The Blogger Backs Down

At seven o'clock in the morning, Yang Xiaoming's phone started vibrating.

It wasn't an alarm clock, it was an incoming call. The screen lit up, displaying "Unknown Number." He groggily pressed the call button and turned over, trying to go back to sleep.

Thirty seconds later, the phone vibrated again.

The number is still unknown.

Frustrated, he grabbed his phone, turned it off, and shoved it under his pillow.

The world fell silent. Dawn was breaking outside the window, the thin light of early spring filtering through the curtains. Yang Xiaoming curled up in bed, his mind a jumbled mess. He'd been sleepless again until 3 a. m. last night; every time he closed his eyes, he could hear Commissioner Wang's words, "The chances of losing the case are very high," and the implication of "collecting promotional fees from competitors."

At eight o'clock, he struggled to get up and turned on his phone.

Missed calls: 17. All from unknown numbers.

There are three more text messages:

[Mr. Yang, please reply as soon as possible regarding the video deletion.]

Our company has limited patience.

[The deadline is 12:00 today.]

The sender was the same number, but it was different from the number used by Commissioner Wang yesterday.

Yang Xiaoming stared at the screen, his stomach churning. He rushed into the bathroom and gagged a few times, but nothing came out.

While I was washing up, my phone rang again. This time it was WeChat voice message from the marketing manager of a local restaurant brand I had worked with before. His surname was Liu. He was usually very polite to me, and I had even sent him samples of new products.

Yang Xiaoming wiped his face and answered the phone, "Good morning, Manager Liu."

"Xiaoming," Manager Liu's voice sounded a little unnatural, "Um... did you recently post a video about Dongbei?"

Yang Xiaoming's heart sank. "... Yes."

"Sigh, what a mess this has become," Manager Liu sighed. "Dongbei... has spoken to our boss. They mean that if you continue posting this kind of content targeting competitors, it might... it might be inconvenient for us to cooperate with you in the future. You know, we're all in the restaurant business, we'll run into each other all the time..."

Yang Xiaoming's knuckles turned white as he gripped his phone. "Manager Liu, that video was just something the customer said casually, I didn't..."

"I know, I know," Manager Liu interrupted him, "But Dongbei is convinced you're smearing them. They're a big company with wide connections, and a small brand like ours... can't afford to offend them. Xiaoming, take my advice, delete it, apologize, and it'll be over. Why bother?"

After hanging up the phone, Yang Xiaoming stood in the bathroom, looking at his dark circles and messy hair in the mirror.

At nine o'clock, he turned on his computer and logged into the Douyin backend.

The data for that service area video is still rising: 42,000 likes and over 10,000 comments. The comment section is even more lively, with some people tagging Dongbei's official account, some debating the merits of pre-prepared meals, and others digging up "dirt" on other Dongbei stores.

However, the second episode of his "Extremely Hot Challenge," which he posted just yesterday, only received one-third of the usual number of views on the homepage's push notifications.

Something's not right.

He opened the data analysis. Usually at this time, a new video should have at least several thousand views, but now it only has a few hundred. Moreover, the recommended traffic is almost zero—the platform hasn't given it any organic recommendations.

He switched to Bilibili, and the situation worsened. The video he uploaded yesterday was immediately locked, with the status showing "Under Review, Temporarily Unavailable." Clicking on the details revealed the message: "This video is under review due to content disputes."

My private message inbox has dozens of unread messages, mostly from fans.

"Brother Yang, why can't I see Dongbei's video?"

"Was the blogger threatened?"

"Hang in there, we support you!"

But there were also a few glaring ones:

"Taking money to blackmail Dongbei is disgusting."

"Did you do promotions for Sichuan Flavor House before? Is this another case of being paid to do something?"

"I suggest Dongbei file a lawsuit; these kinds of rumor-mongering self-media outlets need to be regulated."

The senders were all anonymous accounts; clicking into them revealed completely empty profiles, clearly indicating they were paid trolls.

At 10 o'clock, my phone rang again. This time it was the official customer service number for the Douyin platform.

A mechanical female voice. "Hello, we have detected controversial content on your account recently. To avoid unnecessary trouble for you and the platform, we suggest you conduct a self-check and correction of the relevant content. If it involves infringement or false information, please handle it promptly. The platform will continue to monitor the compliance of your account."

It wasn't explicitly stated, but the meaning couldn't be clearer: if it's not deleted soon, there might be traffic restrictions or even account bans.

Yang Xiaoming slumped in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

The fluorescent light tube hummed, and a small flying insect circled around it, bumping into it repeatedly.

At 11 o'clock, he turned on the camera.

His phone was propped up on a tripod on the table, the camera pointed at him. He washed his face, combed his hair, and changed into a clean hoodie, but his dark circles were still visible, and his face was pale.

He tried to start his speech several times, but his voice was hoarse.

"Hello everyone, I'm Taste Detective Xiao Yang..."

No, it's too stiff.

Regarding the video of the Dongbei service area released yesterday, I would like to clarify something...

It still doesn't work.

He turned off the recording and rubbed his face with his hands. His palms were sweaty.

The phone screen lit up; another text message arrived.

[The last half hour.]

The sender changed to a third phone number.

Yang Xiaoming stared at the line of text for a long time. Then he turned the camera back on and pressed the record button.

This time, he didn't look at the camera, but instead looked down at the table in front of him. On the table was a printed A4 sheet of paper covered with dense text.

"Hello everyone, I'm Taste Detective Xiao Yang."

