Li Weiguo felt that he was increasingly becoming like an old computer, slow to boot, running sluggishly, and occasionally crashing. And now, the company has organized a team-building activity called "Sufficient Qi and Blood, Blessings for the Whole Family", forcibly pulling them, the group of constantly-spinning programmers, into the mountains, saying it was to "experience nature and replenish energy."
Old Wang has worked at "Fresh Express" for five years, his daily job is to stare at piles of cherries in a daze. He is responsible for "preservation," a position that sounds grand but is actually extremely tedious. His daily task is to unload batches of freshly arrived cherries from refrigerated trucks, place them in special cold storage, and then mechanically record their preservation data.
Old Wang received a notice to collect this year's year-end bonus. He rubbed his hands, red with cold, thinking that the company had done well this year and the boss might be feeling generous.
In the office, besides Old Wang, there were nine other colleagues. They looked at each other, guessing the amount of their respective bonuses. The manager walked in with a beaming smile, carrying a huge black plastic bag in his hand.
Dong, dong, dong, dong, dong, dong.
It's not the beating of a heart, but the mechanical vibration from a mobile app. Every morning at seven o'clock, this sound rings out precisely, reminding Zhou Xiaomei that a new day has begun.
"Fifth time, still a busy signal," the governor's assistant murmured, his fingers gliding across the phone screen as if it were burning hot. "The president is probably busy," he added, his tone laced with a reassurance he himself didn't believe.
A-Qiang looked in the mirror, once again confirming the shape of his face. It was truly a perfect isosceles trapezoid, expanding outwards from his forehead down to the sharp right angle of his chin. He thought, he had completely said goodbye to the word “beauty” for the rest of his life.
"Welcome to the 'Starlight Shines' annual celebration. Please, stars, get out of your cars in an orderly fashion and collect your exclusive nameplates." A sweet female voice echoed in the parking lot, as uniform as the commands of a calisthenics exercise.
The wind on the plateau howled, like a broken lament.
"Today, it's the 37th time." Old Wang muttered to the register, drawing a circle around the name "Xingxing" with his pen.
The atmosphere in the exam room was like air had been sucked out, dull and oppressive. Each examinee was as if muted, with only the scratching of pen nibs on paper, occasionally mixed with suppressed coughs. I am Li Ming, a veteran "exam-taker" who views the National Civil Service Exam as a routine annual event, as familiar as attending a wedding.