Chapter Seventeen: The Thunder King

At that very moment, Wan Peng’s avatar on QQ began to ping incessantly. Shen Ye opened it and saw a string of exclamation marks.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ten days ago, you found my cousin Lin Xiaolei and had her parents take her home, right?” Wan Peng said.

“Yes,” Shen Ye nodded. “Why?”

“I don’t know what my aunt and uncle were thinking, but apparently they got into a fight with my cousin. In the end, they decided to send her to Yang Feikuang’s Internet Addiction Center today. Damn, this is when Yang Feikuang’s center is facing an outbreak of negative news everywhere, and yet my aunt actually said that this is how you deal with disobedient kids. It’s to help them find their way back. Once she’s grown up, she’ll understand their good intentions and thank them for it.” Wan Peng was still in shock. “To be honest, when I heard the news, I felt like I’d been hit by a truck—or worse.”

“No way,” Shen Ye was stunned.

Lin Xiaolei, that adorable girl of fourteen or fifteen, was being sent to the Internet Addiction Center.

“She’s being sent today, right?” Shen Ye asked.

“Yeah, they left an hour or two ago. She should be there soon,” Wan Peng replied. “I feel like I need to stay away from my aunt and uncle from now on. They’re really messed up relatives. Damn.”

“Got it,” Shen Ye nodded, not in the mood to continue the conversation.

He had a connection with Lin Xiaolei. They’d played games together for more than two days.

She was a bird trapped in a cage, yearning to fly free.

So, he could not allow those terrifying methods of the Internet Addiction Center to be used on her.

Originally, he had planned to act at night.

But by nightfall… it might be too late.

He would have to act during the day.

Shen Ye didn’t drive to the Internet Addiction Center. Instead, he took the subway to a station two stops away from the center, then walked the rest of the way. This route was the least likely to draw attention.

...

Feikuang Internet Addiction Center.

It was time for the Commentary Class.

The so-called Commentary Class resembled the indoctrination sessions of pyramid schemes, with similar purposes.

The class was held in a large hall at the easternmost end of the third floor. There were five or six dozen tables on both the north and south sides, over a hundred chairs in total. In the middle was an aisle and a huge leather sofa—the seat reserved for Yang Feikuang. On the north side was the soundboard. Because the hall was large, Yang Feikuang and the commentary instructors all wore microphones, the kind you put in your pocket with a small pickup clipped to the collar. Aside from the students and parents attending the class, there was a special group: the microphone attendants, but more about them later.

All the teenagers sent here were referred to as “allies.”

The class had minimal requirements for parents: don’t fall asleep, sit however you like.

But the treatment of the allies was much harsher. Upon entering the hall, they had to sit in a military posture—only a third of their seat occupied, backs straight, heads held level without swaying, hands placed on their knees unless taking notes. No movement whatsoever. Those special microphone attendants not only handed microphones to allies and parents, but also recorded who failed to sit properly, marking them with circles, and for serious infractions, recommending treatment. The class started early in the morning, and the fastest could end after noon, but sometimes if Uncle Yang got carried away, it could drag on until three or four in the afternoon. Throughout, students had to maintain the same posture, no water, no wiping sweat, bathroom breaks had to be requested and arranged, always at least two allies accompanied by a parent.

The feeling was imaginable.

Usually, the class began with group singing, songs about Internet addiction, fathers, mothers, and so forth. Then came questions—about the center’s ideology, positive mindset, the three-character classic, and other recitations required of every ally.

If you failed to answer, you got marked with circles.

Enough circles meant you’d be sent to Yang Feikuang for electric shock therapy.

At this moment, the class had just begun.

All the allies (the teenagers undergoing treatment) and their parents were singing the Song of Yang Feikuang.

“Dear Uncle Yang,
When the first slogan echoes across the playground at dawn,
You run with us,
When parents and children just settle into the Commentary Class,
You stand in your pristine white lab coat before us,
Every word you speak is refreshing,
Every subtle gesture shows your care for the children,
When children make progress,
Your smile is brighter than the sun, tears of happiness flow,
When children falter,
You are anxious, tears of heartbreak stream,
Every child and parent is your concern,
As long as they are registered here,
Uncle Yang, you won’t leave anyone behind.
So please, Uncle Yang, take care of yourself: we can’t do without you, we need you.”

They sang the Song of Yang Feikuang several times, and finally, Yang Feikuang arrived.

...

He wore a white lab coat, glasses, always smiling, looking every bit the good man. “Sorry I’m late today. I was supposed to be here earlier, but I just got an overseas call. It was an American number, I didn’t know who it was.”

“It turned out to be one of my former students.”

“That child’s name was Zhao Tong. He used to have a severe Internet addiction, playing games over ten hours a day.”

“His parents said he used to be among the top three in his class, but after he got addicted, he dropped to the top ten. They begged him to stop, but nothing worked. Finally, unable to let their child ruin himself, they sent him here to cure his addiction.”

“Thanks to my careful treatment, he was cured.”

“In just eight months, he left.”

“Afterwards, he never touched games again, not even other entertainment, just reading every day. His grades quickly climbed back up, and in high school, he was admitted to an Ivy League school in America. Now, after several years in the US, he’s about to graduate and has already been recruited by a Wall Street company.”

“He called me specially to thank me, saying that if not for Uncle Yang curing him, he didn’t know what kind of delinquent he’d have become.”

The parents below listened to Yang Feikuang’s story, eyes wide with joy and excitement. They exclaimed, “Long live Uncle Yang! Uncle Yang is amazing.”

Some parents were so moved they knelt with their children, kowtowing to Yang Feikuang.

Yang Feikuang, seeing their excitement, nodded in satisfaction, raised his hand, and shouted passionately, “You must trust Uncle Yang, and your children will be redeemed. Cooperate with Uncle Yang’s work, don’t do anything against the center or Uncle Yang. Only then will you have a brand-new child!”

Yang Feikuang pointed at a child, “Come, tell us what changed after arriving at the Internet Addiction Center.”

The child stood up, expression blank. “I used to be beyond saving, made countless mistakes.”

He recited them one by one, exaggerating everything.

This was actually an unwritten rule in the center: when confessing, you had to make yourself sound as bad as possible, so you’d get fewer electric shocks.

Yang Feikuang listened to his confession, smiling, “See, if Uncle Yang hadn’t helped you, you’d be in jail by now.”

The parents, hearing this, felt lucky—they were glad they’d sent their child to Yang Feikuang.

(As I write about the Internet Addiction Center, my pace is slower. Please understand. Researching everyone’s information is difficult and slow. The more I research, the more terrifying these centers become. For this novel, I’ve investigated both pyramid schemes and Internet Addiction Centers, and I’ve found that the latter are far more frightening.)