World-Class Mega Project

My mom called again, as usual, she started by asking about my health and then began to subtly inquire about my recent work. I stammered, mentally figuring out how to get around the phrase "world-class mega project."

This so-called "world-class mega project" is a joke. I, an ordinary programmer, my daily tasks are just fixing bugs, writing test code, and occasionally dealing with server errors. Where did this world-class mega project come from?

But my mom doesn't see it that way. Ever since I was forced to demonstrate the company's new "smart home control system" for her during my last visit home, she's been convinced that I'm involved in some incredible project. She tells everyone, "My son is working on a world-class mega project! He can control the lights at home with his phone, isn't that amazing!"

"How's that project progressing lately?" my mom asked, her voice filled with a hint of pride and a subtle worry.

"It's going well, it's going well," I quickly replied. "We've been tackling some technical challenges recently, but don't worry, everything is going smoothly."

"That's good, that's good," my mom's tone was a bit more relaxed. "You need to work hard and not let the country's investment in you go to waste."

I almost laughed out loud. The country's investment in me? I'm just in a cubicle, repeating the mechanical actions of coding. The so-called "smart home control system" is just something the department head came up with for the year-end KPIs.

But I dare not tell my mom this. She always has unrealistic fantasies about my work. She thinks that because I sit in front of a computer every day, I must be contributing to the country. I'm too lazy to explain this misunderstanding, and I don't want to shatter it.

That night, I worked overtime until very late, and only realized my phone was out of battery when I was about to leave. I walked downstairs in the dark and saw Lao Wang, the new janitor, sweeping the floor. Lao Wang was in his fifties, his hair graying. He worked silently every day, like an invisible man.

I took out my power bank, plugged in my phone, and suddenly, curiously, asked Lao Wang, "What do you think of our company? I mean, the projects our company is doing?"

Lao Wang stopped sweeping, looked at me, his eyes filled with weariness. He slowly said, "Young man, I don't understand anything, but I know that every morning I see you, each one of you walking like you've lost your soul, the light in your eyes dimming more and more."

I was stunned. Lao Wang's words were like a needle, piercing my heart. I suddenly realized that the "world-class mega project" my mom talked about and my day-to-day work were actually two different worlds. My mom saw the glamorous surface, while I was deeply trapped in endless internal friction.

"You're right," I said softly, "Actually, I also feel like it's pointless."

"Who doesn't?" Lao Wang gave a bitter smile, "But, we still have to keep going, right?"

I didn't say anything more, silently charging my phone. When the phone lit up, I received a message in the company group:

"Emergency Notice: In order to cooperate with the group's 'cultural innovation' strategy, all employees must participate in tomorrow morning's 'Finger Dance' competition. Leaders will be present to give guidance, please take this seriously."

Looking at the text on my phone screen, I suddenly felt utterly absurd. This "Finger Dance Competition," what part of the "world-class mega project" is it?

I turned off my phone and sighed deeply. The streetlights cast my shadow long, like a pitiful worm trapped in a giant maze. I understood that tomorrow, I would once again drag my tired body into the cold cubicle, and continue to add bricks to that so-called "world-class mega project."

And my mom, she's probably still bragging to the neighbors that her son is contributing to the country.

I suddenly wanted to know, what would my mom's expression be if she knew that my so-called "world-class mega project" was just one performance after another?

Maybe she'd be disappointed, maybe she'd feel even more sorry for me. But no matter what, I still can't tell her the truth. Because this lie is the only comfort I can give her.