作者：司空先让

责任编辑：罗志飞 翻译：吴可正

我出生的年月（1957年），恰逢以打断知识分子精神脊梁为目的的反右运动如汹涌潮水般掀起，紧接着几年便是“三分天灾，七分人祸”的艰难岁月的开始，饥饿如影随形，笼罩着每一个家庭。我是家中最小的一个孩子，上面有一个正处于长身体关键期的哥哥和一个姐姐。父母每日辛勤劳作，然而全家依旧处于半饥半饱的困顿之中。无奈之下，在我三岁的时候，父母将我送到了桐庐芦茨湾的外婆家寄养。其实外婆家的粮食也是不够吃的，时常要吃麸糠野菜糊糊。好在芦茨湾山野溪沟里有时也能捉到一些鱼虾和小动物补充一下动物蛋白质。

芦茨湾，那是一个被青山绿水环绕的宁静小村落，村里的村民大多姓方。据族谱记载，唐代处士方干（‌方干，836年-888年，字雄飞，号玄英，唐代著名诗人）曾在芦茨湾隐居。外婆和舅舅住在一起，那时的舅舅大约十九岁光景，年轻且充满朝气。由于他是方家这一代唯一的男孩，属于单传，从小便多受点宠爱，得以读书识字。在那个教育资源匮乏的年代，舅舅凭借着自己的努力和家族的资助，成为了乡里少有的读书人。他平日里喜欢舞文弄墨，对诗词文章有着浓厚的兴趣，总能在闲暇时光沉浸在书的世界里，书写下自己对生活的感悟。

我来到外婆家后，便常常喜欢跟着舅舅。舅舅会带着我穿梭在芦茨湾的山间小道，采一些野果子和芦苇的嫩芽根给我吃，有时还会讲鬼故事给我听，吓得我有时晚上会做噩梦惊叫……这时我外婆会拿一只小酒盅放满米，再放一枚银戒指在米里然后包上一块手帕，在我胸前一边上下左右舞动，一边嘴上念念有词似乎在驱赶邪魅。一套流程下来，然后打开手帕，发现之前一整酒盅的米凹下去了一小半，这时外婆的整个脸都舒展开了，兴奋地说，菩萨显灵了！菩萨显灵了！小鬼被赶走了……等懂事后的我每每想起外婆的“法术”有点好笑，但我知道外婆对我的爱是深切无比的。

就这样，我在外婆的芦茨湾快乐的生活了3年。

我6岁那年被父母亲接回到了杭州。在我读初三的时候我从父亲那里得知舅舅死了（母亲有意不让我们知道这事，因为在那个年代家族里出了一个”反革命“是非常非常忌讳的事）。

若干年后，我大致了解到了我舅舅在文革中被打成“反革命”和惨死的大致经过——

那场史无前例“文革运动”如狂风暴雨般席卷而来，将人们卷入了无尽的漩涡之中。舅舅，这个平日里只知埋头读书，在乡办小学里做做代课老师什么的，不知在“文革”中何时何地触犯了“文革运动”的大忌，或许是他在与友人交谈时，不经意间流露出了对某些政策的不满；又或许是他写的某篇文章中，一些观点被误解为是对“文革”的攻击。总之，在那个荒唐的年代，舅舅一夜间成了批斗对象，他们给舅舅扣上了一顶沉重的帽子——“现行反革命分子”。

那一刻，外婆惊呆了，如同天塌下来了，她无法相信眼前发生的一切。

舅舅被带走后，外婆家陷入了无尽的黑暗之中…………

舅舅被关押在县监狱接受所谓的“审查”和“改造”。在那段日子里，他不时遭到殴打、羞辱等惨无人道的非人折磨……最后，我舅舅实在受不了这种屈辱和痛苦，决心以一死来抗争！那天在监狱放风时舅舅不知从什么角落里搞到了一条尺巴长的铁条，突然大叫着冲出监狱牢门前的警戒线作出了要行凶越狱的样子（其实是只求一死）结果随着几声枪响，我的舅舅方志刚倒在了血泊中……

在这片罪孽深重的土地上空又多了一个飘荡的冤魂！

当得知舅舅惨死后，外婆每天以泪洗面不久也因悲伤过度随舅舅而去了……

得知舅舅是这样的惨死的，如同一场沉重的噩梦，永远地刻在了我的心中。舅舅原本可以在乡野平淡无奇的过完一生，却因为那个荒唐暴政的年代，一条年轻的生命就这样被无情残忍地剥夺了。

