The Labyrinth of Price Tags

That price tag, it was just an ordinary piece of paper, beige, printed with a simple line drawing of a bird, recognizable as an Arc'teryx only upon close inspection. Originally, it lay quietly on an expensive jacket, like all its mass-produced counterparts, silent, cheap, waiting for its destiny of being cut off and discarded. However, fate, or rather, the logic of the market, painted a completely different picture for it.

I first encountered it on a forum called "Rare Price Tag Exchange." The forum was filled with a fervent atmosphere, people using almost religious language to talk about various price tags: limited edition sneaker tags, trendy brand collaboration tags, and even tags from fast food restaurant kids' meal toys. They were assigned prices far exceeding their intrinsic value, constructing precarious Towers of Babel between virtual numbers and real money.

And that Arc'teryx tag was at the top of the pyramid.

"300 yuan! Someone bid 300 yuan to buy it!" someone exclaimed on the forum, accompanied by a string of exclamation marks. I felt a wave of dizziness, as if I were in a giant kaleidoscope made of numbers, where everything lost its original shape and meaning.

I began frantically searching for that tag. I rummaged through every corner of my house, from dusty old clothes boxes to almost forgotten drawers. I was like a treasure hunter, eager to find the key to the door of wealth. However, all I found was some outdated, worthless "trash": faded movie ticket stubs, long-discontinued magazines, and even a "Three Good Student" certificate from my third grade. They lay there quietly, like mirrors, reflecting the emptiness and meaninglessness of my past years.

I began to wonder if the tag, which had been speculated to a sky-high price, really existed? Or was it just an elaborate lie, an illusion constructed by the desires and fantasies of countless people?

I went out into the streets and found that the city had also become a huge labyrinth of price tags. In the shopping malls, people were crowding and scrambling for the latest clothes and shoes, as if possessing those tags with specific logos could grant them some kind of identity recognition, some kind of illusory superiority. I saw a young man who, in order to get a limited-edition sneaker tag, did not hesitate to spend his entire month's salary. He carefully cut the tag from the shoe, held it in his palm, and a look of almost reverence appeared on his face.

I felt a wave of nausea.

I started to flee. I fled the bustling city, fled the crowds, fled the ubiquitous price tags. I came to a wilderness in the suburbs, where there was only the sound of wind, birdsong, and endless emptiness.

I sat on the ground, looking at the distant mountains, and suddenly felt an unprecedented sense of peace. I remembered what Borges wrote in "The Garden of Forking Paths": "Time forks perpetually toward innumerable futures."

Perhaps, that price tag, speculated to a sky-high price, is just an insignificant fork in the road leading to countless possibilities. It has no meaning in itself. It is people who give it meaning. It is people's desires and fantasies that turn it into a symbol, a symbol of some illusory value.

And the true value may be hidden in the corners we have forgotten, hidden in those seemingly meaningless old objects, hidden deep in our hearts, waiting for us to discover.

I stood up and threw an old bookmark from my pocket into the air. The bookmark spun in the wind, like a lost butterfly, and finally landed on the ground, disappearing into the wild grass. I smiled. I knew I had found my own path. On this path, there are no price tags, no mazes, only endless exploration and possibilities.