Fame Should Come Early

From the day media was born, only the formats have changed; its essence has never shifted in the slightest. The short essay Chen Qi wrote was no different from what content creators posted on Weibo, Xiaohongshu, Douyin, or Bilibili. It was all about setting the rhythm, stirring emotions, and drawing traffic to serve his own ends. He had chosen the emotional-creator route—the kind where "men fall silent and women weep." In his essay, he had dragged the No. 2 Plastics Factory. In a later era, the factory would handle public relations and damage control, and if they played their cards right, they might even turn the bad press into popularity and rake in a fortune through live-stream sales. But things were different now. People did not think that way yet, nor did the environment permit it. "I must have brought eight lifetimes of bad luck upon myself! How did I get saddled with those workers?!" At the No. 2 Plastics Factory, a factory director held the newspaper, trembling and twitching like the stroke-ridden neighbor Wu the Second from comedy sketches, his heart overflowing with grievance. And he truly felt wronged. According to procedure, holding a meeting to discuss the matter was completely normal. In these times, the working class reigned supreme! Handing down a disciplinary punishment over some petty triviality? Would the workers stand for that? It wasn't something he could decide on his own. It had to be studied. Yet before they could come to any conclusion, the other party refused to play by the rules and delivered an outright knockout blow. "Once it's in the paper, it's famous, and once it's famous, higher leadership takes notice... That's just great! Forget those young punks—even I won't hear the end of this!" "Then what do we do now?" "What else can we do?!" Fuming with rage, the factory director said, "Our leadership team will conduct a self-criticism at once! Convene a meeting, do a proper self-criticism, write up a formal report, and submit it to higher authorities. They're bound to send an investigation team down. "As for those young punks, suspend them from work immediately! Let them wait off-duty for their punishments!" With that, the director paused to think, then grabbed his jacket and said, "I'll go in person and have a proper talk with the Dashilar Sub-district Office!" * * * Qianmen, east of the Arrow Tower. Around midday, twelve tea stall youths were resting in shifts. Why twelve? Because a certain somebody had played hooky again, damn it. After several days of practice, they had quickly gained experience. For instance, they would pour the tea ahead of time and cover the bowls with panes of glass while it cooled. That way, the tea was warm, customers could drink it right away, and it kept the wind and dust out. Sales were climbing day by day too. Yesterday, they had actually sold three thousand bowls. "Oof, I'm worn out!" Huang Zhanying followed that certain somebody's example: she broke open a steamed bun, stuffed it with pickled vegetables, and made her own giant pickle burger. "It feels like there are more and more people," she said. "We can barely keep up." "Yeah, it was noon in the blink of an eye... Hey, where did Chen Qi run off to?" "Said his stomach hurt and he was resting at home." "Why does his stomach always hurt?" "Slacking off, what else!" Huang Zhanying took a sip of water and said, "A reporter came by yesterday and said it would be in the papers today. We've been so busy we haven't even had time to look. I'm definitely buying a copy when we finish work." "Yeah, me too. They took a big group photo yesterday. I'm going to show my mom so she stops calling me a good-for-nothing all day long." "Who knows what he wrote, all secretive like that..." "Ah! Stop shoving!" A shriek cut them off. Huang Zhanying leaped to her feet, thinking someone was looking for trouble again. But when she hurried over, she saw a crowd gathered in front of the tea stall. Young men and women, all quite youthful, didn't look like ordinary tea drinkers; curious and eager expressions filled every face. "This is the place, right?" "This is it! There's only one tea stall at Qianmen!" "Ah, so this is where Comrade Chen Qi works! Our cooperative makes mattress pads, and we thought our job was tough enough, but your conditions are even rougher! Out in the wind and sun without even a canopy!" "..." Huang Zhanying's head was spinning with question marks. She shouted, "What are you all doing? If you're not here for tea, don't crowd around!" Her shout only stirred up a bigger commotion: "Excuse me, is Comrade Chen Qi here?" "We want to meet him!" "I read the newspaper and came all the way from Haidian!" "He... he's sick! He took the day off!" "Ah? What kind of illness? Is it serious? How did he suddenly fall sick? Where does he live? Can we visit him?" "Yeah, I've got a whole heart full of things to say!" "It's not serious. His parents are looking after him, so it wouldn't be appropriate for you to go. I'll pass along your regards... You've all worked hard coming all this way too. Come on, have a bowl of tea!" Huang Zhanying's eyes darted with quick