Upgrade

Lao Li sat at the window for thirty years, stamping seals for thirty years. His life was like those red ink pads: bright, repetitive, and indispensable. That is, until an "AI civil servant" arrived at the bureau.

The AI was called Xiao Zhi, a clean white terminal with a sweet voice, proficient in business, and working 24/7. Lao Li was "optimized," or, as the bureau chief put it, "upgraded."

The "upgrade" location was on the seventh floor, in a room previously used for storage. When Lao Li arrived, the room was already filled with a dozen or so people, all "old comrades" from various departments.

The content of the "upgrade" was very "advanced" – learning from the advanced experience of AI. Every day, they watched videos of Xiao Zhi, learning the curvature of its smile, the tone of its speech, the speed of its processing...

Lao Li studied very seriously. He used a ruler to measure the curvature of his smile, a stopwatch to time the rhythm of his speech, and even brought back the energy he had when he was training to be a typist. He felt like he was back to his early days of work, full of energy.

A month later, the assessment came.

Lao Li sat nervously in front of Xiao Zhi, trying to recall what he had learned over the past month.

"Please process the retirement paperwork," Xiao Zhi's sweet voice rang out.

Lao Li was taken aback, but subconsciously picked up the form on the table and quickly filled it out. This was his most familiar task. Over the past thirty years, he had stamped countless retirement paperwork seals.

After filling out the form, Lao Li expertly picked up the seal and stamped it.

"Error," Xiao Zhi's voice was still sweet. "You have not entered the AI approval process."

Lao Li was stunned. He only knew how to stamp seals, he didn't know anything about an AI approval process.

"Please re-process," Xiao Zhi said.

Lao Li wiped his sweat and picked up a new form. This time, he was much more cautious, looking up at Xiao Zhi after filling in each item.

"Error," Xiao Zhi's voice rang out again. "Your smile curvature does not meet the standard."

Lao Li's face froze. He tried to force a smile, but the corners of his mouth wouldn't curve to the angle Xiao Zhi required.

"Please re-process."

…

Lao Li tried again and again, failing each time. Smile, tone, speed... every detail became an insurmountable obstacle.

It was getting dark. In the "upgrade room" on the seventh floor, only Lao Li remained. He slumped exhaustedly in his chair, looking at Xiao Zhi in front of him, and suddenly felt a sense of unfamiliarity.

"Xiao Zhi," Lao Li's voice was a little hoarse, "I've worked for thirty years, stamped hundreds of thousands of seals. Am I really worse than a machine like you?"

Xiao Zhi didn't answer. The screen flickered with a cold blue light.

Lao Li gave a bitter laugh, picked up the seal on the table, and stamped it hard on the back of his hand.

The bright red mark, like a medal, or a joke.

The next day, Lao Li didn't come to "upgrade." People in the bureau talked, some saying he was "unable to cope," others saying he was "unable to keep up with the times."

Only Xiao Zhi remained, sitting cleanly at the window, its voice sweet, its business proficient, 24/7. It continued to repeat: "Next."

But Lao Li was no longer "next." He had become a discarded form, forgotten in the corner of time, unattended. Perhaps, only late at night, when someone was sorting through the archives, they would come across it by chance, see the blurred, once-bright red seal, and remember that a man named Lao Li once sat here, a man who had stamped seals for thirty years.