In the unassuming, grime-covered laundromat at the edge of the city, strange things had always happened. Mr. Zhang, a retired mathematician with an air of perpetual confusion, was the first to notice the peculiarities. He trudged into the laundromat one windy evening, dragging a suspiciously light washing machine behind him. “Bought it off a strange old woman,” he muttered to himself, scratching his balding head.

The laundromat’s decrepit owner, Madam Liu, raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure it works?”

“Well, the woman said it washes clothes so clean, they’ll disappear!” he chuckled darkly, his laugh resonating with a brittle, ominous tone.

Madam Liu couldn’t shake off the discomfort. She’d seen too much in her seventy years; specters lurking in the corners, apparitions of lost socks. But a light washing machine that could make clothes vanish? That was new.

That evening, as the city’s lights dimmed, Mr. Zhang placed a load of laundry into the machine and pressed ‘Start’. The machine hummed a haunting tune—not quite music, not quite noise—sending shivers down his spine.

As he waited, an eerie quiet fell over the laundromat. A young woman, Lin, wandered in, frowning at the machine. “That’s new,” she said, her voice carrying an edge of suspicion.

“Yes, yes,” Mr. Zhang replied absentmindedly, eyes glued to the spinning clothes. His heart pounded harder with each cycle.

Her curiosity piqued, Lin leaned closer. “Why’s it so light? Does it wash properly?”

Mr. Zhang’s eyes widened in exaggerated, almost comical horror. “Legend has it,” he whispered, “that it only washes away the existence of things.”

Lin rolled her eyes. “It’s just a washing machine, Mr. Zhang. You’ve been reading too much horror fiction.”

But as the machine beeped, signaling the end, a palpable fear gripped both of them. Mr. Zhang hesitated before opening the lid. What they saw next drained the color from their faces—the clothes were gone. Not just clean. Gone.

“I…I told you!” Mr. Zhang stammered, his face a tragicomedy mask of terror and amazement.

Madam Liu caught sight of the petrified duo and shuffled over, using her broomstick like an old witch’s staff. “What’s the ruckus? Jinjin played another prank on you two?” she cackled.

“No prank, Madam Liu! This washing machine—it washes away everything!” Lin exclaimed, eyes wide.

“A washing machine that devours all,” muttered Madam Liu, shaking her head. “What nonsense.” But as she glanced into the empty drum, even she couldn’t hide her unease.

Days turned into weeks. Word spread around the neighborhood, drawing in curious souls. Mrs. Huang, the nosy neighbor, peered in one day, her loud voice echoing through the laundromat. “Heard there’s a disappearing act going on here!”

National TV soon picked up the story. A journalist named Wei arrived, his slick grin betraying skepticism. “This is just some elaborate joke, right?” he asked, poking at the machine.

Little did they know, each vanished item was accumulating in a hidden dimension inside the washing machine, guarded by mischievous spirits. The machine epitomized Wang Xiaobo’s signature black humor—laughing at the absurdity and the luridness of life.

One day, a prankster named Xiao Hui dropped a pair of cursed shoes into the machine. With an exaggerated wink, he pressed ‘Start’. As the machine roared to life, something miraculous happened. Clothes, socks, and shoes began spitting out in reverse, as if regurgitated by a gluttonous beast.

Mr. Zhang, Lin, Madam Liu, and even Mrs. Huang stood there, bewildered, as their previously ‘deleted’ items emerged. “柳暗花明,” Mr. Zhang whispered, hope glistening in his eyes.

Amidst laughter and relief, the laundromat felt lighter—served with humor dark enough to scare but never harm. Somewhere, Wang Xiaobo was probably smirking, enjoying humanity’s ironic twists.