Insect Chirp

 　　My name is Wang Shitou, I'm twenty-five years old, a salesman at Tengda Insurance Company, from Chenzhou, Hunan. Gender? Oh, male.

　　The square-faced, crew-cut policeman quickly scribbled my information on a piece of paper. I felt a warmth in my heart; how long had it been since anyone had listened to me speak? "I forgot where I read it, but mediocre people are called 'insect scorn,' meaning people even insects laugh at. I'm just such an insect scorn. Everything about me revolves around two words: mediocrity—mediocre abilities, mediocre appearance, mediocre family background, even my name is ordinary. 'Wang' is the most common surname in the country, meaning many people share the surname Wang. Shitou, just a stone that people kick around on the street..." As I spoke, the policeman stopped listening and turned to question another participant in the assault.
　　The awkward atmosphere made me uncomfortable. I wanted to continue, to speak to the many viewers in my mind, like the beginning of a movie: the protagonist calmly narrating his story. Alcohol understands my emotions better than usual, unlike my usual rationality that forbids me from expressing myself. I slumped onto the table and wailed, "I wanted to continue, why did you interrupt me..." My flushed face was streaked with tears and snot, startling the police officer who was taken aback by my sudden drunken outburst.
　　"Uncle, stop being disgusting," the seventeen or eighteen-year-old delinquent who had fought with me said coldly. The bright incandescent light shone on me and the wall, the sudden whiteness making my eyelids heavy.
　　The brat who had fought with me was named Li Xiaochong. His blond hair, heavily sprayed with hairspray and gel, stood up like a hedgehog, his face radiating feigned arrogance. He wore many earrings, which I seemed to have pulled during the fight, the wounds still bleeding, forming teardrop-shaped rubies. He didn't wipe them off, feeling like a bleeding hero from a Hong Kong police movie. I then realized I was injured too. Looking through the glass door, I saw my face was bruised and swollen, with a large bruise on my cheekbone. The alcohol had dulled my brain, and it wasn't until this sleep that the pain started to return.
　　A policeman who was about to leave said, "Xiao Zhang, isn't this over yet?" The square-faced officer said to the older officer, "No, one was drunk, and the other was as stubborn as a mule." The man left, and "Old Zhang" began questioning us about the reason for the fight.
　　"Why did you fight?" He looked at me, his pen still hovering over the interrogation record. I honestly replied, "I work part-time as a waiter at a bar. After work, I had a few drinks and walked along Xianxia Road when I saw him arguing with a girl—it looked like he was harassing her, and it looked like he was going to do something to her. Normally, I definitely wouldn't have dared to 'save the damsel in distress,' I was afraid he might have a knife or something. But today, maybe the alcohol emboldened me, I rushed up without hesitation and started fighting with him. The girl gave me a grateful look before running away; she was clearly frightened, so my guess was right."
　　Li Xiaochong was a little anxious, "Who said that? I just struck up a conversation, but I didn't do anything, just asked for her phone number and address..." Old Zhang looked up and asked him, "Then why did you strike up a conversation with a girl passing by?" He stammered, unable to give a coherent answer for a long time. Just then, a girl in a white down jacket came in through the door. I was overjoyed; it was the same girl from before.
　　Old Zhang said solemnly, "Your thinking is wrong. You young people just can't distinguish right from wrong. What reaches the masses is always manipulated; maybe someone is deliberately trying to undermine national unity. Your kind of thinking makes you easy targets."
　　The matter was resolved just like that. I wasn't detained, and miraculously, I did a good deed. Walking out of the police station, I felt exceptionally refreshed. Looking at the Shanghai sky, dark and deep, the stars seemed exceptionally bright. Actually, I didn't fight to be a hero; I just wanted someone to beat me up or let me beat them up...
　　Shanghai is a city that never sleeps, neon lights flashing, a dazzling spectacle. The graceful silhouette of the Huangpu River weaves through the sky, its mysterious face adorned with dark circles and bags under its eyes. This is a city that never sleeps, a vibrant city. Its vibrancy contributes to a considerable GDP, and it also gave me a part-time job—a waiter in the men's restroom of a bar.
