Old Wang is a projectionist at Happiness Cinema. He loves his job. Although he repeats the same actions every day, he feels like he's guarding the entrances to stories. Recently, the cinema has been showing "Ne Zha 2," which has been incredibly popular, with screenings packed so tightly it's almost absurd—a show every ten minutes. This means he has to spin like a top, but Old Wang remains conscientious, like a precision instrument.

This day, Old Wang was repeating his work, pressing the play button, waiting for the movie to end, and then immediately cutting it off to prepare for the next showing. But just as he pressed the stop button, a strange image appeared on the screen: not the usual credits, but a black background with a line of text in white pixel font: "What you deleted is our memories."

Old Wang woke up to the piercing shriek of his alarm clock, or rather, he was startled awake. It was five in the morning, the world outside was still a blur, with the only indication that it was the fifth day of the Lunar New Year, the big day for welcoming the God of Wealth, coming from the intermittent sounds of firecrackers in the neighborhood. Old Wang turned over and pulled out the golden ingot he had prepared beforehand from the head of the bed—a plastic one, but shiny enough to be deceiving.

He lived in an old single apartment. It wasn't large, and the furnishings were simple, but a table in the center of the room stood out. It was a specially customized "God of Wealth Altar," made of mahogany and finely crafted, with images of five different Gods of Wealth on it. The incense burner was filled with incense sticks, and the smoke filled the room, making it somewhat choking.

The air in the cabin, as if the oxygen had been sucked out, became dull and oppressive. Li Ming sat by the window, trying to look like a calm traveler. The small, red, crumpled thing in his hand, like a hot potato, made him restless.

It was nothing else but a firecracker, a firecracker that had clearly been lit, with only some paper scraps and charred marks left. It lay quietly in Li Ming's palm, like a time bomb that would detonate fear.

Old Wang rubbed his hands together, bowing three times to the dark, hulking "Kitchen God" in the kitchen. It wasn't a wooden statue, nor a printed New Year picture, but a smart speaker with a screen.

Old Wang, the Stove God, has been very bothered lately. The Jade Emperor approved his descent to investigate public sentiment, euphemistically calling it "experiencing the human touch." He was overjoyed, thinking he'd see wisps of smoke rising from chimneys and hear cheerful laughter. But what did he find? On his first day, he was almost run over by a food delivery guy.

He transformed into a middle-aged programmer named Wang Ming, who was woken up by his alarm clock at 7:30 AM every morning. He'd hastily shove a few bites of bread into his mouth, then squeeze onto the subway to begin his daily "cultivation." Wang Ming’s "workstation" was in a transparent glass cubicle. He could see everyone in the cubicles across from him buried in their work, with only the clatter of keyboards rising and falling.

Old Wang shivered in the cold wind, carrying his ancestral small bench. Today was the first day of the Lunar New Year, and he had managed to get away from the mahjong table to watch a movie at the newly opened "Bench Cinema" in the county town. He had heard that this cinema was unique in that it did not have seats, and audiences had to bring their own benches. When the idea first came out, Old Wang had scoffed at it, thinking it was nonsense. However, he couldn't resist the cinema's "New Year Special Offers," the tickets were surprisingly cheap, and curiosity eventually overcame his principles.

When he arrived at the cinema entrance, Old Wang realized he was not an oddity. Men and women, old and young, each carried a bench, of different colors and materials, like a bench exposition. There were plastic ones, wooden ones, and elegant folding stools. Someone even carried a small grand master chair. People sized up each other's "vehicles," with a hint of novelty and a hint of helplessness on their faces.

The advertising screen in the elevator was once again replaying the promotional video for the "Worry-Free Office" app. Zhang Qiang stared at the stiffly smiling office elite on the screen, feeling a wave of nausea. He had to use this app every day to clock in, submit expenses, apply for leave, and even book a toilet stall.

Zhang Qiang was an ordinary technician, functioning like a cog set in a fixed orbit within the vast corporate machine. He disliked the "continuous monthly subscription" services on various apps on his phone the most, always feeling it was a disguised form of exploitation. A few days ago, he had seen news that a celebrity had also immediately canceled a continuous monthly subscription on an app, and he had felt quite relieved about it.

Old Wu, a young man drifting in the city, has recently become obsessed with "Spring Festival Gala-themed tourism." It's not because he particularly loves watching the Spring Festival Gala, but because of a "year-end check-in" task assigned by his company—he must visit four cities "brought to fame" by the Gala, take photos in front of designated landmarks, and post them on WeChat Moments, collecting four "likes" to receive his full year-end bonus.

There's no way to argue with these rules. Old Wu shouldered his bag, like a clockwork puppet wound tight, and began his "performance."

Old Chen is the captain of the drone maintenance team, a middle-aged man whose hairline is receding year by year. His daily job is to inspect, repair, and record those things that fall from the sky. This time is a bit special, it’s not just one or two that fell, but a whole batch, and all of them are high-tech gadgets imported from South Korea.

"This thing is like a rock with wings," Old Chen muttered, kicking a piece of debris. He hasn't been home for three consecutive days, and his eye bags are as dark as two lumps of coal. The maintenance shed was filled with shattered fuselage, like the aftermath of a fierce air battle.

Lao Wang pushed open the office door, and a wave of heat hit him. It wasn't that the air conditioner was broken, but that everyone was red-faced, as if they had just come out of a steamer. Today was the first day of the company's "absolute fairness" system.

The cause was a while ago, when actor Yu Shi's statement "We just want fairness" caused a huge response on the Internet. The boss was deeply inspired and decided to implement an "absolute fairness" system in the company.