学完格斗回家的路上，遇到一个送外卖的、不知道什么原因突然发癫的人。他扔了手机躺在地上游泳，做游泳的动作，但是是在大街边。我从很远的地方看到一个人躺在地上不知道在干什么，突然旁边一个在人行道上打扫清洁的叔叔探过头来问我他是不是发病了。
我当时很疑惑，我想：我才路过，你问我，你一直就在旁边看着，你不知道他出于什么原因吗？
因为我看到的时候那个人已经躺着了，他不第一时间喊一声，或者问一声，就站在原地看着，地都不扫了，等我一个刚刚路过的人路过他的时候，抓着我问。我知道这种心理是一种责任转移，如果我说“好像没事。”那他就可以继续扫地。如果我说“可能有事。”那责任就变成我的判断。而且旁边也有人，商铺里也有人，没人靠近他，方圆十多米都没人过去。
我说我不知道。然后我过去把他手机捡起来，问他需不需要帮助，要不要打120，忽然他就坐起来了，但他不理我也不接手机，就一脸烦躁地看别的地方。然后我观察了一会儿，我发现他只是可能情绪有点崩溃，身体好像没有什么问题，就把手机放他面前，走了，然后他就起来继续坐上他的外卖电瓶车。
大家都很习得性无助。这十多米的无人区，物理上来看，是“冷漠”，或者说，我们也在最近的这几十年里，被碰瓷的人规训了。这里面包含了对风险的过度解读，还有人和人之间微观层面的不信任。
其实当时有点难过。我想我学习知识，是要明是非、辩善恶，所以我更要学格斗、学枪械（虽然中国不能用）。在这个大环境下，用身体的绝对实力来保护自己有选择善良的自由。
但事实上，在我站起来的那一刻，我并没有感觉到我和那些路人有什么不一样，我反而感受到了自己的自恋，这种自恋突破了我对风险的评估。
因为那个地方，有目击者、有商铺、有监控，碰瓷我肯定不可能。风险在于：如果他突然失控，比如他抓住我，在我明明已经得到了那些人没有帮助他这个信息的前提下，我没想过，我周围的人会不会帮我？
而且，我是蹲在他旁边问的，因为这样平视，原本是建立信任最快的方式之一。讽刺的是，在我学习如何制服他人的过程中，教练提醒过我要随时保持自己的重心、站立姿态，而我竟然蹲下了，有突发情况我甚至使不上力。我当时不知道怎么办，因为我的目标不是制服一个潜在威胁，是想确认一个人是否需要帮助。但它就是可能存在我可能没有预料的后果。
“用身体的绝对实力来保护自己有选择善良的自由。”这句话并没有让我感动，我反而感受到了另一种无助：当公共契约没有办法保障个体的善良时，善意就只能退化为一种“武装”吗？
我能想到的答案就是：保持不受制于环境规训的认知、对风险的直觉，还有果断进退的心理边界。
——
On my way home from martial arts class, I encountered a delivery rider who, for some unknown reason, suddenly seemed to be losing his mind. He had thrown his phone aside and was lying on the ground, making swimming motions right by the side of the street. From afar, I had spotted someone lying there, completely unsure of what he was doing, when suddenly a street-sweeper on the sidewalk leaned over and asked me if the man was having a medical episode.
I was utterly confused at that moment. I thought to myself: I just walked past, yet you’re asking me? You’ve been watching this from right beside him the entire time—do you really not know why?
Because when I first saw the man, he was already lying down. Instead of calling out or asking him if he was okay right away, the uncle just stood there watching, pausing his sweeping altogether. Yet, the moment a random passerby like me walked past, he caught me to ask. I know this psychology—it’s a displacement of responsibility. If I were to say, “He seems fine,” then he could comfortably go back to sweeping. If I said, “Something might be wrong,” the responsibility would fall on my judgment. Moreover, there were other people around, people in the shops, yet no one approached him. A ten-meter exclusion zone formed around him.
I told him I didn’t know. Then I walked over, picked up the delivery guy’s phone, and asked if he needed help or if I should call 120. Suddenly, he sat up. He completely ignored me and refused to take his phone, staring off into space with a face full of sheer irritation. I observed him for a moment and realized that he was probably just having an emotional breakdown; physically, nothing seemed wrong. So, I placed the phone right in front of him and walked away. Soon after, he got up and climbed back onto his delivery scooter.
Everyone is mired in learned helplessness. This ten-meter “no-man’s-land,” while physically manifesting as “apathy,” is actually a sign of how we have been conditioned over the past few decades by scammers staging fake accidents. Within this void lies an over-interpretation of risk and a profound micro-level distrust between human beings.
To be honest, I felt a wave of sadness at that moment. I always believed that the purpose of acquiring knowledge is to distinguish right from wrong and discern good from evil. That’s precisely why I chose to learn martial arts and firearms (even though firearms cannot be used in China). In an environment like this, I wanted to use absolute physical strength to protect my freedom to choose kindness.
But the reality is, the moment I stood back up, I didn’t feel any different from those onlookers. Instead, I sensed my own narcissism—a narcissism that had overridden my rational assessment of risk.
Because in that specific spot, with eyewitnesses, shops, and surveillance cameras, getting scammed was out of the question. The real risk lay elsewhere: what if he suddenly lost control? What if he grabbed me? Given that I already clearly knew the surrounding crowd had refused to help him, I hadn’t stopped to think—would anyone around me step in to help me?
On top of that, I had squatted down next to him to ask, believing that looking at him at eye level was originally one of the fastest ways to build trust. Ironically, throughout my martial arts training, my coach constantly reminded me to always maintain my center of gravity and a solid standing posture. Yet, there I was, completely squatted down—a position where I wouldn’t even be able to generate power if an emergency occurred. I didn’t know what to do in that split second, because my objective wasn’t to neutralize a potential threat; it was simply to check if a human being needed help. But it carried consequences I might not have anticipated.
“Using absolute physical strength to protect one’s freedom to choose kindness”—this phrase no longer moved me. Instead, I felt a different kind of helplessness: when the social contract fails to safeguard individual goodwill, must kindness degenerate into a form of “armament”?
The only answer I can come up with right now is this: maintain a cognitive clarity untouched by environmental conditioning, trust your immediate intuition regarding risk, and establish a psychological boundary that knows exactly when to advance and when to retreat.