Never Stop Wave

2064, Xinglan New City. Evening twilight never really falls on the city. The entire sky is covered by a flexible holographic canopy, and a stream of light and warm light slowly flows through the outline of the building, turning the steel forest into a gentle illusion. The low-altitude suspension cabin glides silently and shuttles between floors with almost no noise. The on-board intelligence calibrates the city's movement lines in real time. The commuting trajectories of millions of people are accurately planned by algorithms - zero congestion, zero waste, and zero deviation. This is a technological age in which mankind has iterated to its most perfect state. Convenience penetrates into your breathing, and intelligence takes care of food, clothing, housing, transportation, emotional ups and downs, and joys and sorrows of work and rest. The world has long been accustomed to being gently wrapped by the system, thinking that this is the ultimate gift of civilization evolution. No one realizes that beneath the gentle surface is a pervasive domestication cage. And this day, for Chen Yang, is his twenty-second birthday. At 6:50 in the morning, the light in the bedroom woke up first. No alarm clock. The nano-sensor had measured the turning point of his sleep cycle thirty minutes ago. The soft light started to light up inch by inch from the edge of the bed. By the time it reached the center of the room, the color temperature had been adjusted to his most comfortable 3000K - which was "Chen Yang's preferred morning light" calculated by the sensor. The inside of my wrist felt slightly warm, as if someone had rubbed it with the pads of their fingers. His heart rate, cortisol, and duration of deep sleep were flowing into the cloud along the layer of sensor networks under his skin that were thinner than blood vessels. Seven million people in the city are woken up by their own data every morning.