作者：周敏
编辑：李晶 校对：王滨 翻译：戈冰
2026年5月1日下午五时二十分，成都高新区天府四街。
一辆粉银色轿车在民乐地铁站路口等完红灯，绿灯亮起的瞬间，并没有直行，而是猛打方向盘，加速冲向斑马线上的行人。行人纷纷被撞飞十余米。车没停，继续逆向冲上人行道、倒车、再次加速，再次撞向人群，如此反复，绵延近两公里，直到被迎面驶来的车辆逼停。接着31岁的李某某从车里走出来，并从后备箱拿出了一把刀。
他被当场制伏后，警方发布通报：李某某涉嫌交通肇事逃逸，经检测排除酒驾毒驾，事故造成1死11伤，案件正在进一步调查处理中。微博等平台迅速把相关视频和关键词列为禁语，警方提醒公众”勿传播现场图片视频及相关不实信息”。
一个人藏着刀，在劳动节的下午，全市最繁华的商圈之一，驾车主动冲撞过马路的人群，行驶近两公里，见人就撞——官方的结论却是：交通事故。看见了吧，依然是这套中国特色的政治八股文，将谋杀包装成意外，将体制危机淡化成个人悲剧，一个正在加速崩裂的社会被稳稳地修饰为安全稳定。
一、政治定性
了解中国的人都知道，每当这类事件发生，第一道防线永远是定性，出发点摒弃了法律，只讲政治。
“交通事故”比故意伤人在法律上轻得多，更重要的是，这在政治上安全很多。一起交通事故只是个人失误，一起蓄意的无差别袭击是社会问题；社会问题如果系统性发生，就是治理问题；治理问题如果持续恶化，就开始触碰一个禁忌：这个体制是否仍有合法性？
这条逻辑链是可以从源头截断的。
截断的方式有几种：第一，就是定性为事故，不用”故意”两个字；第二，删除视频，剥夺公众的感知权；第三，将个案孤立，刻意不和类似事件并列报道；第四，只强调嫌疑人的个人特质——精神问题、家庭矛盾、个人失意——淡化社会背景；第五，快速进入司法程序，通常是从重从快、判处死刑，以”正义得到了伸张”来堵住悠悠众口。
成都事件完整执行了这套程序的前几步，后续判决其实也可以预期。
这套操作熟练到了什么程度？熟练到每个中国人可以在事件发生后数小时内马上预测到官方反应的全部步骤。人们对它的熟悉程度本身，很能说明问题。
二、后背发凉的数据
让我们来看一组数字。
根据海外中文媒体和维基学院整理的不完全统计：2019年到2023年，中国每年发生的无差别袭击事件约为3至5起。2024年，这一数字跃升至至少19至23起，其中仅11月一个月就发生了三起重大事件：11月11日，珠海体育中心，驾车撞人，35死43伤；11月16日，江苏无锡工艺职业技术学院，持刀砍人，8死17伤；11月19日，湖南常德，小学门外车辆撞人。进入2025年，频率未减：春节期间接连发生南京持刀案（4死8伤）、沈阳大东副食爆炸案，此后月月有事。
这些数字是非常保守的。官方不公布，境外媒体依赖网传视频和零散报道拼凑，大量事件甚至没有进入公众视野。成都事件的目击者已经说得很清楚：”人都给整飞了，怎么可能才死一个？我们发的视频全部被删除了。”
我们所看到的，只是掩盖下的漏网之鱼。但即便是漏网之鱼，其趋势也已经触目惊心：从2019年到2025年，五年内增长了四至六倍。这是一条如此清晰的上升曲线。
一个每年发生几十起无差别袭击、每起造成数人乃至数十人伤亡的社会，已经无法用极端个案来撇清。必须问的问题是：这个社会到底发生了什么？
三、压力锅的物理学素描
压力锅的工作原理很简单：密封容器内持续加热，压力不断累积，如果没有泄压阀，最终只有两种结果——要么降温，要么爆炸。中国社会过去十年的演变，可以形象地用这个比喻来绘制。
压力的来源重重叠叠。经济层面：房价崩塌摧毁了数以亿计家庭的核心资产，青年失业率在2023年突破21%后当局宣布停止公布，私营经济持续萎缩，地方政府债台高筑已无力维持基本社会服务。社会层面：贫富分化在过去十年急剧加深，阶层上升通道几近封死，”内卷”、”躺平”、”润”这些词汇的流行，是数亿人集体心理状态的晴雨表。个人层面：离婚率上升、出生率暴跌、男性经济压力与尊严危机交织，心理健康服务极度匮乏。
从已知案例看，行凶者的画像高度趋同：多为中年男性，经历过婚姻破裂、财务崩溃、与法律或官僚体制的漫长摩擦，最终在某个临界点做出了对无辜者的致命选择。珠海肇事者是62岁的离异男性，据报道曾多次就财产分割申诉而无果。无锡行凶者是21岁的应届毕业生，因无法拿到毕业证走投无路。成都的李某某，31岁，动机目前仍不透明——但在官方有意封锁信息的情况下，不透明本身就透露了丰富的信息。
高压需要疏泄，那泄压阀在哪里？
一个正常运作的社会中，压力是有出口的：法律诉诸（个人权利受侵害可获救济）、政治参与（对体制的不满可通过选举表达）、媒体监督（社会问题可被公开讨论并形成改革压力）、社会组织（公民社会可以承接和疏导个体困境）。
这四条通道，在习近平执政十余年间，都被精确地堵上了。维权律师被清洗（2015年以来）；独立媒体已然千山鸟飞绝；上访者遭拦截、暴打、关押；NGO被立法管控；网络舆论的审查压制赫然来到人类历史巅峰。
压力在分秒增加，出口被无情关闭。压力化为一股股戾气，逐渐在街道上横冲直撞。这是中国社会的物理学画像。
四、监控悖论
当局的反应，在珠海事件之后已经可以清晰看到：加强大数据预警，增加街面警力，在公共场所安装更多防护路桩，部署更密集的摄像网络。
但这些措施根本触碰不到源头，甚至在某种意义上加速问题的恶化。
人们在网络上抱怨生活中的绝望、隐晦地批评政府，会被算法识别、被警察上门”关怀”。但一个人一言不发、突然开车去撞人，却是任何大数据系统都无法提前发现的。信息管控的逻辑，反倒强化训练出了后者。当局用监控替代了社会的自我修复机制，却让社会失去了通过公开讨论识别和疏导危机的能力。
