The Age of Internet-Wide Memes
At 8 PM, Dongbei's official live stream went black on time, and the real-time monitoring footage of all stores was simultaneously cut off.
But the internet's memory is only just beginning to heat up.
The first trigger point was the "scissors".
A blogger edited together all the shots of scissors used in Dongbei's kitchen video: cutting open bags of frozen vegetables, cutting open the seals of seasoning sauces, cutting open vacuum-packed meat pieces—there was even a shot of a young apprentice frantically trying to pry open a stuck seasoning bottle cap with scissors.
The video is accompanied by the rousing "Sports Meet March" and features fast-paced editing. Every "snip" of the scissors is perfectly timed to the drumbeat. The final shot freezes on a pair of stainless steel scissors covered in sauce, and the title pops up. "Dongbei Kitchen - Employee of the Year".
Within three hours of its release, it garnered over 20 million views.
The comments section became a meme-making hub:
"Pass this down: The Dongbei chef's certificate exam subjects are: knife skills, heat control, and scissor usage techniques."
"It is suggested that Dongbei be renamed Dongjian."
"Next time I order at Dongbei, I'll say: 'Boss, a plate of stir-fried packaged food with scissors.'"
"To be precise, this is called 'Ingredient Unsealing Technique'."
The second trigger was "frozen broccoli".
The refrigerator in the kitchen of a store was clearly photographed, and the packaging bag was printed with the production date: August 2025. But it is now March 2026.
One netizen with good math skills calculated. "Broccoli from seven months ago, it looks like it's frozen in time."
The accompanying picture is a baby emoji, and the text reads, "Mom is feeding her one-year-old baby broccoli meant for two-year-olds, and telling him to eat more of it, saying it's a 'frozen-age vegetable' that promotes longevity."
This picture has been modified countless times: the baby becomes a panda, a cat, a dog, but the joke of "a one-year-old eating broccoli meant for two-year-olds" remains unchanged.
The third tipping point was even more absurd.
During a live stream, a food blogger filmed a dozen or so cardboard boxes piled up in a corner of the kitchen, with the words "Dongbei Central Kitchen Exclusive - Braised Pork Seasoning Pack" printed on them. Although the staff hurriedly tried to cover them with their aprons, the camera had already captured the images.
The blogger paused for a moment, then said to the camera, "Oh dear, this might be... stock from another store, misplaced."
The barrage of comments exploded instantly:
"Wrong place? I haven't used that excuse since I was three."
"Pass this down: an alien food package has been discovered in Dongbei's kitchen."
"To be precise, this is called a 'pre-made food space portal.'"
That evening, an anonymous account posted a long Weibo titled. "Ten surreal things I saw in the kitchen of Dongbei."
From "scissors consecration ceremony" to "frozen time-traveling vegetables," from "performance fish pretending to be freshly caught" to "suddenly appearing central kitchen supply boxes"—each post is accompanied by screenshots or video clips, with scathing and humorous text, and quickly garnered over 10,000 reposts.
Even more sarcastic netizens started creating humorous jokes:
"My second uncle has been paralyzed for ten years, and the doctors all said there was no hope. Last month, I took him to eat at Dongbei, and the old man suddenly stood up from his wheelchair and ran out of the restaurant with incredible speed. He's still missing. The doctors were shocked: 'This is simply a medical miracle!' All I can say is, Dongbei, a restaurant so bad it produces miracles."
The Weibo post was followed by thousands of replies saying "witnessing a miracle":
["My grandma has Alzheimer's. After eating at Dongbei, she suddenly became lucid, and her first words were: 'Give me my money back!'"]
"My dog is a picky eater; he won't eat dog food even if he's hungry for three days. Yesterday, he accidentally ate a piece of Dongbei braised pork, and now he's munching away on the dog food bowl—the contrast is striking."
"I suggest Dongbei offer a weight loss program: one meal, six months of anorexia, and the slimming effect is outstanding."
Short video platforms are not far behind.
On Douyin), the hashtag "Dongbei" trended to number one on the hottest search list. The most popular video showed the blogger impersonating Dongbei chef at home: wearing a white coat and with a pot in front of him, but doing only one thing the entire time—cutting various things with scissors. Cutting plastic bags, cutting tape, even cutting the air. Finally, he solemnly said to the camera, "Dongbei's standard operating procedure, every step must be cut precisely."
