My Imperial Advisor is ChatGPT

Mornings in Xianyang should normally begin with the cries of tofu vendors and the hum of steam boilers heating up. But lately, a strange smell has crept into that lively atmosphere—the smell of ink, and a restless murmur.

West Market, Old Zhang's tea stall.

"Have you heard? Have you heard?" A pockmarked idler approached the table and mysteriously pulled out a crumpled piece of cheap toilet paper from his pocket.

The surrounding diners immediately swarmed around him like flies to blood.

"What big news is it this time?"

The pockmarked man chuckled, cleared his throat, and began to read in an exaggerated, storytelling tone: "Exclusive scoop from 'Xianyang Secrets': Shocking! Ghostly wails echoed from the Lishan construction site late at night. According to insiders, it wasn't a landslide at all, but rather the Imperial Advisor discovering an entrance to the underworld! The King of Hell appeared in the foreman's dream last night, demanding three thousand boys and girls!"

"Hiss—" Everyone gasped.

"Really? No wonder Prince Hu Hai's face was so dark when he was carried out last time; it must have been a ghost!"

"And this!" The pockmarked man pulled out another piece of paper. "Front page of 'The Great Qin Gossip Weekly': Secrets Deep Within the Palace! Why does Zhao Gao's Prefect scream every night? Is it the distortion of humanity or the depravity of morality? It is rumored that he has been transformed into Lei Zhenzi by the Imperial Advisor and is currently cultivating the Sunflower Manual using lightning!"

Old Zhang shook his head as he wiped the table: "What utter nonsense is this? Didn't they say last time that His Majesty was actually the reincarnation of a black dragon from heaven, and that he ate a ton of sulfur every day? Can you believe anything written on this paper?"

"Hey, Old Zhang, this is 'written in black and white'!" the pockmarked man argued confidently. "In the past, books were on bamboo slips, which were for the wealthy. Now ordinary people like us can read paper too. How could something written on paper be fake?"

Since the improvement of papermaking and the rudimentary printing technique (woodblock printing) quietly spread among the people, an "information explosion" erupted in Xianyang. However, what exploded out was not knowledge, but a deluge of rumors, vulgar novels, and political conspiracy theories.

Those disillusioned, failed scholars and bored street ruffians suddenly discovered a business opportunity to get rich overnight: all they had to do was buy some paper, carve a printing block, fabricate some royal scandals or horror stories, print them out, and they would sell like hotcakes on the black market.

Li Si's impulse to "burn books"

Xianyang Palace, the Prime Minister's Residence.

"Bang!"

Li Si slammed a stack of confiscated tabloids onto the table, his beard bristling with rage.

"This is outrageous! Absolutely outrageous!"

Li Si paced back and forth in the hall like an enraged lion. In his hand he held a copy of "Guanzhong Late Night Talks," which had an extremely crude illustration: a small figure resembling Li Si was kneeling on the ground kowtowing to a huge steam engine, with the caption "Prime Minister Li Si: The First 'Machine Slave' of Qin."

"Guards!" Li Si roared.

"Yes, sir!" The black-clad guards from the Court of Justice immediately stepped forward.

"Send the order: a city-wide manhunt! Arrest everyone who has privately printed... this kind of obscene material! Smash their printing presses! Burn their paper! Chop off the hands of the people who wrote it!"

The murderous intent in Li Si's eyes was almost tangible. As a representative of Legalism, he was most intolerant of such "disruptive" behavior. In his view, thought must be unified and speech must be controlled; such chaotic voices were like termites that threatened the very foundation of the state.

"Wait a minute."

A voice came from the doorway.

Li Si turned around and saw Ying Zheng dressed in casual clothes, with Wang Jianguo following behind him, standing at the door.

"Your Majesty!" Li Si hurriedly bowed, then held up the newspaper with a wronged expression. "Your Majesty, look what these unruly people have said about you! They say you turn into a dragon every night and fly up to the sky to eat the stars... This is simply spreading rumors and misleading the public!"

