Dong Xingzhi, Class 17, Senior 1, Shenzhen Middle School

When my father and I entered the dining room this morning, we found Aunty Mei staring at her phone and muttering: “Oh no, another young man died yesterday!” As usual, my father just sighed. Everyday, before we even sit down for breakfast, Aunty blurts some horrible news she’s read on Weibo. Dad always explains that the news exaggerates, but Aunty never listens. She just purses her lips into a thin line over a steaming bowl of congee, occasionally interrupting Dad’s explanations of statistics and probability. “You’re always so cold and heartless!” she says. “There’s no point talking to you.”

Thus, today it wasn’t so surprising when Dad only rolled his eyes at me, silently reasserting the lesson he’s repeated throughout this long, paranoia-stricken month: contemplate motives, and quickly you’ll discern when media stories arise from fear, from desire for profit, or, in the best cases, from concern for the welfare of the nation.

Aunty Mei looked as grave as a statue. “A whole family in Wuhan died last week. The father caught the virus outside and infected the others. Everybody stay inside!” Aunty’s pale face lost its usual cheerfulness. She hunched in front of her phone without even looking up. “But Aunty,” I whined. “I’ve already stayed indoor for a month.” She shook her head impatiently, her eyebrows knitting together. “No way, young lady! You stay put!” Then she continued reading from her phone, wildly waving her free hand in the air until I’d finished my bread and milk and her own congee had turned cold.

When Aunty finally wandered off with her eyes still glued to her phone, I asked my father for his opinion. “Don’t worry,” he said, grinning cheerfully. “Things aren’t as bad as Mei thinks.” Though dangerous, the epidemic is relatively small, with 80,000 infected and 3,200 dead. Some 30,000 people in the U.S. die of flu each year, but news stories only describe the scariest cases. That’s what motivates journalists, he said: attracting attention, not telling the scientific truth. Still, I couldn’t understand why Aunty chooses to believe everything she reads on social media, but completely ignores the science. Seeing me frown, Dad smiled, assuring me that Aunty is only concerned for my safety.

Just then, Aunty rushed back into the kitchen, her faced flushed with excitement. “Come, Du Du! This article says tea will strengthen your immunity. A cup every day will prevent us from catching the disease!” She fluttered about with a small can of Dancong Tea. The tinkling of porcelain cups, the bubbling sound of water, and a cheerful humming wafted through the room.

My father only shrugged. “Follow the money,” he whispered. “There’s probably a tea company behind this rumor.” In fact, my father explains this often: too much fake news comes from profit motives, rather than facts. He’s told Aunty this a million times, but right now, it seems she’d rather ignore unscrupulous companies make money during crises. So, I only smiled as Aunty passed us teacups, allowing her this small comfort.

Later that afternoon, while reading in my room, I heard wild shouting. Aunty was pacing in the hallway, thumping her feet, and yelling into her phone. “How can you blame the government!” she fumed. “Who can control the existence of a virus? The government is doing everything it can! Providing medical support and limiting the spread to one province! If you can’t see this, you’re an idiot!” Then she slammed her bedroom door, leaving me bewildered. I’d never seen my friendly aunt so furious. Yet when I entered Dad’s study to see what was wrong, I was even more surprised: he completely agreed with Aunty Mei.

Seeing the confusion on my face, my father explained how some local officials had behaved in an unbelievably corrupt manner, resulting in many mistakes at the epidemic’s start. Yet, he said, the government reacted quickly, and that’s what matters most. “Don’t forget,” he told me. “In times of crisis like an epidemic, people should turn to those who possess the most data.” That isn’t Wechat and Weibo, which unintentionally spread fearful comments and exaggerated stories.

That’s not our dear family, though they do have deep concerns for our safety. It’s the government. In fact, that’s why we organize our society this way. Only the government has both the ability and motivation to take care of the whole of society. It’s in their best interests, and ours, to trust their effort.

It’s rare for Dad to agree with Aunty Mei on anything. Where he is calm and rational, looking at society as a whole, she is sentimental, grieving for every lost life and guarding me against danger. But as a family, we are in this together.

Everyone is doing their best: the doctors fighting to save lives, and even the food deliverymen who let us stay safely at home. Staying rational and respecting one another is the best thing we can do. As a nation, we face this disease by joining hands. Even if that means smiling along with your wild, beloved aunty when she hands you a cup of virus-fighting tea every morning. After all, it’s only proof of her love.