He said he was just a driver

Making short videos.

He got to work.

Wang Xiaoliang filmed every shot with painstaking care.

His earliest videos had a strong sense of ritual.

He ground the ink, spread out the rice paper, and held down both ends with elegant paperweights.

His ink-laden brush hovered over the paper. Calm and composed, he began writing, his strokes flowing with power and grace.

He filmed the entire process.

The results were dismal.

A few dozen views, a few hundred at most.

The handful of lonely names on his follower list had come from his phone contacts. He did not even know who was who.

A sense of defeat welled up inside him.

He began reflecting on what had gone wrong.

The videos were too long and too slow. Who had the patience these days to watch him spend ages getting ready?

He made changes.

He ruthlessly cut out the preparations, deciding to film only the writing itself and speed up the footage.

He changed what he wrote, too.

Tang poetry and Song lyrics were elegant, but too lofty for a broad audience.

Phrases like "The great roc spreads its wings" and "An old steed still dreams of galloping" were even worse-tired motivational slogans plastered on office walls, with nothing fresh about them.

He began chasing trends.

He wrote popular internet catchphrases, or simply copied the top few headlines from that day's trending searches.

The video titles matched what he wrote exactly.

"Shocking! Heartbroken woman threatens to jump into river..."

"I'm dying! Mom makes her kid call her 'sis'..."

"Bizarre news: man dates three women at once, all living in the same apartment complex..."

Rendered in bold, forceful calligraphy, these strange sentences created a curious contrast.

Each piece of calligraphy became a video.

The number of videos quickly grew.

The results gradually improved.

One video soon passed five thousand views.

Then ten thousand, then fifty thousand.

His follower count also began rising rapidly, going from single digits to three figures and still climbing.

The comment section became lively, too.

"Holy shit, you're using a brush fit for the 'Preface to the Orchid Pavilion Collection' to write 'I'm dying.' You really know how to play up a contrast."

"This calligraphy is incredible. That has to take at least ten years of practice, right? And you're using it to write stale internet memes? What a waste of talent!"

"This is kind of fun. Followed. I want to see what you write next."

Reading these comments gave Wang Xiaoliang a huge boost of confidence.

He had absolutely no idea how he had managed to get so much traffic.

He had only made a few minor adjustments.

Maybe it was just luck.

For two weeks straight, Zhou Qiang did not come.

Whenever they spoke on the phone, he said he was busy.

Wang Xiaoliang's dorm room was almost buried in recyclables.

Drink bottles, beverage cartons, and discarded delivery boxes he had picked up formed towering piles.

They not only filled the space beneath Wang Xiaoliang's bed and around his desk, but had also begun encroaching on Third Brother's and Fourth Brother's beds.

Li Jun's complaints grew louder by the day.

"Xiaoliang, have you gone money-crazy? You won't even pass up this junk?"

"Look at this room! It's practically a garbage transfer station!"

"It stinks in here. If the dorm supervisor comes to inspect, we'll all get punished along with you!"

Fortunately, Wang Xiaoliang had stacked all the recyclables extremely neatly.

He had broken down the cardboard boxes, flattened them, and stacked them into tidy squares.

He had also washed all the drink bottles and lined them up like soldiers awaiting inspection.

Though crowded, the room did not look particularly filthy or messy.

But there was only so much space.

When there was barely any room left to walk, Wang Xiaoliang finally gave in.

He took a series of photos and sent them to Zhou Qiang.

In the photos, he struck an exaggerated pose, as though the "mountain of recyclables" was about to crush him.

He added a message: "Qiang, help! I'm about to drown in all these treasures!"

This time, Zhou Qiang replied quickly.

"Hang tight. I'll be there this afternoon."

At two that afternoon, Zhou Qiang appeared at the dorm room door right on time.

He wore the same sort of clothes as always-a simple T-shirt and work pants-with an air of efficiency that was hard to describe.

He glanced at the room full of recyclables, said nothing, and got straight to work.

His movements were astonishingly quick.

He deftly reinforced the bundles of cardboard Wang Xiaoliang had tied up and stacked them by the door.

