“... So, happiness sometimes hides in unexpected places.” Teacher Hlubin still wore that serious expression that easily induced drowsiness, “What I want to say in this happiness practice course is just this much. Of course, if you don’t understand, you can come and ask me, but it’s best if you can guide each other and explore on your own. Now, let’s talk about the exam. There are twenty numbers in this box, corresponding to twenty randomly selected adults. Each of you will draw a number, and that number will designate your practice target. Your task is to bring them a sense of happiness, but you cannot directly intervene in their brains and bodies. The exam time ends at noon tomorrow in the time zone of your target human, which is the time when humans generally feel the least happy. The exam results will be automatically given when the timer ends. Let me say it again, this course has a total score of ten points, and the grade accounts for ten percent of your graduation score, so please take it a bit seriously.”
The classroom, filled with drowsiness, finally regained its vitality as Teacher Hlubin held an opaque small box for the students to draw their corresponding exam numbers one by one.
“Number thirteen? How unfortunate!” Ero couldn't help but mutter after drawing his number.
“What are you talking about!” Teacher Hlubin clearly heard him and maintained that serious expression: “Don’t forget you are an angel; the original meaning of an angel is to create happiness.”
Ero playfully stuck out his tongue.
“However, number thirteen is indeed a tricky target.” Teacher Hlubin surprisingly revealed a rare smile, “If you don’t get five points, I might make you retake this course.”
“What!” Ero was somewhat angry; he already knew that the average score for this course was less than four points and that it might be canceled soon, “That’s not fair!”
“Now your goal is to get six points.” Teacher Hlubin raised his eyebrows.
Ero finally dared not oppose anymore: “Okay, teacher.”
“This must be revenge!” After class, Ero finally couldn’t hold back; he had indeed caused some trouble in Teacher Hlubin's class a few times, “The highest score in the last two sessions was only five points! This course is clearly outdated!”
“Don’t worry,” his deskmate comforted him, “Teacher Hlubin is just trying to scare you; he won’t make you retake it.”
“Let’s hope so.” Ero suddenly made up his mind: “I’ll get six points to show him! So he has nothing to say.”
“He said your target is very tricky.”
“Oh~” Ero immediately deflated like a deflated balloon, lying on the desk, “The happiness index of humans has been declining since the Industrial Revolution; creating happiness is no longer our core goal as angels. Why do we still have this course!”
“Maybe it’s because of tradition,” his deskmate speculated, “The tradition of angels is to create happiness.”
“But tradition makes me unhappy.” Ero made a face.
Then, Ero received the file of his target at the exam office. His target was Zhao Hai, a nearly thirty-year-old Chinese man, of average appearance, single, renting a secondary bedroom in a flat in Shanghai, working in a small company doing new media operations, with a monthly salary of 11,000 RMB, taking home 9,400. Everything was very mediocre.
It didn’t seem too difficult. Ero thought, but he also knew that some people would hide extraordinary enthusiasm or deep despair beneath seemingly ordinary appearances; after all, Teacher Hlubin had mentioned this in the first class.
Time was tight, and Ero immediately entered the human world.
The first step of happiness practice is field investigation, simply put, understanding the feelings, thoughts, loves, sorrows, and sighs of the target human.
Ero concealed his form in the air and arrived at Zhao Hai's workplace—a large office on the 17th floor of an office building park, in the middle of a workspace next to a water dispenser.
Zhao Hai was gripping his hair, staring at the screen in front of him, which displayed a chart of subscription data for the past month. But Zhao Hai’s focus was not on the screen; what was he thinking?
The human mind is a complex world, filled with meaningless turbulence and bizarre, inscrutable illusions, often making it difficult to find any valuable clues. But Ero watching Zhao Hai struggle was also meaningless, so he slipped into Zhao Hai's thoughts, hoping to find clues about his happiness.
Ero saw a piece of farmland; this was Zhao Hai's hometown. In the field lay a bloated corpse that looked just like Zhao Hai himself. Just as Ero was about to approach for a closer look, the scene changed to a hospital, where Zhao Hai was standing in a corridor peering into a patient room. Ero slipped into the room and saw a group of doctors and nurses performing emergency rescue; they were trying to save Zhao Hai himself, whose heart had already stopped beating! Ero turned back in astonishment and saw Zhao Hai's smiling face begin to twist and deform. The scene changed again; a huge birthday cake writhed in a narrow room, suddenly bursting forth with a giant hand that grasped Zhao Hai's throat; a corpse covered in maggots lay in the center of the double bed in Zhao Hai's rented room; then a tall building detached from beneath him, and Zhao Hai fell into the night sky, plummeting towards the traffic below...
