Su Wan was awakened by the vibration of her phone.

She opened her eyes to find that it was already daylight, with a sliver of sunlight streaming through the curtains and casting a diagonal beam on the nightstand. Her phone lay face down, still trembling incessantly, as if refusing to stop. She reached over, flipped the screen open, and saw that the third spot on the trending search list still read “Have a Boy First, Then Get Married,” with 3.27 million views—an increase of more than a million since she’d gone to bed last night—and the glaring word “Hot” appended right after.

Su Wan was a bit dazed. She slowly sat up, placed the phone on her lap, and stared blankly at the headline. Three seconds passed, then five—until the rhythmic “clack-clack” of a child riding a scooter outside the window mingled with the sizzling of frying oil from a breakfast stall and the intermittent morning news on a distant radio, finally snapping her out of her reverie.

She opened a Weibo-like platform and searched for “Wang Hao.” The very first result was an anonymous post on a local forum: “Our company’s manager who ‘has a boy first’ didn’t come to work today.” The accompanying photo showed an empty desk chair, scattered papers on the table, a blacked-out computer screen, and a name tag standing nearby that someone had crossed out with two big red Xs in marker.

The comment section was ablaze:

“HR just sent out an internal notice saying he ‘left due to personal reasons.’ Hilarious! Doesn’t everyone in the company know he’s been trending on social media and is now the laughingstock?”

“I second that! I just saw a screenshot of the customer service email—there are over a dozen complaint emails piled up, all demanding that this morally twisted guy be fired!”

Su Wan scrolled down further. Wang Hao’s own Weibo account profile picture had turned gray, his page was set to private, and his last post dated back six months—a formal suit photo with the caption, “A New Beginning, A New Journey.” Yet now, under that post, the comments were all insults:

[Is a “new beginning” really heading straight to the crematorium?]

[Recommend firing him outright—don’t add to society’s problems.]

[Does he really think he’s some pampered young master? That it’s up to him whether you have a boy or a girl? He must’ve lost his mind!]

Su Wan clicked on the link to the University Alumni Group, only to see a message pop up: “The group you’re in has been disbanded.”

In her WeChat contacts, the chat group called “Makeup Blogger Mutual Aid Exchange” now had a half-grayed-out profile picture and its name had disappeared, leaving behind only a random string of numbers as its identifier. She tried tapping on it, but the chat history froze three days ago, with Ren Weiwei’s last message reading: “Some people rise to fame fast, but fall even faster.”

Now, the entire message had been deleted, leaving only a system prompt: “The other party has withdrawn a message.”

She casually opened her Moments feed and searched for Ren Weiwei’s name. After a long wait, the page finally displayed a blank signature: “—”.

Her phone vibrated again.

Su Wan glanced at the notification: “Your video has made it onto the Top 10 list of the ‘Hot Events’ special page for 24 hours and continues to receive featured recommendations on the homepage.”

“Woo—woo—”

It must be the kettle boiling in the kitchen. Su Wan pulled open a drawer, gently placed her phone inside, and closed it.

Steam rose from the spout of the kettle. She poured herself a cup, blew on it twice, and carried it out to the balcony.

Down below, someone had pushed away a shared bike, and the chain clanged once. Across the street, at the apartment building entrance, an elderly woman in pajamas was bending over to pick up a package. When she looked up and saw Su Wan, she smiled and waved. Su Wan waved back.

Life was so ordinary—so ordinary that she almost forgot what had happened the night before.

The water had grown a bit cool, so she went back to the kitchen to refill the kettle, sipping as she did so while turning on her computer. Her account logged in automatically. She opened her private messages and scrolled to a message she’d received at three in the morning, from an ID called “Freedom in the Wind”:

“You’re the only girl brave enough to release your recording. Last year, when I went on a blind date, I was also asked to sign a ‘birth agreement,’ but I didn’t dare speak up. Today, after seeing your video, I cried. Thank you for speaking up for us.”

End of Chapter 13: Going Viral