In a dimly lit Shanghai convenience store, rather lost among shelves ablaze with cheap fluorescent lights and discounts, stood a humble tube of 流畅的toothpaste. It was unassuming yet strangely captivating, the kind of product that whispered of secrets from forsaken bathroom cabinets.

“How about this one?” Xiao Rui mused, holding up the toothpaste like a relic of forgotten lore. He was a lanky man with spectacles perched precariously on the bridge of his nose, dressed in a worn-out suit that still remembered the days of ambition.

Next to him, Liu Yan scoffed, her sharp eyes twinkling with mischief. “Are you sure it cleans teeth and not souls? Looks like it came from some cursed factory.”

“That’s exactly why it’s perfect,” Xiao Rui grinned, a flash of rebellion breaking through the monotony of his accountant life. “Besides,” he added with a touch of philosophic humor, “we all need a bit of purging now and then.”

The store clerk, an old man with an encyclopedic knowledge of toothpaste, peered over his newspaper. “That one,” he croaked, “used to be popular back in the day. Folks said it had a peculiar effect on people. Could make you see your life differently.”

“Wang Xiaobo would call it a mirror to one’s existence,” Xiao Rui quipped, nudging Liu Yan, “Imagine that, a toothpaste that forces you to confront yourself.”

“Or a foe,” Liu Yan retorted, recalling tales of inexplicable confrontations. “Enemies born and friendships broken.”

The old man chuckled. “Been many a feud settled by that tube. What’s a little mystery worth to you?”

Xiao Rui turned contemplative, a rare moment for one whose life revolved around balance sheets and fiscal years. “Enough to gamble on curiosity’s altar,” he declared with a flourish, pulling out a crumpled bill.

“May it cleanse what you seek,” the clerk nodded sagaciously, accepting the money.

Later that night, cloaked in the silence of his studio apartment, Xiao Rui squeezed a modest glob onto his toothbrush. As he brushed, a peculiar sensation washed over him. Memories flickered like an old projector: a childhood prank gone too far, a love declared but not returned. Every truth he’d evaded now confronted him in the bathroom mirror.

Liu Yan, meanwhile, stared at her own reflection, pondering a scathing retort that severed a once-cherished friendship. Her face softened, the anger she had clung to melting away as the toothpaste swirled in her mouth.

“Remarkable,” she muttered, spitting out water, “Confrontation in mint flavor.”

They met again the next morning, sharing the same astonishment over coffee. “Do we tell the world?” Liu Yan asked, half-joking, half-serious.

“Nah,” Xiao Rui replied with a dismissive wave, “Let everyone find their own revelations.”

But the revelation didn’t end there. They were soon entangled in a web of their past actions, karmic ripples echoing back. Liu Yan received an unforeseen apology from a colleague she’d wronged, while Xiao Rui was haunted by a decision left unchecked, each act working its way back into the present.

“Looks like we’re victims of our own toothpaste,” Xiao Rui laughed sardonically, taking it all in stride with that signature Wang Xiaobo kind of dark humor he’d always admired.

“We thought we’d get away unscathed,” Liu Yan mused, smiling ruefully as truth bit sharply in minty freshness, “But karma always has a way, right?”

“As smooth as the toothpaste,” Xiao Rui agreed, tapping the empty tube with satisfaction. “A lesson learned through teeth and times.”

In the end, they realized, it was never about the toothpaste, but the lives they led—abraded and illuminated under scrutiny—seeking forgiveness from each brushstroke.