Ero detached from Zhao Hai's thoughts; he had discovered the reason for this difficult target: Zhao Hai was planning to commit suicide tonight!
According to past statistics, candidates whose target humans died during the exam period had received at most two points, while candidates whose targets committed suicide received zero points.
So Ero's task became to prevent Zhao Hai from committing suicide while also making him feel happy, which was akin to making passengers on a plane joyfully sing nursery rhymes while welcoming a crash. In other words, this was almost an impossible task.
But Ero had to complete it; he had to troubleshoot before the crash or at least keep the plane circling for another day.
To troubleshoot, he first needed to find the cause.
Why did Zhao Hai want to commit suicide?
To know the answer, Ero once again delved into his thoughts, but this time he entered deeper. This was a place of subconsciousness and memory flashes, often containing the fundamental reasons that explain a person's subjective behavior, but since these clues were buried deeper in consciousness, they were also more elusive and difficult to understand.
Ero saw a dark space with a bed, where Zhao Hai curled up like a fetus developing in a womb. Then the image flashed, and a gigantic deity transformed into a terrifying demon in the night sky filled with continuous lightning. That demon quickly morphed into a box, becoming a gift in Zhao Hai's hands, but when opened, it was empty. Then Ero heard the weeping of an old man from behind; he turned to see a high school girl saying, “No, I’m sorry.” Ero continued to observe; he saw movie scenes, dreams, processed memories, poems, bills, scratched fingers, starry skies, secrets, joy, shame, music, moral lessons, and illogical arguments...
The fragments of memory flashed by, and it was these that constructed Zhao Hai's personality. Ero analyzed these scenes, trying to find some pattern that would lead to the reason behind Zhao Hai's planned suicide. But ultimately, it was in vain; he only vaguely felt that the target he had chosen was already a hopeless person.
It was time for Zhao Hai to get off work. Zhao Hai's visual focus finally landed on a tangible object; he looked at the bottom left corner of the monitor—shut down, confirm.
He picked up his shoulder bag and said to the new operator at the adjacent workstation, “There’s nothing to do today; you can leave early.”
The newcomer, a recent graduate, seemed a bit flustered: “Um, okay, I’ll be leaving in a bit.”
Zhao Hai left the office, clocked out, exited the building, and walked towards the subway station. Ero had deduced his plan and anxiously thought of countermeasures while following him.
Zhao Hai entered the subway station, surveying the railings on the platform, thinking he could probably jump over. He looked up at the electronic screen’s prompt; the next train would arrive in two minutes. His heartbeat began to accelerate; was it time to end it? He took his bag off his shoulder, holding it by his side, preparing to discard it before running. With one minute left, Zhao Hai seemed to feel complete liberation; he looked around and unexpectedly felt a surge of pity for the people around him. It was as if the path he wanted to choose was actually a shortcut in life, unfair to others.
Here it comes. He felt the wind generated by the subway car pushing through the air, carrying a musty smell; that wind also contained vibrating mechanical waves, the sound of the subway crushing the tracks. He dropped his shoulder bag and began to rush towards the railing.
Ero activated his energy, interfering with the airflow, creating a small whirlwind beneath Zhao Hai's feet, wrapping the strap of the shoulder bag around Zhao Hai's foot. Zhao Hai stumbled and fell to the ground.
“Are you okay?”
A gentle voice entered Zhao Hai's ears. He looked up to see a tired-looking woman, her makeup not particularly exquisite but still quite charming, seemingly another office worker from a nearby building. “I’m fine,” Zhao Hai said, standing up while suppressing the pain in his knee.
“Really okay?” The woman looked somewhat worried, as if she had guessed Zhao Hai's original intention.
“I’m fine,” Zhao Hai said, then mumbled again, “I’m fine, thank you.”
The subway slid into the station. Zhao Hai and the woman entered the car.
There was still an empty seat in view, but Zhao Hai didn’t sit down, nor did the woman; she stood beside him.
Ero let out a sigh of relief, feeling proud of his improvisation. He amplified the woman’s compassion, making her feel pity for Zhao Hai; under further intervention, she began to suspect that this might be a long-lost love.
Zhao Hai stood, seeming a bit awkward; he was clearly aware of the woman’s kindness and even affection. But he didn’t look at her, hesitating for a moment before pulling out his phone.
The news, as always, was a collection of lies and nonsense. Zhao Hai opened WeChat, looking at the first-ever photo of a black hole in human history, suddenly wishing for an irresistible force beyond human civilization to destroy everything. The Moments were also clichés, and naturally, no one mentioned anything related to him. Zhao Hai couldn’t help but sigh, his eyes starting to lose focus again.
