[科幻] 2044年春节旧事 (中英文版)

6个科幻小故事，写于2013年春节
中文版发表于2013年第6期《科幻世界》
英文版发表于Clarkesworld September 2014
（http://clarkesworldmagazine.com/xia_09_14/）
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2044年春节旧事
By 夏笳
（一） 抓周
老张的儿子一岁了，依照惯例得操办一场。
摆酒当然是免不了，亲朋好友全都请到，酒席定了三十桌。媳妇有点心痛，说比他俩当初结婚摊子还要大。老张则表示，毕竟是一生才经历一次的大事，不能够草率，当初结婚时两家口袋都紧，这几年埋头苦干，终于攒下些钱，又好不容易得了儿，办得体面些，也是给自家挣面子，再说人辛苦挣钱到底是为什么，前半生为自己，后半生不就是为这小东西，将来大把花钱的时候还多呢。
当天果然就来了许多人，交过红包，入席吃吃喝喝。虽然社会信息化程度越来越高，但红包里还是一叠叠货真价实的钞票，毕竟老规矩，何况也好看些。老张媳妇专门借了台点钞机，哗啦啦一摞刷过去，声音好听得很。
终于大家都入了席，老张便把儿子抱出来，专门给穿了一身红，眉心还用胭脂点了个红点。大家都夸孩子生得好，圆头大脑，浑身上下没有一处不聪明，日后必然龙腾虎跃，前途不可限量。儿子也争气，不哭不闹，很老成地坐在高脚寿星椅子里面笑，愈发像年画里面的抱鱼童子。老张说：“儿子，给各位叔叔阿姨说个吉祥话。”儿子便把粉嘟嘟的两只小手抱作一个拳头，奶声奶气地拖长声音：“呼呼（叔叔）阿姨新年好——哄喜花柴（恭喜发财）——”众人笑成一团，都夸孩子天资聪慧，老张和媳妇教导有方。
吉时已到，老张忙把机子打开，白花花的光芒从天而降，化作许多图标，把老张和儿子环绕在中央。老张伸出手去，将一个图标拖到近旁，儿子迫不及待地伸出小手，一道红光依次从他五个指尖闪过，验过指纹，便登陆上他自己的账号。
首先冒出来一行大红字，恭祝儿子周岁生日快乐，同时配有动画视频，是一群小天使高唱生日快乐歌。曲子唱完后，又出来几行颜体小字，道：“江南风俗，儿生一期，为制新衣，盥浴装饰，男则用弓、矢、纸、笔，女则用刀、尺、针、缕，并加饮食之物及珍宝服玩，置之儿前，观其发意所取，以验贪廉愚智，名之为拭儿。”
老张仰头看着，突然间心里感慨万千，儿啊，你的锦绣人生就要从这里开始了。一旁媳妇也情不自禁依靠过来，两人的手紧紧握在一起。可惜儿子胎教虽好，毕竟还不认得几个字，只管伸出小手挥舞，把好些页面都跳了过去。文字介绍完毕之后，抓周程序便正式开始。一时间酒席上都安静下来。
首先跳出来各种奶粉牌子，琳琅满目花花绿绿，像天女散花缓缓落下。老张心知每个牌子都不便宜，又是外国进口，又是纯天然零添加，又是含有这个酶那个蛋白，又是促进大脑发育，又是专家推荐，又是这个那个认证，看得人头皮发麻两腿发软。好在儿子杀伐决断，伸出小手轻轻一点，被选中的牌子便叮咚一声，落入下方一只古色古香的乌木盒子里面。
接着又出来其他婴幼儿食品，助消化，促吸收，抗疾病，补钙补锌补各种维生素各种微量元素，提高免疫力，防小儿夜啼……一眨眼的功夫儿子也都选定了，各色图标叮叮咚咚往下掉，如大珠小珠落玉盘。紧接着选托儿所，幼儿园，课外兴趣小组，儿子瞪着乌溜溜的大眼睛看了好一阵，最后选了个有点冷门的木雕与篆刻工艺。老张心头微微一抽，手心里面不知不觉渗出热汗来，忍不住想要伸手拦截，让儿子重选一遍，媳妇却暗地里使劲拽住，凑到耳朵旁边悄声说：“又不靠它挣饭吃，还不是个玩儿。”老张缓过神来，感激地点点头，心却依旧扑通扑通跳得厉害。
之后选学前班，小学，小学补习班，初中，初中补习班，高中，高中补习班，接着跳出来一个申请国外大学的选项。老张心头又是一紧，觉得此路虽好，毕竟花钱更多，并且远在千里之外吉凶莫测，所幸儿子并未多看，小手一挥推到旁边。接着又选大学，选毕业后保研还是工作还是出国，选哪里工作，哪里落户口，选房子，选车，选结婚对象，选彩礼，选婚宴酒席，选蜜月旅行，选哪家医院生小孩，哪家服务中心上门照看，那之后的事情暂且管不到了，只剩下哪一年换房子，哪一年换车，去哪里游玩旅行，哪一家健身房锻炼，买哪种储蓄金，做哪一家航空公司的会员，最后又挑了一家养老院，一处墓地，终于尘埃落定。挑剩下的那些个图标兀自安静一阵，逐渐黯淡下去，像满天星辰一颗一颗熄灭了。天花板下面却落下鲜花与七彩纸片，锣鼓喧天乐声高奏，满屋宾客一起鼓掌喝起彩来。
半响老张终于回过神，才发觉自己浑身大汗淋漓，像刚从热水池里捞上来，再看媳妇，早已哭成个泪人儿一般。老张知道女人家情感丰富，待她哭差不多了，才压低声说：“这么大好的日子，你看看你……”
媳妇怪不好意思地抹着眼泪，说：“咱们的儿子呀，你看他，这么小小个人……”后面的话又哽住了。
老张不明白她的意思，却也忍不住鼻子里泛酸，摇着头说：“这样多好，省咱们多少心思。”
一边说，一边心里默默算起账来。全部这一套下来，不知得是多大一笔数目字，百分之六十头款由他和媳妇出，分期三十年付清，剩下百分之四十得等儿子将来自己挣，还有儿子的儿子，儿子儿子的儿子……想到未来几十年的奋斗都有了目标，他又感觉到浑身一股暖流涌上来。
再看儿子，小东西依旧坐在高脚寿星椅子里，面前一碗热气腾腾的长寿面，粉白小脸上红彤彤的，笑得好像一尊弥勒佛。
（二） 大年夜
夜深了，小吴一个人在路上走。街道上冷冷清清的，很是安静，偶尔有一两串鞭炮声炸响开来。这是大年三十的夜晚，家家户户都在桌边围坐，吃着团圆饭，看着春晚，其乐融融好不热闹。
他不知不觉走到家附近的一个公园里来了。公园里更是僻静，平日里散步打拳跳操唱戏的老老少少一个都不见，只有一池凉浸浸的湖水，在没有月亮的夜色里荡漾。小吴听着那一起一伏的沉闷水声，感觉浑身一个个毛孔都在往外冒寒气。他转身要往水边一个亭子里面走，却突然看见一个黑黢黢的影子。
小吴吓了一跳，大声问：“谁？”
那边反问：“你是谁？”
小吴听声音有些耳熟，状起胆子走近几步，才看清那人原来是住在他们家楼上的老王。
小吴摸了摸胸口，喘了一口气说：“老王，你差点吓死我。”
老王也说：“小吴，你大晚上怎么四处乱跑。”
小吴说：“我出来散散心。你这又是干什么？”
老王说：“我嫌屋子里吵闹。”
两人又相互看一看，心照不宣地笑起来。老王把旁边一个石凳擦一擦，说：“你过来坐。”小吴伸手一摸，感觉冷冰冰有些瘆人，就说：“不忙坐，刚刚吃饱，站一站对身体好。”
老王叹息说：“这年，真是越过越没意思。”
小吴说：“是的是的。饭一吃，电视一看，鞭炮一放，回去把觉一睡，稀里糊涂一年又过去了。”
老王说：“越没意思还越偏得过。人家都这么过，你一个人又能玩出什么花样来。”
小吴说：“对的。时间一到，全家老老小小都坐那边看春晚，自己想干点别的也没心情，还不如出来一个人走一走转一转。”
老王说：“我都好多年没看春晚了。”
小吴说：“那你厉害。”
老王说：“以前还好，简简单单，看两眼乐一乐也就完了。现在越搞越闹。”
小吴说：“科技发达了。好多新花样过去都不敢想的。”
老王说：“把些明星歌星演一演给老百姓看看也就完了，又搞什么‘全民春晚’，瞎胡闹。”
小吴说：“一年三百六十四天都看明星，哪里还有新节目，搞得活泼一点也好。”
老王说：“我就不喜欢这么乌烟瘴气的，大过年还不好清净清净。”
小吴说：“老百姓过年不就图个热闹，又不是天上的神仙不食人间烟火。”
老王说：“这么闹法，神仙也受不了。”
两人都叹一口气，听着夜色里的水声哗哗作响。过一会儿老王又问：“小吴你上过春晚没有？”
小吴说：“怎么会没上过。我上过两次，一次是现场抽幸运观众抽到我们家，一家人给全国人民拜了个年；另一次是我一个小学同学得了绝症，被选去出了一个节目，编导怕一个节目压不住，又把我们一个班的老师学生都弄去给他鼓劲，搞得主持人和观众全都眼泪哗哗的。那一次反响蛮好，可惜我镜头不太多。”
老王说：“我就没上过春晚。”
小吴说：“你怎么可能没上过春晚？”
老王说：“到时候我就电视一关，找地方一躲。春不春晚跟我有什么关系。”
小吴说：“你这又是为什么呢？上一下春晚又没什么。”
老王说：“我这人就是爱清静，受不得那些骚扰。”
小吴说：“怎么会是骚扰呢？”
老王说：“招呼也不打一个，就硬拉你上镜头，一张老脸播给全世界人看，不是骚扰是什么。”
小吴说：“也不过就一两分钟的事，看过乐呵乐呵就算了，又没人会记得。”
老王说：“我自己心里面不自在。”
小吴说：“看一下又不损失什么。”
老王说：“不是看不看的问题，是我乐不乐意。乐意的话，一天二十四小时都给你看也没什么，不乐意的话，总不好硬逼着给人看。”
小吴说：“老王你这样想想是可以，但现在社会毕竟跟过去不一样了，到处都是摄像头，还能一辈子不给人看吗？”
老王说：“所以才要往没人的地方躲。”
小吴说：“这样子就有点极端了。”
老王笑一笑说：“活这么大把年纪，总不能事事都被人家牵着走吧。”
小吴也笑说：“你这样叫特立独行。”
老王说：“屁大点事，哪里就至于了。”
话音未落，突然间白花花的光芒从天而降，幻化出千万张人脸来，人脸中央簇拥着一个舞台，金碧辉煌美轮美奂，老王和小吴就在舞台上面，锣鼓欢腾的乐声响彻天地。从两边各自过来一个浑身上下亮光闪闪的主持人，把两人一左一右夹在中间。
男主持人喜气洋洋地说：“各位亲爱的观众朋友，坐在我身边的这位，家住龙阳小区的王老先生，就是我们今晚一直在寻找的，全国最后一位没有上过春晚的奇人。”
女主持人也喜气洋洋地说：“感谢我身边这位热心观众的帮助，让我们终于有机会，把这位神秘的王老先生请到我们春晚的舞台上来，在这吉祥如意，幸福团圆的大年夜里，跟我们全国的观众朋友们见个面，拜个年。”
老王惊得目瞪口呆，过了一会儿才回过神来，转过头把小吴看了一眼。小吴被他看得有点不自在，想要解释两句，却找不到机会开口。
男主持人又说：“王老先生，这是您第一次上春晚，能不能告诉大家您的心情怎么样。”
老王不声不响站起来，身子往前一扑，咕咚一声，就从舞台上跳下去，坠入凉浸浸的湖水里面去了。
小吴惊得一跳，浑身毛孔都往外渗出汗来。两位主持人也一时间面无人色。夜空中几只微型摄放机上下翻飞，搜索着老王的影像，四面八方千万张人脸也都嘤嘤嗡嗡地嘈杂起来。
刹那间，黑黢黢的湖上突然发出光芒，像一团火球在水下面沸腾。只听得一声巨响，天崩地裂山河变色，照得方圆百里一片赤白。小吴倒在地上杀猪一般地叫，浑身上下都着起火来。他最后拼着性命把眼睛睁开，从指缝中间勉勉强强看了一眼，只看见赤白的光焰中间，有一柱金光扶摇直上，遁入云霄，从头到尾不知有几千里。
“这老家伙，莫非真是回天上躲清静去了吗。”他心里闪过这个念头，紧接着一双眼睛也烧起来，化作炽热的青烟。
第二天网络上议论纷纷。尽管现场摄放机全都烧毁了，只剩下残破不全的几个镜头，并且许多看过的观众都头晕耳鸣进了医院，但大家还是交口称赞，都说这是春晚有史以来最成功的一个节目。
（三） 相亲
