When Mr. K walked into the office on Monday morning, everything was as usual. Files were piled high, phones rang incessantly, colleagues numbly tapped on keyboards, and the air was thick with the stale smell of coffee and stifled silence.
But Mr. K's gaze was drawn to something on the wall.
That year, I was thirty-seven, living alone on the edge of the city. Or rather, what used to be the edge of the city. Skyscrapers stood like abandoned building blocks, jutting crookedly from the cracked earth. The asphalt roads were long since fractured, revealing the yellowish-brown soil beneath, like so many desperate mouths, gaping uselessly.
I hadn't seen rain in a long time.
李红旗觉得自己像个被反复揉搓的破抹布，拧不出水，也擦不干净任何东西。他站在曾经工作的小学门口，面前摆着个小摊，上面堆满了花花绿绿的火鸡面包装袋。孩子们放学了，像一群被放出笼子的麻雀，叽叽喳喳地朝他涌来。
These days, it's really crazy! Gold is going insane, with a different price every day. I mean, can you eat gold? Can you wear it? But this thing has driven people completely nuts.
The room was dark and damp, only the ticking of the old-fashioned wall clock, like a dull judgment, knocking on Old Man Li's heart one sound at a time. He sat on a hard wooden stool, hunched over, his cloudy eyes staring at a stain on the floor. The shape of the stain resembled a distorted human face.
Ah Q has been feeling rather troubled lately. This trouble isn't because of anything else, but because of his stomach.
我是在一个下着雨的午后走进那家黄焖鸡店的。雨不大，却也足以把整座城市染成一种暧昧的灰蓝色。店里没什么人，只有靠窗的位置坐着一个穿格子衬衫的男人，面前摆着一份已经凉透了的黄焖鸡，和一杯冒着虚无热气的啤酒。
我找了个离他最远的位置坐下，点了一份黄焖鸡，不要米饭。服务员是个面无表情的年轻女孩，像是刚从一部黑白电影里走出来。她机械地重复了一遍我的点单，转身走向后厨，留下一个空洞的回声在店里飘荡。
Old Wang's life after retirement was like a gentle pastoral poem. He tended to flowers and plants every day and played with his granddaughter. His life was uneventful. Until that day, he saw the alluring blueberry advertisement online – "Freshly picked, plump, eight boxes for only XX yuan."
The rich aroma of butter churns in the boiling red broth, tempting like molten lava from hell. This is Haidilao, renowned for its impeccable service and rich flavors, a sanctuary in the hearts of countless diners. However, amidst this bustling scene, a desecration is quietly brewing.
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.