To promote alien technology, I registered a TikTok account, but it had always struggled to gain traction. Then, just over a month ago, my TikTok suddenly took off—from a few thousand views a day to hundreds of thousands, with my followers surging from just over 1,000 to more than 10,000.
I was thrilled. Could it be that after 37 years of relentless promotion, my efforts were finally being recognized this year? Would the artificial field scanning technology I brought from the aliens soon become a reality, transforming humanity and ushering us into a dreamlike, wonderful life?
Suddenly, at 10 p.m. on June 10, I received a message from the TikTok platform: "Your account has been flagged for violations, spreading unverified scientific content… You will face traffic restrictions…" The penalty lasted 10 days before it was automatically lifted.
What caused the ban? Was it a user report? Did my videos touch on politically sensitive topics? Did I say something I shouldn't have? Afterward, I became cautious, avoiding posting videos I thought might be problematic.
Soon, my video views skyrocketed again—one video hit 955,000 views in just a few days. But within days, TikTok sent another message: "Your recent videos violate community guidelines. The system will impose a penalty on your account in 3 days. Please regulate your behavior and comply with the TikTok Community Self-Discipline Convention. After 10 days, once you've submitted 10 compliant posts, the system will reassess your account."
What was going on? I'd already been careful. After the 10-day period, I became even more cautious, posting only about science and life insights—content I was certain wouldn't cause issues. Yet, on July 26, TikTok messaged me again, claiming another violation and imposing a 33-day account suspension. The reason? Spreading unverified scientific content, with a prompt to get certified.
At first, I was baffled. After searching online and consulting netizens, I figured it out. TikTok requires certification for specific topics: if you discuss medical knowledge, you need credentials from a top-tier hospital or as a recognized expert; for architecture, you need to certify as an architectural expert; for biology, a biology expert. Whatever field you address, you must prove you're an expert in it with work badges, business cards, employment certificates, or professional qualifications.
For me, discussing astronomy, cosmology, the essence of gravity, and electromagnetic fields would require certification as a physics PhD or professor. I asked netizens, and they said I couldn't get certified unless I faked it. By TikTok's logic, ordinary people aren't qualified to talk about science online—only experts and professors can. Isn't this blatant discrimination against us common folk?
In Western societies, ordinary people have long fought against such discrimination. After prolonged struggles, Western countries now consider the feelings of the average person and avoid enacting laws that openly discriminate against them. Western corporations are cautious too—discriminatory actions can lead to lawsuits from the public or, worse, severe government penalties.
In our society, however, the lack of resistance has allowed unreasonable discriminatory practices against ordinary people to persist. Decades ago, if you were an average person passionate about science and engaged in long-term research, you could submit papers to domestic journals via mail. In recent years, with the rise of the internet, many journals shifted to online submissions—no more mailing letters. Submitting a paper online is as easy as a click, incredibly convenient.
But in recent years, I haven't submitted a single paper. Why? Many journals now impose a condition: you must specify which university you graduated from. If you don't fill it in, the submission won't go through. If you make one up, the system flags it as invalid. According to their rules, amateur researchers like me, without a university degree, have no right to publish papers—a stark discrimination against non-professional scientists.
Historically, Einstein, Faraday, and Joule were amateur researchers who made monumental scientific discoveries. If amateurs weren't allowed to publish, science today would be greatly diminished.
I've posted papers online about the essence of gravity and electromagnetic fields, only to be summoned by the police. They made me write a pledge promising not to share such "profound" scientific papers online anymore. They said I'd only be qualified to conduct such advanced research if I passed an exam and became an official state researcher.
I only have a partial grasp of physics and math—subjects like English and chemistry are completely beyond me. If I took a science exam, I'd definitely fail. By their logic, a junior high-educated farmer like me has no right to engage in this kind of research. Some netizens doubt this, refusing to believe the police would care about such things. But it's true—I've got a record for it. The reprimand notes and my signed pledge are still in their hands. Neighbors saw me being taken away and gossiped about whether I'd done something wrong.
Yet, because no one resists in our society, such unreasonable and unfair phenomena persist. I had planned to cautiously lecture on TikTok to expand my influence, but it wasn't about sensitive topics—it was this discriminatory rule against ordinary people. TikTok could simply add a disclaimer: "Non-professional content, for reference only." There's no need for such blatant discrimination and disdain toward common folk.