小李今年27，过了年就是28。她娘见她一直没对象，就催她去相亲。
小李说：“相什么亲嘛，丢人死了。”
娘说：“丢啥人，当年娘不相亲，哪来的你爹？哪来的你？”
小李说：“一个个歪瓜裂枣，哪有靠谱的哦。”
娘说：“那也比你自己找靠谱。”
小李说：“你咋知道靠谱？”
娘说：“人家有高科技。”
小李说：“高科技就保证靠谱呀？”
娘说：“少废话，你去不去。”
于是小李就洗了澡换了衣服化了妆，跟着娘去了一个挺有名气的婚介服务中心。服务中心的经理态度很热情，听说她们是来相亲的，就请小李先做个身份验证。
小李一百个不情愿，屁股在椅子里面扭动，说：“麻烦不麻烦呀？”
经理笑吟吟地，说“一点都不麻烦，我们是高科技，快得很。”
小李还是不放心，又问：“我把我的个人信息都给你们了，会不会不安全呀。”
经理还是笑，说：“您放心，我们开业这么多年了，从来没有出过问题。连一起顾客投诉都没有过。”
小李还想问问题，娘在一旁催促：“快点了，别磨磨蹭蹭！”
小李就在终端上刷了指纹，扫了虹膜，把个人账号里的信息都上载到中心的服务器里。录完信息，又去做人像扫描。三分钟后，经理说好了，就从终端界面上抓下来一个图像往地上一丢。小李看见一片白雪雪的光从地上升起来，光里面站着一寸来高的一个人影，相貌身材服饰姿态都与自己别无二致。
那小人往四下里看了看，就进了旁边一扇小门，小门里有一张小桌，两把小椅子，一个小小的男人坐在桌旁。两人见面打过招呼，就坐在那儿聊起来，叽叽咕咕聊得很快，也听不清说什么。没聊到一分钟，那个小李就站起来，两人客客气气握手道别。然后那个小李又走到旁边另一扇小门里面去了。
娘在一旁小声嘀咕：“按照这速度，一分钟相一个，一小时就是60个，一天就是……”
经理还是笑吟吟地：“您放心，我们这是给您演示一下，实际上还能更快，您回去等一等，最迟明天准有结果。”
经理一面说，一面伸出手去挥了挥，地上小人儿变得更加小了，变成小小的红点，周围全是蜂巢一样密密麻麻的格子，每个格子里都有些红点和绿点在蹿动，发出各种嗡嗡的声响。
小李找不到自己那个红点，心里面有点慌。她问：“真能相中合适的吗？”
经理笑道：“我们有600多万注册会员呢，一个一个相，准有合适的。”
小李又问：“这样子相出来的靠谱吗？”
经理又笑道：“我们会员资料都是本人一个一个录进来的，全部经过严格验证，一点不掺假。我们的约会应用软件也是最新版的，凡是软件里能配出来，真人还没有不满意的。小姐您放心，大不了您见过不满意，我们全额给您退款。”
小李还想再看一会儿，娘又催她：“走吧走吧，这会儿倒还上心了。”
第二天下午，小李果然接到服务中心经理的视讯电话，说经过第一轮快速配对，总共挑出来438个合适的对象，全都体健貌端踏实可靠，与小李也是门当户对志趣相投。
小李有点犯懵。400多个，一天见一个也得一年多功夫。
经理还是笑吟吟地：“这样吧小姐，我建议您试一试我们的多线程约会软件，继续跟这400多位对象深入交流，增进了解。常言说路遥知马力，日久见人心，总得多相处些时候，才知道谁合适谁不合适呢。”
于是小李就给自己备份了10个小李，分别去跟这些对象们约会。
过了两天，经理打电话来告诉小李，10个小李已经与400多位对象每人分别约会十次，每次都有测评软件的记录与评分。经理建议小李，把十次总分加起来做个排名，留下前三十名，剩下的就暂且不要考虑了。小李觉得这个主意不错，心里也轻松了许多。
又过了三天，经理告诉小李，经过进一步深入接触和观察，30位相亲对象中有7位遭到了淘汰，5位进展缓慢，剩下18位双方满意程度都较高，其中有8位已经表露出结婚的意向，另有4位暴露出一些生活习惯或其他方面的缺点，但尚在可以容忍的范围内。
看小李半天不声响，经理提醒她说：“小姐，这种时候是不是可以请您母亲帮忙把把关。”
小李恍然大悟，当天就带娘去了一趟服务中心，验证了身份，备份了个人信息。于是接下来的过程，就有10个娘在10个小李旁边出谋划策了。
靠着母亲指点，很快就挑出7位最靠谱的结婚对象。经理又说：“小姐，我们还有模拟婚礼软件，您可以试试看。有不少未婚夫妇会在筹备婚礼过程中闹分手的，婚姻是人生大事，还是谨慎一点好。”
于是7个小李便与7位对象开始进入谈婚论嫁的阶段，双方各种七姑八姨也掺和进来，在软件里吵得热火朝天。在此过程中，果然有两家彻底谈崩，甩袖子退出了。
经理又说：“我们还有蜜月软件。曾有一位大文豪说过，夫妻两人经过一个月旅行后还能不彼此吵翻，才保证不会离婚。”
于是又模拟度蜜月，蜜月之后又模拟怀孕，模拟生小孩，模拟产后陪坐月子，只管抱儿子不管老婆的那位当场就被淘汰了。
又模拟养小孩，模拟第三者插足，模拟更年期之后感情能否持续稳定，又模拟各种人生重大挫折，车祸、瘫痪、丧子、父母重病……终于两个人相互扶持进了养老院，和谐美满过完一生。
竟然还剩了两个人。
小李觉得到了这一步，两个人都应该见一见。于是经理先把第一个对象的资料发了过来。小李激动得胸口砰砰乱跳，刚要把资料打开，却突然响起嘟嘟的警报声。紧接着经理的脸浮现出来。
“对不起小姐，非常抱歉地通知您，为您选中的这位对象，同时也在与我们另一位会员模拟配对，并且刚刚在半分钟前取得了同样优秀的结果。为了减少将来不必要的麻烦，我建议您还是先不要急着跟他见面。”
小李恍然若失，说：“你怎么不早点告诉我呢？”
经理说：“全部过程都是系统在管理，我们客服人员也不能随便干涉。小姐您别着急，不是还有一位吗。”
小李心里也暗暗庆幸，高科技还是靠谱的。
她把另一个对象的资料点开，看见照片上那张脸，突然感觉到一阵晕眩，仿佛未来的漫长岁月都在这一瞬间展开，水乳交融，如火如荼。她身子轻飘飘的，像一团云雨要飞到空中去了。
她听见经理的声音说：“小姐，请问您还满意吗，要不要安排你们两位见面？”
小李说：“我看不用了吧。”
她把照片发给经理看，对方也是目瞪口呆。
呆了好一阵，小李终于红着脸问：“还不知道怎么称呼您呢。”
经理回答：“小姐别客气，叫我小赵吧。”
一个月后，小李与小赵结婚了。
（四） 情人节
小陈和小郑都没有女朋友。情人节这天，两人看到同宿舍的小黄收拾得清清爽爽出去约会，都感到心里不是滋味，就一左一右拖住他说：“好兄弟，同分享，共患难。不然把你约会过程给我们俩直播一下嘛。”
小黄有些为难，说：“不就是吃吃逛逛，有什么好播的。”
小陈说：“既然吃吃逛逛，就更不怕人看。”
小郑说：“我们也就是看一看，又不给你添乱。”
小陈又说：“再说当初要不是我们两个献计献策，前后出力，就凭你小子能把小青追到手吗？”
小郑又说：“做人不要那么小气。”
小黄嘴巴笨，被他们两个说得没办法，只好答应下来。他戴上一只有摄录影像功能的隐形眼镜，设置成全程直播模式，他所看到的一切便在宿舍墙上清清楚楚地投影出来。调试完毕，看看时间不早，小黄就急急忙忙出门约会去了。
两人在学校门口见了面，决定先去附近一家西餐厅吃饭。这家餐厅才开不久，格调高，价位更高，小黄也是盘算了好久，才咬牙提前一天定了座位。两人手拉手走到门口，看见几个西装革履的胖男人正在跟看门小弟争执。一个人说：“我们都是老顾客了，隔三差五在这边吃，怎么偏偏今天就不让进！”小弟一边把住门，一边客客气气地解释：“实在对不住，我们店今天是情人节特惠日，只接受情侣预定，再说位子都订满了，几位请明天再来吧。”男人气得面皮涨红，正要跳起来吵闹，另一个人拉住他说：“莫跟他吵，如今这些店都是自己定规矩，吵也吵不出名堂。我们换一家吃算了。”小黄看几个胖男人悻悻地离开，又看看身边小青，心里不禁生出几分优越感，于是牵着小青的手走了进去。
两人坐下点菜，刚吃完前菜，一位衣冠楚楚气质不凡的经理手持一支红酒走到桌边，二话不说就要打开。小黄认出这牌子价格不菲，连忙伸手阻止说：“我们可没点酒。”经理笑一笑说：“两位现在是本店关注度最高的一对情侣。从两位进来到现在，本店已经接了三十多个订餐预约。为了感谢两位，老板决定这一餐给你们打八折，还送一支他本人亲自推荐的红酒。”
小黄一头雾水，问：“什么关注？”
经理说：“您自己上网看看吧。”
小黄掏出手机上网一查，原来他和小青的约会直播不知什么时候被放到了网上，短短一会儿，已经有几万人在看，还有新评论刷刷刷不断冒出来。有人说：“这姑娘真漂亮，小伙儿有福气啊。”有人说：“漂亮什么，不笑还行，笑起来牙缝好大，吓死人了。”又有人说：“刚才门口那几个男的我认识，就在我们隔壁公司上班，哈哈哈哈哈。”还有人说：“这女的鞋什么牌子啊，帅哥，麻烦低头仔细看两眼行不。”还有些更没素质的话，看得小黄血直往脸上涌。
一旁小青关切地问：“怎么了？”
小黄又窘又惭愧，想一想这样的事无论如何瞒不住，也只好一五一十解释一番，又连忙握住小青的手低声说：“你千万别生气，我这就把直播关掉。”
小青叹一口气说：“算了，生气有什么用。再说这些单身的人也可怜，情人节吃没地方吃，玩没地方玩，看看别人约会也不犯法。其实我们约会我们的，不理他们也就没事了，他们自己闹不了多久就会消停的。”
小黄没想到小青这么明事理识大体，感动得眼泪差一点掉下来。他便把隐形眼镜和手机都关掉，专心致志跟小青继续吃饭。吃到甜品上来时，旁边桌上一个二十岁出头的男生走过来，两手撑住他们桌子边说：“这位大哥，跟你商量个事情。刚才网络上面有个网友悬赏，问这家餐厅吃饭的人，有哪个愿意过来亲一下你女朋友。没想到网友们热情得很，半个小时不到，就募捐了一万块。说实话，这点钱我也不是很放在心上，不过这么搞一下倒还蛮有意思。不然你点个头，这一万块我们一人一半。我女朋友也同意的。”
小黄往旁边桌上一瞧，果然有个花枝招展的女孩子，笑嘻嘻地跟他们挥手打招呼。再看周围，一桌桌情侣们都往这边看过来，还有人拿起手机在拍摄。他又仰头看面前那个男生，看到他左边眼睛里有一点红光在闪烁。原来他也一直在直播。他突然感觉到气闷，好像身边每一寸空气里都挤满了人，伸长了脖子过来围观。他要被这些无所不在的目光憋死在里面了。
小青站起身来，盯住那男生的眼睛，说：“你让开。”两人僵持了几秒钟，男生耸一耸肩退到旁边。小青又拉小黄，说：“我们走。”两人付了帐出门，手拉手一阵小跑，跑过一个街道拐角才停下来，大口大口呼吸着春寒料峭的空气。
过一会儿小青开口问：“我们现在去哪儿？”
小黄举头四望，看见一面面玻璃橱窗，一幅幅广告屏，一对对行人的眼睛，都仿佛隐隐闪着红光似的。他愁眉苦脸想了一阵，突然想到一个好主意，便说：“我们去看电影吧。”电影院里面黑漆漆的，没有人会打扰他们。小青一听，也展开笑颜，说：“还是你主意多。”两个人便又手拉手去了电影院。
情人节电影院人很多，两人随便挑了一部快开场的片子，买了些饮料零食进去看。灯光一灭，放映厅里漆黑一片，谁也看不见谁，小黄顿时觉得安心不少。影片演了十几分钟，他感觉到小青慢慢依过来，脑袋靠在他肩膀上面，胸口不禁泛起一阵阵甜蜜的涟漪。他低下头，看见小青的侧脸在幽蓝的光线里忽明忽暗，嘴唇饱满得像要绽放开来。他犹豫着要不要趁此机会在那嘴唇上面亲一亲，又害怕会有点冒昧。他心里面七上八下盘算了许久，刚要鼓起勇气放手一搏，面前的大银幕却骤然黑了下去。