The woman beside him hesitated but ultimately sat down in the empty seat. She took out her phone and a pair of wireless earbuds, starting to practice her English listening.
Ero felt a bit frustrated; his target human had so easily given up the opportunity created by the angel for him. People like this didn’t deserve happiness at all; perhaps dying sooner would be better, maybe it could even raise the overall happiness of humanity a little. The next choice was electricity; Ero already knew the answer.
Leaving the subway station, entering the community, elevator, taking out the key to open the door, closing the door, walking into his rented secondary bedroom. Zhao Hai tossed his shoulder bag onto a chair, then left the room and walked into the bathroom, which had a bathtub that seemed never to have been used, dust having accumulated into solid black mud. He hesitated for a moment but then changed his mind. Leaving the bathroom, opening the door, closing the door, elevator, reaching the rooftop. The rooftop on the twenty-eighth floor was swept by a cold wind, creating a slight whimpering sound between the buildings, as if the remnants of winter were begging for forgiveness.
Zhao Hai leaned against the rooftop wall and looked down; below was a patch of trees, and further away was a road with three or four people moving towards different goals. Zhao Hai moved to the other side; he knew there was a parking spot here with six spaces, and the ground was solid and reliable enough to crush a person’s skull. Then, he climbed onto a one-meter-tall wall.
Zhao Hai took a deep breath and confirmed again that there were no other people below. At that moment, a gust of wind blew, and Zhao Hai fell back onto the platform.
“Ah!” He let out a scream and then began to wail. This was almost an instinctive reaction, but in such wailing and pain, Zhao Hai seemed to experience a rare sense of relief.
It seemed that someone had called the police.
In less than three minutes, a middle-aged police officer arrived on the rooftop, smelling of shampoo or shower gel, clearly just having taken a shower.
“I live in this building too,” the officer said after identifying himself, seemingly explaining the reason for his quick response, “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Someone reported that you were making noise.”
“I just fell.”
“Are you okay?” The officer’s tone suddenly softened a lot, losing the irritation that came from being abruptly interrupted during a shower.
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
“There was such a strong wind just now,” Zhao Hai seemed to be looking for an excuse.
“What wind?” the officer said, “Come on, which floor do you live on? I’ll take you back.”
Entering the better-lit interior, Zhao Hai noticed that the middle-aged officer’s hair was still wet, and his eyes were bloodshot, clearly exhausted.
“You...” Zhao Hai didn’t continue asking, “I’ll go back by myself; I won’t trouble you.”
“I’ll take you,” the officer insisted.
Zhao Hai felt a warmth; it was a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
They entered the elevator.
“How old are you?” the officer asked.
“Thirty,” Zhao Hai said; tomorrow was his thirtieth birthday, and he wanted to achieve his goal before then.
“I was also very miserable at thirty; my wife cheated on me,” the officer said.
Zhao Hai didn’t know how to respond; he didn’t understand why the other party would share such things with a stranger. So silence enveloped this small space moving downward, seemingly drowning out even the mechanical sounds of the elevator, leaving only the scent of shampoo or shower gel emanating from the middle-aged man.
The elevator stopped, not at Zhao Hai’s floor. A little girl about five years old entered, holding a golden retriever puppy, followed by a man wearing glasses, presumably her father, who pressed the first floor.
The little girl placed the golden retriever on the ground, tightly holding the leash connected to the puppy’s neck. The puppy sniffed around, starting to nuzzle Zhao Hai’s calf, as if being affectionate.
“Uncle, Dodo likes you!” the little girl shouted at him, her eyes sparkling with the innocence only someone her age could possess.
So the puppy is named “Dodo”? Zhao Hai felt an impulse to squat down and pet the puppy’s head, but he remained motionless, not even glancing at the creature trying hard to get his attention. His floor arrived. The puppy barked at him in a baby voice from behind, then was taken away by the descending elevator.
“I live here,” Zhao Hai said, pointing to a door plastered with a few small advertisements, clearly hoping the officer would leave.
“I’ll go in and take a look,” the middle-aged officer insisted.
But ultimately, there was nothing to see or say, and the officer left.
Ero felt he had done his best. If one didn’t want to be saved, then no one could save them. What kind of hopelessness could refuse all this goodwill? This altered personality in the age of industrial civilization was like a steel ball impervious to oil and salt; only the hottest temperature could make it change.
Zhao Hai pulled out a white bottle from the bedside table; it was a bottle of sleeping pills he had taken a few times on sleepless nights. He poured a cup of cool boiled water from the kettle and took out five pills from the bottle. Without hesitation, he swallowed them. He continued to take out pills, each dose suitable for swallowing. One minute later, ninety-four sleeping pills had entered his body.