如今，舅舅的离世已过去半个多世纪了，但每当我回到芦茨湾，看到那熟悉的山水，听到那亲切的乡音，我的脑海中就会浮现出舅舅的身影。

2001年初，我被当局以“煽颠罪”而坐牢，冥冥之中似乎与我舅舅有着某种命运的交织。

选自《我所经历的人和事碎片（一）》

司空先让 杭州

2025年9月11日

My Uncle — Fang Zhigang

Author: Sikong Xianrang

Responsible Editor: Luo Zhifei Translator: Wu Kezheng

The year I was born (1957) coincided with the Anti-Rightist Campaign, a movement aimed at breaking the spiritual backbone of intellectuals, which surged like a tidal wave. Shortly afterward came the beginning of the difficult years of “30% natural disaster, 70% man-made calamity.” Hunger followed like a shadow, casting its gloom over every family. I was the youngest child in my family, with an older brother in a crucial stage of physical growth and an older sister above me. My parents worked hard every day, yet the entire family remained trapped in a state of semi-starvation. Helpless, when I was three years old, my parents sent me to my grandmother’s home in Luci Bay, Tonglu, to be fostered. In truth, my grandmother’s household also did not have enough food, often subsisting on gruel made of bran and wild vegetables. Fortunately, in the mountains and streams around Luci Bay, one could sometimes catch fish, shrimp, or small animals to supplement animal protein.

Luci Bay was a quiet village surrounded by green mountains and clear waters, where most of the villagers bore the surname Fang. According to family genealogy, Fang Gan (836–888), a recluse scholar of the Tang Dynasty and a renowned poet, once lived in seclusion at Luci Bay. My grandmother lived with my uncle, who was about nineteen at the time, young and full of vigor. As the only male of his generation in the Fang family—the sole heir—he was given extra care and allowed to study and become literate. In that era of scarce educational resources, my uncle, through his own effort and family support, became one of the few scholars in the village. He enjoyed practicing writing, was deeply interested in poetry and prose, and would often immerse himself in books during his free time, recording his reflections on life.

After I came to my grandmother’s home, I often liked to follow my uncle. He would take me along the mountain paths of Luci Bay, picking wild fruits and tender reed shoots for me to eat. Sometimes he would tell me ghost stories, which frightened me so much that I occasionally woke up screaming from nightmares at night…At such times, my grandmother would fill a small wine cup with rice, place a silver ring inside, then wrap it with a handkerchief. She would move it back and forth, up and down across my chest while muttering incantations, as if to drive away evil spirits. After completing the ritual, she would open the handkerchief and find that nearly half of the rice had sunk down. At that moment her face would brighten, and she would exclaim excitedly, “The Bodhisattva has shown his power! The little ghost has been driven away!” When I grew older, I always found my grandmother’s “magic” a little amusing, but I knew that her love for me was immeasurable.

In this way, I happily lived at my grandmother’s home in Luci Bay for three years.

When I was six, my parents brought me back to Hangzhou. While I was in the third year of middle school, I learned from my father that my uncle had died (my mother deliberately concealed this from us, because in those times, having a “counterrevolutionary” in the family was considered extremely disgraceful).

Many years later, I came to roughly understand how my uncle had been branded a “counterrevolutionary” during the Cultural Revolution and met his tragic death—That unprecedented “Cultural Revolution” swept through like a violent storm, dragging people into an endless whirlpool. My uncle, who usually only buried himself in reading and worked as a substitute teacher in the village school, somehow became guilty of violating the taboos of the movement. Perhaps in conversation with friends he carelessly revealed dissatisfaction with certain policies, or perhaps in one of his writings, some ideas were misinterpreted as attacks on the Cultural Revolution. In any case, in that absurd era, my uncle overnight became a target of struggle sessions, branded with the heavy label of a “current counterrevolutionary.” At that moment, my grandmother was stunned—it was as if the sky had collapsed. She could not believe what was happening before her eyes.

After my uncle was taken away, my grandmother’s household fell into endless darkness…

My uncle was imprisoned in the county jail to undergo so-called “investigation” and “reform.” During that time, he was subjected to repeated beatings, humiliation, and other inhuman tortures…In the end, my uncle could no longer endure such humiliation and suffering, and resolved to resist with his life!

