He fiercely criticized the Manchu scholar clique and the twelve emperors of the Qing Dynasty.

The China Eastern Airlines flight that departed from Yanjing landed on time at 2:40 p.m.

It didn't land in Suzhou, but in Shuofang next door.

As the city with the largest economy in Jiangnan Province, Suzhou does not have its own airport, which has long been a popular geographical joke among netizens. Stepping out of the terminal, the temperature in the air is completely different from that in Beijing.

While Beijing was still gripped by a biting chill of late spring, the winds in Jiangnan in March were already gentle.

The camphor trees in the roadside green belt sprouted new buds, and most of the pedestrians had taken off their bulky winter clothes. Gu Nanxi unbuttoned her light beige trench coat, revealing that she was only wearing a thin round-neck sweater underneath.

"In this weather, you'd probably be sweating if you walked under the sun at noon." Zhao Shuyao unzipped the bag and carried the not-so-large suitcase with one hand.

The two hailed a car in the ride-hailing pick-up area and headed straight for downtown Suzhou.

The journey was on the highway, and the car was very quiet. An hour later, the car stopped outside a quiet residential area in the old city of Suzhou.

"Drive carefully, I'm heading back now." Gu Nanxi opened the car door and stood on the steps looking at Zhao Shuyao.

"Okay, go back and get some rest." Zhao Shuyao waved his hand, closed the car door, and said, "Driver, go to the construction site of the building materials market in the industrial park."

The vehicles rejoined the traffic flow.

Half an hour later, the car stopped outside the dusty construction site gate. Zhao Shuyao opened the car door and glanced at the huge building complex enclosed by blue iron fences, with several tower cranes slowly rotating in mid-air.

He took out his phone and dialed Lao Zhao's number.

The phone line was filled with the loud roar of machinery.

"Hello, Yao Yao," came the mother's slightly hoarse voice from the receiver.

"Mom, I'm at the entrance of your construction site." Zhao Shuyao waved away the dust in front of her. "Didn't I tell you before I boarded the plane that I was off today and wanted to come out for dinner?"

"We're here, okay, okay, but don't go any further in. It's full of steel bar mixing trucks, it's filthy. Your dad and I will come out now."

Zhao Shuyao hung up the phone and stood under a utility pole by the roadside to wait.

Less than five minutes later, a side door of the blue metal gate was pushed open. Old Zhao and his mother came out one after the other.

Old Zhao was wearing a t-shirt, as was his mother; their faces looked somewhat rough from years of exposure to the wind and sun.

There weren't any of the tearful, reunion scenes typical of TV dramas.

When the family of three met, Old Zhao looked Zhao Shuyao up and down.

"Was the journey smooth?" Old Zhao asked.

"No delays, everything went smoothly." Zhao Shuyao nodded with a smile. "Let's go, let's find a place to eat, and after that I'll find a budget hotel nearby to stay for the night. I have an event tomorrow."

"Okay." Old Zhao didn't say anything more. Zhao's mother didn't mention that staying in a hotel was a waste of money. Although her parents were frugal in this day and age, they were never stingy when it came to money spent on their son's important business.

The three walked along the road for more than a hundred meters and entered a hole-in-the-wall restaurant that specialized in fast food and stir-fries.

The shop wasn't big, and the walls were yellowed from the cooking fumes. Zhao Shuyao found a square table by the window, wiped it with a tissue, and invited his parents to sit down.

"Boss, a dry-pot cauliflower, a braised beef with potatoes, a braised flatfish, and some stir-fried greens, please." Zhao Shuyao ordered skillfully, then turned to his father, "Dad, want a drink?"

"Have a drink." Old Zhao rubbed the calluses on his palms.

Zhao Shuyao went to the freezer and took out two bottles of room-temperature Snow Beer. He opened the caps, filled two glasses, and pushed one of them in front of Lao Zhao.

Before the dishes were even served, Lao Zhao picked up his glass and took a big gulp.

Zhao Shuyao reached into his pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, handed one to Lao Zhao, then lit one for himself, picked up the lighter on the table, and flicked it with his thumb.

"Smack."

A flame leaped out. Old Zhao leaned forward, lit it, took a deep breath, and the bluish-white smoke spread between the father and son.

"Dad, Mom," Zhao Shuyao said, a cigarette between his fingers, his arm resting on the greasy table. His tone was slightly teasing and casual. "What did that big reporter from Beijing, Lin, talk about the other day? Weren't you nervous in front of the camera?"

Old Zhao flicked his cigarette ash and snorted dismissively.

"What's there to be nervous about?" Old Zhao picked up his cup. "That girl is quite nice, very polite. She even bought fruit for me and your mother. At first, I was a little uncomfortable with that young man carrying a big camera pointed at me, but then reporter Lin said, 'Just treat it as a casual chat,' and we started talking again."

Zhao's mother chimed in from the side: "Your dad was just bragging. At first, he didn't know what to do with his hands. He only calmed down after drinking a couple of sips of water. He answered whatever the reporter asked. I didn't dare to say much."

Zhao Shuyao chuckled softly: "So what did she ask you?"

"Tell me, what kind of family tradition do we have?" Old Zhao exhaled a puff of smoke. "I'd say we country folk don't have all those fancy family traditions. Not stealing or robbing, earning a living through hard work, and not letting ourselves go hungry—that's our family tradition."

After hearing this, Zhao Shuyao couldn't help but burst into laughter.

"That's a good answer." Zhao Shuyao gave Old Zhao a thumbs up. "Dad, did she also ask you what your expectations are for me?"

