Traffic Jam as a Form of Cultivation

At half-past seven in the morning, Zhang Qiang sat punctually in his "urban mobile coffin." He took a deep breath, as if performing some ritual, and then carefully started the car, joining the writhing steel dragon. The traffic jam seemed more severe than usual today, and the fuel consumption numbers on the dashboard slowly climbed as if mocking him.

"The first batch of smart people are already stuck on the road," this "profound saying," which appeared from nowhere, has recently become an unspoken joke in the office. Zhang Qiang didn't consider himself smart; he had just woken up half an hour earlier, hoping to avoid the morning rush hour. As a result, he found himself among this "first batch of smart people," squeezed into the immobile car formation.

He turned on the radio; the chaotic traffic information and the host's slightly excited voice intertwined, like an absurd symphony. He switched channels, then switched again, all just some irrelevant entertainment news and chicken-soup-style inspirational stories. He simply turned off the radio and slightly rolled down the car window, trying to feel the "fresh" air of the urban morning. As a result, a wave of air mixed with car exhaust and cheap perfume hit him, making him frown.

He took out his phone and started scrolling through short videos. On the screen, an internet celebrity was sharing his "success" secrets, nothing more than clichés like "go to bed early and wake up early" and "persist in your dreams." Zhang Qiang couldn't help but sneer, feeling like a parrot trapped in a cage, repeating lines that others had written.

In the next lane, a man in a suit and tie was adjusting his tie in the rearview mirror, his expression as serious as if he were in a life-or-death negotiation. Next to him, a food delivery guy was playing a mobile game listlessly, his electric scooter squeezed between the cars like a prey that had carelessly fallen into a trap.

Zhang Qiang felt like a tiny speck of dust, swept into this huge, meaningless vortex. He suddenly remembered that he had worked overtime at the company late into the night yesterday for a seemingly important PPT, the ultimate purpose of which was just to allow the boss to boast more presentably at the meeting.

Time passed by second by second, the cars on the road like still sculptures. Zhang Qiang began to feel an unprecedented calm. In this calm, he gradually became aware of certain things. He slowly closed his eyes, no longer paying attention to anything around him; he could not even feel the presence of his body. He began to think about life, the universe, and the ultimate meaning of traffic jams.

Suddenly, a sharp honking sound pulled him back to reality. He opened his eyes and found that the vehicles in front were slowly starting to move again. He mechanically stepped on the accelerator, continuing his "cultivation."

Finally, he arrived at the company. He got out of the car and walked into the office. His colleagues looked at him with a commonplace gaze. He turned on his computer and started his new day of work. Everything seemed as if nothing had happened.

When it was time to get off work, Zhang Qiang found that today's traffic jam was even worse than in the morning, as if the entire city had sunk into a huge quagmire. He started his car and joined the slow-moving traffic flow again.

He suddenly felt something was wrong. He took out his phone and opened the navigation map. On the map, his car was following a nonexistent route, slowly, firmly, heading towards an unknown destination. And the cars stuck around him seemed to have lost their souls, moving along with his car, heading towards the distance.

He looked at the rearview mirror again. He found that his action of adjusting his tie was so familiar, his expression serious, as if he were in a life-or-death negotiation. He suddenly understood. Today's traffic jam was destined not to end. And they were destined to always be stuck on the road. This road seemed to lead to the distance, yet also seemed to lead to nothingness.