小黄不知发生了什么事，坐在黑暗里不敢乱动。突然耳边又响起叮叮咚咚的乐声，银幕上重新出现画面。起初他以为还是刚才的电影，仔细一看却又不是，各种婴儿的影像，哭的，笑的，有些模糊，有些清晰，片片断断被剪辑在一起，涌动着，流淌着，好像一部家庭纪录片。渐渐他认了出来，画面中的女孩是小青，她从一个襁褓中的小孩长大成人，变成亭亭玉立的少女，音乐旋律逐渐高昂起来，小青的一颦一笑在大银幕上闪烁又熄灭，美得惊心动魄。最后一幅画面暗下去，伴随袅袅的余韵，黑暗中又亮起一行大字：
“小青，我爱你，爱你的全部，爱你的年年月月时时刻刻分分秒秒。”
然后又出来四个字：“嫁给我吧。”
小黄转过脸，看见小青的一双大眼睛闪闪发亮，里面不断落下泪水。她哽咽着，声音发颤，说：“你……”
小黄也用发颤的声音说：“不是我——”
突然间灯光亮起，把整个放映厅都照亮，一个小小的身影出现在银幕下方。伴随着雪亮的追光，那个人一步一步走上来了，一身黑西装，怀里捧着九十九朵血红玫瑰，灯光把他的脸打得煞白，眉目五官都淹没在那光里。
他终于走到小青面前，单膝跪下，说：“请原谅我的冒昧。我只想给你一个惊喜。”
小青声音颤颤地说：“可我不认识你。”
那人说：“这有什么关系，我们每个人不都是从不认识到认识吗？今天我第一次在网上看到你，不知道为什么，只看了一眼，我就被你深深打动了。当我看到你对着镜头说出：‘你让开’这三个字时，我已经在内心深处决定，你就是这辈子我想要娶的女孩。所以我匆匆地搜集了所有与你有关的影像，匆匆准备了这一切，赶来这里向你求婚。不管你身边有没有别人，不管你心里怎么想，我只想发自肺腑地说一句，小青，这辈子我非你不娶，我会用我全部心思来爱你关心你呵护你，请你给我这样一个机会吧，我会让你幸福。”
小黄感觉到小青冰凉的手，像条鱼一样从他手心里面滑走了。他浑身汗涔涔的，胸口憋闷得厉害。周围又有很多红色的灯光在闪烁，整个放映厅的人都在看他们，在围观，在拍摄。他感觉世界变得很不真实，不像情人节，倒好像是愚人节了。
他转过头看小青，看见她脸色惨白，嘴唇像濒死的蝴蝶一样颤抖。终于小青伸出一只手，把座位旁边的爆米花桶抓起来，狠狠扣到对方脸上去，尖着嗓子大叫：
“神经病——”
晚上小黄送小青回宿舍，两人没精打采地走到楼下，稀稀落落的树丛后面，一对对情侣搂着脖子正依依惜别。
小青走到台阶上，转过身子笑一笑说：“你别往心里面去，都会过去的。”
小黄点点头，脑袋里昏沉沉的，嗡嗡响成一片。
小青又说：“别跟你宿舍同学生气，日子还长呢，以后低头不见抬头见的。”
小黄又点头。
小青又说：“无聊的人爱说什么，就让他们说去，早晚有一天，他们会把今天的事忘得一干二净。”
小黄又点头。
小青又说：“这段时间，咱们先别见面了，各自把各自事情处理好，等过了这一阵再说。”
小黄没点头，小青也没再说什么，转身走进宿舍楼里去了。
这时候一轮新月正慢慢爬上树梢，晚风吹来，一阵哗啦啦作响。小黄站在那儿看了一会儿月亮，也就一个人慢腾腾地走回宿舍去了。
（五） 同学会
小杨放春假回家，接到中学同学小刘电话，说毕业十年了，要组织大家聚一聚。
放下电话，小杨自己也忍不住感慨：“怎么一转眼就十年了呢。”
聚会那天雾很大，窗外灰蒙蒙一旁，什么都看不见。小杨有点不放心，专门打电话问小刘要不要改日子，小刘却说：“不改不改。雾里看花才最有意思呢。”
小杨就开车出去，车上开了雾中导航系统，在车窗上投影出沿途街道，连同车辆和行人的动态图像都能捕捉到，一路上平安无事。他把车开到以前的中学门口，看见沿路已经停了好些车。有些不如他的车好，有些则要贵点。小杨把防雾面具戴上，推开车门钻出去，面罩的口鼻部分有空气净化膜，视窗上也可以显影图像，把隐藏在浓雾后面的一切呈现在眼前。他透过面具抬头四望，看见中学校门还跟记忆中一样，高高的铁栅栏门耸立着，旁边几个鎏金大字在红砖墙上发光。铁门里面的楼群与草木也都没有变，风吹过，依稀还能听见一排冬青树叶子沙沙地响。
小杨穿过熟悉的教学楼，走到大家当年升国旗做早操的操场上去，看见黑压压一大群人，三三两两站在那里聊天，似乎已经来得差不多了。虽然脸上都戴着面具，但每一副面具上都有一张面孔在闪烁，仔细看过去，大多是中学时代的旧影像。他心里暗暗赞叹这点子有趣，便也从个人信息库中挑了一张旧照投影在面具上。很快便有几个人围拢过来，都是当年关系要好的玩伴。小杨便跟他们聊起来，毕业了没有，在哪里工作，结婚没有，买没买房子，说说笑笑好不热闹。
正说到兴头上，突然听见高处有人说话，抬头一看，小刘不知什么时候爬到了主席台上，学当年校长讲话的样子，手里拿一只麦克风，声音闷闷地说：“各位同学，欢迎大家回到母校。这个冬天学校在翻修，好多教学楼都被拆掉了，所以只能委屈大家在操场上集合啦。”
小杨心中一惊，这才明白，进门时看到那些楼群，其实也不过是旧日影像罢了。却不知道当年上过课的教室，打过饭的食堂，还有中午休息时偷偷爬上去打盹的天台，是不是也都被拆掉了。
小刘又说：“不过这座操场，对咱们班的同学来说意义很特殊。不知道还有没有人记得。”
人群安静了一阵，没有人说话。小刘故作神秘，不知从哪里捧出一样东西，上面盖着块布。他激动地高声说：“这次操场翻修，有个工人师傅把咱们班当年埋下的记忆盒子挖出来了，刚刚检查过，保存得很完好，现在就在我手里！”
他用夸张的动作把布一掀，露出一只四四方方的银白盒子。大家一下炸开了窝，嗡嗡地议论起来。小杨胸口也忍不住砰砰跳，许多鲜活的回忆一起翻涌上来。当年毕业时，不知是谁突发奇想，提议每个人自己录一段影像，转存到一台立体摄放器里，埋到操场旁边一棵大树下，十年后再找出来一起看。怪不得小刘要组织大家聚会，原来真正的由头是这个。
小刘又说：“大家应该还记得，当初说好，让每个人最后说一个将来要实现的梦想。现在十年过去了，咱们就来看一看，都有谁是梦想成真的大赢家。”
大家愈发兴奋，哗哗地鼓起掌来。小刘又说：“盒子在我手里，我就给大家带个头吧。”
他把五个手指都贴到盒子上去，一盏蓝色小灯幽幽地亮了，像一只孤零零的眼睛。从盒子上面升起一团光来，抖动了两下，变成年方十八的小刘的模样。
大家都仰头盯着那个小刘看，看他中学时代记录下的点点滴滴。小刘竞选班长，小刘品学兼优，小刘代表校队去踢球，小刘进了球，小刘组织课外兴趣小组，带领大家一起搞竞赛，小刘竞赛落选，小刘在老师和同学的鼓励下振作起来继续努力，小刘双眼含泪满怀深情地说：“母校，我会永远记得你。我会让你以我为荣。”小刘还说：“我梦想十年以后，能有一间面朝大海的办公室。”
光芒熄灭下去，像潮水退下。小刘拿出手机，把一张照片投影到半空中。照片上的小刘成熟了不少，西装革履，坐在办公桌前笑容满面，背后落地玻璃窗外果然是大海，蓝天白云，美得好像明信片一样。
大家又是鼓掌，恭喜小刘梦想成真。小杨也跟着鼓掌，心里却有些说不出的滋味，感觉这样搞法，不太像同学会，却有点像电视真人秀。但小刘已经跳下台，把盒子交给另外一个人。又一团光芒从人们头顶上方升起，小杨也就禁不住抬着头跟随大家一起看了。
于是看各种回忆：上课，考试，升旗，做操，迟到，放学，自习，逃课，打架，抽烟，失恋……又看各种梦想：恋爱，工作，旅行，一些名词，一些地点，一些物件。终于他看见了自己，那剃着短发，黑黑瘦瘦的模样，几乎令他有些羞臊。他听见自己用哑哑的声音说：“我梦想将来做个有趣的人。”一瞬间他感觉到愕然不知所措，当年怎么会说出这样的话，又怎么会说过之后全然不记得。然而掌声却像雷鸣般涌了过来，大家都哈哈大笑，称赞小杨的想法别出心裁，很有几分意思。
他把盒子交给身边的人，感觉额角在湿漉漉的雾气里渗出汗来。他突然想要快点结束这一切，开车回到家里去，把面具摘下来，好好地泡一个热水澡。
他听见旁边传来一个女孩子的声音，听起来有几分熟悉。他又把头抬起来。多么巧呀，他看见的是高中时与他做了三年同桌的小叶。
他对小叶印象不深，模样普普通通，不特别漂亮，也不难看，不很聪明，也不笨。他仔细搜刮了一下记忆，想起她似乎特别爱笑，虽然牙齿不太整齐，笑起来有点傻气。他又想起她有一些奇怪的小动作，想起她喜欢在课本上写写画画，想起她时不时会突然闭上眼睛，双手按在太阳穴上，嘴里叽叽咕咕念念有词。但他从来没有问过她是在念什么。
他听见十八岁的小叶，用单薄而平淡的声音说：“我好像没有什么梦想，我不知道十年以后自己会在哪里。”
她说：“其实我很羡慕大家，我羡慕你们每一个人，我羡慕你们能梦想自己的未来。你们的很多事情，在没出生前就有爸爸妈妈帮你们安排，帮你们计划，只要不出差错，一步一步往前走就好了。”
她又说：“在我出生前，就被查出得了一种遗传病。医生说我大概活不过二十岁，他建议我妈妈不要把我生下来。但妈妈还是坚持要生，因为这件事，她和爸爸吵了很多次，后来他们终于离婚了。”
她又说：“在我很小的时候，妈妈就把这件事告诉了我。她说，孩子，将来你能活成什么样子，全靠你自己，我一点也帮不上忙。她还说她不会帮我决定任何事情，去哪里玩，交什么朋友，买什么书，上什么学校。她说她已经替我做了人这一辈子最大的决定，就是要不要出生这件事，以后我做任何事情都不需要跟她商量。”
她又说：“我不知道自己还能活多久，也许明天就死了，也许还能再坚持几年。可是直到现在我还没想好，临死前一定要做的事情是什么。我羡慕所有活得比我长的人，可以有许多时间去想，再有许多时间去实现。有时候又觉得，活得长一点短一点好像也没什么区别。”
她又说：“其实我有好多梦想，梦想坐着宇宙飞船飞向太空，梦想在火星上举行一场婚礼，梦想能活很久很久，看到一千年、一万年以后的世界会变成什么样子，梦想变成一个伟大的人，死了以后，可以有许多人记得我的名字。我也有一些小小的梦想，梦想看一场流星雨，梦想考一次年级第一，让我妈妈为我高兴，梦想喜欢的男孩生日那天为我唱一首歌，梦想看见小偷在车上偷钱包，我能勇敢地冲上去把他抓住。有时候我实现了一个梦想，却不知道自己该不该高兴，不知道如果第二天就死掉的话，自己会不会觉得，活成这样就足够了，圆满了，不再有什么遗憾了。”
她又说：“我梦想十年之后还能见到大家，听听大家都实现了什么梦想。”
她把话说完，就消失了，不见了，光芒一点点散去。安静片刻，突然有人喊：“她人呢？”小杨低头看，才看见银白色的盒子躺在地上，周围一圈黑漆漆的脚尖。他又打量四周，看见一张张面具上人脸闪烁，却一时间分辨不出谁是谁。
人群轰然炸开。有人说：“是不是闹鬼了。”有人说：“是谁在跟大家开玩笑吧。”也有人说：“同学三年，从来没听她说起过有这回事，是真的还是假的。”还有人说：“也没听说过有这么一种怪病的。”
议论了半天，没个结果，也没有找到小叶本人。事情就这样不了了之。
