10 posts tagged with "Microfiction"

Lao Li is the driver of the No. 108 bus. He has been driving buses for more than 20 years. He has witnessed the prosperity of this city and also the decline of the bus industry.

Li Ming parked his electric scooter at the entrance of the "Jinxiu Garden" residential complex. He expertly retrieved two portions of braised chicken and rice from his insulated delivery bag and glanced at the address on the order: Building 12, Unit 3, Room 502.

On the altar table where Old Wang's family enshrined the Kitchen God image, the dish of maltose candy, carefully made, was gone.

It was the fourth day of the Lunar New Year, the day to welcome the Kitchen God, and this candy was the key to persuading him to "speak good words in Heaven and bring back blessings." Old Wang was in a panic, pacing back and forth in the room like an ant on a hot pan.

Old Wang squeezed into the crowd, like a crumpled sugarcane husk. He was wearing his faded costume, embroidered with dragon and phoenix patterns that looked particularly comical under the sunlight. Today was the opening ceremony for "The Gods 3," and he was still playing "Extra A." Old Wang was no stranger to this role; he had been "Extra A" for ten years, a "living fossil of Hengdian," as he put it.

Today's opening ceremony was particularly lively, with the lead actor Yu Shi in attendance. Old Wang remembered this young man vividly; he had been present at the "fairness" incident that had caused such a stir a few days ago. Yu Shi's fans had made a huge fuss online, protesting the unfair treatment by the production crew. Old Wang had thought at the time that these young people were truly outspoken, unlike the older folks who had had their edges worn smooth and were too lazy to even complain.

Old Li walked into the company building. Today, his task was to experience the "DeepSeek" company's latest "Efficient Memory Implant" technology. In this day and age, competition has gotten so fierce that it's reached our brains. Whoever has the larger memory capacity is more competitive. Old Li, who barely got by relying on rote memorization, had long been swept aside by the younger generation. He was adopting a "last-ditch effort" mentality, hoping to get out of his predicament with this technology.

"Don't be nervous, Mr. Li," a young man in a white coat said with a smile, placing a helmet-like device on Old Li's head. "This is just a simple memory writing process, and there will be no side effects. We will implant all the content of all the company's important meetings in the past year into your cerebral cortex."

Xiao Ai’s nail salon is located in the most bustling district of the CBD. Every day, she is like a diligent gardener, using colorful paints and sparkling decorations on the small plot of land that is the fingertip to create secret gardens for urban women. But recently, she has discovered some uninvited guests growing in her own "garden" - small, flesh-colored, like newly-emerged flower buds, yet somewhat grotesque. The doctor told her that they were warts caused by the HPV virus.

She was puzzled. She wears gloves and disinfects rigorously every day. How could this have happened? She began to pay attention to her customers. The urban white-collar workers who came and went, with slender or thick fingers, dressed in fashionable or simple attire. In their conversations, they would occasionally mention recent physical discomfort, or small bumps appearing on the edges of their nails. Xiao Ai's heart skipped a beat, a feeling of unease rising in her.

Old Li didn't manage to get a "Dedication Fu" this year. It wasn't that he didn't try hard enough, nor was it that his luck was too bad, but he discovered that this year, collecting Fu wasn't about "grabbing" anymore.

The courier station at the entrance of the residential area had become a temporary trading center for "Fu" characters. All kinds of "Fu" characters were printed out, bound into booklets, and openly priced. From "Harmony Fu" to "Patriotism Fu", there were even "knock-off" versions of "Dedication Fu". Old Li initially found it absurd, but later discovered that if he wanted to collect a complete set, this was the only way.

Xiaofang has been working at a nail salon for five years. She is most familiar with the colorful nail polishes and the nail lamp that emits a ghostly blue glow. Every day, she repeats the process of filing, coloring, and drying, her finger movements as precise as a machine.

The shop is a chain, and business is booming. There is a constant stream of customers, most of them young and beautiful, with a persistent pursuit of color changes on their fingertips. Xiaofang likes to see their satisfied smiles and hear their chattering about dreams, love, and fashion. Those fragmented sounds, like background music, accompany her through long workdays.

Wang Dachui's most anticipated moment each noon was opening his lunch box. Not because of the delicious food inside, but because a small piece of golden sandalwood would inexplicably appear.

Old Chen had been in the "Transparent Gift" project team for three months. His daily work was to stare at the screen, monitoring the "transparent gifts" sent by WeChat users - a type of virtual gift, where the recipient could see the gift but not touch it or convert it into real money.

Project supervisor Old Wang, a balding middle-aged man in his forties, would send out a "Today's Transparent Gift Sending Guide" in the group chat every morning, teaching everyone how to cleverly use transparent gifts to please clients and superiors. Old Chen felt this guide was like a carefully written palace intrigue manual, except the battlefield had moved from the harem to the office.