Old Wang won the lottery again, this time a third prize. The winnings weren't much, but enough to buy "Star" a week's worth of beef. Star is a Bengal tiger, Old Wang's most prized possession, because she's the most "voracious" eater in the zoo. The zoo is actually pitifully small, more like Old Wang's "private backyard" built with lottery winnings than an actual zoo.

Old Wang is eighty-one years old, with a hunched back and a face full of wrinkles. Yet, he always holds a lottery ticket in his hand, with a childlike gleam in his eyes. He doesn't buy lottery tickets to get rich, but for the sake of the dozen or so animals clamoring for food. The zoo's sign is rusty, with crooked words that read: "House of Hope." What is hope? Old Wang says, hope is watching these guys jumping around every day.

After retiring, Old Li was appointed by the community as a “New Year’s Flavor Index Evaluator.” This was a trendy job, supposedly determined by a "New Year's Flavor Algorithm" developed by a well-known AI company. Every day, Old Li’s job was to walk to different families with a tablet, take a few photos, and ask a few questions.

"Did you put up Spring Festival couplets this year? How many characters?" The app on the tablet would immediately give a score.

Old Wang was assigned to be the lighting technician at the highest altitude branch venue of the Spring Festival Gala this year. Saying it's a branch venue, it's actually just a stage built on a snowy mountain peak, surrounded by howling winds and endless snow. He was wrapped in three layers of down jackets, but his hands and feet were still numb from the cold.

"Old Wang, make the lights brighter! More vibrant! More festive!" the director's hoarse voice came from the walkie-talkie. Old Wang made a face at the snowy ground on the screen, his fingers dancing on the cold control panel. He knew that the director wasn't really asking for vibrancy, but just something to fit the "Spring Festival Gala" label.

After Lao Wang retired, his life was like a lukewarm glass of plain water. It wasn't until he received a "Spring Festival Gala Cloud Participant Certificate" on Taobao that a drop of ink was added to this plain water.

The electronic certificate had an exaggerated gold background, with the large characters "Cloud Participation" in the center. Next to it was a serious-looking logo of the "CCTV Spring Festival Gala," and below it was a string of numerical codes that Lao Wang himself didn't understand. Lao Wang knew, of course, that it was just a marketing gimmick from the merchant. But looking at the glittering gold "participant certificate" on his phone screen, he felt a strange surge of excitement, as if he had truly become a part of the Spring Festival Gala.

The conference room was silent, everyone waiting for the arrival of the "zero employee." He was a legend at DeepSeek, an AI without a physical body or emotions, but capable of solving all problems. The large screen on the wall lit up, and a simple blue dot appeared in the center – the embodiment of the "zero employee."

When Lao Li received the notice, he was munching on half a cold bun. The notice was simple, two words: "Paste couplets." He didn't pay much attention to it, after all, subway stations put up Spring Festival couplets every year before the Spring Festival, it was a routine. He put down the bun, picked up his toolbox, inside lay a brand new bucket of paste and a brush. Lao Li was a veteran employee of Shenzhen Metro, he could paste couplets with his eyes closed.

But when he arrived at the warehouse and saw the pile of snow-white paper rolls, he was stunned. What kind of Spring Festival couplets were these? These were clearly rolls of white paper! He opened one roll, it was covered in dense black Song typeface, it read like an obituary, or a tasteless instruction manual. He rubbed his eyes, confirming that he wasn't mistaken, these weren't red paper with black characters, but white paper with black characters, and they were pre-printed. He found the warehouse manager, who pushed up his glasses and said in a mechanical tone: "According to the higher-ups, this year's Spring Festival couplets will all use this."

Old Wang was laid off, or rather, "optimized." He walked in the winter wind, carrying a cardboard box printed with the company logo, like a leek uprooted from the soil.

After retiring, Lao Li's favorite thing every day was to open his tablet after dinner and browse Taobao. He wasn't looking to buy anything; he just felt that the whole world seemed to be contained in that small screen, with new things happening every day, which was quite lively.

Before the Spring Festival this year, an advertisement popped up on the Taobao homepage: "Get your Spring Festival Gala Cloud Performance Certificate and become part of the hundreds of millions of viewers!" Lao Li's eyes lit up. The Spring Festival Gala was the taste of the New Year from his youth. He tremblingly clicked on it, and a cartoon character appeared on the page, wearing a festive red mandarin jacket and holding a golden certificate that read "2025 Spring Festival Gala Cloud Performance Certificate."

Old Li had been out of "Singularity Interconnect" for three months. This company was known for its "disruptive innovation," but also for its strict confidentiality system. Before leaving, Old Li signed a thick confidentiality agreement. At the time, he found the terms cumbersome, skimmed through them, and signed his name.

Lately, Old Li found himself having strange dreams. In his dreams, he was surrounded by countless black cameras, and a cold, mechanical voice echoed in his ears: "Article 37 of the agreement prohibits the disclosure of company secrets in dreams." He would wake up startled, his back always soaked with sweat.

Zhang Wei received a special invitation, with black lettering that read "Ms. Yang Tianzhen's Fortieth Birthday Farewell Ceremony."

She thought she was mistaken, rubbed her eyes, and confirmed it was correct. The invitation also stated the location and time, which was actually in the company's top-floor conference room.