Chapter Fifty-Seven: Singing, Reciting, Acting, and Combat

In recent days, Zhao Zejun had been so busy he barely touched the ground. By day he attended classes, sneaking away whenever possible to skip half a day, just managing to settle all affairs. In just these few days, three more houses had collapsed in Gaogang Village—a solitary old man and two elderly couples had moved into the two-story building.

The young people had the strength and energy to reinforce their own homes, but faced with the disaster, these old folks had no means to resist and could only resign themselves to fate. Gaogang Village’s customs had a simple, honest side, but there was also an aspect Zhao Zejun loathed: Poverty and ignorance reigned here. When the torrential rain first hit, many young villagers thought only of reinforcing their own houses, leaving their parents to fend for themselves.

This tendency was especially pronounced among those who were married. There was an elderly couple now living in the small building; both their sons lived less than a hundred meters away, but when the rains came, neither came to check on them. Not until the old couple’s house collapsed and they had moved into the building did the sons appear, muttered a few words of thanks, brought over a blanket, and vanished again after five minutes.

When Zhao Zejun arrived at the two-story building, nearly everyone from the two teams was out helping somewhere. A few old ladies were scrubbing clothes in the upstairs corridor; these days, anyone who went outside came back caked in mud.

The elders, uneducated and advanced in years, couldn’t express themselves with moving speeches. When they saw Zhao Zejun, they simply grasped his hand and thanked him repeatedly.

“Is anyone still home? Hurry up, come here! The house in front, the one with the granny with tiny feet, is almost underwater!”

Hearing the call from downstairs, Zhao Zejun grabbed the basin and dashed out, shouting, “I’m here, I’m here…”

While Zhao Zejun was busy with disaster relief, word of the disaster in Gaogang Village was rapidly spreading online.

In 2002, the internet’s influence was nowhere near what it would become—under ordinary circumstances, it was rare for a piece of news to sweep the country overnight. Yet recently, netizens across the nation—especially in major cities—had, through the internet, friends, or their own children, heard about Gaogang Village in Yijiang City.

“Damn this weather, it’s been raining all day—drives me crazy… Hey, did you hear? There’s major flooding in Yijiang next door, loads of houses have collapsed!”

“No way, how could there be flooding in a city? They’ve got drainage systems, it’s not like the countryside.”

“It’s in a so-called ‘urban village’ in Yijiang City, I think it’s called something Gang Village?”

“You must be talking about Gaogang Village.” Someone interjected, “I saw it online. That place is basically a slum inside the city, with no drainage at all. Conditions are worse than in the countryside. Tons of houses collapsed in the downpour, and there are retired veterans and elderly people left with nothing—tragic…”

“Right, right, Gaogang Village. My son told me the locals in Yijiang City formed a volunteer rescue team. There are even photos online, I’ll show you…”

…

“Honey, did you hear about that slum in Sunan Province that got flooded? Lots of veterans live there—you just got discharged, should we donate some money?”

“I know! There’s a construction crew doing the rescue. I asked—they’re not accepting donations.”

“Huh? There are actually people that good, spending their own money?”

“Well, there are so many bad people these days, good deeds stand out. Too bad I can’t get off work, or I’d volunteer myself.”

…

People from outside the region began to pay attention to keywords like Gaogang Village, retired veterans, welfare recipients, and the rescue team. The local residents of Yijiang City were just as engaged.

On the Yijiang forum, a newly registered account began a serialized post, complete with photos, recording the entire Gaogang Village incident from the perspective of one member of the rescue team.

“Today a sudden downpour hit. The captain called a meeting, but on the way, a house next door collapsed. The captain shouted and dove into the ruins to save someone—turned out it was an old man, a disabled veteran from the Korean War…”

Beneath was a blurry photo of a young man bracing a wall in the wind and rain.