“It’s time to write a will,” Zhao Hai muttered to himself, picking up a pen from the bedside table and writing two lines on the back of a utility bill:
I’m gone first
Goodbye
Then he seemed to feel it was inappropriate, crossed out “gone,” and replaced it with “left.”
He took off his shoes and clothes, leaving only his underwear, and lay down on the bed.
Ero naturally wouldn’t let Zhao Hai just drift away like that; he had already added a protective field to the ninety-two sleeping pills in Zhao Hai’s body, preventing them from being diluted and decomposed by Zhao Hai’s digestive juices. The other two would naturally complete their mission, leading his body into slumber.
Zhao Hai woke up. As usual, it was the effect of the alarm clock at seven forty-five.
He clenched his fists tightly, feeling his muscles until the joints in his fingers began to ache.
“What’s going on?” he murmured, getting up to go to the bathroom.
Brushing his teeth, washing his face, taking a dump. Zhao Hai saw the white pills embedded in the brown-black stool, twisted and falling straight into the toilet.
Confusion, astonishment, fear, anger. Ero could feel Zhao Hai’s complex emotions surging, colliding, forcing him to doubt the reality of the world and even himself. But Ero could not intervene with his target human. This was a sign of losing control—Zhao Hai had already realized the existence of supernatural forces for humans!
“Hmm.” Zhao Hai cleared his throat, “Are you listening?” He was still squatting on the toilet, a pile of steaming excrement beneath him. “You’re late.” Zhao Hai wiped himself, pressed the flush, but the fresh smell of feces still lingered in the air.
He quickly walked into the kitchen, picked up a boning knife, and aimed it at his chest to carry out a bloody self-murder.
Ero hurriedly responded.
Zhao Hai saw the wooden cutting board fly up as if losing gravity, blocking the boning knife from his chest. Zhao Hai stabbed the cutting board and immediately raised his hand to aim at his throat. The cutting board moved again, blocking Zhao Hai’s next self-attack.
“Hahahaha.” Zhao Hai coldly laughed and threw the knife onto the counter, “Are you brave enough to come out?”
No response.
Ero couldn’t respond either.
“Are you an alien or a god! Are you the Grim Reaper! Did I ruin some plan of yours!” Zhao Hai’s voice trembled; after all, he hadn’t infused so much emotion into his language since graduating high school, making it hard for him to control. “Is this world really real!” he roared.
Then Zhao Hai heard the sound of a door closing; it was a housemate from another room leaving.
Silence.
Zhao Hai gradually calmed down. He returned to his bedroom and lay still on the bed.
Twenty minutes later, he suddenly asked, “Where are you?”
No answer.
“If you’re here, answer me.”
No answer.
Zhao Hai shook his head. He got up again, went to the kitchen, picked up the boning knife, and walked into his bedroom. He took a deep breath, pointing the knife tip at his chest, preparing to stab down. Just as he applied force, the knife tip began to retract, eventually forming a spiral. “You’re really here,” Zhao Hai said with a cold smile, “Why won’t you let me die? Why save this meaningless life? Do you know the universe is meaningless? Your existence proves this, showing how hypocritical everything I knew in the past was! False! Trash!”
Ero realized that Zhao Hai might want to communicate with him, but he couldn’t respond.
“Maybe you’re talking to me, but I can’t hear you.” Zhao Hai continued, “Maybe you can’t hear what I’m saying either; you’re just preventing me from committing suicide. Maybe you’re unconscious, just like this world.” Then Zhao Hai cleared his throat and closed his eyes.
But he didn’t fall asleep; instead, he retraced his past in his mind. He recalled his parents’ arguments, being a left-behind child, being held and kissed by a spirit woman in a temple on a mountain. He saw himself in elementary school falling into a ditch, fighting with classmates, battling a mad dog, stealing peaches from neighbors. He saw his first bicycle, saw vendors paying tribute to the bullies in town, and misfortune, with eggs shattered all over the ground. He saw gamblers, reeking of filth. He saw himself angry, like a mad dog, needing to be defeated; that was the rebellion of adolescence. Then he saw the universe, turning into a meteorite, piercing through his soul, shattering meaning. That meteorite was a seed, taking root and sprouting, growing into a giant beast, ultimately robbing him of everything...
An hour later, he suddenly opened his eyes, then got dressed, grabbed his wallet and phone, and left. He didn’t take his keys; he didn’t plan to come back.
He hailed a taxi and sat in the back seat. “To the airport. Take the highway; I’m in a hurry, thank you,” he told the driver.
“Which airport?” the driver asked.
