#金价突破5200美元 The Golden Age in Fire Chicken Noodles

When the news broke that gold prices had surpassed $5,500 per ounce, I was stirring my bowl of fire chicken noodles. The crimson sauce wrapped around the noodles like some abstract price chart. The “ding” of a successful electronic payment sounded, and this pack of noodles cost me 15 yuan—three years ago, it was only 8 yuan. I snapped open the disposable chopsticks and suddenly realized that these fine wooden sticks might be more expensive than some of the things in my bowl.

After the first bite, a burning sensation exploded from my tongue. This pain was so real, so authentic that it almost brought a sense of reassurance. Meanwhile, the gold price of $5,500 floated in the news, like a distant cosmic legend. I checked my account balance; that amount of money couldn’t even buy one-thousandth of an ounce of gold. But at least, I could buy ten packs of fire chicken noodles, and have ten times this certain, fiery fullness. Gold is a safe haven, and so is my stomach—using the cheapest spicy flavor to resist this scorching era.

The stirred noodles glistened with oil, reflecting the pale energy-saving lamp on the ceiling. I remembered my grandfather saying that the gold rings he saved when he was young could buy a house. Now, the noodles in my bowl could probably buy him a feast from back in the day. The standards of value are collapsing, and rebuilding. Gold and fire chicken noodles have reached a certain tacit understanding in this magical afternoon: one responsible for marking the madness of the world, the other responsible for feeding our madness.

The soup is finished, and the $5,500 gold price is still trending on the hot search. Suddenly, I feel that perhaps we should all cook ourselves a pot of “golden soup”—not necessarily real gold, but those warm, substantial things that settle in the stomach. In this era where even numbers are scalding hot, being able to comfortably finish a bowl of noodles might be the simplest form of value preservation. I take the last sip of spicy broth, my throat burning, forehead sweating, as if completing a miniature alchemy. Outside the window, dusk is gilding the city in a warm gold—an unpriced color that everyone shares.