监控人民这件事本身也是压力的一部分。人民每一次搜索、每一条消息、每一次出行都被窥探和分析着，人的尊严感和自主感在持续侵蚀。这种侵蚀没办法准确量化，但它是真实的、沉重的。
五、以史为镜
中共治下的局面，其实在历史上似曾相识。
满清最后二十年，朝廷腐败、民生凋敝、改革路径又被封堵，社会出现了密集的暗杀风潮。革命党人的暗杀行动固然有其政治目标，但在更广泛的社会层面，也出现了大量出于个人绝望的暴力行为。鲁迅在他的小说中反复书写的，就是那个时代被压抑到扭曲的集体心理。
彼时的分析家曾经说：这个社会不是在革命前夕，而是在溃烂——它不会整齐地爆发，而是会慢慢烂掉，烂出无数个溃口。
一百年后，我们来到了同一个剧本的舞台上。
诚然，今天的中国有更强大的维稳能力，有人类历史上规模最大的监控基础设施，有经过精心训练的舆论管控机器。这使得大规模的政治革命在可见的未来极难发生。但它无法阻止那些已经失去一切、也不在意任何后果的人，选择用最原始的方式，对着他们身边的陌生人，完成他们最后的控诉。
这是献忠现象最令人心寒的地方：它的受害者，是那些和行凶者一样挣扎在同一个体制下的普通人。压迫向下传导，最终由最脆弱的人承受最后的代价。
六、那把尖刀
成都事件中有一个细节，我反复想起。
李某某被逼停之后，下车，走向后备箱，取出一把尖刀。
这个细节说明他不是一时冲动。他在出发之前，就已经准备好了那把刀。他知道自己要做什么，知道车可能会被撞停，之后他还要继续。
一个31岁的人，在五一劳动节的下午，做好了所有准备，来到人群最密集的地方。
我不知道他经历了什么。官方不告诉我们，而他被捕之后，也不会再有发声的机会。但那把提前放在后备箱里的刀，是一份无声的陈述——关于一个人在走到这一步之前，必定走过的漫长绝望。
这份绝望不是他一个人的。中国有数亿个正在以不同方式承受类似压力的人。其中绝大多数不会走到那一步，但那把刀的存在，是整个社会状态的一根温度计。
当局的回应，是交通肇事逃逸。然后就是迅速删除视频，是”请勿传播不实信息”，不然就要被警察请去喝茶。这个硬冷的回应，是对所有仍在挣扎者最彻底的背叛。
七、尾声的叹息
本文写作时，成都事件已发生二十四小时。死亡人数仍有争议，嫌疑人动机未被公开，相关视频被有条不紊地删除殆尽。
我们不可能知道真相那仿佛冰山般的全貌。冰山被掩盖在水下，人们不知道下一座冰山何时、何地会突然撞过来。我们只知道，它们就在水下，伺机而动。
一个健康的社会，应该能够承受真相。它应该能够公开讨论为什么有人会做出这样的事，应该能够追问制度是否应承担责任，应该能够通过这种讨论学习和改变。
但是这个社会不能。所以它只能等待下一次。
下一辆车，下一把刀，下一个沉默的31岁。然后依然地，宣布那是一起交通事故。
Traffic Accident or Systemic Negligence? — A Case Study of Tianfu 4th Street in Chengdu
Author: Zhou Min
Editor: Li Jing Proofreader: Wang Bin Translator: Ge Bing
May 1, 2026, 5:20 p.m., Tianfu 4th Street, Chengdu High-Tech Zone.
A pink-and-silver sedan had just waited through a red light at the Minle Metro Station intersection. The moment the light turned green, instead of proceeding straight, the driver suddenly jerked the steering wheel and accelerated toward pedestrians on the crosswalk. Pedestrians were hurled more than ten meters into the air. The car did not stop; it continued driving against traffic onto the sidewalk, reversed, accelerated again, and plowed into the crowd once more. This pattern repeated itself for nearly two kilometers until the vehicle was forced to stop by oncoming traffic. Then, a 31-year-old man surnamed Li got out of the car and pulled a knife from the trunk.
After he was subdued on the spot, the police issued a statement: Li is suspected of hit-and-run; tests ruled out drunk or drugged driving; the incident resulted in one death and 11 injuries; the case is under further investigation. Platforms like Weibo quickly banned related videos and keywords, and the police reminded the public “not to spread on-site photos, videos, or related false information.”
