Chapter 54: Soaring Popularity (Please Recommend)

“Zhang Chu is incredible—half a million RMB in prize money, he has to treat us to a feast!”
“Absolutely! While we’re still worrying about university, he’s already secured a Peking University scholarship. He must treat us!”
“@ZhangChu, come out now—when are you treating? I’ll start fasting the night before just to make sure I bankrupt you.”
“You promised not to forget us when you struck it rich. I want to eat at the most expensive buffet in Jiangcheng!”

A few close friends were clamoring in their WeChat group, joking about “dividing the spoils among the peasants”—after all, they’d all helped campaign for Zhang Chu’s “Detective Sherlock” in the voting rounds.
They’d long been utterly astounded by Zhang Chu, admiring him to the point of utter devotion.

Just as Zhang Chu finished submitting the second part of “Detective Sherlock” to the magazine, he opened WeChat and saw the group notifications.
He hadn’t treated everyone before because his pockets were empty, but now, with his royalty and prize money in hand, he was a bona fide young tycoon among students.
He quickly replied with a voice message: “No time like the present—how about lunch today?”

Wei Wenlin sent a wall-hitting emoji, “I’ll take the bullet train back from Shanghai right now—this meal will be worth it.”
“I’ll definitely come. I’m going to eat you out of house and home!” Fu Deyu boasted shamelessly, though with his beanpole frame, he probably didn’t eat much more than a cat.
“How about the ‘Four Seas’ buffet at the International Shopping Center? Meet at noon?” Zhang Chu decided to splurge a little and reward himself, too.

“Four Seas” was a high-end buffet with a reputation for being affordable, wildly popular in Jiangcheng, known for its wide array of dishes, an abundance of hot food, and unlimited Häagen-Dazs ice cream—a dessert lover’s paradise.
Wei Wenlin, upon seeing the message, bombarded the chat with shocked emojis. “Wow, you’re actually treating us to Four Seas? That’s pretty expensive.”
“It’s rare for us all to get together—let’s eat our fill and get our money’s worth!” Zhang Chu joked. These friends had never left his side, even in his past life. Though they were now scattered across the country, every Spring Festival they’d return to Jiangcheng to eat, drink, and reunite.

Once lunch was settled, Zhang Chu opened his laptop. Since this was a gaming laptop, it deserved a couple of games.
He started downloading the League of Legends client while browsing Weibo, when a message from an unknown sender caught his eye.

“Hello Zhang Chu, this is the official Weibo team. We’d like to invite you to apply for personal verification. Click the link for details...”

This was an old Weibo account Zhang Chu had made in high school, mostly following interesting accounts and reposting others’ content. Aside from a few friends, no one knew it belonged to him.
But now, Weibo itself was sending him a verification link. “No wonder information leaks are so rampant these days.”
Despite his grumbling, his fingers acted with perfect honesty as he clicked on the link.
What he needed now was reputation, and opening a Weibo account would help expand his reach and voice—why not?

No staff member contacted him; he could modify his profile directly. He changed his Weibo username from “Xing Cen” to his real name, “Zhang Chu.” As for the verification, Weibo filled it in: “Young Writer, Author of ‘The Death of Red Hare’ and ‘Detective Sherlock.’”
“All done. Now I’ve got a verified account too,” Zhang Chu said cheerfully. “What should I post? I can’t just leave it empty.”
He had no intention of deleting his old reposts, but those weren’t interesting enough to attract followers. If he wanted people to pay attention, he needed something new.
After racking his brains for a while, Zhang Chu’s fingers danced across the keyboard.

“If being handsome is a mistake, then I’ve made a grave one; if intelligence is a crime, I am guilty beyond measure. Life is really tough. Sometimes, I envy you all—envy that you met a genius like me at such a young age.”

Zhang Chu’s name was already trending on Weibo, especially after yesterday’s incident with Xu Fei hiring fake voters and water armies, which drew countless readers to “Detective Sherlock.”
But with so many people, no one could find a place to urge for updates—an army of fans, lost and bewildered!

...

Lu An didn’t really know why he was opening Weibo—habit, maybe.
“There’s nothing interesting on Weibo these days. Boring.”
He yawned and refreshed his feed. Nothing much was happening lately; even the usual comedians seemed out of material and not funny at all.
Then, Weibo’s recommendations caught his eye and sparked a bit of interest.

“Top Scorer Zhang Chu opens Weibo: Unorthodox and quirky—come take a look!”

Lu An had no idea who Zhang Chu was. There were so many top scorers in so many provinces each year—who had the energy to remember them all?
But, bored as he was, Lu An clicked in. It wasn’t like it cost anything to look.

“Oh, he’s the author of ‘The Death of Red Hare.’ Not bad,” Lu An muttered to himself as he lounged on his bed. Even if he didn’t usually follow the news, he’d heard about “The Death of Red Hare” countless times.
He’d seen it online, overheard it in colleagues’ conversations, and even heard news about it on the subway after work. Though he hadn’t read the full piece, he knew it was written in classical vernacular.
Because of the verification, Lu An perked up, curious to see just how unusual this top scorer’s style was.

One look, and he was stunned. No wonder people said Zhang Chu was unorthodox—here was a top student, unabashedly narcissistic, calling himself handsome and brilliant, even to the point of shamelessness.
This was nothing like the top students reported on TV news.

Despite having only a few hundred followers, the account’s comments were lively—probably full of people like Lu An, drawn in by curiosity.

“Stop telling the harsh truth.”
“Dude, that hurts...”
“Shameless! I’m the real handsome one here.”
“If there were a ranking for thick-skinned people, you’d be number one.”
“Hahaha, are all top students this entertaining now? Instantly following!”
“So narcissistic.”
“Extraordinary indeed. If you’re so handsome, prove it with a selfie!”
“No pics, no truth—post a photo, dude.”
“This is the author of ‘The Death of Red Hare’? I thought it was written by a classical scholar.”

Lu An didn’t leave a comment; he just gave the post a like. Young people these days were definitely different from before.
Zhang Chu’s followers, which had been only a few hundred, shot up after he got verified and posted his self-introduction, especially with Weibo’s official recommendation.
But what grew even faster was the number of likes and shares on that post. In an era when everyone prized humility, someone suddenly popping up so shamelessly was bound to grab attention.