Su Qinghe’s new idea was to ride this wave of traffic.
Starting an account and making videos seemed like the perfect move. She planned to become a vlog creator, and honestly, she had always wanted to share some of her favorite shopping finds.
But jumping straight into product recommendations could easily make people suspect she was doing sponsored content, and that kind of thing could backfire.
For her first vlog, she decided to take it seriously.
After thinking it over, she settled on filming a cooking video.
The title was painfully uncreative. She was terrible at naming things, so she simply called it:
“My First Vlog: Tomato and Egg Stir-fry + My First Experience with Douzhi.”
She set up her phone, adjusted the angle, cleared her throat, and pressed record.
“Hello everyone, I’m Su Qinghe.”
She appeared on camera without makeup.
Well, technically it was fake no-makeup makeup.
She wore black-rimmed glasses and an oversized white T-shirt. The hem had been casually tucked up, revealing just enough of her waist. A simple white T-shirt instantly looked a little more fashionable.
Her hair was tied into a loose low ponytail, giving her the appearance of the girl-next-door older sister.
“For my first vlog, I’m going to film a cooking video.”
She turned and walked toward the kitchen while the camera shook slightly behind her.
“Today’s dish is tomato and egg stir-fry. It may be a home-cooked classic, but it’s the ultimate test of a chef’s skill. Enough talking, let’s get started.”
Then came a series of operations.
Cutting tomatoes.
Her knife skills were clumsy, and the pieces came out in all shapes and sizes. Some were chunks, some were slices, and a few looked suspiciously like diced tomatoes.
Cracking eggs.
A piece of eggshell fell into the bowl. Calmly, she picked it out with her chopsticks and told the camera, “Extra calcium. Good for your health.”
Cooking!
Once the oil was hot, she held the bowl of beaten eggs over the pan and hesitated for three seconds before squeezing her eyes shut and pouring it in. The instant splash of hot oil made her jump backward, nearly knocking over the phone stand.
“It’s fine, it’s fine. Nothing serious.”
She frantically stirred the eggs. They were slightly burnt, but at least they held together.
Then she added the tomatoes, stir-fried them, added salt, sugar, and a little water, then covered the pan to let everything simmer.
Throughout the entire process, her hands never stopped moving, and neither did her mouth.
“When I was in real life… uh, I mean, when I’m at home, I actually cook sometimes. Really, it’s not part of some persona. It’s just… maybe I’ve gotten a little rusty.”
Twenty minutes later.
She sat at the dining table holding a plate of tomato and egg stir-fry that looked deeply concerning.
The red tomatoes had cooked down into something resembling tomato sauce. The yellow eggs were dotted with black charred spots. There was a little too much liquid, and the whole dish looked like… a vaguely edible mush.
Looking seriously into the camera, Su Qinghe said,
“A lot of dishes don’t look good, but that doesn’t mean they taste bad.”
She picked up her chopsticks, took a bite, and put it into her mouth.
Chewed, silence.
Then her eyes lit up.
“Huh? It’s actually not bad.”
She took another bite and nodded at the camera.
“Really. Aside from looking terrible, it actually tastes pretty good. The seasoning is balanced, and you can taste the sweet and sour flavor of the tomatoes. The eggs are just a little overcooked. Next time I’ll lower the heat.”
As she ate, she summarized her findings like a food reviewer.
After a few bites, she suddenly remembered something.
“Oh right, I ordered takeout too.”
She got up, walked to the door, and returned carrying a bag.
“Douzhi. Everybody knows it, right? It’s a specialty of B City. I’ve lived in B City for years, but I’ve never actually tried it. Since I’m filming today, I thought I’d order some with jiaoquan and experience the joy of the old B City locals.”
She opened the bag.
Inside was a pouch of douzhi and a bag of jiaoquan.
She went into the kitchen and found an elegant ceramic bowl, poured the douzhi into it, then grabbed a matching ceramic spoon.
Holding it up to the camera, she said,
“Look, isn’t this bowl pretty? I just bought it. First time using it today. You need a sense of ceremony in life.”
She scooped up a spoonful of douzhi and brought it to her nose.
“Hmm… it smells pretty nice. Kind of a fermented aroma? A bit like soy milk, but not exactly.”