A man armed with a knife, on an afternoon during Labor Day, drove through one of the city’s busiest commercial districts, deliberately plowing into pedestrians crossing the street, traveling nearly two kilometers and striking anyone in his path—yet the official conclusion is: a traffic accident. See? It’s still the same set of politically formulaic rhetoric with Chinese characteristics, packaging murder as an accident, downplaying systemic crises as personal tragedies, and steadily portraying a society in rapid disintegration as safe and stable.
I. Political Characterization
Anyone familiar with China knows that whenever such incidents occur, the first line of defense is always to define the nature of the event—an approach that discards the law and focuses solely on politics.
“Traffic accident” carries a much lighter legal penalty than “intentional injury”; more importantly, it is far safer politically. A traffic accident is merely an individual error, while a deliberate, indiscriminate attack is a social problem; If such social problems occur systematically, they become governance issues; if governance issues continue to deteriorate, they begin to touch upon a taboo: Does this system still possess legitimacy?
This chain of logic can be severed at its source.
There are several ways to sever it: First, classify it as an accident and avoid using the word “intentional”; second, delete the video footage, depriving the public of their right to perceive the truth; third, isolate the individual case and deliberately avoid reporting it alongside similar incidents; Fourth, emphasize only the suspect’s personal traits—mental health issues, family conflicts, personal setbacks—while downplaying the social context; fifth, swiftly initiate judicial proceedings, typically imposing the harshest and swiftest penalties, including the death penalty, to silence public criticism by claiming “justice has been served.”
The Chengdu incident fully executed the first few steps of this procedure, and the subsequent verdict was, in fact, predictable.
How proficient has this system become? So proficient that every Chinese citizen can predict every step of the official response within hours of an incident occurring. The very fact that people are so familiar with it speaks volumes.
II. Chilling Statistics
Let’s look at a set of figures.
