The Decaying Dream of America: I Assemble Corpses and Confront Madness

Lin Zheng lay on his back on the bed, staring at the pale spot of light.

He closed the chat interface with his parents, his fingertips aimlessly swiping across the cold glass.

A news pop-up window took up the entire screen.

The headline, written in a cheerfully silly font, read: "One Year After 'Happy Leaf' Legalized Statewide: Emerald Dream City Residents' Happiness Index Significantly Improves."

The accompanying image is a photo that has been heavily saturated.

In the photo, people of different skin colors and ages all wear the same standardized, slightly dull smile, with the sleek glass building of the newly built "Happy Experience Center" in the city center in the background.

He clicked on it.

The website design is typical of government public projects, with a blue-green color scheme and gentle sun and green leaf icons, attempting to convey a healthy, natural, and harmless impression.

The article uses a large amount of data and anonymous "citizen testimonials" to demonstrate the success of the policy.

"Social anxiety caused by the unemployment rate has decreased by 30 percent."

"Violent crimes related to drug abuse decreased by 22 percent year-on-year."

"Citizen John D said, 'I used to have insomnia because of bills, but now I can sleep like a baby with a 'Sunshine' gummy every day.'"

"Student Emily K said, 'The pressure of finals week is immense, but thanks to the 'Focus' e-liquid series, my productivity in the library has skyrocketed.'"

Lin Zheng's gaze swept over the words without the slightest ripple.

He continued scrolling down, and the page was full of various "Happy Leaf" products.

These GGs all have official certification marks.

"Morning Dew" brand pre-rolled cigarettes feature a refreshing morning mist and forest design on the packaging, with the tagline "Wake up to your day with the fragrance of nature."

"Galaxy" brand chocolates are all shaped like little stars, and their slogan is "In the sweet melting, resonate with the beauty of the world."

There is also the "Anning" series of external patches specifically for the elderly, which claims to effectively relieve joint pain and neurasthenia. The image shows an elderly person with silver hair sitting peacefully in a rocking chair with a green leaf-shaped plaster on their knee.

Everything, from product naming to packaging design to advertising strategies, is designed to strip this substance of its enhancer properties.

Repackage it as a lifestyle, a convenient solution to all of life's disappointments, a national prescription for happiness.

The screen flickered, and the overly vibrant colors stung his eyes.

He suddenly had a strange feeling.

It didn't stem from a life of hardship, nor from guilt towards his parents, but from a deeper sense of absurdity, a feeling of being excluded from the whole world.

The world on the screen is reveling, celebrating a cheap, readily available happiness.

The real struggles he witnessed outside the shop window became discordant noises in this grand party, destined to be silenced.

He sat up abruptly, turned off his phone, and threw it on the bed.

Turn off the lights, and the room instantly returns to darkness.

He was too tired; excessive thinking had left him physically and mentally exhausted.

Go to sleep first. When you wake up, tomorrow might be different.

Around five or six in the morning, he was woken up by noises outside.

A group of people were queuing outside waiting for something. Finally, the queue started moving forward, and the crowd cheered.

Curiosity drove him to his senses.

Lin Zheng stood up, put on his clothes, pulled the brim of his baseball cap low, grabbed his keys, and walked out of the room.

In the old apartment building's hallway, the motion-activated lights flickered on and off because of his heavy footsteps.

A sour smell of tomato sauce from cheap instant pasta wafted through the air, emanating from some unknown neighbor's house.

He walked down the stairs, pushed open the mottled metal door, and was greeted by the cool morning air.

He walked along the road, looking at the long queue, trying to find the source, but the closer he got, the stranger the smell in the air became.

It was a cloying, pungent smell mixed with the stench of plants and herbs, and it was also spicy and somewhat irritating.

The taste made him feel a little dizzy.

After walking for about twenty minutes, a shop appeared on the street corner.

That was the "Happy Experience Center" he had seen in the news photos.

The building itself is not large, but its design is extremely modern. The huge floor-to-ceiling glass curtain wall and the milky white luminous wall make it a spotless white box among the surrounding gray buildings.

There are no exaggerated neon lights at the entrance, only a simple green leaf sign that emits a soft green light, with a line of small print below: "Emerald Dream City Happy Experience Center - Your Soul Refueling Station".

This place doesn't feel like a shop; it's more like a community service center or a high-end clinic.

But what shocked him most was the queue in front of the door, and the long queue that stretched out from another street corner.

A long queue stretched from the entrance of the experience center all the way to the end of the street, with at least a hundred people in it.

People stood quietly, maintaining social distancing, their faces expressionless, simply waiting numbly and patiently.

They were looking down at their phones, or just staring blankly ahead, and some were even carrying tents, clearly having stayed there the night before.

The group included white-collar workers in suits and loose ties, young people with brightly colored hair and piercings all over their bodies, housewives pushing strollers and looking exhausted, and even a few elderly people with canes who were walking with difficulty.

People of all social classes and all ages were connected by this silent procession.

Lin Zheng didn't approach; he simply stood across the street, watching quietly from across the road.

The doors to the experience center are automatic. Each time they slide open, a smiling staff member in a white uniform guides two or three customers inside.

Through the huge glass curtain wall, he could see what was inside.

The interior is decorated in pure white with a minimalist style. Rows of backlit shelves display beautifully packaged "Leaf" products.

Guided by "happiness consultants," customers select the products they want on a touchscreen.

The screen will display detailed product information: ingredients, effects, and recommended usage scenarios.

People pay for their purchases with cash or credit cards.

Lin Zheng saw a man come out. He was wearing an ill-fitting, cheap suit and had thinning hair. He looked like a salesman who had just finished get off work.

The man was carrying a paper bag with a green leaf logo. He eagerly took out a long, thin white box from it, skillfully popped out a pre-rolled cigarette, and lit it with a windproof lighter.

He took a deep breath, leaned against the corner of the wall, and closed his eyes.

The swirling smoke blurred the wrinkles on his face, and the face that was originally full of anxiety and fatigue relaxed within seconds. The corners of his mouth uncontrollably turned up, eventually settling into a dazed, satisfied smile.

Lin Zheng shifted his gaze from the man to the other side of the street.

A young couple sat on a park bench.

They didn't speak or make any intimate gestures; they were simply sharing a piece of chocolate.

The girl took a small bite, chewed, and her eyes gradually lost focus as she stared unfocused at the sky.

The boy ate half a piece, then leaned his head back in his chair and let out a satisfied, long sigh.

Their world began to fluctuate wildly under the chemical reaction brought about by that leaf-shaped chocolate; they embraced each other passionately, kissing and caressing.

A teenager on a skateboard whizzed past Lin Zheng, wearing headphones and with an e-cigarette in his mouth.

He wasn't exhaling ordinary water vapor, but rather thick clouds of mist carrying a sweet, fruity aroma.

The boy swayed in the fog, a silly grin on his face, making all sorts of dangerous moves.

Completely disregarding the fact that he and death are separated only by the distance of fragile flesh and blood in this solid physical world.

The entire street and the whole community were enveloped in that cloying, foul smell.

There were no arguments, no conflicts, no painful groans, and not even anyone speaking loudly.

Everyone was immersed in a government-approved, precisely dosed ecstasy.

Their smiles are all the same, their happiness is so cheap, and their souls are wrapped in sugar and slowly dissolve.

This is a huge, open-air mental hospital, and the drugs are openly and legally sold by those huge electronic GG signs on the walls.

He turned away in disgust, ready to leave.

Just then, his phone suddenly emitted a sharp, piercing beep.