It received over three million likes.
On Bilibili, content creators started making parody videos titled "Dongbei Supply." They montaged together clips of Zheng Dong saying "We insist on making things fresh" in an early interview with footage of scissors and frozen packaging in the kitchen over the past two days, accompanied by the background music "The Truth Is False," creating a highly satirical effect.
The most amazing thing is that a gaming content creator turned Dongbei's kitchen into a simulation management game. Players take on the role of the manager, and the core gameplay is "how to survive a media open day using only scissors and pre-prepared meals." The game has a "reputation value" system; every time a customer discovers that pre-prepared food is being used, points are deducted, and the game ends when the points are depleted—but the reputation value drops to zero within three seconds of starting the game. The comments are full of "So realistic!" and "Suggest renaming it ' Dongbei Bankruptcy Simulator'."
On Douban group, someone started a thread. "If Dongbei were to tell the truth, how should the menu be written?"
The comments section quickly grew to a towering height:
["Braised Pork Belly Seasoning Pack (Heated Version) - 48 Yuan"]
["Time-Traveling Broccoli (Frozen for 7 Months) - 28 Yuan"]
["Performance-style fish killing (actor fee not included) -- 88 yuan"]
["Scissors consecration ceremony (optional) - 10% service fee will be added"]
["Dine-in surcharge: Watch the chef unpack the food – 15 yuan per person"]
On Weibo, a netizen posted a photo of their receipt from a Dongbei store, with the "service fee" section circled in red, captioned. "Is this 15 yuan the ticket price for the scissors show?"
The top-rated comment. "No, it's hush money."
Even the straight men's forum on Hupu has gotten involved. There's a post on the pedestrian street section asking, "Brothers, what's the level of Dongbei's move this time?"
The highlighted reply reads, "You're a self-destructive truck driver. People were just skeptical at first, but now they've given you an open-book exam, and you got a zero."
Another reply, "My grandma watched the live stream and said, 'This isn't even as good as the Shaxian snacks downstairs from my house; at least they actually make fresh wontons for you.'"
A post on Zhihu A website) provides an in-depth analysis. "Looking at the dilemma of digital transformation for traditional catering enterprises from the Dongbei incident—why is honesty harder than deception?"
The most upvoted answer stated, "Dongbei's biggest mistake wasn't using pre-prepared meals (which is common industry practice), but rather its reluctance to admit it. When there's a huge gap between customers' perception (freshly cooked) and reality (pre-packaged meals heated up), trust collapses. And their chosen solution—using an even bigger lie (a transparent kitchen) to cover up the previous lie—ultimately led to this epic public relations disaster. Sometimes, admitting 'we used pre-prepared meals for efficiency and cost, but we still put our heart into the taste and quality' is much smarter than stubbornly insisting 'we only cook freshly.' Unfortunately, Zheng Dong didn't understand this principle."
This answer was screenshotted and shared on various platforms, sparking a new round of discussion.
At 11 p. m., # Dongbei # became the number one trending topic on Weibo.
On the topic forum, jokes, photoshopped images, videos, and memes are popping up everywhere. Talented netizens have even designed a new logo for Dongbei: a pair of scissors cutting off the four characters "Freshly Made".
Dongbei's official Weibo account posted its last update at 5 PM: "Due to equipment failure, today's live stream is suspended. We apologize for the inconvenience." The comment section below has already accumulated 200,000 messages, with the top comments being full of memes.
The PR department tried to control the comments, but it was impossible. For every comment deleted, ten more would appear. The online marketing company reported, "Mr. Zheng, we really can't handle it anymore. Netizens are too enthusiastic about using these memes; we can't keep up."
Zheng Dong smashed the third cup in his office.
The screen displays real-time public opinion monitoring, with negative sentiment accounting for 99.1%. Red alerts are constantly flashing.
Zhao Bin stood in front of the desk, his head almost buried in his chest. "Chairman Zheng, should we... issue a statement to explain the matter of the scissors and frozen food?"