晚上吃了饭，喝了酒，小杨一个人回到家。窗外依旧是蒙蒙的雾，一团团红的蓝的灯光像染料一样晕开。小杨倒在床上闷头就睡，睡到半夜却自己醒了。他突然有种莫名其妙的恐惧，觉得很可能再见不到第二天的太阳，觉得自己会稀里糊涂死在梦里。他回想起迄今为止度过的人生，想起高中毕业后，十年光阴弹指一挥间。他觉得人生原本挺美好，像花团锦簇的一副画卷，现在却被绷开一道口子，里面黑漆漆的，深不见底。他像是从天上掉入了深渊，深渊里大雾弥漫。他看不到一丝光明，只看到一切背后的无所有。他竟然蜷成一团呜呜呜地哭起来，把晚上吃的酒菜吐了许多在枕头上面。
第二天浓雾散去。小杨爬起来，看见窗外晴朗的天空，又感觉到神清气爽，便把前一天的不愉快都忘掉了。
（六） 祝寿
周奶奶快满九十九了，家里人就商量给她做寿。前前后后筹备得差不多，老人家却一不小心在浴室里滑了一跤，把脚骨上摔出一道裂缝。虽说治得及时，没什么大碍，但毕竟伤筋动骨。周奶奶因此心情烦闷，每天坐在轮椅里长吁短叹。
傍晚天阴沉沉的，周奶奶一个人在屋里打盹，突然听见笃笃的敲门声。她抬起昏昏的睡眼往上看，看见一个白衣的身影浮现在半空中，隐隐绰绰的，像个仙子一般。
周奶奶问：“什么事呀，大姑娘？”
大姑娘不是人，是这家老人院的服务系统。周奶奶年纪大了眼睛花，看不清她的模样，但一直觉得她说话声音跟自己孙女儿有点像。
大姑娘说：“奶奶，您的儿孙后代来给您祝寿啦。”
周奶奶说：“哪里有寿，年纪大了遭罪。”
大姑娘说：“奶奶，您别这么说，都是小辈们的一片心意，大家都盼着您长命百岁哪。”
周奶奶还要闹脾气，大姑娘又说：“您别板着脸啦，让家里人看见还当是我照顾您照顾得不周到。”
周奶奶觉得大姑娘照顾得确实很周到，跟亲生孙女儿也差不多。她心里就软了，脸色也和缓下来。大姑娘笑嘻嘻地说：“这才对嘛，您坐精神些。”
地板下面升起雪亮亮的光，把小小的房间映照成另外一番模样。现在周奶奶是在一座古色古香的厅堂里，挂着红灯笼，贴着大红寿字儿。周奶奶一身新剪裁的红衣红裤，坐在紫红木雕的寿星椅子里，周围一桌桌的宾客也都穿红。周奶奶眼神不济，看不仔细他们的脸，只听见人声喧闹，笑语欢歌，外面还有大红鞭炮噼噼啪啪响个不停。
先是大儿子带领一家老小过来祝寿，浩浩荡荡也有十好几口人，按照辈分长幼一排一排跪下磕头。周奶奶看各家领上来的小孩子，有男有女，有黑有白，好些个名字都念不上来。有的孩子怕生，瞪着眼珠躲在大人身后不开口，有的就调皮些，小嘴一张，叽里咕噜冒出一串洋文来，惹得大人又是拍手又是笑。还有个半大娃娃蜷在大人怀里只是睡，妈妈笑着说：“我们这边才早上五点呢。”周奶奶就说：“让孩子多睡些，小孩子能睡是福。”热热闹闹走马灯一般转过去，竟也花了将近一刻钟功夫。
之后是二儿子家，三女儿家，四女儿家……之后是老同学，老战友，还有这些年来教过的学生，还有各种亲家，还有远房亲戚……周奶奶坐得久了，眼睛有点乏，喉咙也有些干，但知道大家天南海北，能凑出时间来不容易，也就强打精神支撑着。还是高科技好啊，说见面就见面，一点不费心劳神。周奶奶看着满屋子人影晃动，突然就有点感慨，这么多人，彼此相隔着千万里，都是为了她才出现在这里。是她，她这一辈子，走了那么多路，经历了那么多事，才把这么些彼此不相熟的人枝枝蔓蔓牵连在一起，聚拢在这一天里。九十九岁，多少人一辈子里能有一个九十九岁。
一个白衣的影子飘到近旁来。起初周奶奶以为是大姑娘来了，但那影子却蹲下来拉着她的手，说：“奶奶，我来晚了，路上堵车。”周奶奶摸着那双手，有些凉，却结结实实，捏一捏有弹性。她眯起眼睛仔细看，才看清楚是她在国外读书的孙女儿。
周奶奶说：“你怎么来了？”
孙女说：“我来给您祝寿啊。”
周奶奶又说：“你怎么真的来了？”
孙女说：“不就是想回来看看您吗。”
周奶奶说：“跑那么大老远。”
孙女笑嘻嘻地说：“能有多远呢，坐飞机大半天就到。”
周奶奶把孙女上下打量，看她白白的小脸，风尘仆仆的，却很精神。她也就笑了。
她问孙女：“外面冷不冷呀？”
孙女说：“一点不冷。奶奶，今晚外面月亮可好了，不然我们出去看一看。”
周奶奶说：“可我这边还这么多人。”
孙女说：“这有什么要紧呀。”
她挥挥手，复制了一个周奶奶的影像留在原地，依旧是新剪裁的红衣红裤，坐在紫红木雕的寿星椅子里，周围穿红戴绿的宾客们也依旧上来拜寿，说着各种吉祥话。
孙女又说：“奶奶，咱们走。”
她把周奶奶坐的轮椅推上，两人一前一后，穿过空荡荡的走廊，走到庭院里面。院子中央有株苍苍的山桃，旁边几丛腊梅正飘香。这会儿云开雾散，露出圆滚滚一轮满月。周奶奶看看院子里的草木，又看看身旁的孙女，一身白衣，亭亭玉立，像棵新长成的白杨树。她禁不住心里感慨：“孩子都长大啦，我们老啦。”
院子里有几个老人，坐在树下拉着胡琴唱着小曲自得其乐。看见周奶奶过来，便请她也表演一个。
周奶奶像个少女般红了脸，连连摇晃着双手说：“不行不行，我一辈子没学过什么，吹拉弹唱样样都不行。”
拉琴的老孙说：“又不是上春晚，咱们几个老东西自己高兴。老周乐意就演一个，我们拍个手起个哄，就当是给你祝寿啦。”
周奶奶想了半天，说：“不然我给大家吟首诗吧。”
吟诗是周奶奶小时候她父亲教她的，她父亲又是小时候在私塾跟先生学的。那时候小孩子学诗，不是读，不是念，是跟着老师吟唱，有平仄，有音韵，像唱歌儿一样，比字正腔圆地念出来有味道。
一群老人们都安静下来听。月光水亮亮的，照得人世间温润如洗。周奶奶看见这溶溶月色，想到古往今来多少事，便把气息放缓，一咏三叹地唱起来：
爆竹声中一岁除，春风送暖入屠苏。
千门万户曈曈日，总把新桃换旧符。
<完>
2013年2月
后记：
这六个小故事，是我在家过年时信手写成的。最直接的灵感启发，来自这两年大热的BBC迷你科幻剧《黑镜》。在我看来，《黑镜》的成功之处，不仅仅在于抓住当下一个一个真实可感的诡异瞬间，抓住日常生活平滑表面下的缝隙，将它们敷衍成精巧而凝练的小故事，更是在技术变革的背景下，对西方市民生活中那些至关重要的议题（正义、伦理、道德、价值、幸福、信仰），进行了深入而尖锐的探讨。正是这种探讨赋予科幻以厚重的文学与文化价值，而不仅仅是“超级英雄救世界”的陈词滥调。在此基础上，我想尝试写点有关中国老百姓的小故事。这些故事的意义，或许并不在于教人们如何预测未来，而是想提醒读者，一些深刻的变革正在我们身边悄无声息地发生着，它们是最现实的，也是最科幻的。
就如同钟表的发明改变了我们对于时间，对于运动，甚至对整个宇宙模型的理解与想象，当下这些令人愉快的小玩意儿——iPhone、iPad、社交网络、3G无线网络、GPS导航、谷歌眼镜，也必将为今后几十年乃至上百年的人类文明发展，带去难以估量的深远影响。未来充满了变数，说不上更好，也说不上更坏。我不知道几十年后，是否还有人记得古老的诗歌该如何吟唱，只知道在刚刚逝去的每一个瞬间里，家家户户男男女女老老少少依旧有滋有味地过着小日子。
——————————————————————————————
Spring Festival:
Happiness, Anger, Love, Sorrow, Joy
— by Xia Jia, translated by Ken Liu —
Zhuazhou
Lao Zhang’s son was about to turn one; everyone expected a big celebration.
Planning a big banquet was unavoidable. Friends, family, relatives, colleagues—he had to reserve thirty tables at the restaurant.
Lao Zhang’s wife was a bit distressed. “We didn’t even invite this many people to our wedding!” she said.
Lao Zhang pointed out that this was one of those times where they had to pull out all the stops. You only get one zhuazhou in your entire life, after all. Back when they had gotten married, money was tight for both families. But, after working hard for the last few years, they had saved up. Now that their family was complete with a child, it was time for a well-planned party to show everyone that they were moving up in the world.
“Remember why we’re working hard and saving money,” said Lao Zhang. “For the first half of our lives, we worked for ourselves. But now that we have him, everything we do will be for his benefit. Get ready to spend even more money as he grows up.”
On the child’s birthday, most of the invited guests showed up. After handing over their red envelopes, the guests sat down to enjoy the banquet. Although everything in the world seemed to be turning digital, the red envelopes were still filled with actual cash—that was the tradition, and real money looked better. Lao Zhang’s wife had borrowed a bill counter for the occasion, and the sound of riffling paper was pleasing to the ear.
Finally, after all the guests had arrived, Lao Zhang came out holding his son. The toddler was dressed in red from head to toe, and there was even a red dot painted right between his eyebrows. Everyone exclaimed at the handsome little boy:
“Such a big and round head! Look at those perfect features!”
“So clever and smart!”
“I can already see he’s going to have a brilliant future.”
The boy didn’t disappoint. Even with so many people around, he didn’t cry or fuss. Instead, he sat in the high chair and laughed, reminding people of the New Year posters depicting little children holding big fish, symbolizing good fortune.
“How about we say a few words to all these uncles and aunties and wish them good luck?” Lao Zhang said.
The boy raised his two chubby little hands, held them together, and slowly chanted, “Happy New Year, uncleses and aunties . . . fish you pro-perity!”
Everyone laughed and congratulated the child for his intelligence and the Zhangs for their effective early education.
The auspicious hour finally arrived, and Lao Zhang turned on the machine. Sparkling bits of white light drifted down from the ceiling and transformed into various holograms that surrounded Lao Zhang and his son, in the middle of the banquet hall. Lao Zhang pulled one of the holograms next to his son’s high chair, and the child eagerly reached out to touch it. A red beam of light scanned across the little fingers—once the fingerprints were matched, he was logged into his account.
A line of large red characters appeared in the air—You’re One!—accompanied by an animated choir of angels singing Happy Birthday to You. After the song, a few lines of text appeared:
Zhuazhou is a custom in the Jiangnan region. When a baby has reached one year of age, the child is bathed and dressed in fresh clothes. Then the child is presented with various objects: bow, arrow, paper, and brush for boys; knife, ruler, needle, and thread for girls—plus foods, jewels, clothes, and toys. Whatever the child chooses to play with is viewed as an indication of the child’s character and abilities.
Lao Zhang looked up at the words and felt a complex set of emotions. My son, the rest of your beautiful life is about to start. His wife, also overcome by emotion, moved closer and the two leaned against each other, holding hands.
Unfortunately, although the Zhangs had begun the baby’s education before he had even been born, the boy still couldn’t read. He waved his hand excitedly through the air, and pages of explanatory text flipped by. The end of the explanation was also the start of the formal zhuazhou ceremony, and everyone in the banquet hall quieted down.
The first holographic objects to appear were tiles for different brands of baby formula, drifting from the ceiling like flower petals scattered by some immortal. Lao Zhang knew that none of the brands were cheap: some were imported; some were one hundred percent organic with no additives; some were enhanced with special enzymes and proteins; some promoted neural development; some were recommended by pediatricians; some were bedecked with certifications . . . The choices seemed overwhelming.
The little boy, however, was decisive. He touched one of the tiles with no hesitation, and with a clink, the chosen tile tumbled into an antique ebony box set out below.
Next came other baby foods: digestion aid, absorption promotion, disease prevention, calcium supplements, zinc supplements, vitamins, trace elements, immunity enhancement, night terror avoidance . . . in a moment, the son had made his choices among them as well. The colorful icons fell into the box, clinking and tinkling like pearls raining onto a jade plate.
Then came the choices for nursery school, kindergarten, and extracurricular clubs. The little boy stared at the offerings with wide, bright eyes for a while, and finally picked woodcarving and seal cutting—two rather unpopular choices. Lao Zhang’s heart skipped, and his palms grew sweaty. He was just about to go up and make his son pick again when his wife stopped him.
“He’s not going to try to make a living with that,” she whispered. “Let him enjoy his hobby.”
Lao Zhang realized that she was right and nodded gratefully. But his heart continued to beat wildly.
Then the child had to pick his preschool, elementary school, elementary school cram sessions, junior high, junior high cram sessions, high school, and high school cram sessions. Then the choice to apply to colleges overseas appeared. Lao Zhang’s heart once again tightened: he knew this was a good choice, but it would cost a lot more money, and it was difficult to imagine having his son thousands of miles away and not being able to protect him. Fortunately, the toddler barely glanced at the choice and waved it away.
