When Zixi woke up naturally from her sleep, the neon signs outside had been smashed for three full cycles.
The big words "Believe in the power of machinery" were as red as the blood from a freshly slaughtered animal. They shone in through the broken window, making the wall covered with vines in her house look like a ghost. The wall was covered with three layers of old newspapers, each layer turning yellow and curled in the humid air. The vines penetrated through the cracks in the wall, like some kind of will that refused to die. The old wires on the wall sparkled twice more, giving off a burnt smell. She was used to it - the fact that the building didn't burn down was purely a reward from God, or in other words, God hadn't had enough fun with them.
"Advertising costs nothing. It doesn't cost the same as electricity bills. It's broadcast before six o'clock. I don't know how much money is being squeezed from the people."
Qiuqiu muttered beside her, her face buried in the hard washed quilt, her voice was muffled and hoarse as if she had just woken up. She spoke with an East China accent, which was different from the local people in the cyber area. It was softer, but she deserved a lot of scolding.
Zixi laughed and didn't answer.
It has been half a year since they came from East China. There are still some people in East China. At least the house doesn't leak electricity, and at least advertisements don't hit your windows at six in the morning. But it's different here. The Cyber District is a corporate territory, and even the air smells of rust and welding. The sky is always gray, either fog or haze. It's the waste gas emitted from the factory chimneys that mixes with the rain and falls sticky on the skin.
Purpose: People-oriented purpose