The Vanishing Wander-Smoker

Old Wang, or perhaps, let's just call him Old Wang for now, because his story could happen to any ordinary person named Wang, Li, or Zhang. He had lived most of his life in Shanghai, this enormous, ever-changing city, and possessed a habit as natural as breathing: smoking while walking.

It wasn't some earth-shattering addiction, nor was it a posture worth flaunting. For him, on the short walk of a few hundred meters or a kilometer from his doorstep to the subway station, from the station to the office building, lighting a cigarette and letting his thoughts drift with the smoke was a tiny, insignificant comfort amidst the complexities of daily life. Nicotine was the primer; what he truly relied on, perhaps, was that state of walking among the crowd yet being able to briefly detach. The smoke swirled before him, blurring the faces of passersby, blurring the imminent pressures of work and life. He was like a mobile, tiny island.

He never considered himself part of the "wander-smoker tribe," a new term that sounded somewhat jarring, carrying a certain labeling implication. He was just someone who smoked while walking, nothing more. Just like some people listen to music while walking, some look down at their phones, some chat with companions. Until that news emerged, like a small stone tossed into a calm lake, it didn't make big waves, but it sent ripples spreading, especially across "surfaces" like Old Wang's.

"Shanghai cracks down on the 'wander-smoker' tribe who smoke while walking."

Initially, Old Wang didn't pay much attention. Regulations, well, they were always being issued. This city never lacked new rules. He thought it would probably just mean stricter enforcement in certain specific areas, like the core of commercial streets, or near schools and hospitals. He would just try to avoid those places. His walking routes were mostly ordinary streets, neither bustling nor deserted.

But events gradually unfolded beyond his expectations.

First, more people appeared on streets and alleys, wearing uniforms, but not police or city management officers. They wore red armbands printed with an abstract symbol of a crossed-out walking cigarette. They didn't speak, just stood silently at intersections, their sharp gazes scanning the pedestrians. The first time Old Wang encountered them, he subconsciously hid the just-lit cigarette in his palm, even though he was only standing still waiting for the traffic light, not walking. That gaze, like a spotlight, made him feel an inexplicable, uncomfortable scrutiny.

Next, new notices were posted at subway entrances, bus stops, even in front of some large buildings. No longer a simple "No Smoking," but more specific: "Smoking while walking in public places is prohibited." Below was a line in small print about the penalties for violators, but the method of punishment was vaguely worded – something like "behavior points deduction" or "inclusion in personal integrity records." How exactly it would be implemented was unclear. This ambiguity was more unsettling than a clear fine amount.

Old Wang started trying to change. He tried finishing a cigarette before leaving home, or忍耐 (rěnnài - enduring/holding back) until he reached the designated smoking area downstairs at work. But a habit of decades, like another nerve grown into his body, was always inadvertently triggered. One day after work, his mind still preoccupied with a tricky project proposal, his hand had already unconsciously taken out the cigarette pack, lit one, held it between his fingers, and started walking.

After about ten meters, he abruptly realized what he was doing. He looked around in panic, like a child caught red-handed. No red armbands, no notice boards, just pedestrians hurrying along like him. But he felt as if countless eyes were staring at him; the gazes of those previously indifferent passersby seemed to carry a kind of condemnation and surveillance. He hastily stubbed out the cigarette in the portable ashtray he carried, his heart pounding.

Strange things began to happen.

Another time, he again unconsciously lit up and started walking. He hadn't gone far when a man in a plain jacket quickly caught up and tapped his shoulder. "Sir," the man's tone was calm, even carrying a hint of a smile, "you have violated Article XX of the 'Urban Mobility Conduct Regulations'. Please cease your behavior." Old Wang was stunned; he hadn't even clearly heard the name of the regulation or the article number. "Who are you?" he asked. "We are 'Mobile Behavior Guides'," the man replied, smile unchanging, "responsible for assisting citizens in adapting to the new urban norms." The guide didn't issue a ticket, nor use coercive measures, just stood beside him until he extinguished the cigarette, then smiled and watched him leave. This gentle, pervasive "guidance" was more chilling than a harsh reprimand. He felt like an ignorant child needing constant correction.

Later, he "transgressed" again. This time, no guide appeared. But the next day at work, he found his access card wouldn't scan. The receptionist told him his "Urban Behavior Credit Score" had been deducted due to the previous day's violation, causing some privileges to be temporarily frozen. He needed to go to the Community Service Center for a session of "Regulation Re-education" to have them restored.

The Community Service Center was in an inconspicuous corner, a small room with a few others sitting inside, looking as confused and dejected as he felt. The so-called "re-education" consisted of watching a looping promotional video about how the new regulations improved the city's image, benefited citizens' health, and included some (seemingly far-fetched) negative examples caused by "wander-smoking." There was no explanation, no interaction, just the cold, repetitive images and sound. An hour later, a staff member expressionlessly handed him a certificate, and his access card was restored.

Old Wang walked out of the service center, the sunlight feeling somewhat harsh. The cigarette pack in his pocket felt heavy, like a stone. He suddenly realized that the important thing wasn't the fine, the point deduction, or even the so-called "re-education." The important thing was that his small habit—decades-old, harmless, perhaps even a part of his personal mental space—was being systematically stripped away by a powerful, invisible, yet omnipresent force.

This deprivation wasn't through coercive violence, but through a set of logic and procedures that seemed civilized, rational, and even "for his own good." It made you feel ashamed, made you doubt yourself, made you start self-censoring unconsciously, and ultimately, made you give it up voluntarily.

Old Wang began to observe his surroundings carefully. He noticed that people smoking while walking on the streets had indeed almost disappeared. Occasionally, he'd spot one, but they would quickly extinguish the cigarette like a startled bird, or duck into some secluded corner. Those "wander-smokers" who, like him, once sought a moment of tranquility in walking, seemed to have evaporated overnight. The city remained noisy, the crowds still flowed, but something—something small, a fragment of individual freedom, or perhaps, a kind of disordered, undefined right—had quietly vanished.

He stood by the roadside, watching the traffic, watching the pedestrians hurrying by with blank expressions. He wanted to light a cigarette, but his hand, reaching into his pocket, touched only the cold cigarette pack. He hesitated for a long time, finally withdrawing his hand and taking a deep breath of the cold air, thick with exhaust fumes and dust.

The air no longer held the familiar smell of burning cheap tobacco. Instead, there was a more regulated, cleaner, but also colder and more alien smell. He felt an inexplicable sense of loss, as if a part of himself had also been permanently "optimized" away by this new regulation, along with the vanishing smoke. He was still walking, but he felt he was no longer that mobile island, but had become a well-disciplined, faceless cog in the vast city machine. And that, perhaps, was the most chilling part of all.