“Um, Pudong Airport, I guess.”
The driver looked puzzled but didn’t ask anything. He had driven a taxi for eleven years and had seen too many people who were unclear about their destination.
The car traveled on the highway, approaching a speed of 80 kilometers per hour. Zhao Hai tried to open the door to jump out, but the door didn’t respond to his actions. He suddenly wanted to interfere with the driver to cause an accident, but in the end, he didn’t act; after all, this was his own matter, and he didn’t want to hurt others.
At that moment, Zhao Hai’s phone rang; it was a call from his boss. Zhao Hai didn’t hesitate and chose to hang up. The phone rang again; it was the theme song of “Rick and Morty.” Zhao Hai hung up again and blacklisted his boss’s number.
Zhao Hai arrived at Pudong Airport at eleven fifty-one. He felt a clear hunger in his stomach. Leaning against a pillar, he seemed to be talking to himself: “Why won’t you let me die?”
Ero wanted to answer: “I don’t care about your life or death, as long as you can survive until this afternoon.” But he had no way; he couldn’t respond.
“You came at the wrong time,” Zhao Hai murmured, suddenly taking a step forward, wanting to jump down from the second-floor corridor of the terminal.
Security personnel had seen his actions and rushed over to stop him, but they were too far away.
Then they saw the unusual movement; banners and large advertisements detached from the walls, entangling in the air to form a net, catching the falling Zhao Hai.
Zhao Hai flipped in the net, his face displaying an expression he had never had before, a determined look to fight against an immortal fate, a distorted smile.
“I have a bomb! Kill me! Otherwise, I’ll detonate!” Zhao Hai began to shout and repeat as he slowly descended to the ground in the net, “I have a bomb! Kill me! Otherwise, I’ll detonate! I have a bomb! Kill me! Otherwise, I’ll detonate!”
Airport security surrounded him, holding riot shields and batons, and of course, there were guns.
“I’m not lying to you; if you don’t shoot me dead in five minutes, you’ll all die!” Zhao Hai tried to act like a movie villain, “You all saw my power.” He pointed to the net on the ground.
The security captain was nervously on the phone, seemingly trying to understand the current situation, wanting to pass the decision-making responsibility to superiors. But time was running out for him.
The airport broadcast began urging passengers to remain calm; evacuation procedures were also initiated.
“Put down your phone!” the security captain ordered him, “Otherwise, we’ll shoot!”
This statement reminded Zhao Hai of the deterrent power of his phone. “That’s right!” he shouted as if mad, “In three minutes! I’ll press the detonation button!”
“You just want to commit suicide!” the captain said, seemingly seeing through his intentions.
“Do you dare to bet with me!” Zhao Hai pointed to the net on the ground again, “Bet the airport and the lives of thousands of people against me!”
The captain hesitated. Ero was also trying to soothe the captain’s emotions, urging him not to act impulsively.
Then the captain raised his gun, and a bullet shot out, hitting Zhao Hai’s heart. Ero was initially surprised but quickly understood the reason for the captain’s shot—thanks to Ero’s help in calming his emotions, the captain had decisively made the most rational decision: to shoot Zhao Hai dead.
An ambulance on standby at the airport rushed over.
Zhao Hai, already on the brink of life and death, was lifted inside. In the space between consciousness and unconsciousness, he saw Ero, an angel radiating holy light. “Are you a god?” Zhao Hai, about to transform into unconscious energy, asked his soul.
“I am an angel,” Ero replied. Time was up, and Zhao Hai would die in the next second.
“I won,” Zhao Hai said, “I conquered fate.”
Ero felt he had failed, sighed, and accepted his fate. Then he returned to the heavenly realm.
The bulletin board had already provided real-time statistics of the scores.
Happiness Practice Task Score Bulletin
Cryptocurrency Angel Gu He: Two points
Biochemical Angel Xiu Man Si Te: Four points
Plastic Flip-Flop Angel Fei Man Lin: One point
Nihilistic Angel Ero: Ten points
Machine Intelligence Angel Gui: One point
…
Ero checked multiple times, ultimately confirming that he indeed received a perfect score. How could this be? He was stunned in front of the bulletin board, also accepting the praises from his classmates.
“Ero.” Teacher Hlubin had come up behind him at some point, “The result is truly unexpected.”
“Actually, I didn’t expect it myself.” Ero honestly said; he was glad he didn’t have to retake this happiness practice course, as creating happiness for humanity had long ceased to be important.
“That was a person declaring war on fate!” Teacher Hlubin exclaimed, “He won against you; that is his happiness, just as I said…”
Ero took over the conversation: “Happiness sometimes hides in unexpected places.”