Chapter 8: Wumao's Words Deadlier than a Virus from Fort Detrick

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“Wumao’s Words Deadlier than a Virus from Fort Detrick”

Lijian took to commenting like a fish to water. He’d already been doing so, anyway, on Sina, in Chinese, leaving supportive comments on international news stories involving China. But this was different. He wasn’t preaching to the choir any longer. He was broadcasting to the world! The whole world! And he felt honored to be serving his country in this capacity.

On weekends, evenings, after completing his school assignments, he’d sit hunched over his designated phone or laptop, his shoulders up, his tongue clamped between his teeth. Often, he’d send 15 to 20 tweets per day, comment on 10 or 15 Western newspaper articles and Reddit posts. On a rainy day, with little homework to complete, he could perhaps send 40 tweets, hit 20 to 30 articles and Reddit subs.

But it wasn’t always easy. As Comrade Zhang had warned him, some of the articles, commenters on social media were indeed horrible. They made his skin crawl. He hated them. He hated everything about them. He hated the names they’d call him. He hated their intentionally mislabeled maps, and the terrible things they’d say about his beloved country. He’d feel nauseous seeing them posting mocking memes, puerile pictures of his dear leaders.

Sometimes their libel would even seep into his dreams. He’d have nightmares or be unable to sleep, his mind racing, his mind like a dripping faucet, the revolting foreigners’ ugly words on endless repeat, running across his psyche like subtitles on a screen.

Sometimes he’d shake in revulsion, imagining the backward, drug-addicted, gun-toting barbarians, their flabby asses mushrooming over their seats, their greasy fingers, their fingers the size of sausages, their fat stupid fingers stabbing away at their phones. The dogs! The stinky, sloppy, disease-ridden filth in their ugly cities, with their crumbling infrastructure and their collapsing buildings! The corrupt capitalist, democratic, reactionary scum!

Nevertheless, he would not be deterred. He would insist on carrying on in the struggle! While his roommates were playing computer games, lying flat, laughing at their own farts, Lijian was online praising his Motherland!

And while most of his roommates had uncles, relatives in the Party, plenty of connections, Lijian knew that he did not. Lijian knew that if he were to rise through the Communist Party, it must be according to his own efforts. If he were to collect enough money to buy the suitable house and the car he’d need to attract a wife, he’d need to strive. If he were to collect enough funds to pay a dowry, pay for a wedding, pay for three children, pay for the care of his elderly parents, he’d need to fight. He knew he’d need to struggle to make his mark, impress his superiors, and gain his face. And this, this on his family’s honor, he would! He would!

He was a man on a mission! He pictured himself as an online warrior, like a digital version of his favorite film, Wolf Warrior. That was him. He was a wolf warrior. He was shooting down naysayers! His words deadlier than a virus from Fort Detrick! His words sharper than a guillotine!

He pictured using this as a steppingstone. Eventually, he’d rise through the ranks of the party. He’d marry a girl as pretty as Dou Dou. A girl as pretty as her, but a girl more to his liking. A girl who’d stay home, taking care of their children, their home, and his aging parents.

This was his Chinese Dream. One day he’d realize it. One day, he’d be like Wang Yi. He’d be speaking at the UN. He’d be meeting with foreign leaders, advancing China’s interests.

One day, Lijian would realize the Chinese Dream! He would! He would! This he knew more than anything else!!!!