If the audience could have sent live comments, they would probably have been flooding the screen already.
【No, it’s not. Not even close.】
【Su Qinghe, run.】
【That’s spoiled-food smell, sister.】
【Can’t wait to see her reaction after she drinks it.】
Unfortunately, Su Qinghe couldn’t see any of that.
With an eager expression, she put the spoon into her mouth.
Then— Her brows furrowed slightly.
She swallowed the entire spoonful.
Then—
“Yueeegh—!”
A loud retch escaped her.
Su Qinghe threw down the spoon, covered her mouth, and sprinted toward the bathroom.
The camera was left focused on the bowl of douzhi sitting quietly on the table, faint steam rising from it.
Two minutes later.
Su Qinghe returned.
There were still traces of water around her eyes from rinsing her mouth, and her expression was completely lifeless.
She sat back down in front of the camera and took a deep breath.
“Friends, let me describe the taste of douzhi for you.”
She raised her hand and counted off on her fingers.
“First, it’s sour. Not normal sour. It’s the kind of sour that tastes spoiled. Have you ever drunk spoiled soy milk? Yeah, exactly that flavor. It’s stinky. But not a direct kind of stink. It’s more like… you smell it and think it seems okay, but the moment you drink it, you realize you’ve been tricked.”
She paused before adding sincerely while looking straight into the camera,
“Do not recommend. Seriously, do not recommend it.”
“It’s worse than my own cooking.”
She pointed at the tragic-looking plate of tomato and egg stir-fry.
“This thing may be ugly, but at least it’s edible. Douzhi is… drinkable, technically, but there’s really no reason to.”
After thinking for a moment, she added,
“Of course, that’s just my personal taste. If you like douzhi, please don’t scold me. I respect your passion, but I’d also like you to respect my decision to decline.”
After saying that, she picked up the bowl of douzhi and bowed toward the camera.
“I’m sorry. I am simply unworthy.”
Then she carried the bowl away and returned to continue eating her tomato and egg stir-fry.
The final scene of the video showed her munching away while muttering to herself.
“The jiaoquan is pretty good, though.”
The frame froze on her side profile as she bit into a piece of jiaoquan.
The video ended.
Three hours after it was uploaded:
Views: 1,000,000
Likes: 80,000
Comments: 20,000
Shares: 60,000
Su Qinghe stared at the analytics dashboard and fell into deep thought.
The dramas the original host had filmed before had taken three exhausting months to shoot, yet none of them had ever reached this kind of viewership after airing.
The comment section was overflowing with laughter.
【HAHAHAHAHA, I lost it the moment she went “yue.”】
【”Boiling hot spoiled dishwater” is the perfect description.】
【Su Qinghe: risking her life to test poison for the people of B City.】
【Douzhi, the enemy of a lifetime.】
【I was laughing so hard I cried when she ran to the bathroom.】
【She’s so real. That retching wasn’t fake at all.】
【Am I the only one who noticed she’s actually pretty cute? I think I’ve become a looks fan.】
【+1. Sister’s waist. Whew. I’m sold.】
【+1. The way she sincerely recommended her own dark cuisine is weirdly adorable.】
【The new bowl is really pretty. You should do an unboxing video next time.】
【Please notice me: next time do Douzhi Challenge 2.0, drink douzhi with durian.】
As Su Qinghe scrolled through the comments, the corners of her mouth kept rising higher and higher.
Her follower count was climbing as well.
By that evening, her Douyin account had surpassed 200,000 followers.
She posted a new status update:
【Su Qinghe Isn’t Crazy Today: Thanks for enjoying my daily disasters. What should I film next? You vote, I’ll do it. But let’s agree on one thing: no more douzhi-related content. That stuff is my psychological trauma now.】
The comments immediately replied:
【Nope! It has to be douzhi.】
【+1. We want douzhi.】
【Su Qinghe: I refuse. Fans: No, you don’t.】
【The more I watch her, the more likable she gets. Followed.】
【Came here from Weibo and discovered she’s really not crazy anymore. She’s actually pretty funny.】
Su Qinghe looked through the comments, feeling wonderful.
As for that variety show?
She’d deal with it when the time came.