Robot Spring Festival Gala Curtains
The stage lights gradually dimmed, and the clamor of the Spring Festival Gala slowly dissipated. In the audience, scattered applause, like a faint tide, lapped at the edges of the enormous stage. Tonight, the most eye-catching were not the glamorous celebrities, but the row of precise and elegant robot dancers at the center of the stage.
They wore silver leotards, with joints that shimmered with a deep blue light. Every movement was the result of precise calculations, and every smile was as accurate as a ruler's markings. They completed their dance performance perfectly, cooperating seamlessly and flawlessly. The audience applauded their performance enthusiastically, as if they truly possessed souls.
As the final notes of the music faded, the robot dancers bowed to the audience in unison, their movements consistent and their angles impeccable, like a huge mechanical gear assembly in operation. According to the established program, they should have exited the stage on their own. But strangely, instead of leaving the stage as usual, they stood still, unmoving.
From the side of the stage, several staff members in black uniforms came out, their faces showing a hint of unease. They walked over to the robot dancers and extended their arms to support them, carefully guiding them offstage as if they were frail elderly people.
This scene left the television audience somewhat puzzled, and the comment section began to flood with messages:
"What's going on? Do robots need assistance?"
"Did they malfunction?"
"That's too fake, can robots even get tired?"
"Is this part of the script? This is kind of cute!"
Li Qiang sat on the sofa in the living room, remote control in hand, watching the television with a blank expression. He was a programmer, and for him, the Spring Festival Gala was more like an annual technology showcase. Seeing this scene, he couldn't help but sneer.
"How comical," he murmured.
His wife came in from the kitchen with a plate of fruit. Hearing his words, she put the plate down and asked curiously, "What is it? What's comical?"
Li Qiang pointed at the TV screen. "Look, the robots need help to get off the stage after they dance, how ridiculous."
His wife was unimpressed. "Isn't that normal? They're just machines after all."
"That's where the ridiculousness lies, don't you find it absurd?" Li Qiang retorted. "When they were dancing, they were so perfect, so smooth, without any flaws, more lifelike than real people. And now? They need assistance to leave the stage, like babies who need care. What is this? A technology demonstration or a performance art?"
His wife was momentarily speechless. She looked at the TV screen, where the robot dancers, supported by the staff, were moving slowly and mechanically, as if they truly needed help to leave the stage. This contrast also made her feel a bit out of place.
The TV screen switched to the presenters, and the noisy background sounds started, as if nothing had happened. Li Qiang turned off the TV, and he fell into thought.
He remembered a few months ago when he participated in an artificial intelligence project, developing intelligent robots that could replace human jobs. In their initial vision, robots should be efficient, independent, and all-powerful; they should not have any weaknesses or dependencies. But when they actually began to build the robots, they realized that they were not creating a new form of life, but rather constantly replicating human flaws and defects.
In order to make the robots appear more human, they added many unnecessary programs, such as simulating fatigue, simulating emotions, and simulating dependence. They tried to give the robots a "human touch," but everything they did seemed more like putting a gorgeous shackle on humanoid machines.
"Maybe the real absurdity is not that robots need help to get off the stage," Li Qiang sighed softly, "but that when humans create machines, we both long for them to surpass us and fear them doing so, ultimately turning them into our own slaves."
His wife was silent, sensing the deep sense of helplessness in Li Qiang's words.
The next day, while browsing the news, Li Qiang saw a report about the Spring Festival Gala robot dancers. In the report, experts pointed out that the robot dancers being helped off stage after the performance was to simulate the human "curtain call" ceremony, an emotional design intended to bring the robots closer to humans and demonstrate the humanistic care of technology.
Li Qiang looked at the report on the screen, a huge sense of absurdity welled up in his heart, he looked up and let out a silent laugh, a smile tinged with a hint of sadness and mockery. He wondered, when those robots were dancing, were they really happy? Or were they just executing everything according to a program? Perhaps they were already tired of this endless performance, tired of being manipulated by humans.
Suddenly, he noticed a line in small print at the end of the news: All robot performers who participated in the Spring Festival Gala, after their performances, have been sent for scrapping in accordance with relevant regulations.
Li Qiang was stunned. He suddenly understood that this was not about caring for robots, but rather a glamorous cover-up. The robots being helped offstage were not because they needed help, but because they had completed their mission, they no longer had any value, and what awaited them was ruthless scrapping and elimination.
Everything was like a carefully designed dark joke, using the guise of technological progress to whitewash the naked reality. And how many of the viewers in front of the television, enjoying the show, could see through the absurdity and helplessness behind it?
The end of the Spring Festival Gala, the robot's curtain call, and humanity's loss of direction, all were silently unfolding in this seemingly ordinary scene.