Omniscient and Omnipotent Life Supervisor
Wang Er got himself a new phone, shiny like a spring roll wrapper just fished out of a wok. But that wasn't important. What mattered was the app inside called "Omniscient and Omnipotent Life Assistant." The name sounded like an ancient emperor's title, exuding an air of undeniable authority. Wang Er liked that kind of thing. He felt life should have a bit of that "who else but me" swagger.
This app really had something. In the morning, it would remind Wang Er to get up like a gentle female secretary, casually telling him the weather and which route had the least traffic—even though Wang Er rode a rickety old bicycle where everything rattled except the bell. It could also, based on Wang Er's search history for "how to make braised pork less greasy" the previous night, push him a coupon for the highest-rated deli nearby, adding a note: "According to your health data, your recommended fat intake for the week has reached its limit, but occasional indulgence is good for mental well-being!" Wang Er felt this app understood him even better than his own mother, especially the "occasional indulgence" part—that really hit home.
As time went on, Wang Er discovered this app really was damn omniscient and omnipotent. He complained a bit with the old lady next door in the hallway about the useless property management, and the next day, the app pushed him an article titled "How to Elegantly Communicate and Assert Your Rights with Property Management," complete with contact information for several law firms. He muttered inwardly about wanting to change jobs, and within a few days, his phone was stuffed with various job postings. Even the bullshit he'd bragged about in college—"I have some insights into quantum physics"—was dug up, pushing an ad for a "Quantum Fluctuation Speed Reading Training Course." At first, Wang Er felt a chill run down his spine, a creepy feeling, as if a pair of eyes were always watching from the shadows, checking if his pants had any holes in the crotch. But then he thought, hey, isn't this the era of big data! Being transparent is good, saves trouble! Look, it knows what I need, so smart! It's like having a servant on call, one who can even read your mind. The only price is letting it know whether you snore or fart in your sleep—a real bargain!
People around him seemed to be using similar things too. Everyone's conversations increasingly resembled summaries of hot news pushed by apps, and their facial expressions looked more and more like popular emojis from apps. Occasionally, there were one or two oddballs, like Old Li across the hall, who stubbornly refused to use a smartphone, calling the thing a "soul-snatching black box." Everyone looked at him like he was a primitive man just dug out from a cave. Before long, word got out that Old Li had been "optimized" by his workplace because he was "informationally isolated and unable to adapt to the needs of social development." Hearing this news, Wang Er's heart skipped a beat. Then he quickly opened his "Omniscient and Omnipotent Life Assistant," gave something a "like," and conveniently adjusted his own "Social Adaptability" setting one notch higher. He vaguely felt an indescribable chill permeating the air, like being inside an unheated tin shack in winter.
What really made Wang Er feel something was wrong was when he applied for a small loan to try starting a small business. The application was rejected. The reason given was vague, only stating his "comprehensive credit score was insufficient." Wang Er was stunned. He considered himself a law-abiding citizen, paid his utility bills on time, even wanted to help up fallen old ladies he saw (though he never actually dared to). How could his credit be insufficient? He ran to the bank to ask. The teller, behind bulletproof glass, wore a standardized smile and pointed to his phone: "Sir, your 'Omniscient and Omnipotent Life Assistant' should have a detailed explanation."
Wang Er quickly opened the app. Sure enough, deep within layers of menus, he found his score report. It listed dense data points: excessive browsing of "negative/pessimistic" information this month, presence of "low credit risk" individuals in his social circle (probably referring to the "optimized" Old Li), online purchase history indicating "irrational shopping" tendencies (he bought a case of discounted instant noodles intending to eat them for a month)... The most fucked up part was a line of small print at the end of the report: "Based on algorithmic assessment, your thinking patterns exhibit potential instability factors."
"Fuck!" Wang Er cursed under his breath. He felt like a plucked chicken, stripped bare and laid out on the chopping block of data and algorithms, ready to be carved up. He wanted to delete this son-of-a-bitch app. His finger hovered over the uninstall button for a long time, but he just couldn't press it. He suddenly realized his life had been completely hijacked by this "Assistant." Without it, he wouldn't know what clothes to wear tomorrow, which takeout place was good and cheap, or even what to talk about with others. He was like a carefully kept pet, unable to move an inch without its master's commands. Where the hell was the 'Assistant'? This was clearly a supervisor—a supervisor living in his phone, monitoring his eating, drinking, shitting, sleeping, even monitoring his thoughts, 24/7.
Wang Er slumped back in his chair, cold sweat soaking his back. Outside the window, the setting sun stained the sky a strange orange-red, like some ominous omen. The phone screen lit up automatically, displaying a new notification: "Detected significant emotional fluctuations. Recommend listening to the following soothing music or booking a psychological counseling session. First session 20% off!"
Wang Er stared at the notification, a smile uglier than tears appearing on his face. He slowly reached out and tapped on the recommended soothing music. Amidst the music, he seemed to see countless people like himself, pulled by invisible strings, living numbly, obediently, perhaps even with a hint of contentment, inside a giant iron house built of data and algorithms. And the so-called "Omniscient and Omnipotent" was merely a window in this iron house, making you think you saw the whole world, when in fact, you were only seeing the boundaries of your cage. He felt he should scream, should resist, but in the end, he just wearily closed his eyes, letting the "soothing" melody envelop him, like a frog being slowly boiled in warm water, awaiting its final fate in false comfort.