　　What kind of service does a restroom need? I stood at the restroom door, a fake smile plastered on my face, holding a wooden tray with soft, white towels for customers to dry their hands. I didn't know why I didn't just put in a hand dryer. However, from the pleased expressions on their faces after receiving my smiling welcome, my 90-degree bow, and the "high-class" service—hand towels and such—I seemed to understand: the hand dryer couldn't give them the feeling of being treated like royalty. And I was the obsequious, servile eunuch.
　　This was just the job the manager told me, but in reality, I had to do all the restroom services. Because of my excellent service, customers often gave me tips—five, ten, or even a hundred yuan—the red and green bills scattered on my tray. Of course, I had to collect them immediately, otherwise, I would lose the humble status of a waiter earning money. Compared to my regular insurance sales job that only paid 1500 yuan a month, this part-time job felt more like a full-time job.
　　The working environment here was also good; the restrooms were spacious, clean, dry, and bright. A neat row of infrared sensor toilets, their white porcelain gleaming pure under the lights, were a pity to be defiled by the people who came in to relieve themselves. Those people were all obese, their eyes gleaming with lewd light—what a stark contrast! The toilet paper was made from high-grade wood, with a wonderfully smooth feel; this was truly a high-class bar.
　　I rented an old building where many people shared a kitchen and a bathroom, the kind Hai Ping lived in during the TV drama "Dwelling Narrowness." The bathroom reeked, the strong ammonia smell emanating from it for miles around. To get to the bathroom, there was a long, dark corridor, without even a small orange lamp. The little girl next door always cried when she went to the toilet. Once, I saw her sitting in the middle of the corridor, sobbing quietly, looking so pitiful. The people living here were all like me, driven to the brink by life, with bad tempers, let alone any semblance of human pride. Once, she cried loudly, and someone immediately rushed out and beat her up, followed by a fierce fight with her parents. It resembled a dogfight: barking wildly, biting, eyes bloodshot, making one wonder if they had rabies.
　　So, working part-time here is like winning the lottery—though I don't know what it feels like to win the lottery, let me use that analogy. Taking care of my life's major event here after a shift change is also a kind of happiness.
　　However, today I encountered Zhang Ming and his two friends. Zhang Ming is my arch-enemy, about to be promoted, and not in the same group as me; we've always been at odds. So, not going to his celebration today wasn't just because I didn't want to spend money; I never expected them to come to such a high-class bar as Nightfall, nor did
　　I expect them to run into me… I stood at the restroom door, head bowed, bowing, smiling. Outside, bright, multicolored lights danced and swept across the room, music like a mad giant unleashing a massive earthquake—thump, thump, thump, thump, the guitarist played with abandon, his long hair swinging wildly; the percussionist pounded metal with drumsticks as fast as Lang Lang's; the lead singer screamed his lungs out, almost giving his life for the stage. The crowd swayed wildly, screams, shouts of toasting, and jeering... glasses clinked, and everyone's pupils were dilated. Amidst the revelry, Zhao Cheng, Zhang Ming, and another man headed for the restroom. I couldn't remember the other man's name—perhaps because he was such a clingy person.
　　I tried to keep my head down, but they still recognized me, and a barrage of insults was inevitable. Zhao Cheng tugged at my red bow tie and adjusted my dark blue suit. "Isn't this Wang Shitou? What are you doing here? You're not working as a waiter, are you...? What's the manager's taste? Someone like that, at his age, working as a waiter!" He mocked me with a knowing look. The other man added, "No wonder you didn't join our celebration; you had something to do!" The three of them burst into laughter, their voices even more vulgar than the classic laughs from Stephen Chow's movies.
　　I smiled, gestured for them to eat, and said, "Please, have some. " The three of them went to relieve themselves. Zhang Ming said, "I dropped my keys inside, come help me find them." I went over and squatted down to inspect them—this was a service they usually offered, obviously a fabrication. Zhang Ming gave the other two a wink, and they pressed my head down. Zhang Ming pressed down with her bare hand, and water gushed out, hitting my face. My head was completely submerged in water, and I could barely breathe. I swallowed several mouthfuls of alkaline water while trying to catch my breath.
　　My hair was disheveled in the water, and I thought of the great floods in my hometown of Chenzhou, a basin that was prone to flooding.