calculation. She waved her hand, and her companions understood immediately, clinking bowls and pouring water with practiced rhythm. *"There's an old Chinese saying: You're already here! —Albert Einstein"* Since they were already here, of course they had to drink some tea. And after drinking, nobody had the nerve not to pay. Huang Zhanying put on a show of pushing back politely before reluctantly accepting the coins. She had thought it was just one group, but more kept pouring in. Every single one of them was looking for Chen Qi. Some even brought letters, asking Huang Zhanying to deliver them. She felt like a celebrity manager fending off a horde of die-hard fans on behalf of her star. "Two bowls over here!" "I'll take one too!" "Your work isn't easy either! Our cooperative is over in Dongcheng. We're all revolutionary comrades, so we ought to support each other!" "Line up, everyone! Don't crowd!" What was supposed to be a lunch break turned into frantic, dizzying chaos. Even as they ran around in circles, an itch burned in their chests: *I'm definitely buying a copy of that paper after work!* * * * "Whoa!" "Another sackful!" At the *China Youth Daily* newspaper office, as closing time neared, an editor dropped another gunnysack of letters onto the floor and exclaimed in disbelief, "Young people today are just too passionate! The article only ran today, and hundreds of people have already rushed over to submit letters—all discussing that piece!" "Are they addressed to us or the author?" "Both!" "Call Old Sheng over to take a look!" A moment later, Sheng Yongzhi walked in. He flipped through the pile and pulled one out at random. It read: *Dear Comrades of the Editorial Office,* *Reading the article 'How Should the Road of Life Be Walked?' in your esteemed paper today touched me deeply. I cannot resist sharing my own thoughts, and I beg your forgiveness for overestimating my abilities.* *The author mentions establishing one's own spiritual home, which certainly makes a great deal of sense, but I cannot fully agree.* *I believe that confining one's ideals to internal self-fulfillment is far too narrow. We are all youths in our prime, and our goal should be realizing our own worth, and by doing so, creating value for all of society, creating value for our motherland...* "Not bad. These youths really have ideas of their own." Sheng Yongzhi nodded. "Since this topic has struck such a chord, why don't we select letters representing different viewpoints and publish a selection in each issue? That way, everyone can voice their thoughts, creating a forum for broad discussion." "Excellent, that was our editorial board's thought as well!" "We haven't seen an atmosphere like this in years!" "Truly, a new era brings a new spirit!" For a time, everyone bustled with excitement. They were intellectuals, feeling the sharpest emotions toward the years that had just passed—so many people had things to say, but had lacked a voice. Sheng Yongzhi returned holding a stack of letters and instructed, "Xiao Yu, keep an eye on that tea stall. Higher leadership might inspect it later on. Remind me when that happens." "Mm, got it!" "Follow up with that author too, and see if there are any other stories." "Will do!" Yu Jiajia agreed cheerfully. * * * "My son!" "I had no idea you suffered so much grievance!" Over at the courtyard, Yu Xiuli returned from work, walked through the door, and wrapped her eldest son in a tearful embrace, weeping and wiping her eyes. Beside them, Chen Jianjun wore an expression both gratified and solemn. Chen Qi rolled his eyes. He realized his mother was something of a drama queen, while his father was the low-key, quietly vain sort. Having an article published was one thing, and crying inside the house was fine, but why did she have to run out into the courtyard to wail? Wasn't it purely to show off to the neighbors?! The effect was tremendous. Everyone stopped cooking dinner and gathered in a tight semicircle centered around their home, ogling him like an animal at the zoo. "Xiuli, this is such a good thing! Stop crying!" "Yeah! Your boy can actually get an article published in the newspaper! He's leagues ahead of mine. Mine tried to hold a girl's hand yesterday and almost got hauled into custody!" "Hey, Little Chen, did you get paid for the article?" "How did that reporter interview you?" "Oh my, will higher leaders come for an inspection?" "I knew it! That boy's written great essays since he was little. Going down to the countryside was what held him back!" "..." Listening to the neighbors talking over one another, Chen Qi felt as calm as still water—as indifferent as a passenger on a tram, as blind as a husband sleeping in the living room, as deaf as a coworker in the break room, and as utterly heartless as a parent dragging a tutor home to give their kid extra lessons... If it were any other young man, he would probably be floating on cloud nine by now. Chen Qi, however, knew very well that he still lacked real social standing. All he had done was write a single letter; this popularity was nothing but an illusion. Still, it was a good start. Fame should come early!