Chapter 11 Fame Before It's Too Late
1482 Words
Since the birth of mass media, only its forms have changed, while its essence has remained unchanged.
Chen Qi’s short essay is no different from posts by influencers on Weibo, Xiaohongshu, Douyin, or Bilibili. It stirs up emotions, guides public opinion, and attracts traffic to achieve personal goals.
He follows the path of emotional content creators, the kind that evokes silent men and tearful women.
In his essay, he criticizes the Plastic No. 2 Factory. According to modern practices, the factory should engage in public relations, conduct damage control, and, if done well, could even turn the situation around, gain popularity, and profit from livestream sales.
But things were different back then.
People didn’t have the same mindset, and the environment didn’t allow for such actions.
“I must be cursed—how did I end up with these employees?!”
At Plastic No. 2 Factory, the factory director clutched the newspaper, smoking like Old Wu next door, full of grievances.
He did have reasons to feel wronged. According to protocol, holding a meeting to discuss the issue wasn’t a problem. In those days, the working class was revered! Could they really punish workers over such a trivial matter? That wasn’t for him to decide alone.
A discussion was necessary.
Yet before they could even come to a conclusion, the other party had already broken the rules and delivered a knockout blow.
“Once something is published in the newspaper, it gains attention. When it gains attention, higher-ups will intervene... This is bad. Forget about those few troublemakers—even I won’t get away unscathed!”
“What should we do now?”
“What else can we do?!”
The factory director huffed, saying, “Our leadership team must conduct a self-criticism session immediately. We’ll hold a meeting, review our actions seriously, and submit a written report. The higher-ups will definitely send someone to investigate.
“As for those workers, suspend them from their duties and have them await their punishment!”
After speaking, the factory director pondered for a moment, then abruptly grabbed his coat. “I’ll go personally and have a proper conversation with the Dashilan Street Committee!”
…
At Qianmen, east of the Arrow Tower.
Around noon, twelve young tea vendors were taking turns resting. Why twelve? Because, as usual, a few people had sneakily skipped work.
After several days of experience, they had figured out some tricks—for example, pouring tea in advance and covering it with a glass sheet to keep it warm. This way, customers could drink it immediately, and the tea wouldn’t get contaminated by dust.
Sales were increasing daily; yesterday, they had sold an impressive 3,000 bowls.
“Ugh, I’m exhausted!”
Huang Zhanying imitated one of the slackers, splitting a steamed bun open and stuffing it with pickled vegetables, creating a giant pickled vegetable burger. “It feels like more and more people are coming. We can barely keep up!”
“Yeah, it’s already noon in the blink of an eye... Hey, where’s Chen Qi?”
“Said he had a stomachache and is resting at home.”
“Why does he always have a stomachache?”
“Slacking off, obviously!”
Huang Zhanying took a sip of water. “Yesterday, a reporter came for an interview, said it would be in today’s paper. We were too busy to check—after work, I have to buy a copy!”
“Yeah, me too! We took a group photo yesterday. I want to show my mom, so she stops thinking I’m useless.”
“I wonder what he wrote—it was all so mysterious…”
“Ah! Don’t push!”
A sudden shriek interrupted them. Huang Zhanying jumped up, thinking trouble was brewing again. But when she looked over, she saw a crowd gathered in front of the tea stall—mostly young men and women, clearly not there just for tea. Their faces were filled with curiosity and excitement.
“This is the place, right?”
“Yeah, the only tea stall at Qianmen!”
“Wow, so this is where Comrade Chen Qi works? Our cooperative makes bedding, and we thought our work was tough, but your conditions are even harsher—out in the open, without even a canopy for shade.”
“…”
Huang Zhanying was completely baffled. “What are you all here for? If you’re not drinking tea, don’t push forward!”
But her shout only stirred up more excitement.
“Is Comrade Chen Qi here?”
“We’d like to meet him!”
“I saw the article in the newspaper and came all the way from Haidian!”
“He… he’s sick today and took the day off!”
“What? Sick? Is it serious? Why so sudden? Where does he live? Can we visit him?”
“Yeah! We have so much to say to him!”
“It’s nothing serious. His parents are taking care of him. It wouldn’t be appropriate for you all to visit, but I’ll pass on your messages… You came all this way—must’ve been tiring. Here, have some tea!”
Huang Zhanying’s eyes twinkled. She waved her hand, and her teammates responded with perfect coordination, swiftly pouring tea.
“There’s an old Chinese saying: ‘Since you’re here…’”
—Albert Einstein.
Since they were here, they might as well drink some tea. And after drinking, they couldn’t just leave without paying. Huang Zhanying made a show of hesitating before reluctantly accepting their money.
What she thought was a one-time thing turned into a steady stream—more and more people showed up, all looking for Chen Qi.
Some even brought letters for him, which Huang Zhanying accepted like a celebrity’s agent dealing with a crowd of passionate fans.
“Two bowls, please!”
“I’ll have one too!”
“Your job isn’t easy, huh? Our cooperative is in Dongcheng—we’re all revolutionary comrades, so we should support each other!”
“Everyone, line up! No pushing!”
What was supposed to be their lunch break turned into a chaotic rush. They were swamped, yet all they could think about was getting their hands on a newspaper after work!
…
“Whoa!”
“Another whole sack?!”
At the China Youth Daily newspaper office, as the workday neared its end, an editor dropped a heavy sack of letters onto the floor, astonished. “Young people these days are so passionate! The article just came out today, and already hundreds of letters have arrived!”
“Are they for us or for the author?”
“Both!”
“Get Lao Sheng to take a look!”
Soon, Sheng Yongzhi arrived. He flipped through the letters and randomly pulled one out. It read:
“Dear comrades at the newspaper,
I was deeply moved after reading ‘The Road of Life: Where Should We Go?’ today and couldn’t help but share my thoughts. Please forgive my presumption.
The author argues for building one’s own spiritual home, which is valid, but I respectfully disagree.
I believe that limiting our aspirations to personal fulfillment is too narrow. As young people, in the prime of our lives, we should aim to realize our full potential and contribute to society and our nation…”
“Impressive. These young folks have strong opinions.”
Sheng Yongzhi nodded. “Since this topic is generating so much interest, why don’t we select some of these letters with differing viewpoints and publish them in each issue? Let’s encourage open discussion.”
“Good idea! The editorial team was thinking the same thing!”
“This kind of lively discussion hasn’t been seen in years!”
“A new era, a new atmosphere!”
The team was thrilled. As intellectuals, they had endured difficult times—now, they finally had a voice again.
Sheng Yongzhi gathered a stack of letters and instructed, “Xiao Yu, keep an eye on that tea stall. Some leaders might visit. Let me know if they do.”
“Got it!”
“And follow up on the author—see if there’s more news to cover.”
“Sure thing!” Yu Jiajia agreed enthusiastically.
…
“My dear son!”
“I never knew you suffered so much!”
At home, as soon as Yu Xiuli got off work, she hugged her eldest son and burst into tears. Chen Jianjun stood beside them, both proud and heavy-hearted.
Chen Qi rolled his eyes. His mom was a bit of a drama queen, while his dad was reserved. Writing an article and crying in private was one thing—but why take it outside for the neighbors to see?
Clearly, she wanted to show off.
And it worked—no one was cooking dinner anymore. Everyone gathered around, turning their house into a spectacle.
- Writer
