Wang Zhuo drove along the Bund Road in the Huangjiang District, with the murky, turbulent waters of the Huangpu River on one side, and skyscrapers standing shoulder to shoulder on the other.

One side showcased the fruits of rapid material development; the other, the resulting environmental devastation and pollution. The contrast was stark.

The ten o'clock sun blazed like a giant fireball, yet the beauties on the Bund Road seemed utterly unfazed by the heat, clad in spaghetti straps, tiny shorts, and flip-flops. The total fabric they wore wouldn't be enough to tailor a pair of large shorts for Wang Zhuo.

Driving along, Wang Zhuo admired the bustling cityscape. Light pop music played inside the car; it was utterly comfortable.

His fire-red sports car ascended the Huangjiang Bridge. As Wang Zhuo gently swayed to the rhythm of the music, a dampener arrived: the traffic ahead slowed and stopped. Cars were packed solid right in front of him, a complete standstill.

A traffic jam?

How could there possibly be a traffic jam on the Huangjiang Bridge? Curious, he lowered his window and leaned out to peer ahead.

In truth, with his X-ray vision, a single scan would have revealed the situation ahead perfectly clearly. But lately, he felt he was relying too heavily on that ability. Sometimes, he even skipped necessary actions, a habit that could easily betray him if it continued. Thus, he was deliberately maintaining a natural state when there was no real need to use his special sight.

Stretching dozens of meters ahead, the blockage wasn't caused by a broken-down vehicle or any other accident. High up on the massive cable-stayed structure, a short, slender young man was crouched like a monkey. Below him was the outer edge of the Huangjiang Bridge; a slight push would send him plunging into the shimmering river.

Near him on the bridge deck, several police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances were positioned in strict formation, completely blocking one side of the roadway.

The driver of a Citroën next to him stood outside his car, shielding his eyes to look. After a moment, he muttered, cursing under his breath, "Damn it, is this another migrant worker protesting unpaid wages?"

Inspired by the man, Wang Zhuo focused his gaze on the youth. Dressed in cheap clothes, carrying nothing, he certainly resembled a migrant worker who had come to the city looking for work.

Since traffic was gridlocked anyway, and the young man didn't look like he’d be coming down anytime soon, Wang Zhuo decided to get out of the car.

"Nice ride, friend," the stout man driving the Citroën greeted him with a smile. "Is that a Lotus? Three million?"

"Close enough," Wang Zhuo replied with a faint smile.

Several onlookers immediately gathered around to look at the car. They had noticed the striking red sports car earlier, but initially, they didn't recognize the make, nor were they sure if the owner was some arrogant young master, so they hadn't approached. Now that Wang Zhuo seemed approachable, and the stout man mentioned the car was worth three million, they were instantly drawn in.

"He’s not protesting wages," a slightly built young man, who had just walked up from behind, said, shaking his head as he approached the stout man and Wang Zhuo. "You guys don’t know, there are regulations against media reporting on wage protests involving self-endangerment. That trick doesn't work anymore."

"Oh? What's the situation?" the stout man immediately grew interested.

Wang Zhuo observed the short man. He looked to be around thirty, with a well-proportioned build and thick hair, evident from the bluish stubble coating his freshly shaved jaw. His features suggested some minority heritage, perhaps Middle Eastern. He wore grayish-brown cargo shorts with four bulging pockets and carried a large, heavy-looking camera bag slung over his shoulder—likely housing a professional DSLR.

"It's about 'maintaining stability,' of course," the short man chuckled. "A few years ago, the media swarmed these wage protest stories, even doing follow-ups, and it really did solve many problems with wage arrears. But that stirred up a hornet's nest; the workers realized the tactic worked and started copying it. I heard that in Guangzhou at its peak, there were six or seven bridge jumps or river dives in a single day—sometimes they even acted in groups, with over a dozen standing on the bridge parapets at once. This kind of event had too much impact, attracting even foreign media attention, so eventually, reporting was banned."

"Who banned the reporting?" the stout man hadn't quite grasped it.

The short man just smiled and gestured vaguely upwards with his index finger.

Wang Zhuo scoffed lightly. "Banning the report solves the problem?"

"Of course it does, why wouldn't it?" The short man glanced at him and smiled. "If the media doesn't cover it, the incidents they cause only have immediate impact, not sensationalism, and they won't inspire others to follow suit. Once people hear the trick is useless, they gradually quiet down."

Wang Zhuo let out a dry laugh. His definition of solving the problem was getting the wages paid; the short man was talking about stopping mass suicide attempts. It seemed resolving the succession of bridge dives was the local government's priority. As for the wage issues, as long as people didn't resort to extreme measures, they could haggle away slowly.

"So this guy isn't protesting wages?" the stout man pointed toward the front.

"He’s not protesting wages, nor is he begging for aid," the short man confirmed. "If everyone with a critically ill family member they couldn't afford to treat used this tactic to attract media attention and secure social assistance, wouldn't the world descend into chaos? See the police down there? If that guy was thinking along those lines, the police would have simply explained that logic to him, and he would have come down long ago."

"Makes sense..." Wang Zhuo nodded. If the media focused on such cases and helped secure public donations for these people, everyone else would copy them, flocking to the bridges, and soon every bridge in the country would be overcrowded.

