Chapter Fifty-Six: Rushing in All Directions

Gaogang Village fell under the jurisdiction of Heping Road Subdistrict. Braving the rain, Zhao Zejun and Jiang Xuan arrived at the subdistrict office and found Director Li.

“Whether houses collapse in Gaogang Village or not, what business is it of yours?” Director Li, reeking of alcohol—likely just back from a banquet—looked at the two young people, drenched from head to toe, with a baffled expression. “Our subdistrict office has its own work schedule; we don’t need to report to you.”

“You don’t have to report to us. Now I’m reporting to you.” Zhao Zejun replied coldly, “I just came from Gaogang Village—two houses have already collapsed, nearly killing people. Many more are at risk. Director Li, I’m telling you for your own good: if there are casualties, if the villagers are left homeless and make a scene, you as the responsible leader will have a hard time explaining yourself.”

“What are you trying to do, incite the people to riot?” Director Li slammed the table.

“There’s no need for me to incite them. If the villagers learn they have nowhere to live, while you’re here drunk day after day, won’t they come to find you themselves?” Zhao Zejun spoke unhurriedly. “Nowadays, the internet is developed, and the media are always looking for stories. What do you think—would a reporter come to interview you? Director Li, do you think it’s easier to get famous on the city channel or the provincial one? I have both their numbers.”

Director Li stared at Zhao Zejun for a while, unable to figure out what backgrounds these two had. His face darkened as he asked, “What exactly do you want?”

“Disaster relief,” Zhao Zejun replied.

“Young man, don’t be so naive.” Though Director Li’s eyes were still bloodshot with drink, his tone softened. “Gaogang Village gets flooded every year. It’s not that we don’t do disaster relief, but our manpower and resources are extremely limited. You saw the donation box at the entrance, didn’t you? We’re in the process of organizing donations and supplies…”

“Director Li, I understand of course,” Zhao Zejun said. “When disaster strikes, those with money give money; those with strength give strength. The subdistrict office is short-staffed, that’s fine—I have an engineering team under me, but funds are tight. I hope the subdistrict can provide some support.”

Director Li refused without hesitation. “Nonsense—who are you, just coming here to ask the subdistrict for money? Why should I trust you?”

“You don’t have to trust me. But if a voluntary rescue team spontaneously forms in Gaogang Village, and the media come to investigate, only to find the subdistrict office did nothing—or even turned the rescuers away while drunk—how do you think the media will report it? Who do you think the public will believe?”

Director Li’s expression stiffened. If there really was a “volunteer” disaster relief team, the media might indeed catch wind of it. What’s more, the young man was right—the TV stations’ contact numbers are public. Even if the stations don’t hear about it themselves, a single phone call would bring them up to speed.

Zhao Zejun paused and continued, “On the other hand, if the leader of this team tells the media that the subdistrict office gave strong support, provided part of the funding, and that Director Li personally participated in the relief efforts—between these two outcomes, which would you and the subdistrict prefer to see?”

“Do you have contacts in the media?” Director Li’s expression changed.

Zhao Zejun only smiled in response.

Director Li paced the office with his hands behind his back, glancing at Zhao Zejun from time to time with a frown. Putting himself in the other’s shoes, Zhao Zejun could understand Director Li’s predicament. He was, after all, a leader; having a couple of young people suddenly show up and start directing his work was hard to take. But the threat was real—if the TV stations came to expose the situation, as a subdistrict director, he’d be the scapegoat.

Seeing his hesitation, Zhao Zejun said, “How about this, Director Li: if you’re worried, I suggest you assign someone familiar with the area and the residents to come with us—specifically to help the elderly and destitute in Gaogang Village, and to oversee the use of the funds throughout the process. That way, the subdistrict office is involved in the rescue from start to finish, and you don’t have to worry about me being a fraud.”

Director Li’s attitude had subtly changed ever since Zhao Zejun mentioned the media. Now, hearing this, his frown relaxed, his eyes brightened, and he blurted out, “Yes, that’s a good idea!”

“Of course. Without the subdistrict office’s strong support, how could disaster relief go smoothly?” Zhao Zejun stood, reaching out his hand to Director Li. “Director, time is pressing. Let’s get started. I hope we’ll have more opportunities to work together in the future.”

“Let’s just do a good job this time. The subdistrict office doesn’t have much money to spare—at most twenty or thirty thousand yuan. Have someone come by this afternoon to collect it,” Director Li said.

