Lin Chenxi stared at his badge, his brow furrowed.

The blue badge, once a symbol of glory and status, was now becoming transparent at a visible rate. A week ago, it was only slightly blurred around the edges, as if lightly erased by an eraser. Now, the company logo in the center was so faint that it was almost invisible, leaving only the name and employee number barely legible.

Li Ersao has been a little annoyed lately.

This world, it's getting harder and harder to understand.

Mama Wang sat on a small stool, picking over a bunch of spinach she had just bought from the entrance of the alley. The leaves were still covered with glistening water droplets, like eyes that had just been crying. Today was International Women's Day, but what did that have to do with Mama Wang? She still had to get up early, still had to serve the whole family, still had to haggle with the vegetable vendor for half a day over a few cents.

The spring of 2024 arrived with more clamor than usual. During the Two Sessions, Zhang Kaili's mention of the "35-year-old employment threshold" was like a pebble tossed into a calm lake, creating ripples that eventually converged into a surging wave of public opinion. This is no longer simple entertainment gossip, but a collective eruption of the anxiety of the times.

天儿刚擦亮，灰蒙蒙的，瞧不见一丝儿太阳的影子。老北京的胡同里，静得像能听见蚂蚁搬家的动静。我这把老骨头，却怎么也睡不踏实了，心里头堵得慌，像是压了块磨盘。

Lao Li retired, and his days suddenly felt as empty as a freshly washed porcelain bowl, so empty you could see your reflection in it.

His wife passed away the year before last, and his son was abroad, rarely returning even once a year. Lao Li was alone, guarding an old two-bedroom apartment, counting the spots on the wall to pass the time.

In Beijing's hutongs, there's never a shortage of stories.

Take this wall, for example. Bluish-grey bricks and tiles, pitted and uneven, it looks unremarkable. But its age is older than all the families living in this hutong combined. Since the Qing Dynasty, this wall has stood here, enclosing a Siheyuan, where a Manchu family surnamed Zhao once lived.

Li Ming felt like a locomotive abandoned by the times. He had once roared through the tunnel of youth, but now he was stuck on the rusty sidetrack of 35.

我家的猫，阿花，失踪了。

阿花是一只普通的中华田园猫，黄白相间，尾巴尖有一小撮黑毛，像蘸了墨水。它喜欢在午后晒太阳，用一种看穿世事的眼神盯着我，仿佛我是它豢养的人类。阿花失踪前并无异常，除了，它开始对猫粮失去兴趣。