Next he had to select his college, decide whether afterward he wanted to go to grad school, to study overseas, or to start working, choose where he wanted to work and to settle, pick a house, a car, a spouse, the engagement present, the wedding banquet, the honeymoon destination, the hospital where their child would be born, the service center that would come and help—that was as far as the choices would go, for now.
All that was left was to pick the years in which he would trade up his house, the years in which he would upgrade his car, the places he would go for vacations, the gym he would join, the retirement fund he would invest in, the frequent flier program he would sign up for. Finally, he picked a nursing home and a cemetery, and all was set.
The unselected icons hovered silently for a moment, and then gradually dimmed and went out like a sky full of stars extinguishing one after another. Flowers and confetti dropped from the ceiling, and celebratory music played. Everyone in the banquet hall cheered and clapped.
It took a while before Lao Zhang recovered, and he realized that he was soaked in sweat as though he had just emerged from a hot pool. He looked over at his wife, who was in tears. Lao Zhang waited patiently until she had calmed down a bit, and then whispered, “This is a happy occasion! Look at you . . . ”
Embarrassed, his wife wiped her wet face. “Look at our son! He’s so little . . . ”
Lao Zhang wasn’t sure he really understood her, but he felt his eyes grow hot and moist again. He shook his head. “This way is good. Good! It saves us from so much worrying.”
As he spoke, he began to do the calculations in his head. The total for everything his son had chosen was going to be an astronomical sum. He and his wife would be responsible for sixty percent of it, to be paid off over thirty years. The other forty percent would be the responsibility of his son once he started working, and of course there was their son’s child, and the child’s child . . .
He now had a goal to strive toward for the next few decades, and a warm feeling suffused him from head to toe.
He looked back at his son. The baby remained seated in the high chair, a bowl of hot noodles symbolizing longevity in front of him. His almost translucent cheeks were flushed as he smiled like the Laughing Buddha.
New Year’s Eve
Late at night, Wu was walking alone along the road. The street was empty and everything was quiet, interrupted occasionally by explosions from strings of firecrackers. The night before Chinese New Year was supposed to be spent with family, with everyone gathered around the dinner table, chatting, eating, watching the Spring Festival Gala on TV, enjoying a rare moment when the whole extended family could be together in one room.
He approached a park near home. It was even quieter here, without the daytime crowd of people practicing Tai Chi, strolling, exercising, or singing folk operas. An artificial lake lay quietly in the moonless night. Wu listened to the dull sound of gentle waves slapping against the shore and felt a chill through every pore in his skin. He turned toward a tiny pavilion next to the lake, but stopped when a dark shadow loomed before him.
“Who’s there?” a shocked Wu asked.
“Who are you?”
The voice sounded familiar to Wu. Suppressing his fright, he walked closer, and realized that the other person was Lao Wang, his upstairs neighbor.
Wu let out a held breath. “You really frightened me.”
“What are you doing outside at this hour?”
“I wanted to take a walk . . . to relax. What are you doing here?”
“Too many people and too much noise at home. I needed a moment of peace,” Lao Wang said.
The two looked at each other, and a smile of mutual understanding appeared on their faces. Lao Wang brushed off a nearby stone bench and said, “Come, sit next to me.”
Wu touched the stone, which was ice cold. “Thanks. I’d rather stand for a bit. I just ate; standing is better for digestion.”
Lao Wang sighed. “New Year’s . . . the older you get, the less there is to celebrate.”
“Isn’t that the truth. You eat, watch TV, set off some firecrackers, and then it’s time to sleep. A whole year has gone by, and you’ve done nothing of note.”
“Right,” Lao Wang said. “But that’s how everyone spends New Year’s. I can’t do anything different all by myself.”
“Yeah. Everybody in the family sits down to watch the Spring Festival Gala. I’d like to do something different but I can’t summon the energy. Might as well come out and walk around by myself.”
“I haven’t watched the Spring Festival Gala in years.”
“That’s pretty impressive,” Wu said.
“It was easier in the past,” Lao Wang said. “Singing, dancing, a few stupid skits and it’s over. But now they’ve made it so much more difficult to avoid.”
“Well, that’s technological progress, right? They’ve developed so many new tricks.”
“I don’t mind if they just stick to having pop stars do their acts,” Lao Wang said. “But now they insist on this ‘People’s Participatory Gala’ business. Ridiculous.”
“I can sort of see the point,” said Wu. “The stars are on TV every day for the rest of the year. Might as well try something new for New Year’s Eve.”
“It’s too much for me, all this chaos. I’d rather have a quiet, peaceful New Year’s.”
“But the point of New Year’s is the festival mood,” said Wu. “Most people like a bit of noise and atmosphere. We’re not immortals in heaven, free from all earthly concerns, you know?”
“Ha! I don’t think even immortals up there can tolerate this much pandemonium down here.”
Both men sighed and listened to the gentle sound of the lake. After a while, Lao Wang asked, “Have you ever been picked for the Gala?”
“Of course. Twice. The first time they randomly picked my family during the live broadcast so that the whole family could appear on TV and wish everybody a happy new year. The second time was because one of my classmates had cancer. They picked him for a human-interest story, and the producer decided that it would be more tear-jerking to get the whole class and the teacher to appear with him. The Gala hosts and the audience sure cried a lot. I wasn’t in too many shots, though.”
“I’ve never been picked,” said Lao Wang.
“How have you managed that?”
“I turn off the TV and go hide somewhere. The Gala has nothing to do with me.”
“Why go to so much trouble? It’s not a big deal to be on TV for the Gala.”
“It’s my nature,” said Lao Wang. “I like peace and quiet. I can’t stand the . . . invasiveness of it.”
“Isn’t that a little exaggerated?”
“Without notice, without consent, they just stick your face on TV so that everyone in the world can see you. How is that not invasive?”
“It’s just for a few seconds. No one is going to even remember you.”
“I don’t like it.”
“It’s not as if having other people see you costs you anything.”
“That’s not the point. The point is I haven’t agreed. If I agree, sure, I don’t care if you follow me around with a camera twenty-four hours a day. But I don’t want to be forced on there.”
“I can understand your feeling,” said Wu. “But it’s not realistic. Look around you! There are cameras everywhere. You can’t hide for the rest of your life.”
“That’s why I go to places with no people.”
“That’s a bit extreme.”
Lao Wang laughed. “I think I’m old enough to deserve not having all my choices made for me.”
Wu laughed, too. “You really are a maverick.”
“Hardly. This is all I can do.”
White lights appeared around them, turning into a crowd of millions of faces. In the middle of the crowd was a stage, brightly lit and spectacularly decorated. Lao Wang and Wu found themselves on the stage, and loud, festive music filled their ears. A host and a hostesss approached from opposite ends of the stage.
A megawatt smile on his face, the host said, “Wonderful news, everyone! We’ve finally found that mythical creature: the only person in all of China who’s never been on the Spring Festival Gala! Meet Mr. Wang, who lives in Longyang District.”
The hostess, with an even brighter smile, added, “We have to thank this other member of the audience, Mr. Wu, who helped us locate and bring the mysterious Mr. Wang onto the stage. Mr. Wang, on this auspicious, joyous night, would you like to wish everyone a happy new year and say a few words?”
Lao Wang was stunned. It took a while for him to recover and turn to look at Wu. Wu was awkward and embarrassed, and he wanted to say something to comfort Lao Wang, but he wasn’t given a chance to talk.
The host said, “Mr. Wang, this is the very first time you’ve been on the Gala. Can you tell us how you feel?”
Lao Wang stood up, and without saying anything, dove off the edge of the stage into the cold lake.
Wu jumped up, and his shirt was soaked with cold sweat. Blood drained from the faces of the host and the hostess. Multiple camera drones flitted through the night air, searching for Lao Wang in the lake. The millions of faces around them began to whisper and murmur, and the buzzing grew louder.
Suddenly, a ball of light appeared below the surface of the lake, and with a loud explosion, a bright, blinding light washed out everything. Wu was screaming and rolling on the ground, his clothes on fire. Finally, he managed to open his eyes and steal a peek through the cracks between his fingers: amidst the blazing white flames, a brilliant, golden pillar of light rose from the lake and disappeared among the clouds. It must have been thousands of miles long.
What the hell! thought Wu. Is he really going back up in heaven to enjoy his peace and quiet? Then his eyes began to burn and columns of hot smoke rose from his sockets.
The next day, the web was filled with all kinds of commentary. The explosion had destroyed all the cameras on site, and only a few fragmentary recordings of the scene could be recovered. Most of those who got to see the event live were in hospital—the explosion had damaged their hearing.
Still, everyone congratulated the Spring Festival Gala organizers for putting on the most successful program in the show’s history.
Matchmaking
Xiao Li was twenty-seven. After New Year’s she’d be twenty-eight. Her mother was growing worried and signed her up with a matchmaking service.
“Oh come on,” said Xiao Li. “How embarrassing.”
“What’s embarrassing about it?” said her mother. “If I didn’t use a matchmaker, where would your dad be? And where would you be?”
“These services are full of . . . sketchy men.”
“Better than you can do on your own.”
“What?” Xiao Li was incredulous. “Why?”
“They have scientific algorithms.”
“Oh, you think science can guarantee good matches?”
“Stop wasting time. Are you going or not?”
And so Xiao Li put on a new dress and did her makeup, and followed her mom to a famous matchmaking service center. The manager at the service center was very enthusiastic, and asked Xiao Li to confirm her identity.
Xiao Li had no interest in being here and twisted around in her chair. “Is this going to be a lot of trouble?”
The manager smiled. “Not at all. We have the latest technology. It’s super fast.”
“You’re asking for all my personal information. Is it safe?”
The manager continued to smile. “Please don’t worry. We’ve been in business for years, and we’ve never had any problems. Not a single client has ever sued us.”
Xiao Li still had more questions, but her mother had had enough. “Hurry up! Don’t think you can get out of this by dragging it out.”
Xiao Li put her finger on the terminal so that her prints could be scanned, and then she had a retinal scan as well so that her personal information could be downloaded to the service center’s database. Next, she had to do a whole-body scan, which took three minutes.
“All set,” said the manager. He reached into the terminal and pulled out a hologram that he tossed onto the floor. Xiao Li watched as a white light rose from the ground, and inside the light was a tiny figure about an inch tall, looking exactly like her and dressed in the same clothes.