"Yes, yes, that's what I was asking." Old Zhao's eyes lit up. "He asked me if I felt you had brought honor to our family. I said, what's so great about bringing honor to the family? He just read a few more books; that's thanks to good national policies."

"I told her, I don't expect you to become a high-ranking official, nor do I expect you to make mountains of gold and silver. As long as you live an upright life in this world and don't bring shame to yourself, that's enough."

Zhao Shuyao stopped laughing and nodded seriously. He knew all too well the interviewing logic of Lin Jing's official media. They wanted to dig out the tragic feelings and struggles of families at the bottom of society, but they ran into Lao Zhao's pure pragmatism as a farmer from northern Jiangsu.

This set of plain language is far more impactful than any meticulously crafted dialogue.

The waiter brought the dishes to the table.

"Eat your vegetables first." Zhao Shuyao picked up his chopsticks and placed a piece of cooked potato, soft and tender, on his mother's plate.

The family ate quietly for a while.

Zhao's mother put down her chopsticks, wiped her mouth with a tissue, looked at Old Zhao, then at Zhao Shuyao, and her expression became serious.

"Yaoyao, Mom has something to ask you," Zhao's mother said.

"Please speak."

"You said on the phone a while ago that the school offered you a position to stay on campus, but you turned it down?" When Zhao's mother asked this question, her voice was very low. Old Zhao also put down his chopsticks, silently picked up his beer glass and took a small sip. In the eyes of parents from the lower class in this era, a government job was a golden rice bowl, a get-out-of-jail-free card.

Zhao Shuyao put down his chopsticks.

"Yes, I refused." Zhao Shuyao admitted frankly, without hiding anything.

"That's a school teacher..." Zhao's mother said anxiously. "She has a government job. If you don't do that, you'll graduate soon. What are you planning to do? Go work for a company outside?"

Old Zhao didn't say anything, but his brows furrowed slightly.

Looking at the worried expressions in his parents' eyes, Zhao Shuyao did not resort to the profound historical nihilism and deconstruction of power logic that he used when facing the media and capital, because that was outside his parents' cognitive scope.

He needs to use a simplified approach to clearly explain his future.

"Mom, I'm not going to work for someone else." Zhao Shuyao picked up the cigarette on the table again and tapped it twice. "I've made up my mind. I'm going to start my own business and open a cultural studio."

"A studio?" Old Zhao asked. "Is that thing reliable? Where does the capital come from?"

"Dad, let me explain something to you." Zhao Shuyao leaned forward, his eyes focused.

"When you and Mom used to go to the market in your hometown, did you ever see those storytellers and drum singers under the overpass?" Zhao Shuyao offered a very vivid analogy.

Old Zhao nodded: "I've seen it. Tell a story, then carry a basket and ask someone for two cents."

"Yes, what I did was exactly the same as the storytelling they did under the overpass." Zhao Shuyao gestured with his hand in a large circle. "Except that at most a few hundred people stand under the overpass, and they disperse after listening, while my overpass is called the Internet. Now hundreds of millions of people in China are using their mobile phones to watch things online."

Zhao Shuyao picked up the lighter on the table and placed it in front of Lao Zhao: "I will write articles and make videos based on the historical knowledge I know and the stories in the books, and post them online."

"As long as people like what I say, even if tens of thousands or hundreds of thousands of people are watching me, they don't need to pay me." Zhao Shuyao slowed down his speech. "The platform, which is the big boss who sets up the stage, will pay me money as long as I can attract customers for him. The more people watch, the more money I get."

Old Zhao was stunned.

"Then... how much money can you make?" Zhao's mother couldn't help but ask.

"Not much." Zhao Shuyao took out his phone, skillfully opened the interface of the Toutiao creator backend, and brought up that long string of numbers.

"All told, the owner of this theater paid me over 30,000 yuan this month." Zhao Shuyao turned his phone screen towards Lao Zhao.

Old Zhao's eyes widened suddenly. He stretched out his calloused hand and pointed at the numbers on the screen.

"This... thirty, three hundred, three thousand... thirty thousand?" Old Zhao's voice trembled. He worked on the construction site, carrying bricks and tying steel bars. He would work in the wind and sun for a month, and even if he worked himself to the bone, he could only earn eight or ten thousand.

My son can earn several months' wages in a month just by typing in this little box?

Zhao's mother also came over to take a look and gasped.

"Dad, this is just the beginning." Zhao Shuyao put his phone back in his pocket, his tone extremely calm. "Once my cultural studio is up and running, I'll hire people to help me film and write, and this stage will grow bigger and bigger."

Zhao Shuyao looked into Old Zhao's eyes.

"The school's job is good, but at most you'll only make a few thousand yuan a month, and you have to be senior and have to be mindful of others' attitudes." Zhao Shuyao pointed to his chest.

"Didn't you say you expected me to live an upright life? If I stay at the university and have to serve tea and water and smile at people every day, I'll become spineless. I'll work for myself, be my own boss, and not look after anyone else."

Old Zhao remained silent for a full half minute, then turned his head to look at the workers carrying cement bags on the construction site outside the window, before turning back to look at his son sitting in front of him.

"Okay." Old Zhao picked up the last bit of beer and drank it all in one gulp. "Since you can earn this much on your own, then do it yourself and don't have to depend on others. That's good."

Although Zhao's mother was still somewhat worried about the theoretical risks, seeing the real figure of over 30,000 yuan put most of her mind at ease.