"My luck has been terrible lately, I can't even grab a prize from a claw machine," Xiao Ai muttered to herself, carefully examining her newly done nails in the mirror. The tips glittered like tiny, unreal jewels. She had just been promoted at work, and being the “rolling king” of her department, this was a small treat for herself.

  Zhang Xiaowei’s nail salon was located on the second basement floor of an office building. The store was not big, but business was fairly brisk. She had great skills, fair prices, and most importantly, she always managed to accurately capture the deepest desires of her customers. For example, a white-collar worker who was mentally exhausted by PPTs could have their nails transformed into a beautiful starry sky, as if carrying her away from this oppressive reality.

Old Wang stared at himself carefully in the mirror. The face in the mirror was yellow, as if it had just been pulled out of a dye vat, but not a pure yellow, rather a strange color mixed with specks of orange, like the flesh of a low-quality tangerine. He reached out and touched his cheek, feeling that his skin seemed rougher than before, with a sandy texture, like sandpaper.

Today was the third day of Old Wang's "color change."

Old Wang is back in society. No, to be precise, he's back in high school.

He used to be an excellent firefighter, rushing into burning buildings to save lives was routine for him. But after that one big fire, Old Wang’s "brain was fried," and his intellectual level regressed to childhood. After a long recovery, doctors were delighted to announce that Old Wang had recovered to the level of a high school student.

Old Wang had worked at the "bleaching" factory for twenty years. This wasn't a laundry factory; it was an institution dedicated to serving humanity. Every morning, he would see batches of "faded" humans being brought in. Some had their memories erased due to work errors, others had their emotional experiences wiped away due to relationship problems, and some simply wanted to restart their lives like a blank sheet of paper.

The "bleaching" process was very simple, like re-coloring an old photograph, except the subject was a person. They were taken into large white chambers, and with a slight electrical hum and the low whir of machinery, it was all over.

The lunch break bell rang like a pardon, and Liu Qiang immediately put down his keyboard. He rubbed his tired eyes and got up to go to the cafeteria. Just then, the department manager, Lao Wang, walked to his workstation, a mysterious smile plastered on his face.

"Xiao Liu, there's a glorious task that only you can handle!" Lao Wang patted Liu Qiang's shoulder, the force nearly knocking him off balance.

Lao Wang felt that his life was like a wind-up toy, spinning every day to the tune of the "rush" bell.

He rode his dilapidated electric bike, weaving through the concrete jungle of the city. His bike basket was always filled with packages of all sizes, each with a bright red "rush" label. Lao Wang's ears seemed glued to the phone's speaker, the constant stream of urgent prompts like a rapid drumbeat, making his nerves tense.

At six o'clock in the morning, the sun has not yet completely dispelled the fog on the edge of the city. In the "Starlight Hotel" near the university town, the laundry room on the first floor is already bustling. There are no business people in suits and ties, nor are there tired travelers, just a group of plainly dressed college students. They skillfully operate the coin-operated washing machines, stuffing bags of dirty clothes inside.

Li Ming is one of them. His movements are smooth, obviously not his first time here. He wears black-rimmed glasses, and his eyes show a tiredness that doesn't match his age. He expertly operates his phone, paying for the laundry, his actions carrying a sense of mechanical repetition. Today, he's wearing a light blue T-shirt with a small line of text printed on the front: "Reject Internal Competition, Starting with Me." This line seems particularly ironic in this setting.