　　Crops, rice paddies, houses, poultry, childhood memories—all were submerged… A flood swept away my future and hopes; I became like a weed uprooted and floating on the water's surface. I dropped out of school and drifted in this city like a lost soul. But no one could bully a ghost, so I lived a more pathetic life than one.
　　They finally let go. I looked up and coughed violently. “Looks like we can’t find it. Let’s go.” Before leaving, Zhao Cheng gave me a sarcastic smile: “Don’t think you’re so noble.” I gasped for breath; my clean-loving stomach finally churned under the influence of my imagination. “Ugh—vomit—.”
　　I dried my face, ignoring the bewildered, sympathetic, or strangely pleased expressions of my customers, tidied myself in front of the mirror, and still greeted them with a fake smile.
　　I spent all my wages on alcohol. I drank myself into a stupor, never imagining I'd find myself drowning my sorrows in the bright lights of a nightclub.
　　"Noble? Bullshit! You haven't seen my miserable state. I just want to save money to rebuild my home, to have a father, a mother, children… What happened? What happened?! Why is God so cruel to me…" I staggered out the door. "Do you even know what loneliness is? What solitude is?" I pointed to the sky. "Waaah—I called home, but it wouldn't go through. Then I remembered they're gone. Look, there are so many people on this street, not a single one of them is related to me, not even a single person to talk to!"
　　I squatted on the roadside, sobbing, pointing to the sky, cursing the ground. Seeing those disreputable men on Xianxia Road seeking out women like this only made me more lonely.
　　Every day I pass through here on my way to work, every day I go home, every day I live in a dirty, chaotic apartment, every day I live with women who haggle over every penny of water, every day I live with middle-aged men who are too afraid to even breathe. A failed life, a failed life!
　　In the freezing cold, I walked unsteadily on the road. The images of my parents' water and the limescale from the toilet surfaced in my mind, a lingering sense of humiliation. My life felt even more of a failure than theirs. A feeling of hopelessness made me want to beat someone up, or at least beat myself up. Then I ran into the unlucky Li Xiaochong trying to pick up the girl in the white down jacket. I rushed at him to fulfill my desire, punching him in the face as if punching reality itself. "Let's settle this today. Either I kill you, or you knock me out of my wits. I never want to waver between dreams and reality again." How much of that could still be retrieved?
　　Until someone pulled us apart, and then somehow someone called the police, and I was taken to the station. After that beating, I suddenly understood why Zhang Ming and Zhao Cheng hated me. They had already chosen reality, disapproved of my hesitation, my cowardice, and my indecisiveness.
　　Back home, I collapsed onto the bed without even taking off my shoes and fell into a deep sleep. The next day, I woke up with a heavy, aching head, like a balloon about to burst from being filled with too much water. I punched myself in the forehead three times, briefly alleviating the discomfort. My breath could kill three mice. I picked up the enamel mug, toothbrush, and toothpaste, and turned on the faucet. The rusty faucet malfunctioned and wouldn't turn off. I slumped to my floor, the enamel mug clattering to the ground with a disgusting thud.
　　Anger flared instantly. I kicked the blue mug away, then kicked the faucet, scattering the neatly arranged items in the cramped room. I collapsed helplessly to the floor, burying my head in the white spray of water, and yesterday came flooding back.
　　The water ran down my neck and down my back, icy cold, soaking my clothes. It took a long time for the landlady to come over, because many people here often went berserk, smashing things and beating children.
　　"Oh dear, what a mess! Your family has it tough, you lot!" Her Shanghainese was sickeningly soft. I calmed down and stood up. "Call someone to fix it. I'll compensate for any damage."
　　Water seeped downstairs, and the couple from that apartment came up to confront me, hurling insults like "bastards" and "sons of bitches." A crowd of onlookers gathered, gleefully joining in the discussion, treating it as their morning mental exercise. They were all shrewd, and everyone liked shrewdness. Amidst the cursing, I heard my phone ring. I crawled under the bed, pulled it out, and shook it, the water droplets forming smooth beads on the phone.
　　"Hello," I said, my voice as weary as my body and mind. It was my colleague, someone I usually got along with.
　　"Wang Shitou, the Ms. Liu you're responsible for died in a car accident! Her husband only paid two thousand yuan in accident insurance for her, and now the company has to pay hundreds of thousands. The manager is berating everyone."
