Chapter 73: Neglecting One's Proper Duties

After the Spring Festival, Wang Lei’s follower count on Xunbo soared at a dazzling rate. Although his name was quite common, he had fortunately verified his identity on Xunbo back in his basketball days, holding a mid-tier, level-three VIP status at the time. Now, however, his followers had exceeded ten million, propelling him to level-one VIP.

Since its inception, Xunbo had received strong support from the state. As the world’s first comprehensive social networking platform, it had become deeply integrated into daily life. In the Eastern world, from national leaders to ordinary citizens, almost everyone could communicate freely on Xunbo.

Xunbo had established a VIP system for public figures. Once verified, anyone with more than ten thousand followers became a level-four VIP; reaching level three required over one hundred thousand. With each level, the required follower count increased tenfold. The top tier, level one, demanded over one hundred million followers.

This VIP system applied to everyone, even national leaders. For leaders of the Republic itself, this was hardly a problem, as each major official had massive followings and top-tier VIP status. Yet, leaders of some smaller neighboring countries sometimes couldn’t even reach level two, lagging behind many minor celebrities in the entertainment industry.

The Republic enthusiastically promoted Xunbo’s mechanisms. As a comprehensive, real-name social platform, it greatly assisted the government in public opinion monitoring. Of course, if anyone tried to spread false rumors on Xunbo, they would have to bear the consequences: with everyone’s identity verified, the source of any rumor was easily tracked.

Similarly, the entertainment industry largely adopted Xunbo’s VIP ranking to determine status. Several top artists boasted over a hundred million followers.

After upgrading to level-one VIP, Wang Lei contacted Xunbo’s administrators to change his public identity from “basketball player” to “basketball coach.” Given his current Xunbo status and the songs he had “created,” he could have lived comfortably without lifting a finger. But Wang Lei hadn’t forgotten his true calling. Although he’d only become a coach through Li Weihong’s maneuverings, he had come to love the work. To teach and guide gifted youth—perhaps that was the realm of the sages, and though Wang Lei didn’t claim to reach such heights, he was eager to see how far his young charges could go.

After he updated his official profile, Wang Lei’s Xunbo page filled with comments—some supportive, and some not. Many now acknowledged his talent. Regardless of his coaching abilities, his musical gifts had won widespread approval. These fans believed it a waste for Wang Lei to neglect music in favor of coaching youth; many felt he was abandoning his true path.

Since the Spring Festival, numerous journalists and media outlets had sought to interview Wang Lei. Thanks to his show-stopping performance at the Spring Festival Gala, he was a hot topic, ripe for headlines. Many businesses, waving lucrative contracts, hoped to sign him up as their spokesperson. Now a level-one VIP, a single paid post from him on Xunbo would be more effective than an expensive TV ad. Yet, despite all this, Wang Lei remained remarkably low-key. He refused every interview request, handed all endorsement deals over to Old Zhang, and retreated into the life of a recluse, secretly snatching moments of intimacy with Ma Dongmei whenever he could.

While the media and sponsors accused him of being ungrateful and his fans chastised him for neglecting his artistic career, Wang Lei did something even more “irresponsible”: he uploaded the first fifty thousand words of his new novel, “World of Warcraft: Mists of Pandaria,” to Xunbo’s embedded reading section.

Wang Lei shamelessly promoted it on his Xunbo feed, making his reputation for “not doing his proper job” even more irrefutable.

For a while, Wang Lei’s comment section was a lively battlefield. His old basketball fans praised him for following his dreams. Drama fans, who had come to admire him thanks to “Goodbye, Mr. Loser,” lauded his imagination. Some music fans lamented his wasted talent, and even die-hard fans of Ma Dongmei pleaded with him to let her go, hoping she wouldn’t settle down so soon.

In the first days of the lunar new year, Wang Lei seemed like a living headline, with stories about him popping up everywhere.

Time flew by, and in the blink of an eye, the holiday was over. Though Wang Lei had enjoyed his clandestine life with Ma Dongmei, he couldn’t let go of his coaching duties in the frontier. He was eager to see whether his young players had changed for the better.

Amidst the public commotion, and with Ma Dongmei accompanying him, Wang Lei returned early to Urumqi.

Ma Dongmei boldly told her parents she would accompany Wang Lei to the frontier for a few days before returning to her club.

Though not her first time leaving home, Ma Dongmei’s open declaration left Li Weihong and Ma Pingtong with the distinct sense that their daughter was slipping away from them.

Li Weihong was somewhat annoyed, but this time she didn’t try to stop her daughter. She knew now there was no keeping her, and she had come to see Wang Lei in a new light. Whatever else could be said, the young man respected her words. Even after finding fame, he had persisted in his coaching work—a quality Li Weihong greatly admired.

Ma Pingtong, for once, looked truly glum. No matter how broad-minded a father he was, seeing his daughter leave with a man was hard to take. Only his easygoing nature kept him from giving Wang Lei a piece of his mind, as many fathers might have.

“Whatever else, it’s good that you’re sticking to your original job,” Ma Pingtong told Wang Lei at the airport. “Don’t let a bit of fame go to your head—stay steady. And look after Meimei. Don’t bully her. If you ever wrong her, I’ll—well, I’ll have Weihong deal with you.”

Wang Lei and Ma Dongmei were just about to board the plane. For Ma Pingtong, these words were already a stretch—he knew he couldn’t really do anything to Wang Lei, so he invoked his wife’s authority in the end.

“Uncle, don’t worry. I cherish her dearly. You and Auntie take care of yourselves—we’re hoping you’ll help us look after the kids someday,” Wang Lei joked, clearly in high spirits with Ma Dongmei by his side.

Ma Pingtong didn’t take offense. He’d always liked children, and the prospect of holding his grandchild—or, well, grandchild by marriage—seemed just fine to him.