Chapter 30 Tide's Maxim (12) Li Xiang's World...
Li Xiang opened his eyes.
The alarm clock was set for five minutes before it went off, but he was already used to waking up early.
At 6:25, the world was half asleep, with a gap in the curtains letting in a hazy blue light, in which countless tiny dust particles floated.
Dust is everywhere; the entire universe is covered by countless specks of dust, but you usually don't pay any attention to them. Except when a beam of light shines in or the surroundings darken, they may only have a brief existence for themselves at that moment.
For five minutes, Li Xiang simply stared blankly at a speck of dust in the light, watching it drift from side to side, feeling his body become much lighter. The not-so-soft bed beneath him slowly disappeared, and everything around him except for that speck of dust gradually blurred at the edges. He was actually nearsighted; without his glasses, he couldn't even see himself clearly in the mirror.
But perhaps because he had just woken up and his eyes were still clear, the dust particles gradually magnified and became clearer, and he began to feel as if he were floating. The feeling was like floating in the universe or on the ocean, where the destination was unnecessary, and ignorance would guide this journey.
His breathing slowed, becoming almost imperceptible, and even his heartbeat dropped to 20 beats per minute. His body seemed to be dying, and his consciousness was banished to boundless space. For a few seconds, he even transformed into another state, floating above his own body, looking at that face that was both familiar and unfamiliar. For a few seconds, he could also see the twinkling of stars in the universe, dazzlingly beautiful, an eternal and powerful force that was terrifying even to glimpse.
Until the alarm clock rang.
Everything returned to this body, and he got up without a second's hesitation, because the limited time was all being meticulously calculated.
The moment he looked forward to most each day was when cold water was poured on his face. The minty smell filled his nostrils, and the mirror was covered in water stains, making his face appear blurry. He could only barely see the gray bruises under his eyes by bringing his nose close to the mirror.
He suspected that the human eye's ability to see is limited, for example, one can only see 10,000 people in a lifetime, and beyond that number, the retina will be unable to withstand the strain and will break down, causing some old blood to leak out and block the area below the eye.
Every day, on his journey from home to the office and back, he sees people as numerous as ants, leaving his eyes utterly exhausted. Therefore, during his rare moments of free time, he lies in bed, using his mind to imagine and depict the world, rather than his eyes.
Sometimes, he wouldn't recognize himself. He'd seen this face for two or three decades, yet he could never remember what he looked like. He knew he wasn't ugly, but he wasn't exactly good-looking either, more like an NPC walking around on the street in a game, seemingly with a rich life but actually forgotten even by the developers. Even the people around him occasionally forgot his name—Zhang Xiang, Wang Xiang, Zhou Xiang, they all talked about their ideals, but they just couldn't remember this simple name that had no reason to be forgotten.
But it's not their fault. Even he himself feels a strange sense of unfamiliarity when facing the mirror, as if a stranger has suddenly barged into his private space. All you two can do is stare at each other in silence, or occasionally burst out laughing for no reason.
The atmosphere was awkward, but also somewhat funny.
He noticed a lot of stubble growing on his chin when he looked in the mirror. He initially wanted to ignore it, but then his supervisor's words suddenly came to mind. He said that unkempt appearance also affects the work efficiency of his colleagues. He said that always having such a dejected face was disheartening to look at. Furthermore, his supervisor attributed the errors in the program last quarter to his newly grown beard.
The supervisor patted his own shoulder, the smell of hair oil emanating from his fingertips, and in that annoyingly joking tone, told him that if he didn't pay attention to his appearance, he would be the only one to be selected for the next internal optimization.
Then everyone around him laughed along, and the manager's face rippled with laughter as he became completely absorbed in his own humor.
Li Xiang found it ridiculous. He thought none of this mattered. What did it matter whether he was fired or not? In any case, this job was dispensable to him. He was just a person who needed a job to support himself.
But his hand still reached for the razor on the shelf.
We need to hurry; we must get out of the room before 6:40.
