year-end bonuses.
Old Li looked in the mirror and tried to force out a smile that looked somewhat natural. He found that he was becoming increasingly bad at the word "natural." He glanced at the calendar; on the eve of the Spring Festival, he had been rushing projects day and night, working almost seventy-two hours straight to barely finish. These few days of the Spring Festival, he only wanted to lie down and sleep.
He opened the phone's camera and took a selfie in front of the mirror. He pulled the corners of his mouth up as much as possible, widened his eyes, as if welcoming a wonderfully beautiful future. He selected the most "lucky" photo, paired it with a pre-prepared "full of good fortune" text, and posted it on his WeChat moments.
Immediately after, he picked up another phone, opened an internal app, and the screen displayed the "Good Fortune Value" of each employee. Yesterday, he had posted a picture of "being squashed like a pancake during the Spring Festival travel rush" on his WeChat moments, which was judged by the system as "negative energy." His good fortune value was directly deducted by five points, dropping his ranking to the middle, and he had to work harder today to make it up.
He began to browse his colleagues' WeChat moments. Everyone was posting pictures of New Year's Eve dinners, red envelopes, and family, with everyone smiling, as if they really lived in a world full of good fortune. Old Li liked them while sighing inwardly. He felt as if he was in a grand performance, with everyone doing their best to play the role of happiness.
He suddenly remembered a news story he had seen a few days ago, saying that the "good fortune" in some place was too concentrated, causing the system to crash. He found it to be black humor; good fortune could actually crash, which made him want to laugh a little. He quickly turned off his phone, took a deep breath, and decided to make himself a cup of tea to temporarily escape this false revelry.
However, just as he picked up his teacup, his phone rang. It was the company's Good Fortune Supervisor, with a sharp and urgent voice: "Manager Li, what's going on with your good fortune value? You've only posted one WeChat moment today; are you trying to hold everyone back?"
Old Li was stunned. He clearly posted three.
"I posted three," he said, trying to stay calm.
"The system shows that you only posted one. The other two might have had a system problem, which is being investigated, but your data is real. You need to post two more as soon as possible, and you have to ensure the quality. Don't post anything negative!" The supervisor finished coldly and hung up the phone.
Old Li put down his teacup, feeling a deep sense of powerlessness. He opened his phone again and found that there was indeed only one post on his WeChat moments. The other two seemed to have been swallowed by a mysterious force. He thought for a moment and decided not to struggle anymore. He didn't have the energy to play the role anymore. He began to edit his fourth WeChat moment, and this time, he decided to post something different, something real.
He posted a photo of himself sitting blankly on the sofa, captioned: "On the first day of the Lunar New Year, I feel like a machine that has been squeezed dry."
As soon as he posted it, his phone rang again. This time, it was an automatic warning from the system: "Negative emotions detected. Good Fortune Value cleared to zero. Mandatory leave will be processed."
Old Li looked at the eye-catching red warning on the screen, and instead, he laughed. He thought to himself: This is actually pretty good.