"I don't know. Maybe I accidentally lost it?" Xu Xiaoyou scratched her cheek and said. "If it's lost, I'll buy you another one."
"I see." Tang Xin thought for a moment and then nodded. "Actually, it broke a few days ago anyway. I was planning to keep it as a souvenir, but if it's lost, there's nothing to be done."
"It's just that I feel a little sad. That alarm clock was with me for a long time. I bought it after leaving the orphanage, and it stayed with me until I started university."
"Come to think of it, I think it was the first birthday present I ever bought for myself."
As the girl spoke, a faint smile played on her lips. Xu Xiaoyou saw many emotions swirling in her eyes—nostalgia for the past and hope for the future.
Tang Xin winked at her from behind the partially closed door.
"Let's not talk about it anymore, Yuzu. I'm going to sleep now. You should get some sleep early too."
"Yeah, you too."
Long after the door had closed, Xu Xiaoyou took the broken piglet alarm clock out from behind her back. The simple, honest-looking pig snout was quite cute.
Finally, she silently put the piglet alarm clock away and headed toward her own room.
...................
Morning, Belvedere Square.
A grand statue stood tall in the center of the square, draped in a blanket of snow. Since the moment this majestic statue, nearly forty meters high, was erected, specialized carvers had been commissioned every year to maintain it. Even amidst years of ice and snow, the statue's textures remained clear and distinct, the clothing design was exquisite, and the expression was lifelike. The Starry Movement was draped over the man's elbow, and the sword he held high toward the sky flowed with the revolutionary ideals of the people of the past Star of Art.
Beneath the giant gray stone dome, figures moved to and fro. Pale gold light awakened the entire city. Yesterday's ice and snow slowly melted, and crystalline water droplets slid from the gaps in the steel structures, falling onto the ground among the passing shadows.
In the bleak, cold wind, people on the square wore British-style windbreakers, drank black coffee, and read the city's morning papers.
They were either elite white-collar workers from some company, television reporters, or investors from all over the world, eager to discover treasure in this land full of gold.
Whoever they were, they all understood the logic that the early bird gets the worm.
To seize opportunities, become successful, and reach the pinnacle of life to marry into wealth, one's sleep must not exceed four hours—this was the life creed summarized by Ince, the camera director of the Black Lake film crew.
His career had recently met its Waterloo. The Station No. 23 he was responsible for had seen its ratings hit record lows repeatedly.
The movie he was planning had its investment withdrawn before he could even finish casting, dying in its cradle.
His debts were snowballing with interest. If he couldn't find a way to save his film crew, which was on the verge of disbanding, he and his dream of adding glory to the great Seventh Art would be ignominiously kicked to the Keyboard District. From then on, his life would be left with only black and white colors, waiting for the day when the lovely jackals of Universal Heavy Industries appeared to disassemble his body parts like building blocks to continue shining and generating heat inside some rich person's body.
To this end, he decided to go all out. Face and reputation meant nothing in the face of survival.
He had it all figured out. He decided to start a new television program with a name that sounded a bit more artistic: Moments of Disgust. The content of the program was simple.
He only needed to shove his camera into the faces of passersby and conduct some absurd, privacy-invading interviews. No matter how peaceful or polite a person's character was, they would inevitably show an expression of disgust. All he had to do was record these moments of disgust and post them online. This novel subject matter would surely capture people's attention.
The ratings would explode!
He had already prepared his response to the inevitable public condemnation. He only needed to wear a formal suit, put on a serious expression, and emphasize that he was engaged in 'artistic creation' and that everything was for the sake of the great Seventh Art to shut everyone up.
According to Article 13 of the Starry Movement artistic creation regulations, any act of artistic creation (excluding behavioral art, bloody art, and ascetic art) is sacred, beyond the questioning of others, and worthy of respect.
In this city full of gold where everything appeared glamorous, beautiful things standing in the sunlight weren't eye-catching enough. He had to find another way.
It's hard to make most people like you, but isn't it easy to make most people hate you?
Though it was highly unethical, he had no choice.
After a brief moment of psychological consolation, Ince put on an expression that said 'I'm smiling, and one doesn't strike a smiling face.' After adjusting every detail of his face to just the right level, he began his first interview.
The first person to be interviewed was a man in a custom suit holding a cup of coffee. He appeared to be on a call, his brow furrowing and relaxing intermittently.
When he saw the camera practically shoved into his face, a look of displeasure clearly appeared on the man's face. He reached out to stop it.
But then, remembering he was facing a camera and that his every move might be uploaded to the internet, he was forced to put on a strained smile, his voice mellow:
"Is this a street interview? If it's a question about the business field, I'm happy to provide an answer."
Ince's lips curled slightly as he asked, "Pardon me, sir, what color are your socks today? Could you lift your pant legs and let us see?"
The expression on the man's face visibly froze, his displeasure turning into indignation. "Which station are you from? I'm going to file a complaint against you!"
Before the man could erupt, Ince snapped a series of photos, recorded the man's expression, and then took off running with the camera until the undignified man disappeared from sight behind him.
Today's first task was completed very smoothly.
Ince thought as he quickly found his second target: a woman with exquisite makeup and luxurious clothing.
Seeing someone interviewing her, the woman reached out to adjust her glasses and extinguished the lady's cigarette in her hand. Tobacco smoke mixed with the scent of peppermint escaped from her thin red lips.
She didn't resist the proximity of the camera, showing herself off generously. "Go ahead, film me from every angle without any blind spots."
"I'm sorry, but any angle will only capture my beauty because I am perfect. My figure and my beauty are all perfect, just like Heras, the Mother of Gods who enchanted all living beings with her beauty in the Temple of Hiddell."
Ince nodded. "You are indeed very beautiful, madam."
Hearing this, the woman chuckled as if she had heard the most uninteresting praise. Just as she waved her hand, intending to bid farewell to the camera, Ince's next sentence caused her beautiful face to crack and twist slightly.
"However, what I wanted to ask is, what brand is your corset? It cinches your waist so slimly."
"My figure is natural, the product of my own strict management! I would never use such a thing!" The woman's voice rose several octaves in a shrill tone.
"Which station are you from? How rude! I'm going to file a complaint against you!"
Ince again seized the opportunity to record the woman's loss of composure and ran off with his camera.
And so, that morning, people saw a figure running back and forth through the crowds at the station. Everywhere he went, people were indignant, causing a conspicuous commotion.
After receiving reports from concerned citizens, nearby tuners rushed to the scene, only to be left speechless by Ince's calm use of his well-memorized legal knowledge. Because of the glares from the surrounding people who looked ready to skin Ince alive, the tuners were forced to stay there to maintain public order and prevent them from doing anything irrational.
The tuners who had come due to the reports instead became Ince's protective umbrella. He became increasingly emboldened as he searched for his next target.
He then spotted a blonde girl in the crowd with her hands stuffed in the pockets of a military overcoat. Due to a lack of sleep, she looked somewhat dead-eyed.
Before he could even step forward and shove the camera in her face, he heard her say:
"Get lost. You're annoying just to look at."
Rate on N.U.
