Lin Song had absolutely no intention of going out.
Even in the morning, the coolest part of the day, the glaring sunlight outside his curtains made him feel an invisible wave of heat.
Summer is like that. You never feel hungry. Even if your empty stomach rumbles, you have no desire to eat. A couple of sips of water make you feel better.
But not wanting to eat is just an illusion created by the sweltering heat. Lin Song rationally reminded himself that it was almost noon, and the task of combining two meals into one still needed to be done.
Before heading out, Lin Song grabbed a bottle of sunscreen spray from his bookshelf. Sunscreen always felt greasy on his neck, like the condensed oil on a range hood. He didn’t like it much.
Stepping into the sun’s domain was like plunging into a dense shower of sewing needles falling from the sky. Lin Song felt a stinging pain on his calves. He had to thank the sunscreen; it was truly summer’s fire extinguisher.
It wasn’t even lunchtime yet, but the shopping mall was already full of old folks and children.
The cool air-conditioning in the mall awakened Lin Song’s anxiety. He started to fret: Did I turn off the AC at home when I left? Which did I do first, put on my shoes or turn off the AC? Should I just grab a bowl of cold noodles to go and rush back upstairs to check?
The food court was crowded, and the scene inside the Dehualou restaurant was even more exaggerated. The delivery drivers sorting orders outnumbered the customers in the store.
An excessive number of supply bins were piled up in a corner of the shop. The dining tables outside the packing counter had been removed and temporarily converted into an additional sorting station. Half of the delivery bags were still empty, with order slips stuck to them. Although the staff had prepared for the expected weekend surge, their preparations were far from enough to handle the tide of incoming orders.
Everyone was feeling the intense heat, everyone was too lazy to move, and so, everyone was ordering delivery.
Lin Song took out his phone and scrolled through his WeChat Moments:
“Damn, the power suddenly went out! On a day this hot, thank god I have a power bank and this portable fan.”
“Massive power outages in Jiangxia, Huangpi, and Qiaokou districts… Can anyone tell me where there’s still power? I’ll carry my sleeping mat and come seek refuge!”
“Single platform, single store, 2000+ orders. Getting closer and closer to being a ‘10k-Order Store’!”
“Scored a sweet deal from Meituan! Got Mixue Bingcheng for free!”
“What a manic era! It brings out the petty bargain-hunting nature in everyone, but it’s not worth it! The hot dry noodles from Cailinji, plus doupi and soy milk, originally 21.3 yuan, what’s the deal with it being 4.9? I’m not happy, just feel it’s insane! Using my husband’s account to buy another one.”
The stack of delivery orders on the sorting table grew higher and higher, like a barrier lake forming in a rainstorm, ready to burst at any moment.
The owner of the community grocery store sent him a message. The red bean popsicles he had ordered had arrived. She told him to pick them up quickly, as they shouldn’t be left out for long in this heat.
The styrofoam box containing the popsicles was placed directly on the self-pickup shelf. Lin Song grumbled inwardly: Why didn’t she put it in the freezer? Won’t the popsicles melt just sitting here?
Lin Song carried the popsicle box and the cold noodles upstairs. When he tore open the box’s sealing tape, he found the red bean popsicles inside were frozen solid; they hadn’t melted at all. He picked up one of the ice packs in surprise and saw a line of warning text:
“Caution: Frostbite Hazard. -78.5°C.”
It was dry ice. Even popsicle sellers were this advanced now.
Lin Song cut open the dry ice packet and poured the remaining bits into the toilet. The ethereal mist that rose up looked like a scene from the Heavenly Palace during the Monkey King’s rampage.
Some people fear the heat; others push themselves.
Mr. Xu, who runs a sundry goods business, posted his one-year fitness results on Moments…
Two side-by-side selfies highlighted the difference. The first shot was from a year ago: that familiar, prosperous round face, beaded with sweat, radiating an overwhelming cheerfulness. The second was from today: a chiseled jaw, sunken eye sockets, also drenched in sweat. Lin Song imagined how, over the past year, this middle-aged man had given up fried chicken and milk tea, run laps around the community green space every day, and supplemented with protein powder to fuel his weightlifting sessions.
Mr. Xu was thinner, more energetic, and better-looking, but he was also almost unrecognizable. If it’s just for posting on Moments, Lin Song thought, couldn’t you just use a filter or change your hairstyle? Why go to all that trouble?
The radio was playing a song by an unknown singer. It sounded like an old tune, but he didn’t know its name.
“Mom and Dad are old now, all in an instant…”
For dinner, he went to the “Lao Cainong” restaurant for a treat. A sign at the entrance advertised a new dish: Sweet and Sour Pork Ribs, usually 68 yuan, on special today for 38.
He hadn’t had fermented tofu skin in a long time, so he ordered a portion of that too. The tofu skin rolls seemed to be filled with pork belly. Fried crispy on the outside, they were soft and chewy on the inside. The iron-plate sea bass came wrapped in a large sheet of tin foil. He punctured it with his chopsticks, tore it open, and the aroma of pan-fried fish rushed out. The fish was fragrant, silky, and tender—beautiful and delicious.
If boredom is what’s performing under the stage spotlight, then what is the meaning of the stage itself?