Translated to English By ChatGPT I’ve noticed my roommate always watches videos at triple speed, and it sparked some thoughts: Life is already passing so quickly, yet we still find ways to accelerate it even more. ust like watching videos at triple speed, we rush through experiences without savoring them. We scroll through content, skimming headlines, and fast-forward through moments that seem too slow or boring. At the end of the day, maybe we should slow down a bit.
Li Wei stared at the digital clock on his office wall as it hit 2:13 PM. Another three hours and forty-seven minutes of spreadsheets, pointless WeChat notifications, and the soul-crushing hum of fluorescent lights. Outside his window, Shanghai’s skyline stood as a testament to progress, but inside, time had never moved slower. His phone buzzed with an ad he’d been seeing everywhere lately:
“GAMMA-3000: Experience life at your chosen speed. Just like watching videos at triple speed! Over 10 million satisfied users worldwide!”
The Gamma-3000 had become China’s fastest-selling consumer electronic device in history. Celebrities endorsed it, productivity experts recommended it, and social media was filled with testimonials about “living life on your own terms.”
The sales representative at the gleaming downtown store beamed at Li Wei.
“The neural interface synchronizes with your perception of time,” she explained, showing him the sleek metallic disc. “It doesn’t skip moments—it accelerates them. Just like watching a video at 3x speed. You’ll see everything, but the boring parts pass quickly while your body continues functioning normally.”
“So I’ll still be aware of what’s happening?” Li Wei asked.
“Absolutely! You’ll experience everything, just faster. And when something important happens, the device automatically slows back to normal speed.” Her smile widened. “Complete control of your temporal experience.”
The three-installment payment plan seemed reasonable for what was promised.
Monday morning, Li Wei attached the device to his temple. According to the manual, it would become virtually undetectable within minutes.
“Activate,” he whispered.
Immediately, the world around him accelerated. His morning routine—brushing teeth, showering, dressing—all played out in a swift blur that his consciousness could still track, just like watching a video at triple speed. What normally took forty minutes passed in what felt like eight. His body moved at normal speed to outside observers, but his perception raced ahead.
The morning commute on the crowded metro became a fast-forwarded montage of stations and faces. Work hours compressed into a fraction of their usual duration.
By Friday, Li Wei was experiencing his entire workweek in what felt like a single afternoon.
“You seem distracted lately,” Chen Mei said over hotpot. His girlfriend of two years studied his face with concern.
“I’m just… processing things faster,” Li Wei replied with a smile.
“That’s not what I mean. Even when we’re together, it feels like you’re rushing through our time.”
Li Wei reached for the Gamma-3000 at his temple.
Accelerate.
Their conversation blurred forward, her mouth moving rapidly, expressions changing in quick succession—just like a video on triple speed. He caught fragments—”not listening,” “relationship,” “effort”—but was already speeding through to dessert.
Months passed in what felt like weeks. Li Wei experienced his life like a perpetually fast-forwarded film. Work days lasted subjective minutes. Family dinners accelerated through pleasantries to conclusion. Even weekends and vacations were compressed for “efficiency.”
Then one day, while accelerating through a particularly tedious company meeting, Li Wei reached to deactivate the Gamma-3000.
Nothing happened.
He tried again. The world continued its rapid-fire progression, people moving around him just like characters in a video playing at triple speed.
Deactivate. DEACTIVATE.
The device remained active. Panic set in as he excused himself from the meeting, colleagues’ concerned faces blurring as he rushed to the restroom.
He tried removing the device, but a sharp pain stopped him—the neural interface had somehow fused with his temple.
“It’s a known issue with a small percentage of users,” the technician at the Gamma support center explained, her voice whirring at three times normal speed in his perception. “The neural bonding can become… permanent.”
“Fix it!” Li Wei demanded, struggling to focus as the technician’s movements streaked across his vision like a video stuck at triple speed.
“We’re developing a solution,” she said, her words coming in rushed bursts. “But currently, there’s no way to safely remove the device once neural fusion occurs.”
“How long until the solution?”
Her face showed what might have been sympathy, but it passed so quickly he couldn’t be sure. “Research is ongoing. Months, maybe years.”
Life accelerated uncontrollably. Relationships became impossible to maintain as conversations raced by. Chen Mei left—her breakup speech lasting what felt like thirty seconds to him, the tears streaming down her face at triple speed. His parents aged visibly between his increasingly rare visits. Friends stopped calling.
Years compressed into months of subjective experience. Li Wei watched his own reflection age in fast-forward—hairline receding, lines deepening, youth slipping away in what felt like weeks.
His career advanced ironically well—his ability to process information at accelerated rates made him valuable, even as his personal life disintegrated.
On what normal people experienced as his forty-seventh birthday, Li Wei was admitted to the hospital. His body, operating continuously at normal speed while his consciousness raced ahead, had begun to fail. The doctors’ diagnoses blurred together: chronic stress, cardiovascular issues, neurological degradation.
“The Gamma-3000 is killing you,” said the specialist, her words racing like a medical drama played at triple speed. “Your mind has experienced seven years in what your body processes as two. The disconnect is causing systemic failure.”
Li Wei stared at the ceiling as medical staff streaked around him like comets. He hadn’t experienced a normal-speed moment in years. Life had become a continuous blur, meaningful and mundane moments equally accelerated into near-incomprehensibility.
From his hospital bed, he noticed a news alert flash across the room’s display:
“BREAKING: Class Action Lawsuit Filed Against Gamma Technologies—Reports of Permanent Activation Affecting Thousands Worldwide”
The text scrolled by too quickly for others to read, but in his accelerated perception, the words burned into his consciousness.
The ceiling of the hospital room became Li Wei’s final view. As machines beeped rapidly and doctors moved in streaks of white, just like figures in a triple-speed emergency room drama, he reflected on a life that had objectively spanned decades but subjectively felt like mere years—a highlight reel played too fast to appreciate.
In his final moments, time seemed to accelerate even further. His last thoughts raced through memories that blurred together: childhood, university, first love, career, all compressed into seconds of hyper-accelerated consciousness.
His heart monitor flatlined at 2:13 PM.
Six months later, in a corporate boardroom high above Shanghai, executives reviewed the latest data.
“Unfortunate cases like Li Wei’s represent less than 0.01% of users,” the project director explained. “But the pattern is consistent—once neural fusion occurs, the acceleration becomes irreversible and eventually terminal.”
“And the class action?”
“Settled quietly. The new terms of service include acknowledgment of potential risks. Sales continue to grow.”
“What about the neural fusion issue?”
The director smiled tightly. “Research continues. Meanwhile, the Gamma-4000 launches next quarter—with enhanced features and what marketing calls ‘improved safety protocols.’”
On the streets below, advertisements for the Gamma-3000 continued to flash across skyscrapers and transit stations, promising a life where time was finally under human control, just like watching videos at triple speed.
Fifteen million users and counting never suspected that for some of them, the device had its own plans—accelerating them through their lives until nothing remained but the blur of existence, racing toward its inevitable conclusion.