It was 3:30 PM on Friday, April 28, 2090. The monthly exam had just concluded, with physics being the last subject. Everyone lay exhausted in their seats. School would be dismissed in an hour, and they were all too tired to speak, wanting only to sit quietly for a while.
Before the self-study session began, Simon pulled a harmonica from the inner pocket of his school uniform.
He lightly placed his lips on the harmonica, and a cheerful tune filled the classroom. Everyone turned their heads in surprise. The boy in the back row of the classroom leaned back comfortably, his feet brazenly propped on his desk, his left hand in his pocket, and his right hand holding a blues harmonica, moving it around his lips. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, as if no one else was there.
His classmates began to laugh. Some clapped along, some cheered, while others refocused on their studies. It was sunset, and the vibrant young people had not yet surrendered to life.
Simon finished his tune, put the harmonica back in his pocket, and the Class Teacher, who had been standing at the door, strode in. Pretending not to notice anything, she began to order the students to concentrate on their studies. Afterward, she called Zhou Ping out.
...
The harmonica was for "Kill That Shijiazhuang Man." This song required wind instruments like the harmonica, trumpet, and saxophone. It could have been simulated with a synthesizer, which would have been no problem at all, but Simon planned to learn the harmonica anyway; otherwise, their band would seem very amateurish—which, in fact, they were.
There were two ways to play it. Because the air holes were close together, to prevent air from escaping, one either puckered their lips and aimed at the hole or swallowed the harmonica and used their tongue to block the unwanted holes. Simon knew both methods, but he usually used the first one more often because it looked more elegant.
Although it still looked a lot like gnawing on corn. Because of this, Su Xiangli gave him a new nickname: Khrushchev Devourer.
Bai Fengjiu asked him what songs the band had prepared. Simon answered truthfully, but the class monitor said she had never heard of any of them. Old songs from half a century ago—it would be a miracle if she had heard of them.
...
Bai Fengjiu wrote down the song titles and went home to ask her father. Qi Juezhi was an unfulfilled singer. His last job was as a tutor. Initially, he was chosen because his prices were cheaper than online courses, but Comrade Lao Qi suffered from chronic insomnia, leading to mental confusion and incoherent speech. He was even worse than a household robot, so he was fired that same day. Now unemployed, he relied on his estranged wife for support.
He tried his best to fulfill his daughter's request, put down his chopsticks, and ran into his long-uncleaned studio. Covered in dust, he found a pile of sheet music, which included the songs the Su Huai Feixing Band was going to perform.
Bai Fengjiu took the sheet music and put it in her backpack. After dinner, she said goodbye to her father and left, as usual, to rest at her mother's house. The walk wasn't long; it was a good after-dinner stroll.
Her mother, Bai Chengyu, woke up at four in the afternoon, meditated on the bed for five minutes to fully awaken, then got up to shower for about twenty minutes, washing away accumulated dandruff and grime, feeling refreshed. Then she went to the kitchen for some simple instant food, cleaned the robot vacuum cleaner, and put it back in the TV cabinet. This took until about five o'clock.
Walking the dog: 5:00 PM to 5:20 PM.
Today was the last day she rented this Chihuahua, and she was particularly reluctant to part with it, so she bought a bag of high-quality dog food at the supermarket to ensure the dog ate its fill. The Chihuahua gnawed on the dog food without a care, while Bai Chengyu squatted beside it, gently stroking its back.
She entrusted her daughter with returning the dog to the store and then packed her gear for work.
She left, first taking a mobility vehicle out of the community, then walking to the nearest subway station, and taking a capsule train to the central business district twenty kilometers away. She worked as a receptionist at a third-rate technology company called Chenyu Chuangxing.
She applied makeup on the capsule train. A few strangers in the same car looked at her but said nothing.
Bai Chengyu used the cheapest foundation from the supermarket to cover her sallow complexion, then applied a touch of lipstick sparingly.
She gracefully exited the train, walked to the company building entrance, took out a small mirror, and, with an expressionless face, slowly curved her lips. A standard, impeccable smile appeared, like a product of machine processing.
She straightened her back, entered the company, changed into her work uniform in the staff room, and began her shift.
Facing the empty lobby, which rarely saw visitors.
Only robots stood like sculptures. Their smooth exteriors lacked human faces, which was why people like Bai Chengyu still had value.
Under the silent surveillance cameras,
she smiled.
...
Bai Fengjiu knew her mother hated music.
But she had once been incredibly infatuated with music. She had merely transferred her life's frustrations onto music. Back then, when Bai Fengjiu learned to play the drums, she had received enthusiastic approval from her parents; in fact, they had even pushed her to learn.
Now, that familiar drum set lay dusty in her mother's storage room.
She watched her mother leave the community from the window.
Bai Fengjiu took out the sheet music from her backpack, her thoughts on the boy named Simon.
Intelligent and gentle, highly efficient, decisive in action, and humble in his dealings—he was truly an impeccable person.
Bai Fengjiu actually wanted to help him because Simon was very interesting when he asked her for help.
But he always found a solution, just like so many times before. Watching Simon catch up on homework early in the classroom, he always managed his tasks well.
On the day of the class cadre election, he gave a speech. Everyone else said they would contribute to the class and help the teacher, but he alone said that his abilities could satisfy everyone. Then, on the spot, he drew a sketch on the blackboard. Everyone in the classroom was like looking in a mirror, able to see their own image on the blackboard. Each person Simon drew raised the cheers in the classroom, and by the time he finished, they almost blew the roof off. The Class Teacher from the next room even came over to inquire about the commotion.
A cool kid, Simon. He was so cool! Everyone envied him: good at studies, liked by teachers, and even had a beautiful girlfriend who practiced ballet.
He was practically the face of Class One, ranking first in his grade. When he was mentioned, the other kids in other classes could only gasp and exclaim, "How terrifying!"
Such a person rarely asked for help.
Bai Fengjiu moved the stacked boxes in the storage room to clear a space. She flipped through the sheet music, then set it aside, pulled up a stool, sat down, and raised her drumsticks.
In the narrow room, undisturbed, only clutter piled up like walls.
She waved her hand,
and the rhythm exploded!
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