We asked you to make an anti-corruption film, but you made one in the name of the people!

Ah Jie had another dream.

In my dream, it was still that industrial park, with gray and white buildings, barbed wire on the walls, and people holding guns in the guard towers.

Someone was shouting slogans, yelling themselves hoarse, as if trying to succeed required going crazy over and over again, like a spell drilling into their brain.

He wanted to run, but his legs wouldn't move.

Looking down, I saw that my left leg was wrapped in a cast, and the cast was covered in blood.

I woke up from this part of the dream.

It was past four in the morning, and it was still dark outside the window.

Ah-Jie lay on the bed, panting heavily, his back covered in cold sweat.

He raised his hand and touched his face; it was wet, he couldn't tell if it was sweat or tears.

My phone vibrated.

Ah Jie picked it up and saw that it was sent by Lao Zhao, with whom he used to work in the factory.

Old Zhao was from the same village as him, two years older, and the two were very close.

Last year, when Ah Jie was tricked into going to northern Myanmar, Lao Zhao was the first to realize something was wrong. He was the one who ran the whole thing – reporting to the police, contacting the embassy, ​​and raising the ransom.

The message was a Douyin (TikTok) link with the caption: "Brother Jie, take a look at this."

Ah-Jie clicked on it, and it was the trailer for "All or Nothing".

The scene begins with skyscrapers and a job posting, then shifts to barbed wire, high walls, and iron gates, where a group of people in tattered clothes are crammed together. A bespectacled man stands in front, holding a megaphone, his voice not loud but chilling: "The rules are simple—make money."

Then came the sound of chanting slogans: "To succeed, you have to go crazy! Charge for money at all costs!"

Ah Jie's hand suddenly trembled.

The scene continues.

A young man, his face covered in blood, cowered in a corner, too afraid to move.

A woman knelt on the ground crying and was dragged away by two security guards.

Finally, an iron gate slowly closed, and the light outside gradually disappeared.

The trailer is very short, less than a minute long.

After watching it, Ah Jie froze on the bed. The scenes were so familiar that they made him want to vomit.

It wasn't acting; it was real.

He had seen the man who shouted the slogan, the young man who was beaten, and the woman who was dragged away—they were all alive and well in the park.

He scrolled to the comments section to see what others were saying.

The first highly-rated comment was: "This trailer gave me goosebumps. Director Lin, you know how to scare people."

Second comment: "Zhang Yixing's acting has improved so much? Looking forward to it!"

Article 3: "Produced by the Ministry of Public Security, the quality is definitely not a problem."

But as he scrolled down further, he began to see different voices.

"Is it really that bad? The filming is so exaggerated. Is northern Myanmar really that scary?" This comment has hundreds of likes.

"I think it's just a scare tactic; it's not that scary."

"High-paying job offers are definitely a scam, but does that justify both cracking down on and shutting down these businesses?"

"I work in overseas labor, Southeast Asia isn't that scary, don't let the movie mislead you."

Ah Jie flipped through the pages one by one, his fingers tightening their grip.

Those who question it have never been to northern Myanmar.

They had no idea what happened in that park every day.

They didn't know how cold the water in the dungeon was, how heavy the chains were, or how painful it was to be hit on the legs with sticks.

they do not know.

Ah Jie rolled over, looking at the ceiling. His left leg was throbbing again; the metal plate was still inside. The doctor said it would be best to remove it, but he didn't have the money for another surgery.

He stared at the ceiling for a while, then sat up, picked up his phone, and opened the Douyin (TikTok) shooting page.

His Douyin account only has a few dozen followers, and he usually just posts about his daily life, so not many people watch it.

But today he wants to say something.

He didn't write a script, didn't set up lighting, and didn't find the right angle.

I simply used the front-facing camera of my phone to record my face, which looked haggard from insomnia.

"My name is A-Jie. Last year, I was tricked into going to northern Myanmar. I just watched the trailer for 'All or Nothing' and saw some comments saying that northern Myanmar isn't that scary. I want to say, you're wrong."

His voice wasn't loud, but every word sounded like it was being squeezed out from between his teeth.

He leaned his phone against the bedside table and stepped back a little so that the camera could capture his entire body.

"My left leg was broken in the park. I also broke three ribs and my arm. The park had a wall, more than three meters high, with barbed wire on top. There were people guarding the gate with guns. I ran away three times. The first time I was caught and beaten, and then I was locked in a water dungeon for two days. The second time I broke three ribs and was bedridden for half a month. The third time my leg was broken. Later, my parents scraped together 200,000 yuan to ransom me. 200,000 yuan is ten years' worth of savings from my family in the countryside."

As he spoke, his voice began to tremble, and his eyes reddened, but he didn't cry; he held back his tears.

"You say northern Myanmar isn't that terrible? Do you know what a water prison is like? It's a cellar, half-filled with filthy water, up to your waist when you stand in it. It's smelly and dark inside, with bugs crawling all over it. I was locked up there for three days, and when I came out, my skin was rotting. Do you know what it feels like to be shocked with an electric baton? Your whole body goes numb, you feel like all your energy has been drained, and you collapse to the ground, unable to get up. Do you know what it feels like to watch someone next to you get beaten to death? That person was talking to you yesterday, and today they're gone."

He paused, then took a deep breath.

"I'm not making a movie, I'm telling you the truth. What's shown in that trailer is much less serious than what I experienced in the park. I'm afraid to watch that movie, not because it's fake, but because it's too real. I'll have nightmares if I watch it."

The video wasn't over yet. Ah Jie picked up his phone, walked to the window, and pointed the camera out. Outside was a field of farmland; the sun hadn't risen yet, and the sky was overcast.

"I still dream about that place every day, and I can't fall back asleep after waking up. I'm only 23 years old, but I feel old. I can't walk far, I can't do heavy work, and no one wants to hire me. I stay at home every day and help my parents with some farm work."

He turned his phone back to face his own face, and tears finally fell; he didn't wipe them away.

"So you say there aren't that scary people in northern Myanmar? I beg you, please stop saying things like that. One sentence from you could make a young man think it's okay, that he can go and make a lot of money. He'll go and never come back."

"Finally, thank you to the people who made this film. Thank you for telling the truth. If I had seen this film before going to northern Myanmar, I definitely wouldn't have gone."

He pressed the stop button; the video was four minutes and twelve seconds long.

Ah Jie read it twice, didn't delete any parts, and clicked publish directly.

The title reads: "A man who returned from northern Myanmar speaks some truths."

After sending the message, he threw his phone on the bed, went to the bathroom to wash his face, and then lay down.

He thought this video wouldn't get many views, after all, he only had a few hundred followers.