There was no time to draw the curtains. This cramped apartment rarely saw sunlight, and the smell wasn't pleasant. Occasionally, it would smell like a rotting corpse sleeping under the bed, or a large area of mold growing behind a cabinet.
On the table in the room was only a computer that never stopped running, constantly humming. He reached across the computer, reached into the shelf behind it, and pulled a bag of instant bread from a cardboard box. Then he grabbed his briefcase and quickly left the room.
That bookshelf had become a dumping ground for all sorts of fast food. "Introduction to Algebra" and "Foundations of Probability Theory," and perhaps even Schopenhauer and Camus, were all crammed into a corner with curled edges, even covered in a layer of cobwebs. Not to mention the dust; to exaggerate, just picking it up and shaking it could give a normal person pneumoconiosis.
Li Xiang spends all day in this space, and he coughs from time to time.
But he felt that what had entered his lungs wasn't dust, but rather the monotonous, unchanging days, where even setbacks seemed boring. So his throat itched, and he had to strain harder and harder, coughing up blood just to get rid of the unchanging, meaningless phlegm.
He squeezed into the subway at the last second before the doors closed, like a bunch of salted fish trying to squeeze through any available space. There were no handrails for him to hold onto; all he could do was hold tightly to his bag. Whether he moved forward or stopped, there were always people around him to help him along.
Soy milk, pickled cabbage buns, sweat, grease, and some indescribable odors mixed together in a terrible way. Li Xiang suspected that everyone had a dead body hidden under their bed, just like his own.
Dry, dull, and lifeless, over time, even these living people became tainted with the aura of death.
He stared at his face flashing on the car window, eventually becoming its reflection on the computer screen. The memory of walking through the crowd in the middle inexplicably disappeared, but he didn't care. It wasn't worth anything anyway; who would notice an NPC following a programmed route?
Work? What is work? It's nothing more than mechanical operation, using your own hands as tools to realize your boss's ideals and ambitions. It's tedious and boring, but that doesn't matter. He just needs to do it. His own thoughts are completely irrelevant.
What kind of person is worthy of ideas and opinions? A genius, whose every punctuation mark is a golden word. Family background and connections can build a solid bulwark of influence. But what about him? He's mediocre at everything, unremarkable, like a dried-up salted fish on a rope, an extra in a group photo, a single seed among a handful of casually scattered grass seeds. Yes, the purpose of sowing grass seeds is to grow a lush green meadow, but who cares whether that one seed sprouted or not? It doesn't affect the achievement of that meadow, just as the world continues to function whether Li Xiang is there or not.
So isn't it cruel? He's just a figurehead, unnecessary, but he has to exist because when someone of value gives a speech about life, there must be an audience sitting below.
Li Xiang, a viewer, had a somewhat remarkable childhood. He was somewhat talented in mathematics, consistently ranking first in both math and physics, but conversely, his humanities subjects were terrible, especially English.
The science teacher said he was a logic genius, his prized student, and that he made them look good in the grade. The humanities teacher said he had no literary skills whatsoever, that his writing was utter nonsense, and that his reading comprehension score showed he was a person with completely distorted values.
But Li Xiang didn't care. He really felt like a genius amidst the scores and praise, even though his overall ranking always fluctuated in the middle and lower range.
The genius Li Xiang, however, ran into a snag at the family gathering. His family was a large one; for his grandfather's 90th birthday, the entire family—twenty or thirty people—had to book a luxurious suite in a small restaurant. As a family unit, they were required to send someone to wish his grandfather a happy birthday, which basically meant saying auspicious things like "May your life be as long as the Southern Mountains and your happiness as boundless as the Eastern Sea." If they could please his grandfather, perhaps a little of his savings for his funeral would end up in their own little family's pockets.
Does anyone really wish him to live as long as Mount Nanshan? Li Xiang wondered, sitting behind a wine glass filled with fresh orange juice.
When it was his family's turn, his father first praised Li Xiang's midterm math score.