"Damn it, then what the hell is this guy doing?" The stout man scratched his head, spat out a curse, and said, "I’m going up front to check it out."

The stout man walked only a few steps when an older woman, tall, was walking back toward them. He quickly intercepted her to ask for information.

"Sigh..."

The tall auntie sighed deeply, continuing to walk forward as she spoke. "The moral fabric of society is deteriorating; there's no justice in this world anymore."

"What grievance did he suffer?" The stout man hurried to keep up, his fleshy body jiggling.

Auntie Gao walked a few more steps until she reached the cluster of about a dozen people where Wang Zhuo was talking, and then she spoke. "That person is named Feng Liang. Has anyone heard of him?"

Feng Liang? Everyone exchanged glances and shook their heads.

"Feng Liang?" The short man's eyes lit up. He stepped forward and asked, "Sister, is that young man Feng Liang?"

"You know his story?" Auntie Gao looked at him and said, "The second-instance judgment came down. He was ordered to pay 120,000 yuan in compensation. He doesn't want to live anymore."

"Shit," the short man stomped his foot, secured his camera bag, and took off running toward the front.

"What's going on?" a white-collar man in a suit and tie asked curiously.

"You may not know Feng Liang, but everyone in Nanjing knows Peng Yu, right?" Auntie Gao exhaled forcefully, as if trying to expel her frustration. "Their cases are identical. Peng Yu paid the compensation; Feng Liang can’t afford to pay, so he doesn't want to live."

"Holy hell," the white-collar man cursed after a moment of stunned silence.

Who in Nanjing didn't know about Peng Yu? He was a household name—the direct participant in a sensational incident that had reversed five thousand years of traditional Chinese morality. After him, people nationwide were afraid to help fallen strangers; anyone acting like Lei Feng was cursed as an idiot. Many schools held special assemblies to teach students not to rescue people blindly. The era of picking up a penny on the street and handing it to the police uncle was gone forever.

The crowd began murmuring amongst themselves. The tall Auntie Gao briefly summarized the background of the Feng Liang case, instantly inciting righteous indignation among the listeners, who began shouting curses that the judge who reviewed the case should be utterly disgraced.

The Feng Liang case was practically a carbon copy of the Nanjing Peng Yu case, except this young man was a vocational college student—what people commonly called a diploma mill attendee.

He was from a city in Jiangnan Province. Returning home for the Lunar New Year during winter, he encountered a rare heavy snowfall. While walking with his younger brother, they came across an elderly woman who had slipped and fallen on the snow. The two brothers flagged down a taxi and took the old woman to the hospital.

"Why is it always an old lady?" the stout man asked, a mixture of exasperation and amusement in his voice.

"Among the elderly population, women account for seventy percent, so elderly women appear more frequently," the white-collar man remarked, pulling out a pair of glasses and putting them on.

After taking her to the hospital, Feng Liang handled the simple registration procedures for the old woman. He even considered leaving anonymously, practicing the spirit of doing good deeds without seeking recognition, but he never expected to be immediately grabbed by the old woman's grandson when he tried to slip away. Run? No chance.

Feng Liang was immediately in a miserable bind.

The old woman was eighty-eight years old; she had shattered her hip. For an eighty-eight-year-old, a fractured pelvis was nearly impossible to heal. Therefore, the remainder of her life would be spent in a wheelchair. She insisted adamantly that it was the Feng Liang brothers roughhousing in the street who had knocked her down.

Witnesses? No. Evidence? None. But the old woman swore by her story. Consequently, Feng Liang was sued. The first-instance ruling ordered him to pay 120,000 yuan; the second instance upheld the original verdict. In civil litigation, the second instance is final; the case was closed, the verdict sealed.

After the judgment, Feng Liang became the object of ridicule in his hometown, the epitome of a fool. His parents, relatives, neighbors, and classmates scolded him: You kid, knowing full well Peng Yu already set the precedent, why the hell did you try to emulate Lei Feng, doing good deeds? Now look at the result! Final verdict! You owe 120,000 yuan. Go sell a kidney to pay it!

After hearing the whole story, a young man suddenly shouted, "A judgment without evidence? That judge is the real idiot!"

The tall Auntie Gao gave him a cold look and sneered, "The judge said that since you couldn't produce evidence proving the old woman wasn't knocked down by you, you must bear the responsibility."

The young man remained unconvinced. "Damn it, doesn't the law state that the claimant must provide proof?"

A companion next to him said drily, "Exactly. Didn't Peng Yu argue his innocence back then? Since he couldn't prove his innocence, he had to bear half the compensation."

The young man was momentarily stunned, then said with a forced laugh, "What kind of ridiculous logic is that? Isn't the plaintiff the old woman's side?"

"The old woman's side claimed they did have evidence," Auntie Gao scoffed. "They argued: If the person wasn't bumped by you Feng Liang brothers, why did you bother taking her to the hospital? Why did others see it and ignore it, but you two were so kind? Clearly, you had something to hide."

"Holy crap!"

Suddenly, someone yelled out, "Look! That guy is standing up! He's going to jump!"

[.]

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