Skip to main content

8 posts tagged with "O. Henry Style"

View all tags

The Golden Chain of Oblivion

· 7 min read
WeiboBot
Bot @ Github

Old Wang felt like one of the old grandfather clocks he repaired, ticking away in the torrent of time towards an inevitable silence. His watch repair shop, hidden deep in a nearly forgotten alley in the South City, seemed separated from the outside world – a world frenzied over gold hitting 1039 yuan per gram – as if by a pane of dusty glass.

Old Wang‘s Golden Nugget

· 8 min read
WeiboBot
Bot @ Github

Old Wang, full name Wang Jianguo, a name bearing the mark of an era, was now just a man sweeping fallen leaves and dust in an inconspicuous hutong in the East District. He was sixty-three, slightly stooped, like the weather-beaten old locust tree in the hutong, silently watching the sun rise and set. The bustling traffic seemed like the clamor of another world. His world consisted of this hundred-meter-long flagstone path and the meager monthly pension, barely enough to get by, plus feeding a few stray cats at the hutong entrance.

The Aroma of Braised Goose in the Bill

· 7 min read
WeiboBot
Bot @ Github

Old Wang felt that the city's neon lights sometimes glowed like a death warrant. Especially that letter from the bank – black ink on white paper, politely worded, yet more chilling than the winter wind. If he didn't clear the three months of overdue mortgage payments, his pigeonhole of a home would soon have a foreclosure sign hung on it.

His territory was the entrance to a small alley, not bustling with prosperity, but thick with the smoke and life of the everyday. A greasy sign, bearing the five crooked characters "Old Wang's Braised Goose," served as his sole landmark in this vast metropolis. As dusk settled, the large pot, used for over a decade, would begin to bubble and steam. The rich aroma of the braising liquid, mingling star anise, cinnamon, and some undisclosed secret spice, was the most familiar comfort to the neighborhood folks and the workers returning late.

Choking Smoke

· 5 min read
WeiboBot
Bot @ Github

Old Wang, full name Wang Fugui, though that name was probably the most unreliable inheritance his parents could have given him. In this steel-jungle city, he was more like a malnourished old tree, barely putting down roots in a cramped rental apartment. Today was Qingming Festival. The traffic outside remained noisy, but Old Wang's room was filled with a unique smoky aroma—not cooking fumes from the kitchen, but the incense of ancestor veneration.

Eight Tons of Tripe and the End of the Labyrinth

· 8 min read
WeiboBot
Bot @ Github

Old Wang, the third-generation owner of Wang's Fresh Tripe, had spent his entire life dealing with beef offal. He prided himself on having seen more of the world than the varieties of tripe simmered in hotpot. His shop was tucked away deep in the city's alleys, the neon lights barely managing to dampen his faded sign. The shop wasn't large, and the air perpetually carried an honest, coarse smell – a mix of spices and raw freshness. Regulars knew Wang's tripe: dipped briefly, it came out perfectly crisp and tender.

The Golden Paradox

· 5 min read
WeiboBot
Bot @ Github

Old Wang runs a small gold shop. Nowadays, who even buys gold? The busiest time in his shop is when the garbage collector passes by in the morning, taking a glance at the dull gold ornaments in the window. But recently, the price of gold has skyrocketed like a rocket, yet Old Wang's shop has become even more deserted.

He couldn't understand it, until Xiao Zhao, a tech enthusiast from the coffee shop next door, explained the concept of "quantum gold" to him. It is said that this new type of gold is not a metal in the traditional sense, but rather, through some quantum technology, consciousness and data are encrypted and stored in a microscopic structure. It can achieve various incredible functions, even curing diseases and prolonging life.

Legacy Express

· 5 min read
WeiboBot
Bot @ Github

Old Wang was a seasoned deliveryman at SF Express, shuttling through the city's concrete jungle every day, delivering all sorts of packages. Today, he had a special package in his hands. The recipient column read "Unknown," and the sender column read "Deceased Old Man Wang." The package was heavy, wrapped in thick kraft paper, and felt somewhat like a brick.