The Tractor from 1982
“Old Chen, I know a psychiatrist with a good reputation. His name is Chen Sheng. Would you like me to introduce him to you?” A certain young woman shot Chen Sheng a playful look.
“That won’t be necessary. I know him quite well,” Chen Sheng replied with a straight face, as if it were a matter of course.
“Really?”
“Of course.” Chen Sheng nodded. He saw that face every time he looked in the mirror—he had been looking at it for over twenty years, since he was a child. How could he not be familiar with it?
Not that Chen Sheng truly wanted to join the conversation. He turned away and poured himself a glass of water, then walked to the window to take a deep breath. He had expected fresh air, but instead inhaled a noseful of car exhaust.
It was rush hour. The street below was a stream of cars, headlights stretching as far as the eye could see.
Chen Sheng closed the window at once.
“I thought you said you were going to write your novel. Why are you playing rock-paper-scissors with your computer screen?” Chen Sheng had confidence in his own medical skills, so he didn’t believe Yu Youxin’s condition had relapsed. And even if it had, it wasn’t serious enough to require hospitalization—regular medication and some self-care were enough.
“The computer’s broken!”
“Broken? Let me take a look.” Chen Sheng walked over and examined it closely.
“Old Chen, you know how to fix computers?”
“No.”
“Then what are you looking at?” The young woman tilted her face up at him.
“I’m checking whether it’s out of power, or whether you forgot to turn it on.”
“Who would be that silly?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Chen Sheng answered ambiguously. Adults are called adults precisely because they never shut off all their escape routes.
He plugged in the laptop and pressed the power button gently.
The screen lit up at once.
Chen Sheng angled the laptop back toward the young woman, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
But he saw no trace of embarrassment on her small face. She took the laptop back immediately.
Rolling his eyes, Chen Sheng left her with a brisk “I’ll go make dinner,” and walked into the kitchen.
As always, he kept things simple.
He steamed several buns he had prepared in advance. They couldn’t exactly be called delicious, but they weren’t bad either.
Carrying the plate of buns out, Chen Sheng called out that dinner was ready, but Yu Youxin didn’t come. Looking up, he saw she was still at the laptop, the sound of her typing as clear and sharp as glass shattering.
Curious, Chen Sheng wondered what she was writing with such focus.
He walked over.
Just in time to see a dialog box pop up on the screen—“You have been permanently banned from speaking on this platform.”
Chen Sheng: “…”
“What are you doing?” he couldn’t help but ask.
“Nothing…”
He gave her a look.
Her cheeks puffed up like a goldfish, broadcasting her displeasure.
Under Chen Sheng’s gaze, Yu Youxin huffed in protest. “I really didn’t do anything. I just asked a few questions, that’s all!”
“What kind of questions?” While speaking, Chen Sheng clicked to close the dialog box, then tried to log in with his own account—only to realize the account in question was already his. His mouth twitched. Left with no other option, he chose guest mode. At last, he could see what was going on.
It was a live broadcast of a TV show!
And not just any show—a primetime program on a top network, with tens of millions watching live. A true phenomenon.
Chen Sheng looked at the young woman, unable to hold back a laugh. “Go on, tell me…”
He really wanted to know what kind of question had gotten his account permanently banned from the entire platform.
It was ridiculous! Usually, the ban would only be for a single chatroom.
“It was those guys on the show—they said we could ask any question,” the young woman insisted.
Chen Sheng nodded. He recognized them; they were the current top male idols, drawing adoring fans of all ages with their looks and charm—many women even called them their “husbands.”
Their popularity was such that even Chen Sheng had heard their songs—and liked them.
“So what did you ask? ‘What kind of girls do you like?’” he ventured.
“No!” She shook her head, her face serious. “I asked how to fix a tractor’s malfunctioning oil pump.”
Chen Sheng: “…”
He eyed her, half curious, half incredulous. How did she come up with a question so painfully awkward, yet oddly reasonable?
He frowned, clearly displeased. “They banned you permanently for that one question?”
Were the platform admins die-hard fans of those idols?
“No, there were other questions too,” the young woman said.
“What else did you ask?”
“I asked how to repair a leaking high-pressure oil pipe on a tractor,” she replied, her face just as earnest.
“…,”
She continued, undeterred, “I also asked how to fix a tractor that burns oil and gives off blue smoke, and how to deal with engine overheating due to limescale buildup…”
“Did you just buy an old tractor from 1982?” Chen Sheng couldn’t help interrupting. Honestly, if he were a platform admin, he might have done the same.
But after venting, he grew puzzled. “Why did they keep picking your questions?”
He glanced at his own account.
His account was utterly ordinary, always in “bad luck” mode. He’d never won a prize or been randomly selected for anything on the platform.
So why, in her hands, did it keep getting picked?
“Did they ask you to keep changing your question?”
“No, they drew lots for each question…” She shook her head.
Chen Sheng grew visibly annoyed and muttered, “This platform is ridiculous—there’s a bug in their system and they banned my account!”
Sure, Yu Youxin had used his account, but it was clearly the platform’s system at fault for repeatedly selecting his account. And they blamed him for it? Outrageous!
“Old Chen, are you going to hang them up by their necks?” the young woman asked, eyes wide with a faint glint of excitement.
“What do you mean, hang them?” Chen Sheng was momentarily confused, then realized what she meant. He couldn’t help but retort, “What are you thinking? Games aren’t like real life. Eat your dinner!”
“All right.” The young woman pouted.