One day during exercise time in prison, my uncle somehow obtained a foot-long iron bar. Suddenly, shouting loudly, he dashed across the guard line in front of the prison gate, pretending as if he were attempting violence and escape (in fact, only seeking death). A few gunshots rang out, and my uncle, Fang Zhigang, fell into a pool of blood…

Over this land, heavy with sin, another wronged soul began to wander!

Upon learning of my uncle’s tragic death, my grandmother wept day after day, and soon, overcome with grief, followed him into death…

Knowing that my uncle died in such a manner was like a heavy nightmare, etched forever in my heart.

My uncle could have lived out an ordinary life in the countryside, yet because of that absurd era of tyrannical rule, a young life was mercilessly stripped away.

Now, more than half a century has passed since my uncle’s death, but whenever I return to Luci Bay, see those familiar mountains and waters, and hear that familiar local accent, my uncle’s image always resurfaces in my mind.

In early 2001, I myself was imprisoned by the authorities for the crime of “inciting subversion.” In the unseen workings of fate, it seemed my destiny was somehow intertwined with my uncle’s.

Excerpted from Fragments of People and Events I Experienced (Part One)

Hangzhou — Sikong Xianrang

September 11, 2025

作者/编辑：李聪玲

责任编辑：胡丽莉 翻译：吴可正

2025年9月10日，罗永浩在微博上公开吐槽：“好久没吃西贝了，今天下飞机跟同事吃了一顿，发现几乎全都是预制菜，还那么贵，实在是太恶心了。”他同时呼吁国家立法，强制餐厅标注菜品是否为预制菜。随后，他在直播中进一步强调，自己并不是单纯反对预制菜的工艺，而是反对餐厅在不告知消费者的情况下使用预制菜。他提出了两个核心诉求：一是消费者的知情权必须得到保障；二是国家应尽快出台预制菜的明确定义和标准。

为了证明说法，他还在社交媒体中展示了部分媒体探访西贝门店的影像，指出冷冻鱼、袋装汤料等现象，并公开悬赏10万元征集“西贝使用预制菜的真凭实据”。在9月12日的直播中，他明确表示自己并无“针对西贝”或“针对贾国龙”的个人敌意，而是希望通过这次事件推动行业透明化与制度完善。罗永浩的直言很快引爆了舆论，网络上数以百万计的消费者留言支持，表达了自己对“预制菜进餐馆却不标识”的愤怒。显然，这不是一次个人的口水战，而是公众对食品安全长期焦虑的集中爆发。

面对汹涌的舆论，西贝创始人贾国龙和企业方面迅速作出回应。首先，贾国龙在公开采访中坚决否认“西贝菜品属于预制菜”。他解释称，西贝部分食材确实经过中央厨房的统一加工处理，但这与“预制菜”不同。按照他理解的定义，预制菜是“工厂生产、冷冻包装、加热即食”的模式，而西贝依然保持现场烹饪、调味，只是通过中央厨房切配、分份以保持标准化。为了挽回声誉，西贝采取了一系列措施：发布《致顾客的一封信》，并公开罗永浩所点13道菜的完整制作指导书，试图证明“非预制菜”；宣布全国门店后厨对顾客开放，只要符合防护规范，就可随时参观。推出所谓“罗永浩菜单”，即把争议菜品单独列出，并打出口号：“不好吃，不要钱”。计划开放原产地、中央厨房、工厂等参观路线，增加透明度。

与此同时，贾国龙宣布将起诉罗永浩，称对方的不实言论已给西贝带来巨大损失。他透露，9月10日至12日短短三天，西贝日均营业额下滑100至300万元，这已是公司成立以来遭遇的最大外部危机。可以说，西贝在这场舆论风暴中被迫从强硬反驳转向“自证清白”，而危机背后的核心，依旧是社会信任的严重缺失。

然而，当西贝公开后厨实际操作后，诸如不用鸡肉熬制的“鸡汤”、存放一年的冻羊腿、保质期长达两年的儿童餐专用西兰花等画面迅速在网络走红，令公众“大开眼界”。这种“中央厨房加工”与“预制菜”几乎难以区分，而多数餐饮企业为了营造专业餐厅的形象，并不会主动向消费者说明出品背后的真实情况。