Ying Zheng took the newspaper, glanced at the imaginative illustration: a dragon with Ying Zheng's face was gnawing at the moon. Instead of getting angry, he chuckled.

"The drawing is quite good, very dignified." Ying Zheng casually handed the newspaper to Wang Jianguo. "Jianguo, what do you think?"

Wang Jianguo pushed up his glasses and looked at the rough newspaper: "Your Majesty, this shows that the literacy rate in Great Qin has increased, and the papermaking industry has also developed. This is a side effect of industrialization—information overload."

"Side effects?" Li Si exclaimed anxiously, "Grand Preceptor, this malignant tumor must be removed! Back when Shang Yang reformed the laws, he also strictly prohibited private discussions of state affairs! The common people only need to know about farming and warfare; what's the point of knowing so much more?"

"Li Si," Ying Zheng said, sitting down and gesturing for the other two to sit as well, "you're living in the past. Now everyone lives in the city, has spare money, and has more leisure time. You can shut their mouths, but you can't shut their eyes; you can burn their paper money, but you can't burn away their hearts."

Ying Zheng pointed to his head: "In the past, I thought ruling was about controlling people's hands and feet. Now I realize that I also need to control this part."

Wang Jianguo took out a piece of chalk and drew a river and a dam on the blackboard on Li Si's desk.

"Prime Minister, preventing the people from speaking out is more difficult than preventing a river from overflowing. These rumors are like a flood; the more you try to block them, the higher the water level rises. Once the dam breaks, it will destroy the credibility of the court."

"Then what should we do? Just let them talk nonsense?" Li Si was indignant.

"Of course not." Wang Jianguo drew a canal next to the dam, connecting it to a huge water turbine. "We're going to dig a channel to bring this water here, so it flows along the route we've set, and it can also help us grind grain."

"Traffic diversion?" Li Si was stunned.

"That's right." A sly glint flashed in Wang Jianguo's eyes. "Li Si, why do you think these unruly people believe the rumors? Because there's no truth to it. Because the court's proclamations are too dry and hard to understand. Because they're bored out of their minds."

"If we published a newspaper with better paper, more exquisite illustrations, more engaging stories, and absolutely authoritative information, do you think they would rather pay for junk or for 'officially certified' news?"

Li Si pondered for a moment: "Then it must be official."

"That's right." Wang Jianguo snapped his fingers. "We won't arrest people; we'll use a 'lower-dimensional attack.' We're going to establish the mouthpiece of Great Qin and seize the high ground of public opinion."

Ying Zheng made the decision: "Jian Guo is right. This is called 'putting thoughts in a cage,' but we have to build this cage ourselves, and we also have to put wheels on it so that they feel like they are running freely."

"By imperial decree: the 'Great Qin Press and Publication Administration' is hereby established. Li Si, you are appointed Director. Wang Jianguo is appointed Editor-in-Chief. Create for me the most visually appealing newspaper in the entire land!"

Three days later, a sign reading "Da Qin Daily" was hung in a side hall of Xianyang Palace.

This place gathered dozens of talented scholars selected from the Imperial Academy, as well as a few "folk rumor writers" who had been granted amnesty (such as the one who wrote "Secret Tales of Xianyang").

Wang Jianguo stood on the podium, with a blackboard hanging behind him, on which were written several large characters: "Introduction to Journalism: How to come up with a headline that will satisfy His Majesty and make the people spend money."

"Everyone," Wang Jianguo said, holding a pointer, "you used to write articles with meticulous parallelism and quotations. But in a newspaper, even a dog wouldn't read that kind of article."

"What do we want? Eyeballs! Traffic! Emotion!"

Wang Jianguo pointed at the pockmarked "rumor-monger" in the first row who had just been recruited into the government: "You, if the imperial court were to issue a notice about 'tax reduction in Guanzhong,' what would you call the headline?"