The little person looked around herself and then entered a door next to her. Inside, there was a tiny table and two tiny chairs. A mini-man sat on one chair and after greeting mini-Xiao Li, the two started to talk. They spoke in a high-pitched, sped-up language and it was hard to tell what they were saying. Not even a minute later, mini-Xiao Li stood up and the two shook hands politely. Then mini-Xiao Li came out and entered the next door.
Xiao Li’s mother muttered next to her. “Let’s see, if it takes a minute to get to know a guy, then you can meet sixty guys in an hour. After a day, you…”
The still-smiling manager said, “Oh, this is only a demonstration. The real process is even faster. You don’t need to wait around, of course. We’ll get you the results tomorrow, guaranteed.”
The manager reached out and waved his hands. The miniature men and women in the white light shrank down even further until they were tiny dots. All around them were tiny cells like a beehive, and in each cell red and green dots twitched and buzzed.
Xiao Li could no longer tell which red dot was hers, and she felt uneasy. “Is this really going to work?”
The manager assured her. “We have more than six million registered members! I’m sure you’ll find your match.”
“These people are . . . reliable?”
“Every member had to go through a strict screening process like the one you went through. All the information on file is one hundred percent reliable. Our dating software is the most up to date, and any match predicted by the software has always worked out in real life. If you’re not satisfied, we’ll refund your entire fee.”
Xiao Li still hesitated, but her mother said, “Let’s go. Look at you—now you’re suddenly interested?”
The next afternoon, Xiao Li got a call from the manager at the matchmaking center. He explained that the software had identified 438 possible candidates: all were good looking, healthy, reliable, and shared Xiao Li’s interests and values.
Xiao Li was a bit shocked. More than four hundred? Even if she went on a date every day, it would take more than a year to get through them all.
The manager’s smile never wavered. “I suggest you try our parallel dating software and continue to get to know these men better. It takes time to know if someone will make a good spouse.”
Xiao Li agreed and ten copies of mini-Xiao Li were made to go on dates with these potential matches.
Two days later, the manager called Xiao Li again. The ten mini-Xiao Lis had already gone on ten dates with each of the more than four hundred candidates, and the software had tracked and scored all the dates. The manager advised Xiao Li to aggregate the scores from the ten dates and keep only the thirty top-scorers for further consideration. Xiao Li agreed and felt more relaxed.
Three days later, the manager told Xiao Li that after further contacts and observation, seven candidates had been eliminated, five were progressing slowly in their relationships with Xiao Li, and the remaining eighteen demonstrated reciprocal satisfaction and interest. Of these eighteen, eight had already revealed their intent to marry Xiao Li, and four had shown flaws—in living habits, for instance—but were still within the acceptable range.
Xiao Li was silent. After waiting for some time, the manager gently prodded her. “It might help to ask your mother to meet them—after all, marriage is about two families coming together.”
That’s true. That day, Xiao Li brought her mom to the matchmaking center, and after her identity was verified, her mother was also scanned. As the dates continued, the ten mini-Xiao Lis had ten mini-moms to help as sounding boards and advisors.
Her mom’s participation was very helpful, and soon only seven candidates remained. The manager said, “Miss Li, we also have software for simulating the conditions of preparing for a wedding. Why don’t you try it? Many couples split up under the stress of preparing for their big day. Marriage is not something to rush into rashly.”
And so the seven mini-Xiao Lis began to discuss the wedding with the seven mini-boyfriends. Relatives of all the involved couples were scanned and entered the discussion; arguments grew heated. Indeed, two of the candidates’ families just couldn’t come together with Xiao Li’s family, and they backed out.
The manager now said, “We also have software for simulating the honeymoon. A famous writer once said the way to know if a marriage will last is to see if the couple can travel together for a whole month without hating each other.”
So Xiao Li signed up for simulated honeymoons. After that, there were simulated pregnancies, simulated maternity leaves—one potential father who was only interested in holding the baby and paid no attention to Xiao Li was immediately eliminated.
Then came the simulated raising of children, simulated affairs, simulated menopause and mid-life crises, followed by simulations of various life traumas: car accidents, disability, death of a child, dying parents . . . finally the couple had to lean against each other as they entered nursing homes. Happily ever after?
Incredibly, two candidates still remained in consideration.
Xiao Li felt that after so much progress, she really had to meet these two men. The manager sent her the file on the first match, and an excited Xiao Li could feel her heart beating wildly. Just as she was about to open the file, however, a warning beep sounded, and the manager’s face appeared in the air.
“I’m really sorry, Miss Li. This client was also going through the simulation with another potential match, and half a minute ago, the results came out, indicating an excellent match. Given the delicacy of the situation and to avoid . . . future regrets, I suggest you not meet him just yet.”
Xiao Li felt as though she had lost something. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
“The whole process is automated for privacy protection. Even our staff can’t monitor or intervene. But don’t worry! You still have another great match.”
Xiao Li admitted that advanced technology really was reliable.
She opened the file for the other match and saw his face for the first time. She felt dizzy, as though the years in their future had been compressed into this moment, concentrated, intense, overwhelming. She felt herself growing light, like a cloud about to drift into the sky.
She heard the voice of the manager. “Miss Li? Are you satisfied with our program? Would you like to arrange an in-person meeting?”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Xiao Li.
She showed the manager the picture. He was speechless.
“Um…” Xiao Li blushed. “What is your name, actually?”
“You can call me Xiao Zhao.”
A month later, Xiao Li and Xiao Zhao were married.
Reunion
Yang was home from college for the Spring Festival break. Liu, a high school classmate, called to say that since it had been ten years since their graduation, he was organizing a reunion.
Yang hung up and felt nostalgic. Has it really been ten years?
The day was foggy and it was impossible to see anything outside the window. Yang called Liu to ask if the reunion was still on.
“Of course! The fog makes for a better atmosphere, actually.”
Yang got in his car and turned on the fog navigation system. The head-up display on the windshield marked the streets and cars and pedestrians, even if he couldn’t see them directly. He arrived at the gates of his old high school safely and saw that many cars were already parked along the road, some were more expensive than his, others cheaper. Yang put on the fog mask and stepped out of the car. The mask filtered the air, and the eyepiece acted as a display, allowing him to see everything hidden by the fog. He looked around and saw that the entrance to the high school was the same as he remembered: iron grille gates, a few large gilt characters in the red brick walls. The buildings and the lawn inside hadn’t changed either, and as a breeze passed through, he seemed to hear the rustling of holly leaves.
Yang passed through the classroom buildings and came onto the exercise ground, where everyone used to do their morning calisthenics. A crowd was gathered there, conversing in small groups. Just about everyone in his class had arrived. Although they all wore masks, glowing faces were projected onto the masks. He examined them: most of the faces were old photographs taken during high school. Soon, a few of his best friends from that time gathered around him, and they started to talk: Is he still in grad school? Where is he working? Has he gotten married? Has he bought a house? The words and laughter flowed easily.
Just then, they heard a voice coming from somewhere elevated. They looked up and saw that Liu had climbed onto the rostrum. Taking a pose like their old principal, he spoke into a mike, sounding muffled: “Welcome back to our alma mater, everybody. The school is being renovated this winter, and most of the classrooms have been dismantled. That’s why we have to make do with the exercise ground.”
Yang was startled, and then he realized that the buildings he had passed through earlier were also nothing more than projections of old photographs. Remembering the old room where he had studied, the old cafeteria where he had eaten, and the rooftop deck where he had secretly taken naps, he wondered if any of them had survived.
Liu continued, “But this exercise ground holds a special meaning for our class. Does anyone remember why?”
The crowd was quiet. Pleased with himself, Liu lifted up something covered by a cloth. He raised his voice. “While they were renovating the exercise ground, one of the workers dug up our memory capsule. I checked: it’s intact!”
He pulled off the cloth with an exaggerated motion, revealing a silver-white, square box. The crowd buzzed with excited conversation. Yang could feel his heart pounding as memories churned in his mind. At graduation, someone had suggested that each member of the class record a holographic segment, store all the recordings in a projector, and bury it under one of the trees at the edge of the exercise ground, to be replayed after ten years. This was the real reason Liu had organized the reunion.
“Do you remember how we had everyone say what they wanted to achieve in the future?” Liu asked. “Now that it’s been ten years, let’s take a look and see if anyone has realized their dream.”
The crowd grew even more excited and started to clap.
“Since I’m holding the box, I’ll start,” Liu said.
He placed his hand against the box, and a small blue light came to life, like a single eye. A glowing light appeared above the box, and after a few flickers, resolved into an eighteen-year-old version of Liu.
Everyone gazed up at this youthful image of their friend and what he had chosen to remember from their high school years: there was Liu running for class president, receiving an academic and service award, representing the school on the soccer team, scoring a goal, organizing extracurricular clubs, leading his supporters in his campaign, losing the election, hearing words of encouragement from teachers and friends so that he could redouble his effort, tearfully making a speech: “Alma Mater, I’ll remember you always. I will make you proud of me!”
And then, the young Liu said, “In a decade, I will have an office facing the sea!”
The light dimmed like a receding tide. The real Liu took out his phone and projected a photograph in the air: this much more mature Liu, in a suit and tie, sat behind a desk and grinned at the camera. A deep blue sea and a sky dotted with some clouds, pretty as a postcard, could be seen through the glass wall behind him.
A wave of applause. Everyone congratulated Liu on achieving his dream. Yang clapped along, but something about the scene bothered him. This didn’t seem like a reunion—it was more like reality TV. But Liu had already come down from the rostrum and handed the box to someone else. Another glowing light appeared above them, and Yang couldn’t help but look up with the crowd.
And so they looked at old memories: classes, tests, the flag-raising ceremony, morning exercises, being tardy, being let out of school, study hall, skipping classes, fights, smoking, breaking up . . . followed by old dreams: finding love, jobs, vacations, names, names of places, names of objects. Finally, he saw himself.
The short-cropped hair and scrawny, awkward body of his teenaged self embarrassed him, and he heard his own raspy voice: “I want to be an interesting person.”
He was stunned. What had made him say such a thing back then? And how could he have no memory of saying it? But the crowd around him applauded enthusiastically and laughed, praising him for having had the audacity to say something unique.
He passed the box onto the next person, and he could feel his temples grow sweaty in the fog. He wanted this farce to be over so he could drive home, take off the mask, and take a long, hot bath.
A woman spoke next to him—he seemed to recognize the voice. He looked over. Ah, it was Ye, who had sat at the same desk with him throughout their three years in high school.
He didn’t know Ye well. She was an average girl in every way: not too pretty, not too not pretty, not too smart, not too not smart. He searched through his memories and recalled that she liked to laugh, but because her teeth weren’t very even, she looked a bit goofy when laughing. He recalled other bits and pieces about her: her odd gestures, her habit of doodling in their textbooks, the way she would sometimes close her eyes and press her hands against her temples and mutter. He had never asked her what she was muttering about.