His voice was dry, like sandpaper scraping against wood.

"Regarding the video I posted on February 15, 2026, concerning the Dongbei Catering Service Area store, I hereby issue this statement and apologize."

He paused, his throat tightening.

"The customer's comments in the video are solely their personal subjective feelings and have not been verified. Dongbei Catering, as a well-known chain brand, has always adhered to the business philosophy of 'fresh ingredients, cooked to order,' and I have no intention of questioning or denying Dongbei's brand reputation."

He read from the script. Every word came out of his mouth like a stone.

"I sincerely apologize for the unnecessary misunderstanding and negative impact caused to Dongbei Catering after the video was released. I have deleted the original video and hereby formally apologize to Dongbei Catering and the majority of consumers."

"In the future, I will be more rigorous in reviewing video content to prevent similar incidents from happening again. Thank you for your attention and oversight."

He looked up at the camera. His eyes were vacant, and he tried to force an apologetic smile, but his muscles were stiff, making the smile look worse than a grimace.

"Sorry."

The video ends here and will be automatically saved.

Duration: 47 seconds.

Yang Xiaoming stared at the thumbnail of the video for a full minute. Then he opened Douyin, uploaded it, and typed only two words in the title: "Apology".

release.

Almost simultaneously, a system notification popped up in the background. "Your video has entered the review process and is expected to take 5-10 minutes."

He refreshed the page and waited.

Five minutes later, the video displayed "Approved, published".

The number of views started to rise slowly: 100, 500, 1000...

The comments section was flooded with messages.

The first top comment appeared within three minutes:

"??? The blogger has been kidnapped, so blink twice?"

The number of likes skyrocketed.

Immediately afterwards:

"How much did Dongbei pay for reading this script?"

"You were so assertive yesterday, and you've already chickened out today? I've unfollowed you."

"I understand the blogger; ordinary people can't afford to waste time with big companies."

"So, is Dongbei really just a pre-prepared food restaurant? Is an apology all they're going to do?"

"This apology video made me cringe so much."

"Support Dongbei's rights protection! The internet is not a lawless zone!"

Yang Xiaoming scrolled down the list, his fingers trembling. The words—those supporting him, those questioning him, those mocking him, those sympathizing with him—pierced his eyes like needles.

He closed the page, not wanting to look anymore.

My phone vibrated; I received a WeChat. It was from Manager Liu of the partner brand:

[Xiaoming, I saw the video. This was handled well; everyone's dignity is maintained. We'll reserve a seat for you at our new product tasting event next week.]

He didn't reply.

Another text message came in, still from an unknown number:

[Received. Please ensure all subsequent content on your account is compliant.]

He didn't reply.

He simply sat in his chair, staring at the newly released video on his computer screen. In the video, he was pale-faced, his eyes darting around, reciting words he didn't mean.

The "Taste Detective Xiao Yang," who used to eat with gusto in front of the camera, spitting out greasy food and relentlessly criticizing unpalatable dishes, seems to have died this morning.

He suddenly remembered two years ago when he filmed his first video. It was a beef noodle shop in an alley, the owner was a lame old man, and the noodle soup was especially fragrant. The video only got a few dozen views, but the old man sent him a private message to thank him, saying that several new customers had come that day.

At that time, he thought being a food blogger was great. He could share delicious food with others and also speak up for restaurants that truly put their heart into their work.

But what about now?

He opened the earnings page of Douyin's creator center. Last month's advertising revenue, sales commissions, live streaming tips... added up to 13,000 yuan. After deducting rent, food, and equipment upgrades, there wasn't much left.

What is the annual revenue of Dongbei Catering, a chain group with 200 stores? One billion? Two billion?

What makes him think he can compete with others?

My phone vibrated again. This time it was Weibo notification: "Dongbei Catering reposted the blogger's apology video, calling for rational expression of opinions."

He clicked on it.

Dongbei Catering's official Weibo reposted his apology video, with the caption:

[Thanks to @Taste Detective Xiao Yang for the clarification and apology. We firmly believe that sincere communication can resolve misunderstandings. Dongbei Catering will continue to uphold its promise of "fresh ingredients, cooked to order" and accepts the supervision of every customer. We also call on netizens to speak rationally and jointly maintain a healthy and harmonious online environment.]

The number of reposts, comments, and likes is skyrocketing.

The top comments section was filled with unanimous praise, "Support Dongbei!" "Successful rights protection!" "The rumor-mongers must apologize!"

A few questions occasionally surfaced, such as "Is that all?" or "So is it actually pre-made food?" but these were quickly drowned out.

Yang Xiaoming turned off his phone and threw it onto the bed.

He stood up, walked to the window, and drew back the curtains. The sunlight was blinding, and cars were coming and going on the street below, everything as usual.

No one knew that a blogger with 200,000 followers had just experienced a silent crushing defeat in less than 24 hours.

He leaned against the window and lit a cigarette.

He bought the cigarettes yesterday; he doesn't actually smoke much. But right now, he needed something to suppress the nausea in his throat.

Amidst the swirling smoke, he recalled the young man in the jacket from the video.

The man who said, "It's normal for the quality to be a little lower."

Where is he now? Does he know about this? Will he apologize?

Yang Xiaoming exhaled a puff of smoke, watching it slowly dissipate in the sunlight.

Then he stubbed out his cigarette, turned around, went back to his computer, and opened the editing software.

There are still several store visit videos in the footage library that haven't been edited.

Life must go on.

At least, he still has his next meal to film.