12 posts tagged with "social satire"

Wang Erguang, known as Little Wang, wasn't actually little anymore. Pushing fifty, his hair had anxiously whitened halfway on its own. But in this yámen [government office], going by seniority, he still counted as "Little Wang." Who could blame them? He'd joined late. Pulling strings through countless relatives, burning who knows how much incense money, he'd finally managed to snag a shiye bian position in this bland, unremarkable archives department. The iron rice bowl! Thinking of those words, Wang Erguang could chuckle aloud in his sleep. A wife, a child, a warm kàng bed-stove, plus the salary arriving on time each month and those not-too-high, not-too-low benefits – this was Wang Erguang's dream for the latter half of his life, the capital that let him walk tall in the hutong.

Old Ma lived under the southern city wall, in an area of gray, nondescript tenement buildings. Truth be told, Old Ma hadn't weathered any great storms in his life. He'd spent half his youth tightening screws in a factory. His pension wasn't much, but it wasn't too little either – enough to get by, he wouldn't starve. His only attachment, or rather, his only source of "face," was his Corgi.

Elon Johnson, an accountant whose name is so ordinary it disappears into a crowd, hits a wall in his fortieth year – a wall built of dollars, yet harder and colder than concrete.

After retiring, Old Wang became obsessed with "cloud travel." His greatest joy each day was sitting in his flight simulator, wearing VR glasses, and pretending to travel around the world. One day, as he was "flying" over the Pacific Ocean and comfortably adjusting his virtual seat angle, the system suddenly popped up a red warning – "Hazardous item detected: suspected firecracker, please report immediately!"

Old Wang was stunned. He took off his glasses, looked around his empty room, and then looked at the pixelated firecracker with sparks on the screen. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He wondered, in this day and age, is even the virtual world so serious?

Li Jianguo held his small stool as if he were holding an old comrade about to go to battle. The cinema entrance was crowded, with most people carrying folding chairs, small stools, and even someone pushing a stroller with a low stool sitting securely on top. Ever since the old cinema in the county launched "seatless tickets," going to the movies had become a performance art.

Li Jianguo was a copywriter at a small advertising company in the county, writing nonsense like "Buy one get one free, don't miss out" every day. His life was as square and plain as this stool. After learning about the cinema's bizarre rules, he had a subtle expectation. Perhaps, behind this absurdity, there was some unspoken meaning.

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 Wang, carrying his rusty little stool, skillfully squeezed into the only cinema still operating in the county. He wasn't there to collect recyclables, nor was he there to join the crowd; he was there to watch a movie. Since the cinema introduced "seatless tickets," he had already come three times.

　　A piece of red paper was posted at the cinema entrance, with thick black characters stating: "Movie Viewing Notice: In response to the national call to conserve resources, this cinema now offers seatless tickets. Please bring your own bench." The handwriting was crooked, like a primary school student's casual scrawl. Old Wang thought the writing was much like the "No Peeing" sign posted in front of his house – meant for people to see, yet not really meant for them.

Old Wang Tou ran a small shop for recycling old items. The shop wasn't big, but it had a lot of things. He liked to put a rocking chair by the door, where he would bask in the sun and observe the passersby each day. Today, a little girl came, clutching a small cloth bag in her hand, standing timidly at the door.

"Little one, what do you want to sell?" Old Wang Tou squinted his eyes and asked with a smile.

Old Pi is the "ferryman" of this mountainous area, except that he ferries not people, but wildfires.

This job sounds mysterious, but it's actually very simple. It involves carrying a huge flamethrower and, when a wildfire spreads, spraying fire in a specific direction to divert the fire.

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.