According to incomplete statistics compiled by overseas Chinese-language media and Wikiversity, between 2019 and 2023, China experienced approximately 3 to 5 indiscriminate attacks per year. In 2024, this number jumped to at least 19 to 23 incidents, with three major incidents occurring in November alone: On November 11, a vehicle plowed into a crowd at the Zhuhai Sports Center, killing 35 and injuring 43; On November 16, at the Wuxi Vocational College of Arts and Crafts in Jiangsu, a knife attack left 8 dead and 17 injured; on November 19, in Changde, Hunan, a vehicle plowed into pedestrians outside an elementary school. Entering 2025, the frequency showed no sign of abating: during the Spring Festival, a knife attack in Nanjing (4 dead, 8 injured) and an explosion at a grocery store in Dadong, Shenyang, occurred in quick succession, followed by incidents every month thereafter.
These figures are extremely conservative. Since the government does not release official data, foreign media rely on viral videos and scattered reports to piece together the picture, and a vast number of incidents never even enter the public’s view. Witnesses to the Chengdu incident have made it clear: “People were being flung through the air—how could there be only one death? All the videos we posted have been deleted.”
What we see is merely the tip of the iceberg beneath the cover-up. But even these isolated incidents reveal a trend that is already shocking: from 2019 to 2025, the number of incidents increased four to sixfold over the course of five years. This is a strikingly clear upward trajectory.
A society where dozens of indiscriminate attacks occur annually, each resulting in casualties ranging from a few to dozens of people, can no longer be dismissed as a series of isolated, extreme cases. The question we must ask is: What exactly is happening in this society?
III. A Sketch of the Physics of a Pressure Cooker
The working principle of a pressure cooker is simple: continuous heating within a sealed container causes pressure to build up. Without a pressure release valve, there are ultimately only two outcomes—either the temperature drops, or it explodes. The evolution of Chinese society over the past decade can be vividly illustrated using this metaphor.
The sources of pressure are layered and intertwined. On the economic front: the collapse of housing prices has destroyed the core assets of hundreds of millions of families; youth unemployment exceeded 21% in 2023 before the authorities announced they would stop publishing the figures; the private sector continues to shrink; and local governments, burdened by massive debt, are no longer able to maintain basic social services. Socially: The wealth gap has widened dramatically over the past decade, and pathways for social mobility have been virtually sealed off. The popularity of terms like “involution,” “lying flat,” and “emigrating” serves as a barometer of the collective psychological state of hundreds of millions of people. On an individual level: Divorce rates are rising, birth rates are plummeting, men face a convergence of economic pressure and a crisis of dignity, and mental health services are severely lacking.
Judging from known cases, the profiles of the perpetrators show a high degree of similarity: most are middle-aged men who have experienced marital breakdown, financial collapse, and prolonged friction with the legal or bureaucratic systems, ultimately making a fatal choice against innocent victims at a certain tipping point. The perpetrator in Zhuhai was a 62-year-old divorced man who, according to reports, had repeatedly appealed for property division without success. The Wuxi attacker was a 21-year-old recent graduate who felt cornered after being unable to obtain his diploma. In Chengdu, the motive of the 31-year-old suspect, surnamed Li, remains unclear—though in a context where authorities are deliberately withholding information, this very opacity speaks volumes.
High pressure needs an outlet—but where is that safety valve?
In a normally functioning society, there are outlets for pressure: recourse to the law (where individuals can seek redress for infringed rights), political participation (where dissatisfaction with the system can be expressed through elections), media oversight (where social issues can be openly discussed to generate pressure for reform), and civil society organizations (where civil society can address and alleviate individual hardships).
Over the more than ten years of Xi Jinping’s rule, all four of these channels have been systematically blocked. Human rights lawyers have been purged (since 2015); independent media has all but vanished; petitioners are intercepted, beaten, and detained; NGOs are subject to legislative controls; and online censorship has reached unprecedented heights in human history.
Pressure mounts by the second, while outlets are ruthlessly shut down. This pressure transforms into waves of hostility, gradually rampaging through the streets. This is the physical portrait of Chinese society.
IV. The Surveillance Paradox
The authorities’ response, following the Zhuhai incident, is already clear: strengthening big data early warning systems, increasing street patrols, installing more protective road barriers in public spaces, and deploying a denser network of surveillance cameras.