“Don’t worry, Director—you’ll definitely get a good mention.” Zhao Zejun smiled faintly. Twenty or thirty thousand wasn’t much, but he was satisfied. The subdistrict office wasn’t a wealthy institution, and to get that amount in a few words was an achievement—thanks not only to the threat of media attention, but also to the fact that Director Li had had more than a few drinks at lunch. If he’d been fully sober, Zhao Zejun would have had to work much harder…

As for future cooperation, Zhao Zejun was quite sure there would be more—and big opportunities at that. This time, under the pretext of disaster relief, he’d established a connection with a key staff member of the future demolition office.

Leaving the subdistrict office with part of the funding temporarily secured, Jiang Xuan drove Zhao Zejun to find Yu Zhe.

To be a good person, to bring aid to the world, a warm heart and good intentions alone are far from enough. Zhao Zejun knew that even if he worked himself to death, he couldn’t solve every problem alone.

Moreover, his goal wasn’t just to fix the leaky and collapsing houses in Gaogang Village. Whenever crisis strikes, it always brings opportunities of equal or even greater value.

Yu Zhe’s second novel, “The Storm Returns,” was more than halfway published and had received an enthusiastic response. Together with his first novel, they were dubbed “The Rogue Duology,” and they swept through the online fiction world like an unstoppable mudslide, spawning countless imitators. Huanjian’s editor, Zhaori, even joked that at this rate, Huanjian would become the home of ruffians.

The pen name “Blood Cloud” now resounded throughout the online fiction world, having become a legend. In the exclusive “Blood Cloud” group he’d set up, not only did he have a large following of readers, but also a crowd of writers who gathered around him like stars around the moon.

As for the college entrance exam, or university—what were those? Could you eat them?

“All right, enough bragging. Help me with a few things,” Zhao Zejun said, wiping the rain off his face, travel-worn. “First, get me a camera, preferably waterproof.”

“I have a camera at home, no problem. But waterproof? Boss, I’ve never heard of one,” Yu Zhe replied with a straight face.

“Uh…” Zhao Zejun realized he’d gotten ahead of himself—there probably weren’t any waterproof cameras yet.

No matter—a camera would do. “If you post something now, about how many people would see it?” Zhao Zejun asked again.

“There are tens of thousands on the site; counting the whole internet, who knows,” Yu Zhe replied.

“I have a publicity task for you—starting today, after you update each chapter…” Zhao Zejun outlined the task. It’s useless to just talk or just act; Zhao Zejun was neither a pretender nor a fool. He wanted to use the internet fame of this cultivated online author to maximize the spread of news about Gaogang Village’s disaster relief.

“Don’t worry, Boss—this is a good cause! I’m absolutely in! Besides, after all these years of the Party and the nation nurturing me, it’s finally time for me to give back!”

Everyone carries a spark of kindness and passion deep within. Yet, due to the realities of life, most people pretend not to see their own goodness and enthusiasm; some, in the extreme, even mock others’ good deeds to prove themselves right.

Yu Zhe was raring to go: “Not only will I write, I know plenty of online authors—I’ll rally them in the group to help spread the word! By the way, should we organize donations?”

“No need,” Zhao Zejun knew all too well the pitfalls of charity work. Once cash donations are involved, things can quickly change, or some bastards might hijack the results.

He thought for a moment and added, “Remember, publicity needs skill and focus. I’ll send you photos and information about the elderly and destitute in Gaogang Village. Highlight three points: the plight of the weak, the difficulties and dangers of the rescue work, and the voluntary, grassroots nature of the rescue team. You can exaggerate a bit. Show only the positives—nothing dark. And don’t mention any departments’ inaction; they’ve all done their part, or I wouldn’t be needed.”

“Got it, Boss—you want to build momentum; it’s the same as writing a novel: drawn from life, but heightened. I understand. But there’s one thing—my readers are spread all over the country. Even if there are a lot, not many are local to Yijiang City, so the effect may be limited.”

“That’s fine. You handle the broad publicity; I’ll figure out how to spread the word locally.”

As he was about to leave, Zhao Zejun suddenly stopped, patted Yu Zhe on the shoulder, and said, “Almost forgot—if you don’t mind, why not use your real name this time?”

“No problem. But why?” Yu Zhe asked, puzzled.

“Your dad’s under consideration for a promotion, right? If you get famous for doing good deeds, it’ll help him, more or less. Even if it doesn’t, at least you’ll show your parents that everything you do online is meaningful.”