Autumn of the Iron Rice Bowl

Wang Erguang, known as Little Wang, wasn't actually little anymore. Pushing fifty, his hair had anxiously whitened halfway on its own. But in this yámen [government office], going by seniority, he still counted as "Little Wang." Who could blame them? He'd joined late. Pulling strings through countless relatives, burning who knows how much incense money, he'd finally managed to snag a shiye bian position in this bland, unremarkable archives department. The iron rice bowl! Thinking of those words, Wang Erguang could chuckle aloud in his sleep. A wife, a child, a warm kàng bed-stove, plus the salary arriving on time each month and those not-too-high, not-too-low benefits – this was Wang Erguang's dream for the latter half of his life, the capital that let him walk tall in the hutong.

Life in the archives department was like tea leaves steeped three times: bland and tasteless, but stable. Every workday, first refill the leaders' teacups with hot water, then wipe down his own old rattan chair, used for nearly ten years, and finally stare blankly at the stacks of dusty old files. Occasionally tidying up a few documents, entering some data – the day would pass just like that. Most colleagues were senior to him; some knitted sweaters, others huddled together whispering about domestic trifles or whose child got into a good school. Wang Erguang didn't mix much. He felt he was a latecomer and had to keep his head down. Speak little, work more; if the leader said east, never go west – these were the rules he set for himself.

But one day, just as the autumn wind began to blow, bringing a chill to the heart, trouble came knocking. Without warning. Section Chief Old Li called him into that small, perpetually smoke-filled office, his face gloomier than the overcast sky outside.

"Erguang," Old Li slurped his strong tea, eyelids drooping, "Lately... have you been... hmm... a bit lax?"

Wang Erguang's heart skipped a beat. Lax? He clocked in precisely on time every day, was the last to leave, and kept his desk cleaner than his face. How was he lax? "Section Chief Li, you... did you hear something from someone? I, I haven't..."

"It's nothing," Old Li waved a hand, cutting him off, seemingly reluctant to elaborate. "Just that someone reported... said there's an issue with your work attitude. What exactly, I can't quite say. You think about it yourself, did you do something inappropriate somewhere, offend someone?"

Offend someone? Wang Erguang's mind buzzed. With his meek and honest nature, he bowed and scraped to everyone, terrified of saying the wrong thing. Who could he possibly offend? Could it be when he poured water for Division Head Liu upstairs and accidentally spilled a few drops? Or the day before yesterday, when organizing files, he put a less important document in the wrong cabinet? He turned it over and over in his mind, growing more panicked the more he thought, breaking into a cold sweat.

"No... Section Chief Li, please give me a hint, what did I do wrong? I'll change, I'll definitely change!" Wang Erguang pleaded.

Old Li sighed, stubbing out his half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray. "Erguang, this thing... it's just strange. Hard to pin down. The higher-ups' intention, perhaps... hmm... is to make a move."

"Make a move?" Wang Erguang's voice changed pitch. "Section Chief Li, you have to help me! I have elders above and children below, all depending on this salary! If this rice bowl..." He didn't dare think further.

Old Li shook his head. "It's not that I won't help. The winds this time... they're blowing strong. Seems like... it's not a small matter." He paused, lowering his voice. "I heard... it was someone way up high... who casually mentioned that someone here... isn't behaving properly."

"Who? Who isn't behaving properly?" Wang Erguang grew anxious.

"Who knows?" Old Li spread his hands, a look of helplessness on his face. "Things in this bureaucracy, sometimes they're like the weather – change just like that, no one can predict it. You should go back first, stay calm, don't panic. Maybe... maybe it's just a passing gust?"

But the wind didn't stop. In the following days, Wang Erguang felt the atmosphere in the entire office had changed. Colleagues who used to exchange a few words with him now averted their eyes when they saw him, as if he were the plague. He tried to ask around, but everyone hemmed and hawed, speaking vaguely. He felt trapped in an invisible net, tightening the more he struggled. He didn't even know who was pulling the net, nor what heinous crime he had supposedly committed.

He went to see Old Li several times, but Li always gave the same line: "Wait a bit longer, let's see." He thought about going to the Division Head, but he didn't even know which way the office door opened without asking around first. Mustering his courage, he reached the door only to be politely turned away by the secretary: "The leader is busy, no time."

He started losing sleep, had no appetite. His wife, seeing his distracted state, pressed him several times, but he mumbled evasively, not daring to tell the truth, just saying he was tired from work. His wife complained he was incompetent, couldn't earn big money, couldn't even hold onto a stable section member position. The child's tuition was due soon, household expenses were high... These words stabbed at his heart like needles.

Finally, on a gray, gloomy afternoon, a piece of paper stamped with a big red official seal floated lightly onto his desk. It was a dismissal notice. The reason given was very official and vague: "Due to work adjustments and personal reasons, no longer suitable for employment at this unit."

"Personal reasons?" Wang Erguang held the paper, his hands trembling violently. What personal reasons? He wanted to shout, to ask, but his throat felt blocked, unable to make a sound. He looked around; his colleagues all had their heads down, pretending to be busy, no one looking at him. Old Li wasn't in the office.

Like a puppet, he gathered his belongings: an enamel mug used for years, a dog-eared work manual, and half a pack of unfinished cigarettes. As he walked out the main gate, the autumn wind swirled fallen leaves, chilling him to the bone. He glanced back at the gray building, once the symbol of security for the rest of his life, now like a giant monster that had devoured him whole and spat him out coldly.

He walked aimlessly down the street. Traffic flowed heavily, crowds bustled; people came and went, everyone hurrying towards their own future. Who would notice a middle-aged man who had lost his iron rice bowl? He remembered the smile on his wife's face when he first got the shiye bian, the small sense of pride in front of the neighbors, how he thought he had grasped life's lifeline... Now, it all seemed like a joke.

He didn't know what he had done wrong. Maybe it was spilling the water that day? Maybe putting the file in the wrong place? Maybe not greeting some important leader promptly enough? Or perhaps, there was no reason at all, like autumn leaves destined to fall when their time comes? The more he thought, the more confused he became, his heart filled with absurdity and sorrow.

The sky gradually darkened, the city lights began to glow. Wang Erguang stood on an overpass, watching the endless stream of headlights below, like rivers of light flowing towards an unknown distance. He didn't know where his next stop would be. The iron rice bowl was shattered, leaving behind only feathers scattered everywhere [a mess of trivial troubles], and this boundless, cold autumn. He pulled his thin coat tighter, shivering. This Beijing autumn... it's truly cold.