But these measures do not address the root cause; in a sense, they even accelerate the problem’s deterioration.
People who vent their despair about life online or offer veiled criticism of the government are identified by algorithms and receive a “visit” from the police. Yet when an individual says nothing and suddenly drives a car into a crowd, no big data system can detect it in advance. The logic of information control has, ironically, trained and reinforced precisely such behavior. By substituting surveillance for society’s self-healing mechanisms, the authorities have robbed society of its ability to identify issues through open discussion.
When people vent their despair about life online or offer veiled criticism of the government, they are identified by algorithms and receive a “visit” from the police. Yet when someone remains silent and suddenly drives a car into a crowd, no big data system can detect it in advance. Ironically, the logic of information control has actually fostered the latter scenario. By replacing society’s self-healing mechanisms with surveillance, the authorities have stripped society of its ability to identify and defuse crises through open discussion.
The act of monitoring the people is itself a source of pressure. Every search, every message, and every trip is scrutinized and analyzed, steadily eroding people’s sense of dignity and autonomy. This erosion cannot be precisely quantified, but it is real and profound.
V. Learning from History
The situation under the rule of the Chinese Communist Party is, in fact, historically familiar.
During the final two decades of the Qing Dynasty, with the imperial court corrupt, the people impoverished, and avenues for reform blocked, society witnessed a wave of frequent assassinations. While the revolutionary parties’ assassination campaigns certainly had political objectives, on a broader social level, there was also a surge in violent acts driven by personal despair. What Lu Xun repeatedly depicted in his novels was the collective psyche of that era—suppressed to the point of distortion.
Analysts of that time once remarked: This society is not on the eve of revolution, but in a state of decay—it will not erupt in a single, orderly explosion, but will slowly rot away, developing countless festering sores.
A century later, we have stepped onto the stage of the same play.
Admittedly, today’s China possesses far greater capabilities for maintaining stability, boasting the largest surveillance infrastructure in human history and a meticulously trained apparatus for controlling public opinion. This makes a large-scale political revolution highly unlikely in the foreseeable future. Yet it cannot prevent those who have lost everything and care not for the consequences from choosing the most primal means to direct their final indictment at the strangers around them.
This is the most chilling aspect of the Xianzhong phenomenon: its victims are ordinary people struggling under the same system as the perpetrators. Oppression trickles down, and ultimately, it is the most vulnerable who bear the final cost.
VI. That Sharp Knife
There is one detail from the Chengdu incident that keeps coming back to me.
After Li Moumou was forced to stop, he got out of the car, walked to the trunk, and pulled out a sharp knife.
This detail shows that he was not acting on a sudden impulse. He had already prepared that knife before setting out. He knew what he was going to do; he knew the car might be rammed to a halt, and that he would have to continue afterward.
A 31-year-old man, on the afternoon of May Day, made all the necessary preparations and came to the most crowded place.
I don’t know what he went through. The authorities won’t tell us, and now that he’s been arrested, he’ll never have a chance to speak out again. But that knife, placed in the trunk beforehand, is a silent statement—about the long, desperate path a person must have walked before reaching this point.
This despair is not his alone. There are hundreds of millions of people in China who are enduring similar pressures in different ways. The vast majority will never reach that breaking point, but the existence of that knife serves as a barometer of the state of society as a whole.
The authorities’ response was to label it a hit-and-run incident. Then came the swift deletion of videos, accompanied by warnings to “refrain from spreading false information”—or else face being “invited for tea” by the police. This harsh and cold response is the most complete betrayal of all those still struggling.
VII. A Sigh at the End
At the time of writing, twenty-four hours have passed since the Chengdu incident. The death toll remains disputed, the suspect’s motives have not been disclosed, and related videos have been systematically and thoroughly deleted.
We cannot know the full truth, which resembles an iceberg. The iceberg lies hidden beneath the water; people do not know when or where the next one will suddenly crash into them. We only know that they are there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for their chance.
A healthy society should be able to bear the truth. It should be able to openly discuss why someone would commit such an act, should be able to question whether the system bears responsibility, and should be able to learn and change through such discussions.
But this society cannot. So it can only wait for the next time.
The next vehicle, the next knife, the next silent 31-year-old. And then, as always, it will be declared a traffic accident.
