Chapter 018: The Twelve Taboos

Li Tianque had always felt that his name was peculiar, and he suspected that no one else in the entire country shared it. Yet his father told him that the name was chosen with the hope that he would one day venture far from home, soaring high in a great city. Li Tianque doubted this deeply. Sparrows could only sneak grains and peck at insects; they hardly flew far at all. If his father wanted him to travel and reach lofty heights, shouldn’t he have been named Li Tianpeng or Li Tiandiao instead? But his father insisted that the fortune-teller had said his fate wasn’t strong enough to bear the grandeur of names like “Peng” or “Diao.” According to the divination, at the age of twenty-four, he would face a great calamity, and the only way to survive was through the character “que”—sparrow.

And so, Li Tianque ended up with this strange name, and now he was twenty-four years old.

Growing up, his classmates had given him many nicknames—Little Sparrow was among them. Still, Li Tianque thought that despite the absurdity of his name, his life had been relatively smooth. He had never been wealthy or particularly successful, but at least he was safe and healthy.

At this moment, Li Tianque was sitting in a convenience store, enjoying a bowl of oden, scrolling through videos about restaurant reviews, and savoring the warmth of early winter.

The video he was watching was from an account called “Pig Path Restaurant Review,” a streamer known for exploring eateries. This host often wore padded jackets and cloth shoes, with a bun atop his head, spoke in a distinct Beijing accent, and his signature move was giving thumbs-up to praise food. He had even made headlines once for a mishap during a KFC noodle review.

But recently, many restaurant review streamers had died under mysterious circumstances, and Pig Path hadn’t updated in a long time. Unexpectedly, today Pig Path not only released a new video, but it also trended, automatically pushed to Li Tianque.

Li Tianque opened the video and found it was a slideshow accompanied by eerie music. The title read: “The Truth Behind Restaurant Review Streamer Deaths—Revealing Twelve Taboos for Restaurant Reviewers.”

The content was brief, reminding Li Tianque of the “Zoo Rules” urban legend that had circulated online, though more concise:

Dear viewers, it’s been a week since my last update, and I’ve missed you all. The reason for this hiatus was due to forces beyond my control, and I’m sure you can guess what they were. But during this time, I wasn’t idle—I accomplished something big!

I carefully investigated several recent suicide cases among restaurant reviewers. I deeply sympathize with my peers and have become more cautious in my daily life. What I’m about to share may challenge your understanding and could even save the entire industry.

During the days without updates, I compiled these “Restaurant Review Taboos.”

Now, I’m sharing these twelve rules with everyone. If you’re a restaurant reviewer, please follow them when filming your videos to ensure your personal safety—otherwise, you bear the consequences:

1. When recording a video, the number of people involved—including the reviewer—must be 1, 4, or 6. Any other number brings danger and severe physical discomfort.

2. Do not review a restaurant located at the intersection of more than three streets, or within ten meters of such an intersection.

3. If, during the review, a customer in red asks for a photo with you, refuse. If you cannot refuse, turn off your phone, leave it at the bar, and immediately exit the establishment.

4. Do not set your beauty filter above level three during filming, or you will encounter strange phenomena.

5. Remember, no Hui restaurant ever serves beef tripe. If you find a dish with tripe in a Hui restaurant, eat it all, but do not film it.

6. In a maid café, if you see a smiling, short-haired girl, do not choose her as your companion. If you already have, you must defeat her in the “Step by Step” game.

7. Do not review any establishments still open at 2:30 a.m.

8. If you want to track a mobile snack cart for a review, contact the vendor directly; otherwise, you may end up following something unknown.

9. If you find more than four groups of reviewers at the same place, leave immediately and avoid appearing in their recordings. If you can’t, wear a mask and sunglasses to hide your features.

10. The barber pole outside a salon should be red, blue, and white. If you see a pole with other colors, do not enter.

11. If your review video keeps failing to upload despite normal network, system, and account conditions, delete it at once.

12. If you break any of the above rules and find yourself mentally unstable or suicidal, lock yourself in a sealed room with no sharp objects. Try to sleep; if you can’t, take a mild sedative. If you don’t recover in 24 hours, call the police or seek emergency help.

Li Tianque read these twelve taboos carefully and found them laughable.

They were clearly fabricated, illogical, and even contradictory in places—the sampling of incidents must have been limited. The content stitched together details from recent news about suicide cases among restaurant reviewers, creating this so-called “Restaurant Review Taboos.”

What struck him further was that, as a frequent viewer of Pig Path’s streams, he knew the host’s style well. The tone of these taboos was entirely different from Pig Path’s usual broadcasts, suggesting someone else had written them and reposted from his account.

Li Tianque shook his head, thinking how shameless these streamers were—profiting even from tragedy.

With these thoughts, he opened the comments.

There were over ten thousand, most tagging friends, but some stood out:

“15. If you’re a descendant of China, you can ignore all these rules—your ancestors will protect you!”

“If you see a barber pole of another color, don’t go in—it might be a cake shop, and you’ll never escape.”

“We were born under the red flag, grew up in the spring breeze. In the name of youth, we write pure devotion; with the red star in our hearts, we salute the nation. The people have faith, the country has strength, the nation has hope. Everywhere you look is China; every shining star is belief. Recite it three times for family safety.”

“If you see the smiling, short-haired girl, immediately take her to a hotel—Home Inn, Hanting, All Seasons—for emergency shelter. To ensure success, make the bed messy enough that the cleaning staff will curse.”

“Mobile snack cart owners are collateral damage...”

Reading these, it was clear no one took the video seriously; it was just a joke.

Li Tianque didn’t pay much attention either. He finished the last piece of radish, drained his soup, and let out a satisfied burp.

Actually, Li Tianque himself was a restaurant reviewer.

His account had over a hundred thousand followers—not a huge number, but impressive for someone just starting out, having filmed for only two months. He wasn’t slow in gaining fans.

Through livestream sales and ads, he earned enough each month for food and drink, his income covering daily expenses. To outsiders, this line of work seemed unreliable, but it was undeniably lucrative.

After graduating from college, Li Tianque hadn’t chosen a job related to his major, nor did he return home to take the civil service exams like his peers. Instead, he joined a tutoring agency, helping middle school students after hours.

It was tough at first, but the pay was decent. Then, when policy changes eliminated after-school tutoring and Lanzhou became a pilot city, Li Tianque lost his job and had to change careers.

For money, he started delivering packages—hard work, but well paid.

In big cities, many people hustled just to fill their stomachs, busy to the point of hunger.

One day, Li Tianque noticed that restaurant review videos were trending on the Super Broadcast app. These creators ate and drank freely, basked in popularity—it seemed like an easy job.

No one in history had probably imagined a profession where eating earns money.

The barrier to entry was low; no prestigious degrees or certificates required.

Seizing the opportunity, Li Tianque joined the ranks of restaurant reviewers.

The beginning was tough—few watched his videos. But by studying other reviewers and adding his own creative scripts, he finally broke through with a video titled “Fragrant Wine in a Hidden Alley: An Old Tavern With No Sign, Only Regulars,” which drew over fifty thousand fans in a single day.

From then on, Li Tianque mastered the tricks of low-cost restaurant reviews, steadily growing his following.

Just as his career was taking off, a series of chilling incidents involving murdered restaurant reviewers cooled his enthusiasm and kept him from filming for several days.

But today, he was ready for his comeback...