The Programmer Who Sleeps in a Deepal G318
Xiao Shi is a programmer, writing code in Shenzhen. In this place, the buildings are tall enough to pierce the heavens, and the rent is high enough to pierce one's courage. Xiao Shi lacks courage, at least the courage to dedicate the bulk of his monthly salary to supporting a pigeon coop. So, he doesn't live in a pigeon coop; he lives in a Deepal G318. The car, domestic, electric, isn't exactly small – better than some Hong Kong subdivided flats, at least. He's been living like this for four years, like an urban nomad, or perhaps, like a sardine packed in a tin can.
At first, his colleagues thought he was crazy. How could someone who taps out elegant lines of code in Nanshan Science and Technology Park live like a vagrant? Some advised him: "Xiao Shi, you should at least rent a single room. Even if it's far out, even if the commute is tiring, it looks proper." Xiao Shi just smiled, revealing teeth slightly stained yellow by coffee: "Who am I trying to look proper for? Besides, my current commute time is zero."
His G318 is usually parked in some forgotten corner of the company's underground garage, or on some remote but free roadside spot. In the morning, he washes up in the company gym, puts on a reasonably presentable plaid shirt, then sits down at his workstation to battle with code. In the evening, after finishing overtime, while others flood into the subway station, squeezing into airless carriages, he leisurely strolls back to his "mobile castle."
He keeps the inside of the car tidy. The back seat is folded down, covered with a custom mattress, forming a single bed. The passenger seat holds a few wrinkled technical books and some philosophy paperbacks, plus a small electric cooker for occasionally boiling noodles or heating instant meals. Blackout curtains hang on the windows, ensuring basic privacy and darkness. In summer, he sleeps with the air conditioning on, the electricity "borrowed" from the company's charging station; in winter, wrapped tightly in a sleeping bag, he feels like a hibernating bear.
Some ask him, isn't it lonely? Xiao Shi says, he's not lonely when writing code. Code is his companion – logical, precise, never throwing tantrums. When not coding, he reads, or rolls down the window to watch the traffic, the well-dressed people rushing by, the scattered lights in the high-rises. He finds it quite interesting. He says it's like watching a surreal silent film, and he's the only audience, sitting in a box seat that could move anytime.
Of course, there are inconveniences. Like the call of nature, requiring a search for public restrooms. Like wanting to cook a proper meal – wishful thinking. Like occasionally craving a spacious place to stretch his legs and walk a few steps, instead of being curled up in a tiny space. But these inconveniences, compared to the rent saved and that sense of freedom, of "not being owned," Xiao Shi feels it's worth it.
He did the math. Over four years, the rent he saved, plus investment returns, is enough to buy a decent apartment in his small hometown city. But he hasn't bought one. He says buying a house is like nailing himself down, unable to move. He likes his current state; if he wants to go somewhere, he just drives off. Though mostly, he still shuttles between the company and the parking lot.
This life is somewhat like something out of a Kafka novel. You know it's absurd, illogical, yet it exists realistically, forming its own self-consistent logic. Xiao Shi is K outside the Castle, except his castle is self-built, on wheels. He is both the land surveyor and the land being surveyed. He uses an extreme method to measure this city's property prices, the cost of living, and the boundaries of individual freedom.
Once, the company organized a team-building trip to the beach on the east side. Everyone stayed in a sea-view hotel at night, opening the window to the salty, humid sea breeze and the sound of the waves. Xiao Shi didn't stay at the hotel. He drove his car to a permitted parking spot near the beach, opened the sunroof, and lay inside watching the stars. He said no hotel bed, however soft, felt as secure as his G318. That night, the sea breeze blew into his car too, carrying a scent of freedom, albeit slightly fishy. He thought, maybe everyone is looking for their own shell; some people's shell is a house, some a career, and his shell just happened to be this Deepal G318.
Four years have passed. Xiao Shi's coding skills have improved, and his hair has thinned. His G318 has clocked over a hundred thousand kilometers, its body adorned with numerous small scratches, like medals on an old soldier. He still lives in the car, still goes to the company gym in the morning to wash up, still returns to his mobile castle late at night.
Nobody knows how long he will live like this. Maybe tomorrow he'll get tired of it, rent an apartment, and start living a "normal" life. Maybe he'll continue like this until his G318 breaks down, or until he too, like code, is cleared by some "system error."
But at least for now, as night falls over Shenzhen and the lights come on, in a forest of steel and concrete, there is a dark blue Deepal G318, like a silent beast, lying dormant in the city's shadows. A faint reading light glows inside; Xiao Shi might be reading, or perhaps contemplating the next piece of code, or maybe just staring blankly, pondering philosophical questions about existence, freedom, and a tin snail shell. The scene is a bit lonely, a bit comical, and also possesses a certain, hard-to-describe ruggedness. Like those idiosyncratic protagonists in Wang Xiaobo's novels, resisting the absurdity of the world in a clumsy yet sincere way. He sleeps in his car, but perhaps his soul is freer than those living in mansions.