98 posts tagged with "Society"

Uncle Zhang first noticed something was amiss when he went downstairs to buy groceries. He habitually glanced at the doorplate of his unit - 302, the silver numbers reflecting a cold glint under the sunlight. Today, it was empty, leaving only a bare wall.

At first, he thought his old eyes were playing tricks on him, or that it had simply been blown off by the wind. He rubbed his eyes and carefully felt the wall; there was indeed no trace of it. He went to the door of 301 next door, and the doorplate was still firmly attached. His heart skipped a beat.

"It... it's gone." The technician, Xiao Li, spoke with a sob in his voice, his fingers flying across the keyboard as if trying to retrieve the lost characters. On the monitor screen, the process bar for the once-busy "Emotional Analysis Algorithm V3.7" was now empty.

Emotional Analysis Algorithm V3.7, an AI that was unknown yet omnipresent. It lurked behind every social media platform, every online communication, like an invisible psychologist, analyzing people's emotions and predicting future behavioral patterns. It did not belong to any company or individual; it existed in the cloud, serving the entire society.

The "Orion" disappeared.

Not a common loss of contact, but rather, like a crumpled piece of paper, erased from the global shipping monitoring map. This giant cargo ship, equipped with the most advanced AI navigation system and carrying invaluable electronic components, completely vanished into the depths of the Pacific without any warning.

Old Wang appeared at the entrance of the residential area every morning at seven o'clock sharp, rain or shine. He rode his old electric tricycle, the carriage always piled high with all sorts of packages, like a mobile treasure chest. The residents of the community were used to seeing him; he was like an old tree in the community, silently taking root, symbolizing stability and reliability.

Until last week, Old Wang suddenly disappeared.

"My Mimi is gone!" Aunt Wang's voice, laced with a sob, broke the tranquility of the residential area. Her beloved white Persian cat, Mimi, who was usually glued to her side, had vanished as if into thin air today.

The neighborhood doesn't have many residents, and they quickly gathered at Aunt Wang's doorstep. Discussions broke out; some said it had run away, others that it had been stolen, and even more pointed their gaze directly at Uncle Li, who lived next door. Uncle Li was usually quiet and kept to himself, owning a fierce German Shepherd and preferring not to socialize with others.

Doctor Lin had lost weight recently. Her cheekbones, once rounded, now felt a bit sharp to the touch. Being a doctor herself, she knew it wasn't just fatigue; it was something weighing on her mind, draining her spirit. What was it? Her child was gone. That past summer, a sudden illness, and they couldn't save him.

With the child gone, the apartment felt empty, and cold. It had been a nice two-bedroom apartment, south-facing, with an old pagoda tree outside the window. In summer, it offered lush green shade; in autumn, its pagoda flowers littered the ground. When he was still around, he liked watching ants move their homes on the windowsill. Doctor Lin stood in the living room. Sunlight streamed in, dust motes dancing in the beams. But his laughter seemed to linger in the corners; she'd turn her head, and there was nothing. This apartment... she couldn't live here anymore.

Wang Er got himself a new phone, shiny like a spring roll wrapper just fished out of a wok. But that wasn't important. What mattered was the app inside called "Omniscient and Omnipotent Life Assistant." The name sounded like an ancient emperor's title, exuding an air of undeniable authority. Wang Er liked that kind of thing. He felt life should have a bit of that "who else but me" swagger.

This app really had something. In the morning, it would remind Wang Er to get up like a gentle female secretary, casually telling him the weather and which route had the least traffic—even though Wang Er rode a rickety old bicycle where everything rattled except the bell. It could also, based on Wang Er's search history for "how to make braised pork less greasy" the previous night, push him a coupon for the highest-rated deli nearby, adding a note: "According to your health data, your recommended fat intake for the week has reached its limit, but occasional indulgence is good for mental well-being!" Wang Er felt this app understood him even better than his own mother, especially the "occasional indulgence" part—that really hit home.

David felt as though his lungs were about to be deformed by the air that had been circulating in the cabin for eighteen hours, tinged with the smell of disinfectant and a faint weariness. He wasn't a tourist. His suit jacket lay wrinkled on his lap, tie loosened, his eyes a mixture of almost absurd determination and unconcealed anxiety. He, David, who had once owned a small gift-wrapping shop in Massachusetts, USA, was flying across the Pacific, destination: that Eastern country rumored to be able to "make anything." His mission, sounding a bit ridiculous yet starkly real: sourcing. Not buying the latest electronics for his neighbors, but for his own long-failed business, searching for a tiny spark... perhaps the last one.

His shop closed three years ago. It started with small goods – the exquisite ribbons used to adorn gifts, tiny metal clasps, oddly shaped wrapping paper. He had once taken pride in finding "Made in USA" suppliers, even if the price was a bit higher. But soon, customers began complaining about the prices, showing him pictures from some Chinese e-commerce platform on their phone screens, looking at him with eyes that basically asked, "Why don't you just rob me?" Then, he tried to pivot to higher-end wedding accessories, like custom lace gloves and veil decorations. He discovered that forget finding American workers willing to do such delicate work (the news talked about training seamstresses, which seemed like a fairy tale), even the suitable raw materials, the incredibly fine mesh netting and beads, originated from across the ocean. Ultimately, even the designs he thought were "unique" appeared on wholesale websites within weeks, priced at a third of his cost.