Then he took out the extra-large black plastic bags he had brought, dumped the bottles into them with a clatter, sealed them, and weighed them.

The entire process flowed seamlessly, without a single wasted word.

Once he had finished tallying everything, Zhou Qiang pulled out his phone, opened the calculator, and quickly arrived at a figure.

"Seventy-eight fifty altogether. I'll round it up to eighty."

The price he offered was a little higher than he had originally promised.

He sent Wang Xiaoliang a red packet on WeChat.

Wang Xiaoliang helped him carry the bundles of cardboard downstairs.

"Qiang, I'll come with you."

Zhou Qiang stopped and looked at him.

Wang Xiaoliang smiled. "I'll help you deliver this stuff. I'm free this afternoon anyway. Then I'll buy you a meal."

Zhou Qiang asked no further questions and readily agreed.

"Sure."

They made three trips before getting everything downstairs.

A somewhat worn electric cargo tricycle was parked outside.

Quite a few things were already piled in its cargo bed: a waist-high stack of old books, a desk lamp that looked usable, and a guitar that was neither new nor especially old.

This must be what Zhou Qiang meant by the graduation-season "business opportunity."

Wang Xiaoliang thought to himself.

Together, he and Zhou Qiang loaded the cardboard and several large bags of bottles onto the tricycle and stacked them neatly.

The cargo bed was instantly packed full.

"Hold on tight."

Zhou Qiang climbed into the driver's seat and glanced back to remind him.

Wang Xiaoliang sat on the edge of the cargo bed, steadying himself with one hand against a cardboard box.

With a faint electric hum, the tricycle slowly started moving toward the campus's west gate.

The afternoon sunlight filtered through gaps in the tree-lined avenue, scattering patches of light.

A breeze brushed his face, carrying a hint of summer heat.

Sitting on the jolting cargo bed and looking at Zhou Qiang's not particularly broad back, Wang Xiaoliang felt unusually calm and grounded.

It was a remarkable feeling.

The words he had read in books and the experiences of real life came together perfectly in that moment.

The tricycle was not fast. It rolled leisurely along the main campus road.

Just as it was about to leave through the west gate, four people approached from the opposite direction.

Two men and two women, chatting and laughing.

Zhao Shengkai was holding Zhou Xiaoying's hand, looking full of confidence.

Beside him was a beaming Ouyang Hai, also holding Wang Fen's hand.

The four of them came face-to-face with the jolting tricycle.

The smile on Zhao Shengkai's face froze.

Chen Xiaoying stopped walking, too. She looked at Wang Xiaoliang beside the pile of recyclables, then at Zhou Qiang driving up front, her expression complicated.

Ouyang Hai and Zhao Shengkai reacted most strongly. Both looked astonished, as though they had witnessed something unbelievable.

Their eyes swept back and forth between Wang Xiaoliang and the mountain of recyclables.

Their gazes held surprise, contempt, and a trace of undisguised mockery.

Four people, dressed in bright, stylish clothes.

Two people, riding a battered tricycle loaded with recyclables.

Wang Xiaoliang could clearly see Ouyang Hai's gaping mouth, Zhao Shengkai's unabashed grin, and the flash of contempt in his eyes.

In the past, he would probably have been mortified, wishing he could find a hole to crawl into.

But now, he felt not the slightest ripple of emotion.

He even found it a little funny.

He flashed a brilliant smile at those four faces with their differing expressions.

Zhou Qiang drove as though he had barely noticed them. He merely cast them a casual glance, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly, then continued riding with an impassive face.

Neither of them showed any intention of stopping.

The tricycle slowly rolled past the four of them.

They passed one another.

Behind them came Zhao Shengkai's sneer, heavy with unmistakable disdain.

It was not loud, but in the quiet afternoon, Wang Xiaoliang heard it with exceptional clarity.

"Birds of a feather flock together."

"I told you he was just a driver at best! Turns out he has a side hustle, too. What a hard worker," Ouyang Hai replied excitedly.

The tricycle continued forward at its unhurried pace.

Zhou Qiang's back remained steady as a mountain, as though he had heard nothing.

Wang Xiaoliang knew he must have heard it, too.

His smile grew even wider.