“Day three. Mr. Chen’s roof was leaking, so I climbed up to patch it with felt. I slipped and fell off, luckily just bruised my leg and scraped my head. The captain told me to rest for two days, but I thought it over and went out with Old Liang anyway. We’re so short-staffed, even someone as bookish as Liang is doing manual labor. I’d feel too ashamed to just sit at home…”

“A week’s passed. Finally a sunny day, but our spirits are low. The captain’s two-story house now shelters over a dozen homeless elders and a little boy. The second floor is full, only two empty rooms left downstairs, but more houses in the village are failing. Turns out Gaogang Village is home to so many frail and vulnerable people…”

“Today Old Liang confided that the captain’s been subsidizing everything out of his own pocket. We can’t keep this up. I urged the captain to stop—there are just too many; you can’t save everyone. The captain told me a story: after the tide receded, countless small fish were stranded on the shore, soon to dry out and perish. A determined young man threw them back into the sea one by one. A grizzled old man mocked him—‘So many fish, how many can you save? Do you think you can save the world?’ The youth replied, ‘I can’t save the whole world, but for each fish I save, I rescue its entire world.’ The captain said, ‘We’ll help as many as we can. When we truly can’t help anymore, at least our conscience is clear…’”

“Ten days have passed, the weather system is finally breaking up. Everyone’s exhausted but in good spirits. The captain has a fever—his face is flushed all day. The old ladies who live here are praying to the gods. Old Yang is in the courtyard cursing the heavens, ranting that fate is cruel to good people…”

Previously, Zhao Zejun had instructed Junzi to use the internet hype teams—the Red and Blue groups originally set up for the internet café license—to stir interest. Even if you’ve never eaten pork, you’ve seen pigs run. Having come from 2016, Zhao Zejun knew exactly how to craft the most moving narrative. In the years that followed, major disasters in the country would be reported with ever more sophisticated, emotionally charged coverage, stirring floods of tears each time. Zhao Zejun borrowed all these tactics, applying them to the “flood relief” narrative of Gaogang Village.

As the serialized posts continued, the Yijiang forum exploded. Replies and comments grew at a frenzied, geometric pace. Tens of thousands of local eyes followed developments in real time; the number of registered users soared, and by evening, the forum even crashed from overload.

Some netizens simply gathered what supplies they could and went straight to Gaogang Village.

Under Zhao Zejun’s direction, the rescue team refused all cash donations but accepted supplies. Within days, an upstairs room was stacked with bottled water, instant noodles, and quilts—enough to open a small store.

Though annual floods were a hardship Gaogang Village endured every year, it was hardly a true disaster. But with Zhao Zejun’s deliberate shaping of the story, this year, the plight of Gaogang Village gripped the hearts of hundreds of thousands.

Yijiang City Government.

A secretary quietly placed a stack of documents on the new mayor’s desk. “Sir, there’s a report from the publicity department—about Gaogang Village.”

“Gaogang Village? Let me see.” The mayor looked up from the pile of paperwork, quickly leafing through the file.

“Tell Minister Yang that the publicity department—no, have the daily newspaper and the TV station send teams to cover the story. Two key points: First, stress the danger posed by the dilapidated housing in Gaogang Village as a prelude to upcoming demolition. Second, highlight exemplary individuals as proof of the city’s achievements in building a civilized society. Also, notify the Xuanhua District and Heping Road Subdistrict to provide every convenience and support to the grassroots rescue team. That’s all. I have a provincial meeting tomorrow, so follow up on this personally.”

“Yes, sir.”

…

Whether it was the actual relief work or the publicity inspired by it, everything was proceeding smoothly. But just then, Zhao Zejun really did fall ill—burning with a fever of 38.5 degrees.

“You just don’t listen, do you? I told you not to run around in the rain—now look, you’ve got a fever!” Zhou Ya, his mother, had no idea what he’d been up to lately. She held up the thermometer and sighed in relief. “Thank goodness, your fever’s finally breaking. You’d better rest at home tomorrow. The college entrance exam is coming up soon; you can’t afford to get sick now.”

“Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll be fine.” Zhao Zejun smiled.

But he knew there was no way he could stay home tomorrow. Director Li from the subdistrict office had passed along word—the city TV station would be coming for an interview.

At such a crucial moment, he had to push through—sick or not!