What Is the Greatest Dividend of Our Time?

Recently, a sentence struck me deeply: “The greatest dividend of our era is that today, the cost of ‘lying flat’ has never been lower for the average person.” From a rational perspective, it’s hard to deny. Right now, I’m sipping a 3-yuan milk tea ordered via Taobao Flash Delivery, snacking on fried chicken from Meituan’s “spend 28, save 18” deal — luxuries unimaginable for most people across thousands of years of history. Yet emotionally, I hesitate to celebrate this so-called “dividend,” because I know my low costs are built on someone else’s income. There are countless moments that make me pause: opening the door to find my milk tea delivered by a visibly pregnant rider; hiring a domestic helper, only to learn she once owned five beauty salons; chatting with a ride-hailing driver who “pretends to go to work” after being laid off; seeing a street vendor in sweltering heat wearing a mask — not just for hygiene, but to avoid being recognized by former colleagues. These moments remind me: low “lying flat” costs may be a dividend for some, but also a sign that other dividends — real economic opportunities — have vanished. Take cheap food delivery. Behind it lies a web of unhappiness: riders face relentless pressure, with labor costs per order in China only about $1 compared to $5 in the U.S., average delivery times just 35 minutes, and severe overtime penalties. In Chengdu alone, from January to August 2021, one rider was injured or killed in a traffic accident every 1.5 days. Merchants bear much of the subsidy costs, staff see rising workloads without raises, and even tech employees powering these platforms face mounting KPIs. Ironically, major platforms themselves rarely profit from food delivery — for many, it’s a traffic funnel for more lucrative services like in-store group buying. In the end, everyone — platforms, merchants, landlords, riders, and customers — is trapped in a cycle of demands: low prices, high speed, more orders, more work. The result is extreme competition that produces a strangely comfortable environment for “lying flat.” It’s a paradox: the era most conducive to doing less is built on everyone else doing more. We’ve seen “wars” like this before. A decade ago, when ride-hailing platforms fought for dominance, drivers could earn double what subway workers did, and investors happily subsidized losses. I once met an Uber driver who used food delivery to save enough for a car, then ride-hailing to buy three properties in Yanjiao. I, too, enjoyed a golden period — landing a well-paid, low-stress job in new media straight out of university. Back then, I even quit because I felt the pay was “too low.” Looking back, I’d gladly shake that younger version of me. But times change quickly. I faced unemployment in 2023, followed by a serious injury that kept me out of work for half a year. By the time I was ready to return, long employment gaps had become career poison. In the meantime, I had bought a home at the peak of the market — a personal “Mount Everest” of real estate prices — wiping out my hard-earned savings. In my thirties, I found myself financially back at the same starting line as fresh graduates. Like in online games, every era has its “meta” — a set of conditions that favor certain strategies. Yesterday’s “top-tier heroes” can be rendered irrelevant overnight. Yet unlike games, life never announces patch updates in advance, and self-proclaimed “futurists” rarely predict correctly. Even trends like “FIRE” — once hailed as visionary — faltered when interest rates plummeted. Many early retirees found themselves returning to the workforce. And as someone who has truly “lain flat” for half a year, I can tell you — living like a caged chicken on instant meals and artificial creamer is hardly fulfilling. Most of us, unlike cats who thrive in solitude, need purpose, social contact, and movement. The irony? Lying flat feels best when you still have a job to get up from. If we must talk about real dividends, I see two: first, success is as hard as failure — you don’t need to burn yourself out chasing an unattainable “winner-takes-all” dream; second, everything can wait — the frantic race to buy a house before prices rise or jump jobs before salaries peak has slowed. For the first time in centuries, ordinary people have the freedom to like what they like without first “earning the right.” My father discovered photography at 45, after a career setback. To afford his gear, he quit smoking. To find subjects, he walked 10,000 steps daily, lost 30kg, and cured his chronic illnesses. Years later, the colleagues who once “beat” him faced ICU stays or worse. His advice to me: “Life is long. The only thing you can truly hold onto is what you love.” In the game of life, some chase every patch’s strongest hero. Others play the same simple character, enjoying the game regardless of the scoreboard. In League of Legends, we say: “Every patch brings a new champion… but some just keep playing Garen.” May we all reach a point where, if someone asks why we still love life in this uncertain era, we can answer — with both elegance and defiance: “Because I have no other choice.” As for me, my joy is taking slow green trains to nowhere in particular. I’ve met strangers willing to share a lifetime’s worth of stories, and seen landscapes more beautiful than any tourist brochure. I may have lost my housing gamble, but the views from the window remain — and I’d rather look ahead than dwell on what’s gone.