He heard the eighteen-year-old Ye saying in an even, calm voice, “I don’t think I have a dream. I have no idea where I’ll be in ten years.
“I’m envious of each and every one of you. I’m envious that you can dream of a future. Before you had even been born, your parents had started to plan for your future. As long as you follow those plans and don’t make big mistakes, you’ll be fine.
“Before I was born, the doctors discovered that I had a hereditary disease. They thought I wouldn’t live beyond my twentieth year. The doctors advised my mother to terminate the pregnancy. But my mother wouldn’t listen to them. It became a point of friction between my parents, and eventually, they divorced.
“When I was very little, my mother told me this story. She also said, Daughter, you’re going to have to rely on yourself for the rest of your life. I don’t know how to help you. She also said that she would never help me make my decisions, whether it was where I wanted to play, who I wanted to be friends with, what books I wanted to buy, or what school I wanted to go to. She said that she had already made the most important decision for my life: to give birth to me. After that, whatever I decided, I didn’t need her approval.
“I don’t know how much longer I have. Maybe I’ll die tomorrow, maybe I’ll eke out a few more years. But I still haven’t decided what I have to get done before I die. I’m envious of everyone who’ll live longer than I because they’ll have more time to think about it and more time to make it come true.
“But there are also times when I think it makes no difference whether we live longer or shorter.
“Actually, I do have dreams, many dreams. I dream of flying in a spaceship; dream of a wedding on Mars; dream of living for a long, long time so that I can see what the world will be like in a thousand, ten thousand years; dream of becoming someone great so that after I die, many people will remember my name. I also have little dreams. I dream of seeing a meteor shower; dream of having the best grade, just once, so that my mother will be happy for me; dream of a boy I like singing a song for me on my birthday; dream of catching a pickpocket trying to steal a wallet on the bus and having the courage to rush up and seize him. Sometimes, I even realize one of my dreams, but I don’t know if I should be happy, don’t know if I died the next day, whether I would feel that was enough, that my life was complete, perfect, and that I had no more regrets.
“I dream of seeing all of you in ten years, and hear what dreams you’ve realized.”
She disappeared. The light dimmed bit by bit.
A moment of quiet.
Someone shouted, “But where is she?”
Yang looked down and saw that the silvery-white box was lying on the ground, surrounded by the tips of pairs of shoes. He looked around: all the faces on the masks flickered, but he couldn’t tell who was who for a moment.
The crowd erupted.
“What the hell? A ghost?”
“Someone’s playing a joke!”
“We went to school together for three years and I’d never heard her mention any of this. Who knows if it’s true or not?”
“I’ve never heard of any strange disease like that.”
The discussions led nowhere, and they couldn’t find Ye. The reunion came to an end without a conclusion.
After dinner and some drinks, Yang drove home by himself. The fog was still heavy, and the passing, varicolored lights dissolved in the fog like pigment. He fell asleep as soon as he was in bed, but he woke up around midnight.
He was seized by a nameless terror, and he was sure that he would not see the sun rise again, that he would die during his sleep. He recalled his life, thinking about the ten years since high school that had passed far too quickly. He had once thought life rather good, like a flowery, splendid scroll, but now a rip had been torn in it, and inside was darkness, a bottomless darkness. He had fallen into a chasm from the sky, and inside the chasm was only a lightless fog. All he could see was the nothingness behind the scroll.
He curled up in the fetal position and sobbed, and he vomited his dinner onto his pillow.
The fog was gone in the morning. Yang got up and looked at the clear sky outside.
He felt refreshed, and the unpleasantness of the previous day was forgotten.
The Birthday
Grandma Zhou was almost ninety-nine, and the family planned a big celebration. But just as everything was about ready, Grandma Zhou slipped and fell in the bathroom, fracturing her foot. Although she was rushed to the hospital right away and the injury wasn’t serious, it still made it hard for her to get about. She had to stay in a wheelchair all day, and she felt depressed.
The evening sky was overcast, and Grandma Zhou napped in her room by herself. Knocking noises woke her up. Raising her sleepy eyes, she saw a figure in a white dress floating in midair, indistinct, like an immortal.
“Is something happening, Young Lady?”
Young Lady wasn’t a person, but the nursing home’s service program. Grandma’s eyesight was no longer so good, and she couldn’t tell what Young Lady looked like. But she always thought she sounded like her granddaughter.
“Grandma Zhou,” said Young Lady, “your family is here to celebrate your birthday!”
“What’s there to celebrate? The older you grow, the more you suffer.”
“Please don’t say that. The young people are here because they love you. They want you to live beyond a hundred!”
Grandma Zhou was still in a bad mood, but Young Lady said, “If you keep on frowning like that, your children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren will think I haven’t been taking good care of you.”
Grandma Zhou thought Young Lady had taken very good care of her—in fact, she did it about as well as her real granddaughter. Her heart softened, and a smile appeared on her face.
“There we go,” said a grinning Young Lady. “All right, get ready to celebrate!”
Bright lights came out of the floor and transformed the room. Grandma Zhou found herself inside a hall decorated in an antique style with red paper lanterns and red paper Longevity characters pasted on the walls. She was dressed in a red jacket and red pants custom made for her and sat in a carved purpleheart longevity chair, while all the guests around her also wore red. Grandma Zhou couldn’t see their faces clearly, but she could hear the laughter and joyous conversations, and the noise of firecrackers going off outside was constant.
Her oldest son approached first with his family to wish her a happy birthday. There were more than a dozen people, and, after sorting themselves by generation and age, they knelt to kowtow. Grandma Zhou smiled at the children: boys, girls, some dark skinned, some fair skinned, and she had trouble saying some of their names. A few of the children were shy, and hid behind their parents to peek at her without speaking. Others were bolder, and they spoke to her in some foreign language instead of Chinese, making the adults laugh. There was also a little child curled up asleep in her mother’s lap, and the mother smiled, saying, “Grandma, I’m really sorry. It’s about five in the morning in our time zone.”
“That’s all right,” said Grandma Zhou. “Children need their rest.”
It took almost a quarter of an hour for the members of her oldest son’s family to offer her their good wishes one by one.
Then came the family of her second son, her older daughter, her younger daughter . . . then the friends who had gone to school with her, friends from the army, the students she had taught over the years, in-laws, distant relatives . . .
Grandma Zhou had been sitting up for a long while, and her eyes were feeling tired and her throat parched. But she knew it was difficult for so many people to make time to attend her party, and so she forced herself to keep on nodding and smiling. Advanced technology is really wonderful; it would be so much harder for them to do this in person.
As she watched all the guests milling about the hall, she felt very moved. So many people around the globe, divided by thousands of miles, were here because of her. After all the miles she had walked and all the things she had experienced and done, she had connected all these people, many of them strangers to each other, into a web. She felt fortunate to be ninety-nine; not many people made it this far.
A figure dressed in white drifted over to her. At first she thought it was Young Lady again, but the figure knelt down and held her hand.
“Grandma, sorry I’m late. The traffic was bad.”
Grandma Zhou squeezed the hands; the skin felt a bit cold, but the hands were solid. She squinted to get a closer look. It was her granddaughter who was studying overseas.
“What are you doing here?”
“To wish you a happy birthday, of course.”
“You’re actually here? Really here?”
“I wanted to see you.”
“That’s a long way to go,” said Grandma Zhou.
Her granddaughter smiled. “Not that far. Not even a full day by plane.”
Grandma Zhou looked her granddaughter up and down. She looked tired, but seemed to be in good spirits. Grandma Zhou smiled.
“Is it cold outside?”
“Not at all,” said the granddaughter. “The moon is lovely tonight. Would you like to see it?”
“But there are still so many people here.”
“Oh, that’s easy to take care of,” said the granddaughter.
She waved her hands, and a replica of Grandma Zhou appeared. The replica was dressed in the same red jacket and red pants, and sat in the carved purpleheart longevity chair. The guests in the hall continued to come up in waves, wishing her many years of long life and happiness.
“All right, Grandma, let’s go.”
The granddaughter pushed the wheelchair through the empty corridor of the nursing home until they were in the yard. There was a vigorous shantao tree in the middle of the yard, and to the side were a few wintersweet bushes, whose fragrance wafted on the breeze. The sky had cleared, revealing the full moon. Grandma Zhou looked at the plants in the garden and then at her granddaughter, standing tall and lovely next to her like a young poplar. Nothing makes you realize how old you are as seeing your children’s children all grown up.
A few other residents of the nursing home were sitting under the tree, playing erhu and singing folk operas. They saw Grandma Zhou and invited her to join them.
Grandma Zhou blushed like a little girl. “I have no talent for this sort of thing at all! I’ve never learned to play an instrument, and I can’t sing.”
Lao Hu, who was playing the erhu, said, “It’s just a few of us old timers trying to entertain ourselves, not the Spring Festival Gala! Lao Zhou, just perform anything you like, and we’ll cheer you on. Wouldn’t that be a nice way to celebrate your birthday?”
Grandma Zhou pondered this for a while, and said, “All right, I’ll chant a poem for you.”
Her father had taught her how to chant poems when she was little, and her father had learned from his tutor, back before the founding of the People’s Republic. Back then, when children studied poetry, they didn’t read it or recite it, but learned to chant along with the teacher. This was how they learned the rhythm and meter of poetry, the patterns of rhyme and tone. It was closer to singing than reading, and it sounded better.
The others quieted to listen. The moonlight was gentle like water, and everything around them seemed fresh and warm. Grandma slowed her breathing, thinking of fragments of history and tradition connected with the moon and all that is old and new around her, and began to chant:
As firecrackers send away the old year,
The spring breeze feels as warm as New Year’s wine.
All houses welcome fresh sun and good cheer,
While new couplets take the place of old signs.
Originally published in Chinese in Science Fiction World in June 2013.
Author’s Note: While I was at my parents’ home over Spring Festival break, I wanted to write some stories about ordinary lives. I don’t particularly care about predicting the future, but I do think that deep changes are happening around us almost undetectably. These changes are the most real, and also the most science fictional.
The future is full of uncertainties, and it is as hard to say it will be better as it is to say it will be worse. In a few decades, I don’t know if anyone will still remember how to chant ancient poems, but I do know that in every passing moment, the people in every house—men, women, old, young—are living lives as meaningful as they’re ordinary.
The poem included in this story was written by the Song Dynasty poet Wang Anshi.