Li Ming sat at his workstation, staring at the blinking cursor on the screen, his eyelids heavy as lead. He had been working continuously for 28 hours and 55 minutes, just 5 minutes short of the record on the "honor roll."
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 rubbed his frozen fingers at his workstation, exhaling a puff of white breath. On the screen, a dense array of red envelope icons was falling like a torrential rain. It was New Year's Eve, and the company had "thoughtfully" organized a "company-wide online red envelope grabbing" event, supposedly a New Year ritual to "coagulate the hearts of the people."
Old Wang stared at the screen, his fingers trembling as he clicked the mouse repeatedly. Grabbing red envelopes, something he initially thought was only popular among young people, had now become a "job" for middle-aged folks like him. He recalled when he first joined the company, the year-end bonus came in thick envelopes, heavy with real cash, not the jumping numbers and various illusory "coupons" on the screen now.
Old Wang pushed open the glass door of the office, and a strong smell of perfume, along with the drowsiness of the afternoon, rushed towards him. He sniffed, trying to identify which colleague had changed their perfume, but eventually gave up. Since the company started implementing "personalized office" practices, everyone's workstation has been arranged like a small personal exhibition, varied and flamboyant. Old Wang felt like a zookeeper who had wandered into a zoo, observing these "exhibits" every day and trying to figure out the logic behind them.
His gaze finally landed on Xiao Li's workstation. It was a small corner piled with red persimmons, but upon closer inspection, those "persimmons" turned out to be combs. Xiao Li was the young man who sold 50,000 combs shaped like persimmons and was hailed as a "model of innovation" by the company. Old Wang remembered that half a year ago, Xiao Li was just an intern who didn't even dare to speak loudly in meetings, but now he has become a role model for the whole company to learn from.
Old Wang retired, not gloriously, but "gloriously laid off."
The word "glorious," in Old Wang's life, was like a gilded nail, firmly hammered into the wooden board of his "life," emitting a harsh metallic scraping sound. He was once the pride of the entire unit, no, it should be said, the pride of the entire country—a model who received a First Class Merit in the army less than a year after graduating with a bachelor's degree. At the time, the publicity was overwhelming, and Old Wang's name was tightly bound to phrases like "promising young talent" and "role model of the times."
"Fifth time, still a busy signal," the governor's assistant murmured, his fingers gliding across the phone screen as if it were burning hot. "The president is probably busy," he added, his tone laced with a reassurance he himself didn't believe.