He Was Just Delivering Milk Tea. Then the Pavement Kicked His Bike Into the Air

The tile sat by the curb. Gray. Corners polished smooth by years of electric bikes. Rain made it splash. Dry days made it tilt. It had been loose for a long time. No one fixed it.

At four in the afternoon, a delivery rider ran over it.

Front wheel first. A small click, like a fingernail flicking a plastic cup. Then the rear wheel hit. The tile tilted up. The back of the bike kicked. Not a slow rise. A yank. The insulated box pointed at the sky. The lid wasn't latched tight. Inside, the milk tea lid popped open a crack. The rider's chest hit the handlebars. His knees clamped the frame. His hands didn't let go. The front wheel was still spinning, still on the ground, grinding a thin dark line into the pavement. The rear suspension compressed all the way. The spring creaked. Then the rear wheel came down, slammed onto the road, the bike sank, bounced once, and held.

He didn't fall. The bike didn't go down. The milk tea didn't spill.

He rode another dozen yards and stopped at the side of the road. His legs were weak. He got off, crouched, looked at the rear wheel. The tire was fine. The mudguard had a crack. He opened the box. The cup was tilted, its lid slanted against the rim. He pressed the lid back on and wiped water off the side with his thumb. His phone buzzed. Four minutes left on the order. He got back on and rode away.

The intersection camera recorded those seven seconds. The video went online. Millions of views.

Comments came in. Some laughed. "A folk master delivering food." "That's not an electric bike. That's qinggong." "The national team should recruit him." Others explained. "Front-wheel gyroscopic effect, rear suspension absorbing energy, forward center of gravity. Miss one and he eats asphalt." Some were scared after the fact. "If he had fallen, soup would have covered the whole street." One tagged the city government. "How long has that tile been loose?" Another screenshotted it and made a meme. The caption read: "I'm fine. I can still deliver."

The person who filmed it was a girl waiting for the bus. She had been filming clouds. Instead she caught the moment the back of the bike kicked up. She posted it with the caption "Delivery rider takes off." She didn't expect it to blow up. The bus came. She got on. She didn't chase him to ask. In the comments, someone shouted, "Please, chase him down and ask how he did that." She replied, "The bike left. I left too."

No one knew the rider's name. His work badge swung against his chest, his photo faded white by sweat. He still had six orders that afternoon. Milk tea. Rice noodles. Fried rice. He went through three red lights, two speed bumps, and one school gate. When he ran over that tile, the GPS said, "Turn right at the intersection ahead. Seven minutes remaining."

That morning he had swapped in two batteries. He had skipped lunch. Half a bottle of water hung from the handlebars. He knew that road. He knew which intersection had potholes, which apartment complex wouldn't let him in, which office building had an elevator that took forever. He didn't know that tile was loose. The space under it was hollow. Press it enough times and it tilts. Later, a repairman crouched outside his shop and tapped the rear shock with a wrench. "Your shock is leaking oil. Replace it or not?" The rider said, "Not yet. It still rides." The repairman said, "You got lucky." The rider smiled a little and said nothing. He twisted the throttle and left.

The tile was still there.

The next day, a student in a school uniform stepped on it. The tile tilted. The student stumbled but didn't fall. The student swore once and walked off. On the third day, an old woman pushed a small cart. A wheel caught in the gap. She bent down, pressed the tile back into place, and it tilted up again. She shook her head and went around it. On the fourth day, a man on a shared bike came through. The front wheel sank into the gap. He almost flew over the handlebars. He stopped, kicked the tile once, and it flipped over. He looked at it and walked away.

The city hotline received a few calls. They were logged. When the repair crew came, the tile had already flipped over. They filled it with asphalt. One worker said, "This kind of tile, once the base is hollow, tilts when too many people press it." He said nothing more. The asphalt patch was not level. It made a small hump.

When the delivery rider passed by again, the handlebars bumped once. He didn't stop. Inside the box was a bowl of malatang. The soup rocked in the container. He twisted the throttle and went through the intersection. The GPS said, "You are speeding. Please pay attention to safety." He eased off the throttle a little, then twisted it back.

The tile was patched. The hump stayed. Every day, hundreds of electric bikes rolled over it. Some people bumped. Some people cursed. Some people noticed nothing.

The rider noticed nothing either. He was looking at the address for his next order.