中国餐饮业规模庞大、竞争激烈，预制菜近年迅速崛起，背后有三大驱动力：一是成本压力——原料上涨、房租高企、用工紧缺，迫使餐企寻求低成本模式；二是规模复制——连锁扩张需要口味统一、流程可控，预制菜成为最佳“标准化”方案；三是资本推动——被包装成“千亿赛道”，产业链迅速成型。然而，追求效率和利润，并不等于食品健康与安全。

而公众对预制菜的反感，并不仅仅因为口味，而是出于深层的不信任感。中国食品安全问题频发，从“三聚氰胺奶粉”“地沟油”到“毒生姜”“苏丹红鸭蛋”，公众一次次经历“舌尖上的灾难”，信任早已脆弱。背后折射的是制度性问题：监管缺位，地方政府往往顾及税收和就业，不愿严格执法；官商勾结，违规成本极低；信息不对称，消费者缺乏监督渠道；逐利至上，资本逻辑压倒公共健康。在这样的背景下，任何新兴食品模式都容易被怀疑为潜在隐患。

中国要走出食品安全困境，需要强化监管执行，确保标准统一、执法严格；提高信息透明度，让食材来源、加工方式和添加剂使用可被公众查询；加大违法成本，遏制官商勾结和违规行为；引导产业健康发展，减少过度加工和添加剂依赖，同时保持食品营养与口感；并加强公众教育与社会监督，形成全社会共同保障食品安全的机制。

今天的预制菜风波不仅是餐桌上的问题，更是一个社会隐喻：它像极了中国社会的“快速复制”模式——追求规模与效率，却牺牲了品质与安全。它揭示了公共治理的软肋——信息不透明，监管缺位，资本绑架政策。它让人们直面一个现实——普通人对制度的依赖比想象中更深，而制度却往往让人失望。

中国人常说：“民以食为天。”一顿饭看似琐碎，却连着生命健康、社会信任与制度公正。罗永浩和西贝，只是一次舆论的契机。更深层的问题是：我们是否能够建立起真正保障食品安全的制度，是否能让孩子们在学校里吃到安心的饭，是否能让普通人在餐桌前不必怀疑自己是不是“实验品”。预制菜不是洪水猛兽，但若任由资本裹挟、监管缺位，它就可能成为新的“毒药”。守护餐桌，其实就是守护未来。

The Predicament of China’s Food Safety Seen Through the Xibei “Pre-prepared Dishes” Controversy

Abstract: Luo Yonghao exposed Xibei’s use of pre-prepared dishes, sparking public concern about food safety and the right to know. The issue of pre-prepared dishes revealed regulatory gaps and a lack of transparency, highlighting the urgent need to improve China’s food safety system and rebuild social trust.

Author/Editor: Li Congling

Responsible Editor: Hu Lili Translator: Wu Kezheng

On September 10, 2025, Luo Yonghao publicly complained on Weibo: “I haven’t eaten at Xibei for a long time. Today I got off the plane and had a meal with colleagues, and I found that almost everything was pre-prepared dishes, and so expensive—it was absolutely disgusting.”He also called for national legislation to require restaurants to label whether dishes are pre-prepared. Later, in a livestream, he further emphasized that he was not simply opposed to the technique of pre-prepared dishes, but rather opposed to restaurants using them without informing consumers.He raised two core demands: first, that consumers’ right to know must be guaranteed; and second, that the state should quickly issue a clear definition and standards for pre-prepared dishes.

To support his claim, he also posted footage on social media from media visits to Xibei outlets, pointing out frozen fish and bagged soup ingredients, and publicly offered a reward of 100,000 yuan for “conclusive evidence of Xibei’s use of pre-prepared dishes.” In a livestream on September 12, he made it clear that he held no personal hostility “against Xibei” or “against Jia Guolong,” but hoped to use this incident to promote industry transparency and institutional improvement. Luo Yonghao’s blunt remarks quickly ignited public opinion, with millions of consumers leaving comments online in support and expressing anger at “pre-prepared dishes being served in restaurants without labeling.” Clearly, this was not a personal spat, but rather a concentrated outbreak of the public’s long-standing anxiety about food safety.