The pockmarked man stood up tremblingly: "Uh... 'By the Emperor's boundless grace, the people of Guanzhong are exempted from taxes and levies'?"

"Wrong!" Wang Jianguo slammed his pointer on the blackboard. "Too bland! Too boring! Ordinary people would just glance at this kind of title and throw it away!"

"Then... should the Imperial Preceptor teach us?"

Wang Jianguo cleared his throat, his eyes deepening: "Listen carefully. If it were the *Daqin Daily*, the headline would be something like this:"

Xianyang is in an uproar! His Majesty made a decision last night that moved millions of Qin people to tears!

The entire room fell silent. The scholars were dumbfounded, and even dropped their calligraphy brushes.

This...this is so shameless! But...I really want to see what happens!

Wang Jianguo continued, "For example, regarding the visit of the Roman delegation, you can't write 'Roman Envoys Arrive in Xianyang,' you have to write:"

Shocking! Western barbarians did this when they first saw a public toilet in Qin Dynasty... (Multiple images, viewer discretion advised)

"Also, when promoting industrialization, you can't write 'The Efficiency Improvement of Steam Engines,' you have to write:"

That night, he actually worked all night on a pile of coal and iron... The truth will make the neighbors blush!

The Confucian scholars below were utterly shattered, while the pockmarked man listened with fervor, as if he had found a kindred spirit.

"Grand Master! I've got it!" the pockmarked man shouted excitedly. "Is this the essence of 'clickbait'?"

"That's just the tip of the iceberg," Wang Jianguo smiled meaningfully. "The real core is 'agenda setting.' We don't tell the people what they think, but we decide what they 'think.' When they're discussing the topics we raise every day, those miscellaneous rumors naturally lose their appeal."

In the autumn of the thirty-sixth year of King Zheng of Qin's reign, the inaugural issue of the "Great Qin Daily" was officially published.

This is not just a newspaper, but an industrial work of art. It uses the latest movable type printing technology (a transitional version of wooden movable type), the paper is white and tough, the ink is clear, and it even has a red dragon pattern border printed in multiple colors.

At dawn, at the entrances of various post stations in Xianyang, postmen in green uniforms rode bicycles (newly made prototypes, chainless, propelled by pushing off the ground with their feet), carrying huge mailbags on their backs, shouting as they went:

"Newspapers for sale! Newspapers for sale! The Daqin Daily is now inaugurated!"

"A personal inscription by His Majesty! Limited first print run!"

"Front-page headline: Lord Zhao Gao personally tests the 'Thunder and Lightning King's' divine skill, and screams of agony... oh no, I mean, his firsthand account!"

"Series in the supplement: General Xiang Yu's exclusive article, 'My Physics, My Regiment: How to Use a Lever to Move the Xiongnu!'"

"Plus, here's a 'Weekly Horoscope,' personally calculated by the expert Little G!"

The people who were originally reading the tabloids at the roadside stalls were instantly drawn over.

"Give me one!"

"I want one too! Only two copper coins? Cheaper than toilet paper?"

At Old Zhang's tea stall, everyone stopped listening to the pockmarked man's nonsense and instead began studying a copy of the "Da Qin Daily," which exuded the fragrance of ink.

"Oh my, so steam engines don't eat people's souls, they burn coal! This is all very clearly illustrated, even the schematic diagram is there!" a carpenter exclaimed, pointing to the science section.

"Look, look! This is the 'Rome Observer' column. So Romans ate with their hands? Ugh... how unrefined!" an older woman said with a look of disgust.

"This serialized novel, 'The Tyrannical Emperor Falls in Love with Me'... cough cough, no, it's 'The Great Qin Warriors' Eastern Expedition,' is really exciting to read!"

In an instant, public opinion in Xianyang took a 180-degree turn. People stopped discussing ghosts, gods, and conspiracies, and instead began talking about the pressure of steam engines, Romans eating with their hands, and the next lottery numbers (issued to raise funds for road repairs).

