学文网郝景芳，1984年生于天津，2002年考入清华大学物理系，本科毕业后进入清华大学天体物理中心深造，后转入清华大学的经管学院攻读经济学博士，2013年开始就职于中国发展研究基金会。郝景芳是中国科幻新生代力量的代表人物，2006年起从事科幻小说创作，代表作有长篇小说《流浪苍穹》、短篇小说集《孤独深处》《去远方》等。短篇小说《北京折叠》（Folding Beijing） 2012年12月发表在清华大学的学生论坛水木社区的科幻版，其后登载于《小说月刊》等杂志，2015年由《三体》的英文译者刘宇昆翻译为英文，收录于《看不见的星球：中国当代科幻小说选集》（Invisible Planets： Contemporary Chinese Science Fiction in Translation）中，2016年8月获得第74届雨果奖最佳中短篇小说奖。
. New Oriental English
Classics
Excerpts1）
At ten of five in the morning， Lao Dao crossed the busy pedestrian lane on his way to find Peng Li.
After the end of his shift at the waste processing station， Lao Dao had gone home， first to shower and then to change. He was wearing a white shirt and a pair of brown pants―the only decent clothes he owned. The shirt’s cuffs were frayed2）， so he rolled them up to his elbows. Lao Dao was forty-eight， single， and long past the age when he still took care of his appearance. As he had no one to pester him about the domestic details， he had simply kept this outfit for years. Every time he wore it， he’d come home afterward， take off the shirt and pants， and fold them up neatly to put away. Working at the waste processing station meant there were few occasions that called for the outfit， save a wedding now and then for a friend’s son or daughter.
Today， however， he was apprehensive about meeting strangers without looking at least somewhat respectable. After five hours at the waste processing station， he also had misgivings about how he smelled.
People who had just gotten off work filled the road. Men and women crowded every street vendor3）， picking through local produce and bargaining loudly. Customers packed the plastic tables at the food hawker stalls， which were immersed in the aroma of frying oil. They ate heartily with their faces buried in bowls of hot and sour rice noodles， their heads hidden by clouds of white steam. Other stands featured mountains of jujubes4） and walnuts， and hunks of cured meat swung overhead. This was the busiest hour of the day―work was over， and everyone was hungry and loud.
Lao Dao squeezed through the crowd slowly. A waiter carrying dishes shouted and pushed his way through the throng. Lao Dao followed close behind.
Peng Li lived some ways down the lane. Lao Dao climbed the stairs but Peng wasn’t home. A neighbor said that Peng usually didn’t return until right before market closing time， but she didn’t know exactly when.
Lao Dao became anxious. He glanced down at his watch： Almost 5：00 AM.
He went back downstairs to wait at the entrance of the apartment building. A group of hungry teenagers squatted around him， devouring their food. He recognized two of them because he remembered meeting them a couple of times at Peng Li’s home. Each kid had a plate of chow mein or chow fun， and they shared two dishes family-style. The dishes were a mess while pairs of chopsticks continued to search for elusive， overlooked bits of meat amongst the chopped peppers. Lao Dao sniffed his forearms again to be sure that the stench of garbage was off of him. The noisy， quotidian5） chaos around him assured him with its familiarity.
“Listen， do you know how much they charge for an order of twice-cooked pork over there？” a boy named Li asked.
“***！ I just bit into some sand，” a heavyset kid named Ding said while covering his mouth with one hand， which had very dirty fingernails. “We need to get our money back from the vendor！”
Li ignored him. “Three hundred and forty yuan！” said Li. “You hear that？ Three forty！ For twice-cooked pork！ And for boiled beef？ Four hundred and twenty！”
“How could the prices be so expensive？” Ding mumbled as he clutched his cheek. “What do they put in there？”
The other two youths weren’t interested in the conversation and concentrated on shoveling food from the plate into the mouth. Li watched them， and his yearning gaze seemed to go through them and focus on something beyond.
Lao Dao’s stomach growled. He quickly averted his eyes， but it was too late. His empty stomach felt like an abyss6） that made his body tremble. It had been a month since he last had a morning meal. He used to spend about a hundred each day on this meal， which translated to three thousand for the month. If he could stick to his plan for a whole year， he’d be able to save enough to afford two months of tuition for Tangtang7）’s kindergarten.
He looked into the distance： The trucks of the city cleaning crew were approaching slowly.
He began to steel himself. If Peng Li didn’t return in time， he would have to go on this journey without consulting him. Although it would make the trip far more difficult and dangerous， time was of the essence and he had to go. The loud chants of the woman next to him hawking her jujube interrupted his thoughts and gave him a headache. The peddlers at the other end of the road began to pack up their wares， and the crowd， like fish in a pond disturbed by a stick， dispersed.
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