In the face of surging public opinion, Xibei’s founder Jia Guolong and the company quickly responded. First, in a public interview, Jia firmly denied that “Xibei’s dishes are pre-prepared.” He explained that while some of Xibei’s ingredients are indeed uniformly processed in a central kitchen, this is different from “pre-prepared dishes.” By his definition, pre-prepared dishes are “factory-produced, frozen and packaged, ready-to-heat-and-eat,” whereas Xibei still maintains on-site cooking and seasoning, using the central kitchen only for cutting and portioning to ensure standardization. To restore its reputation, Xibei adopted a series of measures: it issued “A Letter to Customers” and released the complete preparation manuals for the 13 dishes ordered by Luo Yonghao in an attempt to prove they were “not pre-prepared”; announced that kitchens at all outlets would be open for customer visits at any time, as long as protective rules were followed; introduced a so-called “Luo Yonghao Menu,” listing the disputed dishes separately with the slogan, “If it doesn’t taste good, it’s free”; and planned to open visits to places of origin, central kitchens, and factories to increase transparency.

Meanwhile, Jia announced that he would sue Luo Yonghao, stating that the latter’s false statements had caused Xibei huge losses. He revealed that from September 10 to 12, in just three days, Xibei’s daily revenue dropped by 1 to 3 million yuan, marking the biggest external crisis since the company’s founding. It can be said that in this storm of public opinion, Xibei was forced to shift from a strong rebuttal to “proving its innocence,” while the core behind the crisis remained a severe lack of social trust.

However, once Xibei made its kitchen operations public, images such as “chicken soup” not made with chicken, lamb legs frozen for a year, and broccoli for children’s meals with a two-year shelf life quickly went viral online, leaving the public “shocked.” This kind of “central kitchen processing” is almost indistinguishable from “pre-prepared dishes,” and most restaurant businesses, in order to present the image of a professional restaurant, will not voluntarily inform consumers of the true situation behind their products.

China’s catering industry is vast and highly competitive, and pre-prepared dishes have risen rapidly in recent years, driven by three main forces: First, cost pressure—rising raw material prices, soaring rents, and labor shortages have forced restaurants to seek lower-cost models; Second, replication at scale—chain expansion requires consistent taste and controllable processes, making pre-prepared dishes the best “standardization” solution; Third, capital promotion—packaged as a “trillion-yuan track,” the industry chain has quickly taken shape. However, pursuing efficiency and profit does not equate to food health and safety.

The public’s dislike of pre-prepared dishes is not merely due to taste, but stems from a deep sense of distrust. China has seen frequent food safety issues, from “melamine milk powder” and “gutter oil” to “toxic ginger” and “Sudan Red eggs,” with the public repeatedly experiencing “disasters on the tip of the tongue,” leaving trust already fragile. Behind this lies systemic problems: regulatory absence, with local governments often prioritizing tax revenue and employment over strict law enforcement; collusion between officials and businesses, with extremely low costs for violations; information asymmetry, leaving consumers without supervisory channels; and profit-seeking above all, where capital logic overwhelms public health. Against this backdrop, any new food model is easily suspected of being a potential hazard.

For China to overcome its food safety predicament, it must strengthen regulatory enforcement, ensure uniform standards, and enforce the law strictly; increase information transparency so that the sources of ingredients, processing methods, and use of additives can be checked by the public; raise the cost of violations to curb collusion between officials and businesses as well as illegal practices; guide the industry toward healthy development, reducing excessive processing and reliance on additives while maintaining nutrition and taste; and strengthen public education and social supervision to form a mechanism for the whole society to jointly safeguard food safety.

Today’s pre-prepared dish controversy is not only an issue at the dining table, but also a social metaphor: It closely resembles China’s “rapid replication” model—pursuing scale and efficiency at the expense of quality and safety. It reveals the weak point of public governance—lack of transparency, regulatory absence, and policies hijacked by capital. It forces people to confront a reality—that ordinary people depend on the system far more than they imagine, yet the system often lets them down.

There is a common Chinese saying: “Food is the paramount necessity of the people.” A single meal may seem trivial, but it is connected to life and health, social trust, and institutional justice. Luo Yonghao and Xibei were merely the trigger for public opinion. The deeper issue is: can we establish a system that truly guarantees food safety? Can we ensure that children eat with peace of mind in schools? Can we let ordinary people sit at the dining table without wondering if they are being used as “test subjects”? Pre-prepared dishes are not a monstrous scourge, but if left to be manipulated by capital and absent regulation, they could become a new kind of “poison.” To protect the dining table is, in fact, to protect the future.