　　The company is laying off staff soon; the insurance industry is already highly competitive, and with this incident, I'm definitely going to be fired. Even if they hadn't said it on the phone, I knew what they meant. It just didn't make sense. Ignoring the slippery ground and my wet, smelly shirt, I grabbed my clothes and left amidst the chorus of condemnation.

　　I changed in the company restroom, washed my face and rinsed my mouth countless times before going to see the manager. This balding man was furious. Upon seeing me, he just kept muttering curses, though I couldn't hear what he was saying—probably about my lack of ambition and the company losing so much money.
　　He smiled, a smile born of extreme anger, on his oily, withered face. Then he threw the prepared termination letter at me. I glanced at the colleague who had called me; he immediately lowered his head. My eyes welled up with tears. I knew no one would care about my dignity; even with my most sensitive tear ducts, I had to hold back my sobs at that moment.

　　Everyone becomes a persecutor of the weak. The prepared explanation remained unspoken; I slunk home like a homeless person.
　　Lying on a park bench like a vagrant, watching the sky and the drifting clouds, I had neither the mood nor the talent to describe the scene, so please forgive my inadequate words.
　　An old man in the park was playing "My Heart Will Go On" on his flute. The melodious sound lulled me to sleep, but my dreams were chaotic, a testament to my restlessness.
　　I don't know my dreams, I don't know what I'm capable of. If I had a dream I could hold onto, I would abandon reality without hesitation. What is reality anyway? My insignificance is nothing more than a source of amusement for those with mental problems; it's utterly meaningless.
　　When I woke up, the sky was as blank and artistic as in my dream. A homeless man was quietly watching me. I quickly got up. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to look for your spot." He shook his head, a muffled sound coming from his throat; he was mute.
　　"Have you been waiting here long?" He thought for a moment, then nodded. Loneliness made me easily moved, and I couldn't help but think that the world was still a beautiful place because of his actions.
　　"Hey, what are you doing sitting on my bed!" A rude voice startled us like thunder. We both jumped. "Isn't this chair yours?" He shook his head. A burly man approached from the opposite direction. So strong and powerful, yet he was a homeless man. We glanced at each other and ran off quickly. Before he left, he stuck his chewing gum on the chair, and I couldn't help but chuckle.
　　Five years later, I became a relatively unknown director. Few people remembered me, and I didn't have the habit of appearing in my own films. Life was still impoverished; sometimes, after directing a film, my pockets were empty, and I had little income, yet I remained happy. Dreaming is another way of life. No one promises that those who dream will live a good life. It's not as fragile and unrealistic as people think.
　　After parting ways with the homeless man, I used all my savings to buy photography equipment and books. I took photos and made short films. With a good attitude and skill, I gained many opportunities at almost a loss, gradually met many people, and started making movies.
　　Zhang Ming was arrested and imprisoned for shady dealings, along with his cousin, an insurance policyholder surnamed Li. They conspired to defraud contract payments. I went to see him, dressed shabbily. He glanced at me and said, "Still the same as five years ago." I solemnly replied, "No."
　　He continued laughing, “You don’t know, do you? Your Ms. Liu’s car accident was intentional, so it wasn’t an accident, it was suicide. She was diagnosed with leukemia before buying the insurance. Since she couldn’t be saved anyway, she figured she might as well use her death to get some insurance money for her wife and kids. My cousin investigated this, and he said it was an accident, so the company can only pay out.” Seeing that I didn’t react, he continued, “You think Ms. Liu is so great, huh? To walk towards death herself, that takes so much courage.” Another guy who misunderstands courage. He finally lost his temper: “There’s nothing wrong with doing it, what’s wrong is people’s perceptions! I’m not wrong!”
　　I was speechless in the face of Zhang Ming’s antisocial personality, because I knew that nothing I said could save him from his extremism, and I didn’t want to be God. “Fraud is wrong, but this kind of disregard for human life is even more wrong.” Zhang Ming sighed bitterly, “Mediocre thinking, serves him right for living such a cowardly life.” He no longer bothered to talk to me, and said to the policeman guarding him, “I’m done.”
　　The policeman then took him away, disappearing around the corner at the end of the long corridor.
　　Note: This piece was published in the school newspaper during my first year of high school. The writing style may be a bit immature, please feel free to offer your suggestions.