“Ample Tickets Available“

Old Zhao once again saw those familiar, cold Chinese characters on the 12306 interface: "Insufficient tickets." He sighed and skillfully opened a third-party ticket-grabbing software. Sure enough, the glaring four words "Ample Tickets Available" mocked him.

This was not the first time. Every Spring Festival travel season, Old Zhao had to experience this "mystical" ticket purchasing process. He couldn't understand it. If 12306 clearly showed no tickets available, where did these third-party platforms get their "extra tickets?" Did they possess some mysterious black technology?

Old Zhao decided to investigate. He quit his job and started studying network technology, hacking knowledge, and even quantum mechanics. He vaguely felt that some unknown secret must be hidden behind this.

He shut himself in his rented room, disheveled and unkempt. His room was filled with technical books and discarded computer parts. Like a possessed scientist, he swam wildly in a sea of code. During the day, he tapped away at the keyboard. At night, he analyzed various data in his dreams.

Finally, after months of painstaking research, he discovered a shocking secret: those "ample tickets available" displayed by third-party platforms were not real tickets. Their core technology was an algorithm called "Ghost Tickets."

"Ghost Tickets" were virtual ticket data that existed in third-party platforms' databases, but didn't actually exist in the 12306 system. When a user clicked to purchase, the platform would quickly use various loopholes and technological means to snatch real tickets from 12306's ticket pool and resell them to the user.

The core of this technology was to exploit information and time differences, forming a kind of "empty-handed gains" model. By doing this, third-party platforms not only earned high "ticket grabbing service fees" but also gained user travel data, killing two birds with one stone.

Old Zhao finally understood that "ample tickets available" was just a technological illusion, a carefully woven lie. He felt like he was being played like a monkey, manipulated by these platforms.

He decided to make this secret public. He wrote a detailed technical report, along with a lot of evidence. He contacted the media, trying to expose these platforms' shady dealings.

However, the development of events was beyond his expectations. The media's responses were either perfunctory or demanded that he provide "more conclusive" evidence. Some media outlets even hinted that doing so might bring unnecessary trouble.

Old Zhao's report didn't cause any ripples, as if it had sunk into the sea. He realized that he was not fighting against one or two platforms, but a vast interest group, a huge network composed of technology, capital, and power.

He felt a deep sense of powerlessness and loneliness. He felt like an ant trying to topple an elephant, ridiculous and futile.

One day, Old Zhao opened a third-party ticket-grabbing software as usual and was surprised to see that his account was displayed as a "Premium VIP User," entitled to "priority ticket grabbing" privileges.

He was confused. He had never purchased any VIP services. He clicked on "My Points," only to find that his point balance had reached an astronomical figure.

He continued to check the point details and found that every point was generated from tickets he had previously purchased or attempted to purchase. It turned out that these platforms not only held user data, but also used each user's click and search to accumulate points for them. These points would ultimately become their capital for "priority ticket grabbing."

Old Zhao looked at the familiar "ample tickets available" on the screen and suddenly laughed. He realized that he hadn't just failed to uncover the truth; he had unknowingly become part of this game, a node in their data chain.

He felt an absurd joy. He picked up his phone and skillfully clicked "Purchase," booking a train ticket home for the next day. This time, he felt neither anger nor sadness. He just felt that this world was so interesting.

He knew that tomorrow, he would be among other "VIP users," and would "assisted" by the third-party platform to smoothly board the train home. Then, he would continue to participate in this absurd game. He didn't resist. He just laughed and accepted it all.