Those roadside tabloids, with their rough paper, fabricated content, and exorbitant price of ten copper coins, instantly lost their market. The pockmarked man had no choice but to apply for a job as a special correspondent for the *Da Qin Daily*, specifically to write "local anecdotes."

Li Si's Awakening and Fear

In the stillness of the night, at the Prime Minister's residence.

Holding the day's "Da Qin Daily," Li Si looked at the neat lines of text and felt a strange chill creep into his heart.

He recalled the scene he had witnessed in the teahouse during the day: a group of laborers who could barely read were gathered around a literate newspaper reader, listening with rapt attention. When the article read "May the Qin Dynasty last ten thousand years," everyone cheered; when it read "Saving coal is everyone's responsibility," everyone conscientiously picked up the coal dust on the ground.

No whips, no instruments of torture, no beheading.

With just this one light piece of paper, the hearts of hundreds of thousands of people were kneaded together like dough.

"Is this what the Imperial Advisor meant by 'a soft knife'?"

Li Si muttered to himself.

As a Legalist, he believed in harsh laws and severe punishments. But today, he discovered a force more powerful than the law. The law can only punish people's actions, but this thing can define people's thoughts.

"If..." Li Si shuddered, "if this newspaper were in the hands of someone like Zhao Gao, or in the hands of the remnants of the six states..."

He dared not think any further.

Just then, the phone rang.

"Feed? Li Si?" Wang Jianguo's voice came through the receiver.

"Yes, Imperial Advisor."

"The content for tomorrow's front page has been decided. His Majesty is going to implement 'universal compulsory education (literacy classes)'. Your task is to write an editorial, and I've already thought of a title for you."

"What's the title?"

"If you can't read, how can you love the Qin Dynasty? — To every Qin person who doesn't want to be eliminated by machines."

Li Si gripped the receiver and gave a bitter laugh.

"Grand Preceptor, you're not running a newspaper, you're herding sheep! The people of the world are being driven around by your paper."

"No, Prime Minister," Wang Jianguo laughed on the other end of the phone, "We're not shepherding sheep, we're putting wheels on the cage. Since we can't stop their desire to run, let them ride in our cars. As long as we have the steering wheel, how fast we go and where we go is still up to us, isn't it?"

Epilogue: The Carnival in the Cage

The next day, Xianyang was in an uproar once again.

Because the Daqin Daily issued a new recruitment notice: anyone who attends a literacy class and passes the assessment will be given priority for employment in state-owned factories, and may even have the opportunity to become a glorious "train conductor".

Countless young people flocked to the school, waving newspapers in their hands and their eyes sparkling with longing for the future.

Ying Zheng stood on the high platform, watching this scene unfold.

"Jianguo, look at them," Ying Zheng said, pointing to the crowd below. "Do they feel free?"

"They feel they have their destiny in their own hands, Your Majesty," Wang Jianguo said, standing in the shadows. "That's enough. Sometimes, that's the greatest freedom."

Ying Zheng nodded, a meaningful smile playing on his lips.

"Then let the wheels turn even faster. I can't wait to see how far this chariot, filled with 'ideas,' can take Great Qin."

Just then, a gust of wind blew by, and an abandoned tabloid, "Secrets of Xianyang," spun around on the ground before being stomped into the mud by a large foot.

The owner of that foot was none other than the former rumor-monger, Pockmarked Face. Now, dressed neatly in his *Da Qin Daily* reporter's uniform, with his work badge hanging around his neck, he proudly addressed his interviewee:

"I'm an official reporter! Watch your words; every single one of your statements could become tomorrow's headlines!"

The old era ended, not in flames, but in the roar of the printing press.

The wasteland of public opinion has been paved with cement and transformed into a neat running track. Although there are still barbed wire fences on both sides of the track, in the eyes of the runners, there is only a finish line leading to light.