Are experts inherently reliable? Many experts spew nonsense against their conscience, even deceiving people for personal gain—cheating, scamming, you name it. Platforms like TikTok and Kuaishou are meant to document grassroots life, not to be some lofty pedestal. But now that TikTok's popular, it's gotten arrogant, discriminating against ordinary people and forgetting its roots.
Some netizens might say, "I talk about this stuff on TikTok too—why don't they flag me?" I consulted a professional online promoter, and they explained: if your TikTok videos have low views, there's no issue. But once you go viral, with each video exceeding 10,000 views, TikTok demands certification—unless it's entertainment content.
It seems relying on TikTok to promote my advanced artificial field scanning technology is hopeless. I've now shifted to Kuaishou, and I hope my followers will support me there. I also urge netizens to rationally consider my encounter with aliens. It's not just about the encounter—it's about the cutting-edge, foundational technology I've brought back. If it were merely meeting aliens without grasping their tech, I'd promote it for a while, and if no one believed me, I'd let it go.
Humanity faces pressing issues—COVID-19, environmental pollution, and chronic diseases like hypertension, diabetes, and cancer. Only a major breakthrough in basic science can help us tackle these effortlessly. At current tech levels, these problems are tough to solve. Often, someone with a serious illness spends everything on treatment, only to remain a shell of themselves, living in misery. Such treatment loses much of its meaning.
Only a breakthrough in basic science can bring true hope to humanity. To those reporting me: I won't outright call you evil, but you're at least foolish. Ignoring your own interests and acting against them—what is that if not stupidity? Even basic animals know to look out for themselves.
When someone strives and succeeds, you benefit. If they fail, you lose nothing. Why sabotage them? Normally, I'd only oppose someone who harms my interests. I can understand, though—the underlying reason some report me is that the "Zhang Xiangqian incident" hasn't been officially endorsed. Some people are too fixated on official authority. It's hard to change a tradition ingrained over millennia.
They say, "37 years, and the government hasn't recognized Zhang Xiangqian's alien tech? If it were real, he'd have been recruited by the state long ago." I'll counter: in decades of reform and opening-up, has the government ever utilized a single ordinary citizen? The only exception, Lu Jiaxi, was acknowledged posthumously. Why would an exception suddenly happen with me?
If you don't believe me, write 1,000 letters to official agencies and see how many replies you get—you'll understand the issue. By Chinese tradition, people like me are only recognized after death. So, some might ask: "If you say recognition comes posthumously, why keep promoting now?"
One reason is the internet. My efforts leave behind papers on the essence of time, space, fields, mass, charge, gravity, electromagnetic forces, and energy. For humanity to progress, these fundamental questions must be unraveled—they're unavoidable. My online papers will eventually be recognized for their importance, clearing obstacles for human advancement.
Another reason: I'm just a farmer running a repair shop, living off bicycle fixes and welding. My life boils down to six words: work, eat, sleep. Family and financial struggles keep me homebound—I barely spend beyond food, wear hand-me-downs, cut my own hair, and have no social life. It's excruciatingly dull. Researching and promoting alien tech has been my spiritual anchor these past few years. Otherwise, what's the point of living?
Plus, with tuberculosis, I can't swing a hammer for welding or work on construction sites anymore. Business has tanked, leaving me with more idle time—humans need something to do. In the years when my rural shop thrived, I was too busy to promote alien tech and nearly gave it up.
Some people claim I have mental issues—this is pure slander.
Certain netizens have criticized me for charging fees, saying:
"Zhang Xiangqian, why do you charge for some of your materials? Great scientists shouldn't be tainted by the stench of money. You should share everything with netizens for free—only then will people believe you."
Another netizen said:
"Zhang Xiangqian, the moment I saw you charging for your materials, I understood everything."
I'd like to remind everyone: I'm not an official state researcher, and the government doesn't pay me a salary. I need to survive too—people can't live in a vacuum. Many writers pursue their cultural passions while using their creations to make a living. This is a normal phenomenon and doesn't warrant condemnation.