They say today is the end of the world. And so, the 39-degree heat of Wuhan’s summer arrived especially early.
The weather in Wuhan today: 39 degrees Celsius. Don’t ask. Wuhan’s weather is only ever allowed to be 39 degrees. Even if the sun in the sky were to fall on your face, the temperature would still only be permitted to be 39 degrees.
At a time like this, if you dared to go out under the sun and lick a utility pole by the road, you’d hear a sizzle, and your tongue would be seared.
Just past the beginning of July, Wuhan switched from “steamer mode” to “oven mode” with a single click, a seamless transition. All the coffee shops and milk tea shops selling iced drinks were swamped with orders.
A dizzy head is a sign of heatstroke. After seeing the news below, Lin Song’s head was indeed spinning.
Yesterday, the Bitcoin community was in an uproar. Two Bitcoin wallets, dormant for fourteen years, were activated, with potential profits exceeding two billion dollars. Both Lookonchain and Whale Alert, which track major blockchain transactions, reported that 20,000 bitcoins had been moved. The two wallets, each holding 10,000 bitcoins, were originally funded in 2011 and had remained untouched since. At that time, a bitcoin was worth only 78 cents. At the current price of around $108,868, the two wallets are now worth over $2.18 billion.
Lin Song thought to himself, if I had 100,000 yuan back in 2011 and had also bought those 20,000 bitcoins…
But alas, it was impossible. Back then, he had a monthly mortgage payment of 3,000 yuan, and his bank account often had only a few hundred yuan left in it. He couldn’t possibly have had a spare 100,000. And even if he had, he absolutely would not have bought Bitcoin. He figured he might have bought stocks instead, diligently watching the market every day, buying high and selling low, and ultimately losing everything.
But Lin Song still had regrets, because he knew about Bitcoin back then. Even if he didn’t have 100,000 yuan, he certainly had a thousand. It’s just that he had thought at the time that even if a thousand yuan’s worth of Bitcoin increased tenfold, it would only be 10,000 yuan. What he could never have imagined was that Bitcoin would increase nearly 200,000-fold in the span of a decade.
When Lin Song bought his apartment all those years ago, his classmates were still living in housing provided by their employers or with their parents. He believed housing prices would rise. As for how much, he had calculated based on Shanghai’s prices at the time, figuring they might go up two or three times. Later, at their peak, prices rose nearly tenfold. Still, seeing the Bitcoin news today, he felt regret for the choice he’d made.
No matter how hot it was outside, Lin Song had to go out. First, to the print shop to print a copy of “The Ode to the Goddess of the Luo River” by the calligrapher Zhao Mengfu, and then to the gym in the mall’s basement to run.
On the treadmill, after gritting his teeth for twenty minutes, Lin Song came to a realization: getting rich overnight is something prepared for the already wealthy. However, pretending to have heatstroke can also bring a certain pleasure.
Coach Su was starting with a new client. She was similar to his usual clientele, an auntie in her forties. A bit of flesh was squeezed into her tight Lululemon leggings; you could tell the fabric had good elasticity. The client asked Coach Su:
“What are those tattoos on your arm?”
“A bar spoon, a cocktail shaker, a jigger, and a bottle opener.”
“What are those for?”
“For mixing drinks.”
“What kind of drinks?”
“Cocktails.”
“You’re a perfectly good coach. Why get such weird things tattooed on you?”
“I used to be a bartender.”
“People with tattoos… they don’t look like good people.”
“Having tattoos doesn’t necessarily make someone a bad person, and wearing glasses doesn’t necessarily make someone a good person. I’ve seen plenty of beasts in suits and ties.”
“I just meant how it looks.”
“If you only judge people by their appearance, then I can only say you’re very shallow.”
“But aren’t tattoos for people to see? And it looks like you’re not a good person.”
“Oh… okay. Come on, last set. Squeeze your back. Let’s go.”
The delivery truck turned onto Macanghu Road. A small van with its hazard lights flashing was stopped right in the right-turn lane. This was the third stalled vehicle he had seen on the road. It was too hot. The weather forecast on the radio just now had said that parts of southeastern Hubei would see temperatures of 40 degrees. In any case, Wuhan would not have 40-degree weather.
On the narrow one-way street, many red-and-white striped bollards had been installed to prevent cars from parking on the roadside, bright and glaring.
At dinner, Lin Song had just opened a Budweiser and taken a sip when he remembered he had to go water the tree his sister had planted in the next couple of days. The sun was about to set now; avoiding the daytime blaze was a good plan. He put the opened beer back in the fridge and went out in his shorts and T-shirt.
Though it was still scorching, Lin Song didn’t fear the dry, hot wind. As long as there was a breeze, it could soothe the searing heat somewhat.
On a Saturday evening, the traffic on the elevated highway was still heavy. Lin Song wasn’t in a hurry. He followed the flow of traffic slowly, enjoying a rare moment of ease. The glass curtain walls of the skyscrapers reflected the blood-red sunset.
On the way back, in the middle of the Second Yangtze River Bridge, a police car was stopped in the slow lane. A traffic officer was waving the cars behind it to move on.
Perhaps someone had jumped off the bridge again.
The Yangtze River doesn’t have a lid.