At a food-and-farming variety show, a delicate little flower from the entertainment industry tossed me a few signed photos and tried to trade them for the red-bellied golden pheasants my grandpa raised.
I kindly reminded her that they were endangered protected animals, then gave her some domestic chickens and told her to leave with the film crew right away.
But the little flower claimed to be a walking encyclopedia of nature and mocked my grandpa in front of everyone, calling him an illiterate country bumpkin who passed off wild chickens as treasures to swindle tourists.
That night, she even sneaked away with one, took it back to cook into soup, then posted a photo to her social media feed with a pointed caption: “Anyone who raises endangered birds should be a nature expert like me and be recognized by the local animal association. So, cuties visiting this place, don’t let some country bumpkin con you out of your money.”
The next day, well-meaning netizens not only came to expose the truth, but also slandered my grandpa and me, accusing us of illegally occupying land and driving us out.
They scrambled to take the red-bellied golden pheasants home to cook soup and take photos just like the little flower had.
My grandpa and I tried desperately to stop them, but we were trampled to death by the crowds of fans who came pouring in.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day the little flower from the entertainment industry came to trade for the red-bellied golden pheasants.
