Li Ming habitually took out his phone and scanned the QR code on his high-speed rail ticket. The ticket gate beeped and released him, and he dragged his suitcase into the waiting hall. The screen displayed train information, and he confirmed the train number and platform, and skillfully found his carriage.

Train conductor Li Ming sighed, looking at the empty train car. It was another G233 high-speed train with only him on board, traveling from Beijing to Shanghai. Ever since the implementation of the new seat reservation system, his daily work felt like acting to an empty room. There were very few passengers, but that was not the strangest part. The weirdest thing was that, no matter which train it was, there was always an "E seat" that was booked but never actually occupied.

Old Wang had been working at the gas station for ten years. Every morning, he put on the blue uniform that could never be completely clean, stood beside the cold gas pump, and began his mechanical day. “Hello, welcome! What kind of fuel do you need?” “Okay, fueling, please wait a moment,” “Fueling complete, please drive safely!” He had to repeat these words hundreds of times a day, like a programmed machine.

Recently, the company introduced a new “incentive system.” Each attendant wore a small loudspeaker on their chest, which would automatically play a pre-recorded pep talk whenever a customer drove into the station: "Add oil! Let's be full of energy today!", "Add oil! Life is like a gas tank, full of power!", "Add oil! Speed up for your dreams!"

The lights in the operating room were pale and glaring, like a pair of indifferent eyes. Anesthesiologist Lao Li was skillfully preparing the anesthesia. He had been in this position for almost twenty years, what hadn't he seen? From crying children to ashen-faced elders, all had calmed down under his needles.

Today’s surgery was a small appendectomy. The patient was a young delivery guy named Xiao Wang. Lying on the operating table, Xiao Wang seemed a bit nervous, but still managed a smile at Lao Li: “Dr. Li, thank you for your trouble.”

Old Wang was a chef, or more precisely, a chef who made smashed cucumbers. His smashed cucumbers weren't sliced with a knife but rather "smashed" using a family-inherited "unique technique." The result was cucumbers that were crisp, flavorful, and unmatched by any other establishment. This made Old Wang a prized asset at the "Four Seasons Spring" restaurant.

Every morning, the first thing Lao Zhang did upon waking up was to put on his huge VR glasses. Not for entertainment, but for work. His workstation wasn't in an office, but in a virtual space composed of countless pixels. He was an employee of a "cloud office" company, responsible for "optimizing user experience." Specifically, this meant walking through an infinitely looping maze, collecting randomly appearing virtual coins.

"It's maze version 17.0 today," he muttered to the empty room, his eyes fixed on the pixelated wall in front of him. His character, a short, plump pixel man in a gray suit, looked a little comical. But Lao Zhang had gotten used to it, even finding it more real than his actual self.

Old Wang had been sitting in the train station waiting hall for almost three hours. The hard plastic chair beneath him was causing his back to ache, making him miss his old rattan chair at home even more. It had snowed last night, and the road surface had iced over this morning. Old Wang had fallen, making his back even worse.

He squinted, watching the passengers coming and going in the hall. Suddenly, he noticed some familiar faces—they were the photographers from the "cushion incident" that had been hotly debated online a few days ago. They were back, phones in hand, with a faint hint of excitement on their faces. Carefully, they pulled out some brand-new cushions, printed with "Warm Reminder," from their handbags, skillfully placed them on the hard chairs, and then began posing, flashing bright smiles for the cameras.

Old Wang was a small-time streamer, consistently going live at 8 PM every night to showcase his cooking skills, which had been seasoned by time and cooking fumes. His live stream room was named "Old Wang's Kitchen Aroma," and his audience was stable at a single-digit number, mostly retired folks from downstairs, occasionally a child from the neighbor's house would sneak in and shout "Grandpa Wang, hello."

Tonight was no exception. Old Wang skillfully sliced potatoes while the oil sizzled in the pan. He habitually rambled to the camera, “Making some shredded potatoes with vinegar today, simple and delicious, suitable for all ages. Don't you agree? Hey, Old Li, why haven't you sent any comments today? Did you go downstairs to play cards again?”

Old Wang was a cleaner at the Go academy, a quiet, gray-haired old man. His daily job was to sweep the playing rooms, wipe the Go boards, and pick up the scattered stones from the Go bowls and put them back in place. He had witnessed countless battles and heard countless sighs, but none of that concerned him. He only cared about the black and white stones, especially those that had been deemed "dead stones."

According to the rules, dead stones are removed from the board and placed in a special small box. But Old Wang always felt that these dead stones were unwilling to accept their fate. They were abandoned by their former owners, ruthlessly defined as "worthless" by the rules, and then thrown into the box, waiting to be used again, and abandoned again. Old Wang felt they should have some value, at least they shouldn't be treated like this.