The Shadow of Potato Chips
At one point, Li Wei's life was carved up by an almost standardized rhythm. Like most of the "digital laborers" busy in the office buildings of big cities in this era, his coordinates were clearly fixed between his commuting route, his cubicle, and that small but "fully equipped" rented apartment. And along this seemingly monotonous line, there were always some tiny, shining nodes offering him brief solace and energy. One of them was buying a bag of Lay's cucumber-flavored potato chips at the convenience store downstairs after work every Friday.
It was a ritual. The crisp "crinkle" sound when tearing open the bag was his trumpet call announcing the end of the work week; the "crunch" sound as his fingers picked up the first thin crisp and brought it to his mouth was a tiny rebellion against the heavy pressure of life. Potato chips, this cheap happiness mass-replicated on industrial assembly lines, for Li Wei, were not just snacks, but more like a stabilizer, a small, precisely predictable happiness in a world full of uncertainty. He could even clearly recall pulling all-nighters to finish papers in college, surviving on bag after bag of Lay's in various flavors. This brand had accompanied him through almost his entire youth and the first few years after entering society, like a silent old friend.