"My son's homeroom teacher said he has a chance to bypass the college entrance exam and get into that Qinghua Qiu Class! Needless to say, that university is one of the top in the country! What does it matter if he's not good at Chinese or English? We'll still get him into the highest institution of learning!"
Several of his relatives' children, who were around the same age, were also about to face the college entrance examination. Li Xiang looked up from behind his wine glass, surveyed the expressions on everyone's faces, and finally looked at his father standing to the side.
Unexpectedly, he learned that Chuban was his dream, and it seemed that at least his father supported him.
His eyes sparkled, but his smile vanished instantly.
His father slapped him on the shoulder, telling him to pick up his glass, stand up, and say a few words of blessing to his grandfather. He suddenly felt a cold sweat break out, and his legs even felt a little weak. Li Xiang was usually taciturn, and even family dinners were his most dreaded social occasions. He was as if he were nailed to his chair, motionless, his eyelids drooping. Anyone could see his tension and unease.
It's just a few words, is it really that big of a deal?
Li Xiang felt that everyone was probably looking down on him in their hearts, but the more they thought about it, the less he could open his mouth.
His mother secretly hid her hand under the tablecloth and went around to his back, pinching her own flesh hard with her sharp nails.
Like a real loser, Li Xiang gritted his teeth and endured the pain, hiding behind the orange juice with a sallow face. The scene was quite awkward for a while, but it ended with his father's disgusted expression and his cousin's English blessing.
"I want to go to the hill-climbing class." After returning home, Li Xiang excitedly told his father about his dream.
"What?" The father sat on the sunken sofa, flipping through TV channels.
“Up to the hill,” he repeated.
The next second, the remote control was thrown at his head, and a dull pain came from his forehead, as if his bones had cracked.
"You work a fucking hellish job! You can't even utter a fart. What's the use of being good at math? Can it put food on the table? Can it help you find a good job? Can it help you buy a house in the city? Do you think I'm counting on you? You're a fucking piece of trash! You can't even say a word!"
"Do you even look like a normal person? What makes you think you can get out of this room and into society? You can't even afford the fare from here to the capital! You delusional good-for-nothing! Parasite! Trash!"
Li Xiang covered his head, staring blankly at his father, not knowing why he had suddenly gone crazy. Because there was a family dinner today, this man had finally appeared at home in a sober state at this time. He was even thinking of showing him the competition certificate from last time.
But in the end, Li Xiang could only slink back to his room, sit at his desk, finish the half-solved problem, and then sit there blankly until dawn. He reluctantly agreed with his father's words and began to doubt whether he was truly useless.
Meanwhile, the mother, separated by a wall, silently locked herself in front of her dressing table, the wall creating two spaces for self-protection.
Li Xiang only got into an ordinary second-tier university, majoring in information engineering. After entering university, he was still one of the top students in his major, but he found that everyone was no longer buried in studying numbers and logic. They were all busy with clubs, dating, and watching movies and having meals with the boys and girls they were flirting with.
They also talked about dreams, literature, a newly launched car, and the calves under the hem of a skirt.
Life after he grew up was not what he imagined at all. Just like before he turned 18, he was still fantasizing about saving the world. But as soon as the clock struck midnight, he automatically became a failed adult wearing a second-hand suit, sitting at his workstation. The meaning of life being so predictable is that his withered face on the computer screen will slowly grow old day by day and be permanently framed within it.
So fast, so fast that he hadn't even had time to react. It was as if the candle of his 18-year-old self had just been blown out, and the ash was still creeping up the lamplight.
All Li Xiang could do was pass the time. There were so many people in this world, men and women, old and young, ugly or beautiful. He finally understood that he was never the center of the universe, but at most a floating, ignorant speck of dust. The world would not protect him, and his existence was worthless.
"Just live like this," Li thought. "Why work? Why have lovers and friends? Why strive for happiness? Everything we pursue is fleeting. Fame and fortune are eternal, but life is short. There will always be another tomorrow. So be it. Just lie on this bed and become a withered, lifeless corpse until consciousness fades and the spirit is gone."
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