Night falls, and it is not starlight, but the shimmering light of countless screens that illuminates the city. These lights, like the bars of a cage, imprison young souls within.

Yao Ming, this giant, his voice once resonated throughout the basketball court, but now, with a hint of helplessness, it echoes in the empty conference room: "24 hours without screens, give the children a chance..." This voice is like a giant wave crashing against a reef, trying to awaken a sleeping society.

The moss in the corner, a dark, almost black green, like an unresolved knot of depression.

It's 2045, a year shrouded in both smog and information cocoons.

I'm sitting in my cramped rental room, refreshing the job website for the Nth time. On the page, titles like "Senior Short Video Emotional Blogger," "AI Mood Regulator," and "Metaverse Virtual Asset Appraiser"... these glamorous positions are like soap bubbles, shimmering under the screen's blue light, only to quickly burst.

Old Li increasingly feels like a caged bird.

The sky was just beginning to lighten. Grey light squeezed through the pathetically small window, casting a slanting glow on the corner of the wall. The paint was peeling badly, resembling the wrinkled faces of old people, silently telling the ruthlessness of time. This room, rather than a home, was more like a pigeonhole, so cramped it made one's heart race.

雷军的不锈钢纸杯卖爆了。这事儿透着一股子邪乎劲儿，就像你走在路上，突然被一块从天而降的馅饼砸中，而且这馅饼还是铁做的。你咂摸咂摸嘴，除了疼，还有一股子说不清道不明的荒诞感。

这年头，什么都讲究个“智能”，连撒尿都恨不得给你整个APP，实时监测尿糖含量，分析你是不是得了糖尿病的前兆。可偏偏就这喝水的杯子，返璞归真了，回到了石器时代——不，是铁器时代。

Old Li has been a little bothered lately.

The sky was overcast, like a giant lead plate pressing down on the city of Beiping, suffocating its inhabitants. At the entrance of the old street's alleyway stood a newly built wall, gray bricks and cement, exuding a sense of rigidity and finality.

When we talk about Japan, what are we talking about? Is it the exquisite cuisine, the busy subways, or the predicament of an aging society? The incident of a Japanese elderly man falling into a sewer and not being rescued for 35 days may give us some deeper thoughts. This is not just an individual tragedy, but an echo of the entire era.

十年前，成都的街头，还弥漫着一股慢悠悠的茶馆味儿。那时候，谭乔还不是“谭sir”，只是个喜欢在路口跟人“摆龙门阵”的普通交警。谁能想到，十年后，这个名字会裹挟着流量的巨浪，在互联网的漩涡里翻滚沉浮。