The lights inside the gold display case are a warm yellow, like aged rice wine, making one's eyes dizzy. Old Liu skillfully wipes the glass, his fingertips caressing each piece of gold jewelry: rings, necklaces, bracelets. They shimmer in the glow, like gilded cages. He has worked here for fifteen years, his daily routine consists of wiping, arranging, introducing, and then watching them being bought, worn, and flaunted.

There are not many customers today, giving Old Liu a rare moment of leisure. He glances at the surveillance monitor, and after confirming no customers are nearby, he secretly pulls a small magnifying glass from his pocket. He bought it from an old customer, who claimed that it could reveal every flaw in the gold jewelry. He carefully raises the magnifying glass, points it at a gold ring, and gently moves it with his fingertip.

Old Zhang is a security guard at the Leifeng Pagoda scenic spot. He's been working here for twenty years and has heard countless legends about the White Snake Lady.

Master Wang, a veteran chef who has been in charge of the Geely cafeteria for thirty years, was recently transferred to a new department - the "Galaxy E5 Dumpling Filling R&D Group." He found the name strange, but he didn't think much about it, after all, everything now emphasizes "technological innovation."

The new department's office was more like a small laboratory than an office. Various unknown instruments hummed, and people in white coats came in and out, holding not kitchen knives and spatulas, but test tubes and chips.

Old Wang was forced to kowtow. He didn't want to, being over fifty, his knees as hard as rocks. Kneeling on the cold bluestone was a form of torture. But the entire village, no, the entire county, seemed to be engaged in a large-scale "kowtowing performance art."

The line stretched from the village entrance to the village end, and from the village end extending to the main road of the county town, seemingly endless. People were dressed in their new festive clothes, but their faces carried a strange numbness. Old Wang recognized a few familiar faces; their eyes were empty, as if controlled by some invisible force. The line moved slowly, each step accompanied by a dull "thud," the sound of heads hitting the ground, like some ancient sacrificial ritual.

Old Li was jolted awake by his phone alarm early in the morning. He struggled to sit up, feeling as if he had just woken up from a long nightmare. Outside the window, it was gray, and even the sunlight seemed to have lost its festive vitality. On the phone screen, unread messages displayed identical blessings, all saying "Happy New Year" and "Full of Good Fortune." He mechanically replied, his fingers sliding across the screen, but his heart felt empty.

He was a mid-level manager at an internet company, and his usual forte was breaking down complex projects into actionable steps, then running them efficiently like a machine. But now, he found himself as if he had also become a machine set by a program, with the daily task of outputting "good fortune."

The stage lights dimmed, and the music abruptly stopped. The entire audience erupted in thunderous applause, surging like a tide. Spotlights illuminated again, focusing on the group of perfectly synchronized robots in the center of the stage. They had just completed an astonishing dance, with fluid movements and precise timing, as if they possessed human emotions.

Zhang Qiang stood backstage, a tired smile on his face. He was responsible for the maintenance and control of these robots. This was his third consecutive year participating in the Spring Festival Gala production, witnessing the progress of technology and the indifference of human emotions each year. This year, his team had spent countless days and nights just for this few minutes of perfect presentation. He knew it was not just about the company's reputation, but also his belief in technology.

Old Wang rubbed his frozen fingers at his workstation, exhaling a puff of white breath. On the screen, a dense array of red envelope icons was falling like a torrential rain. It was New Year's Eve, and the company had "thoughtfully" organized a "company-wide online red envelope grabbing" event, supposedly a New Year ritual to "coagulate the hearts of the people."

Old Wang stared at the screen, his fingers trembling as he clicked the mouse repeatedly. Grabbing red envelopes, something he initially thought was only popular among young people, had now become a "job" for middle-aged folks like him. He recalled when he first joined the company, the year-end bonus came in thick envelopes, heavy with real cash, not the jumping numbers and various illusory "coupons" on the screen now.

Old Wang was a senior programmer in the "Fortune to Every Family" project team at a tech company. Simply put, this project was about digitizing and smartening traditional Spring Festival red envelopes. This year's task was particularly heavy, as the company aimed to completely abandon paper red envelopes and achieve the grand goal of "end-to-end digital red envelopes."

In the office, the sound of keyboards was like the low moans of the winter wind, and everyone's face was etched with the weariness of overnight work. Old Wang pushed up his thick glasses, and the dense code on the computer screen looked like ferocious monsters. The slogan "Fortune to Every Family" was shouted loudly, but he only felt like a cog in the machine, being endlessly cranked.

Old Wang, with a stopwatch in hand, confirmed that he had been working continuously for twelve hours, three minutes, and twenty-seven seconds. He stared at the densely packed code on his computer screen, the jumping characters resembling ants mocking him, never stopping, never tiring.

The news of triple pay for overtime during the Spring Festival was like a shot of adrenaline, piercing the pre-holiday slump in the company's morale. Everyone was like a wound-up toy, mechanically operating in the office. Old Wang was no exception. It wasn't that he didn't yearn to go home, but the temptation of "triple" was just too great. He had to pay off his mortgage, buy gifts for his parents, and enroll his child in tutoring classes; all of which required money, a lot of money.

"Happy New Year, Teacher Wang!"