"Explain what?" Zheng Dong's eyes were bloodshot. "Explain why we use scissors? Explain why frozen vegetables were kept for seven months? Explain why those central kitchen supply boxes were in the kitchen?"
Zhao Bin dared not speak.
"Find those bloggers who are making the biggest fuss," Zheng Dong's voice was hoarse. "Send them private messages and tell them to delete the posts. We'll pay whatever it takes."
"I've already contacted them..." Zhao Bin's voice was even softer, "They said... if we delete the posts now, the fans will curse us to death. And, moreover, someone offered even more money to let them continue posting."
Who paid for it?
"I don't know. It could be a competitor, or it could be... a crowdfunding campaign by netizens just watching the show."
Zheng Dong slammed his fist on the table. The solid wood surface made a dull thud.
Outside the window, the city's night view remained dazzling. But Dongbei's signboard appeared particularly dim amidst this sea of lights.
At the same time, at Lin Feng Apartment.
Lü Yi had already collapsed on the sofa from laughing three times already. He was holding his tablet, his fingers flying across the keyboard, reading aloud every witty comment he saw:
"Boss, look at this! 'I suggest Dongbei and Master Kong collaborate, one provides the noodles, the other provides the scissors, perfect!' Hahahaha, Master Kong's reputation is being ruined!"
Lin Feng sat at the dining table with his laptop in front of him. The screen displayed internal financial data from Dongbei sent by K: For a consecutive week, the sales revenue of stores nationwide had plummeted, with an average drop of over 60%. Service area stores were almost at zero.
"And this!" Lü Yi exclaimed again, "' Dongbei taught me a lesson this time: sincerity is the ultimate weapon, but they used it to kill themselves.' Brilliant!"
Lin Feng glanced at the tablet screen but didn't say anything.
"Boss, why aren't you laughing?" Lü Yi leaned closer. "It's hilarious. Zheng Dong wanted to clear his name, but he ended up making a laughing stock. Now the whole internet is making fun of him. Dongbei brand... is basically dead, right?"
"He's not completely dead yet," Lin Feng said.
"He's still not dead?" Lü Yi's eyes widened. "Even in this state..."
"As long as there are still stores open and customers coming in, we're not completely dead yet." Lin Feng closed his laptop. "Besides, Zheng Dong won't admit defeat easily."
"What else can he do?" Lü Yi curled her lip. "Another transparent kitchen? He'd have to use a chainsaw then, wouldn't he?"
Lin Feng stood up and walked to the window. The night was deep, and in the distance, neon lights flickered; it was the bright red sign of a hot pot restaurant, very eye-catching in the darkness.
"When people are in dire straits, they'll do two things," he said slowly, "Either admit defeat, or... take a bigger gamble."
Lü Yi seemed to understand but not quite. "He still dares to gamble? With what?"
Lin Feng did not answer.
My phone vibrated; it was a message from Zhou Wenyuan: "Dongbei's legal department just contacted me, saying they want to 'settle' the matter. The condition is that they can offer a 'compensation for reputational damage,' but they require you to issue a statement saying that the previous comments were a 'personal misunderstanding,' and that Dongbei does indeed insist on making things fresh to order."
Lin Feng replied, "Tell them I don't want money."
Zhou Wenyuan: "Understood. Also, I've noticed that Dongbei has started contacting self-media outlets on a large scale to delete posts, and they're offering very high prices."
Lin Feng: "Let them delete it. The more they delete, the stronger the backlash will be."
He put down his phone and looked out the window again.
The city is never truly quiet at night. There are always lights on, cars on the road, and people somewhere arguing, scheming, and struggling over something.
The Dongbei ship is already leaking.
But the captain has not yet given the order to abandon ship.
He's waiting.
They awaited the captain's next order—whether to repair the leaks or to scuttle the ship and take everyone with them.
Lü Yi burst into laughter again. "Boss, look! Someone edited together a video of Dongbei's kitchen with ' The Emperor's New Clothes '! The voiceover is 'But he didn't use any ingredients!' 'Shut up! He's doing molecular gastronomy with scissors!' Hahahaha..."
Laughter echoed in the living room.
Outside the window, the night was deep.